Thanks to the guests who have reviewed, both anonymous, and Chironsgirl. For MLC for the loan of a friendly shoulder, EE and Jack for encouragement, and last but not least, for Greedy Reader, because I know you'd berate me for not carrying on.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, John et al – that privilege belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gatiss
Anyone who noticed the three people sitting at the table in John-Joseph's café would have assumed they were just friends chatting over a morning beverage. The woman – young girl really – had taken a break from her new job with her boss' blessing, she wanted to meet with the older of the two men. The younger man watched how she solicitously hovered over their companion, making sure he was seated comfortably and carrying his mug of coffee to the table, He hid a smile.
"I left the phone here for you Doc, but when John-Joseph said you hadn't called for it…well I was worried!"
John smiled. "Sorry Kallie. It just proved a bit too much yesterday"
The young girl made sympathetic noises and patted the doctor's hand understandingly. Sherlock coughed. John shot him a look that dared him to say anything.
"And what about you Mr Holmes? You don't look none too clever either." Kallie's eyes moved over the bruising. "Same gang?"
Sherlock nodded. "Same gang, different thugs."
"What can we do?" her eyes took in the man behind the counter who nodded in agreement, and John recalled the 'look after our own' comment he'd made when last they met.
The early morning office workers were long gone to their glass and steel cathedrals, and it was too early for the passing tourist trade, so JJ joined them, bringing a second round of drinks to the table.
"There must be something the Network can do to help?"
"We've tried that route," Sherlock explained, "I think the only thing we can ask is that you stay alert, if you see the boxer let us know…"
"And remember, if they can do this to us, they'll not hesitate to try to take you out of the picture, so stay away from them" as he spoke John looked pointedly at Kallie.
The young girl looked back at him. She must have seen something in his face, some hint of the concern he felt, and she took hold of John's hand, looking earnestly back at him as she promised to be careful. Hastily swallowing the last of her drink she waved goodbye and scooted back to work.
As she slipped out the door a tall, grey-haired man entered, holding the door to allow her to pass.
"Don't either of you ever answer your phones?"
"Greg." John waved to the recently vacated chair. "Coffee?"
Lestrade glanced warily at Sherlock, who smirked back at him.
"I won't make you drop it in your lap, if that's what you're worried about Inspector."
John-Joseph slipped away from them and moved back behind the counter.
"Make that a large double strength Cappuccino for Mr Lestrade please, JJ."
"Thanks John." He looked at the battered investigators. "Well? Phones?"
John waggled his between thumb and forefinger. "Just got it back," he explained, "battery's dead!"
Greg nodded and looked at Sherlock, who was staring at his own mobile as if it was an alien life form.
"It would appear that my phone is currently set on 'silent'!" he looked at his flatmate who stared back with a frown, then with a silent 'oh!' and a lightening of his features he smiled.
"Sorry Sherlock, I put it on silent last night," he confessed. "I thought you could do with some undisturbed sleep – y'know, that beating catching up on you and all that. And you must have been tired," he added as Sherlock huffed indignantly, "because you've only just noticed it."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't do it again!" Sherlock paid for the drinks as JJ delivered Lestrade's coffee.
John didn't bother answering that one, preferring instead to look expectantly at the Detective Inspector.
"We've found a body."
"And you wouldn't be here if it wasn't connected with Akaid." Sherlock stated quietly. "Who?"
"If that picture you gave me was accurate then I think we've just found the boxer."
Both Sherlock and John sat up straighter, their attention on the older man as he sipped his drink appreciatively, before continuing
"He was found floating in Limehouse Cut by a lady living on a boat. She thought she heard something go into the water last night, but as it was dark, and there were no other sounds or splashes, she assumed it was her imagination."
"And where is the body now?"
"I requested that it be taken to St Bart's…"
"I need to see that body, and then I must interview the woman from the boat!" Sherlock leapt to his feet and would have dashed out of the door if Lestrade hadn't put a restraining hand on his arm. The younger man stared down at him, surprised.
"What?" he asked
"Sherlock, sit down a minute. The corpse is going nowhere, and before we leave here I have a question I need to ask" Greg looked uncomfortable as Sherlock continued to stare down at him, but he would not be cowed. He steadily returned the stare until the other man resumed his seat.
