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This chapter wrote itself, I swear. So that fast past where everything seems to be happening in a five minute period? Yeah, that is how much this chapter wanted out even though I'm not sure it is what I wanted or that I even particularly like it. I don't know, the chapter just doesn't seem right. (And I'm not talking about my abominable spelling and grammar.)
Don't own Sherlock.
John hummed lightly careful not to be to obviously happy for today. It was hard to contain though, as today would start the ball rolling towards reviving Sherlock. He knew he had to be especially careful with Mycroft watching him like a hawk since Sherlock's fall. Everyone seemed to be watching him actually, and it had been a rare occasion that he had been able to slip to his sister's shop to arrange his death. John honestly did not get it; he was not crazy, not yet anyways. All it had taken was a ray of light through the grief and a very good look at the scene of the fall.
"They just don't make people like they used to." John laments softly running his hand along the mantel piece, looking for the skull. John knew this caused Mrs. Hudson to worry for him and send him out to do small tasks and that was when he'd spring the news of his reservations at Angelo's.
John heard the soft sigh from Mrs. Hudson and the low murmer of, "O, dear." But pretended not to, today was too important to mess up. "John, dear, could you run out and get some milk, we're running low." John looked up from his search of the skull and smiled.
"Of course, Mrs. Hudson. I think I might stop at Angelo's while I'm out too." John said as he grabbed his coat.
"Okay, dear, just be back before dark." Mrs. Hudson honestly worried about John, she had seen how close he and Sherlock were and worried that Sherlock's death had cause permanent damage to the poor doctor.
John ambled out the door and Mrs. Hudson watched him go, worried. She absentmindedly noted the John's limp was gone unlike yesterday when it had been bothering him so much that he had not even left the flat.
John smiled as he felt the brisk London air move through his hair. He wrapped his coat around him tighter to keep the wind out and headed towards the cemetery. It was still early in the morning, so he had time to burn before his appointment tonight and he might as well enjoy his last day alive until Sherlock noticed the body was not his. Plus, visiting Sherlock's grave was a routine even after John had figured out that Sherlock was still alive. Changing his routine would bring suspicion on his death later today.
"Hey