"What's the problem, Greg?"
Lestrade spared a scant glance for John before turning back to look Sherlock in the eye.
"You said your brother was looking for this bloke. Would Mycroft have disposed of him once he was found?"
"What do you mean, disposed of?"
"You're saying it was no accident, obviously" John stated. "You think Mycroft had him killed?"
Greg flushed. Sherlock laughed harshly.
"Detective Inspector, I can assure you if Mycroft had wanted to 'dispose' of the boxer you would not have found his body!" he stared defiantly at the police officer.
"Not good Sherlock." John spoke half under his breath.
"Oh really John! Why on earth would Mycroft kill the man – we needed to get as much information from him as possible!"
"Look Sherlock, you have to understand – I have to ask these questions." He picked up his cup and drained the last of his cappuccino. "We all know how much your brother…."
"…..worries about you." John finished for him, easing himself to his feet and tentatively stretching his back. Seeing the sneer forming on Sherlock's face he changed the subject. "We'll follow you…."
"No." Greg had also risen and was headed towards the door. "I've brought an unmarked car. You can travel with me, it'll save time."
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The body was unmistakably that of William – Bill the Bruiser – Phillips. Molly had already stripped and washed the body, collecting samples of the aquatic plants that had insinuated their way under his clothing, uncovering the likely cause of death in the process. Rolling the body onto its side she pointed to a stab wound, on the left hand side between the third and fourth ribs.
"Whoever did it stabbed him with a long thin blade." She told the consulting detective as he studied the wound through his magnifying glass. "The wound is angled upwards, pierced the heart, he was dead before he hit the water."
"You're sure?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock looked up from his examination of the body. "Of course she's sure Lestrade – you've only to look closely at the injury sustained to see that it was a professional killing!"
Molly glowed; she could almost forgive his disparaging words from earlier in the week. She continued to hold the body while Sherlock poked and prodded around the wound.
"I'd say wherever he was killed would be significantly bloody. They obviously removed the blade as soon as the deed was done.." he motioned to John to look. The doctor moved forward, bending to look at the blue-tinged skin.
"I agree," John straightened up and stepped away from the mortuary table. "You can tell by the lack of bruising."
Greg nodded. "And his assailants?"
"Unless they were wearing plastic overalls their clothes will definitely bear some kind of blood-spatter"
"Right, come on Lestrade!" Sherlock suddenly lost interest in the body on the slab and turned away, striding towards the door.
"Where to?" Greg hurried after him; John however remained where he was, staring at the floor.
"To see the witness!" Sherlock's voice floated back as the mortuary door closed.
Molly looked at John. He smiled mischievously.
"What?" she whispered. He held a finger to his lips and waited.
The door opened again and Sherlocks head appeared.
"Problem?"
"No, I just wondered how long it would take you to remember I can't run after you at the moment!"
Molly sniggered. Sherlock stepped through the door and held it open for his flatmate.
"See you Molly!" John grinned and waved as he left.
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"Now look, Sherlock, I don't want you frightening the witness!" Greg negotiated the Aldgate roundabout, pointing his BMW 3 series down Commercial Road. He glanced across at Sherlock's face "And just remember that bruising makes you look mean, and that's before you open your mouth to say nasty things so just, well, don't! Get it?"
Sherlock continued to stare out of the window, totally ignoring the older man.
Swinging the car into a parking space beside the moored narrowboat, Greg had barely stopped the engine before Sherlock leapt out of the door and was striding around the tow path, looking at the ground, the surrounding shrubbery, and last of all the edge of the canal.
"He didn't go in here." He stated as John and Greg joined him.
"No, I would have seen him I think." The voice was soft, feminine, and held residual traces of the tears she had shed on finding a dead body floating next to her home. She remained on her boat, and despite standing at a slightly lower level than the three men she was still almost eye-level with John, an unusually tall lady.
Sherlock swung around and turned his piercing gaze on her. He deduced from the tears that she'd been upset by finding the body, from the paint smudges on her well-worn jeans and small scratches on her hands that she was and artist who made hand-painted jewellery, and from the way she looked back at them that she would be more interested in Harry Watson than John. With a smirk he looked at his flatmate.
"Don't waste your time, John."
"What? Wait, no Sherlock, just shut up!"
Greg Rolled his eyes and stepped forward, showing his warrant card.
"Miss Sarah Meechin? We'd like to talk to you about…"
"You found the body, yes?" Interrupting the Detective, Sherlock jumped onto the boat and stood almost nose to nose with the witness. "But you heard him go into the water last night?"
"Oi, Sherlock…!" Greg fumed, but the younger man ignored him, his concentration on the woman standing in front of him.
Sarah stepped back. "I think so," she chewed her lip and let her eyes wander to the far bank of the canal. "I heard a splash, I looked over the water but it was too dark. There had been a family of ducks nesting…."
"Yes, yes," Waving away her explanation he moved across the stern of the boat and looked down into the water, "you thought it was waterfowl landing heavily."
"Don't be sarcastic" John tried to soften his friend's words.
"No, you're boyfriend's right…."
"Not my boyfriend!"
Greg grinned.
"Oh," for a moment she looked disconcerted. "You don't look like a policeman!"
"I'm not." John explained, "neither is he. I'm a doctor, he's a consulting detective."
"You're Doctor Watson! I thought your face looked familiar!" She exclaimed, "I'm such a big fan of your blog doctor…and Mr Holmes! Well, if you're investigating then they're bound to catch the criminals that did this!"
Sherlock smirked, John accepted the compliment and Greg's grin disappeared.
"Can you take us over to the other bank?"
"Yes…..yes I suppose so,"
"Good." Sherlock looked at her expectantly.
"Your friends too?"
Impatiently he beckoned the others aboard. With the ease of familiarity Sarah started the engine, letting it tick over as she moved effortlessly along the gunnel to untie the mooring ropes fore and aft, then she gently eased the throttle open and steered towards the opposite bank.
Sarah, John and Greg waited as Sherlock moved, like a bloodhound, to and fro across the grass, up and down beside the canal. At one point they held their breath as he knelt down and leaned over the edge, his nose almost in the water!
"Aha!" he cried, leaping to his feet. "Here, Lestrade. He went in here, rolled in judging by the merest trace of blood on the canal side here, and the dried blood that had pooled here on the grass." As John, Greg, and a curious Sarah joined him he darted about, pointing out blood stains, skilfully drawing with words a picture of William Phillips' last moments on dry land. He deduced that the ex-boxer had been stabbed in the shadows where the buildings met the grass, and he had most likely staggered, a dead man walking, and dropped where the blood stained the grass.
"He lay there long enough for the blood to pool, Lestrade. His assailants must have heard Miss Meechin return to her boat, and stayed out of sight. They rushed to dispose of the body however, hence you heard the splash – amateurs!" Then suddenly he was striding away. "Come along John! Lestrade, you may want you forensic team to secure the area, it's possible they'll find more evidence – although I doubt it!"
John thanked the boat owner for her help and limped quickly after his friend, leaving a frustrated Lestrade staring after them and phoning for the scene of crime team.
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Mycroft had been contemplating lunch at the Diogenes Club, it had been a particularly trying morning. Not only had the ex-boxer turned up dead in a canal, thus depriving them of much needed information, but also he really was going to have to do something about the Bolivian ambassador. The man was insufferable at the best of times, but now he threatened to overstep the mark with his endless demands. Yes, this called for a good meal, a glass or two of fine malt whisky, and an hour of peace and quiet.
Now that he had made up his mind he put his papers away, locking the draw and slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket. He was about to ring for his driver when the office door opened and Anthea slipped quietly in, a sheaf of papers in her hand. He paused, one shapely eyebrow raised in enquiry.
"We have found the club where Phillips was living, Sir." She handed over the papers. "It's in Middleton Street, Bethnal Green. What would you like me to do now?"
He glanced at the papers in his hand, and then back at her face.
"I think you had better give this information to Detective Inspector Lestrade." He smiled. "And make sure we have people there to make sure no-one slips through the net!"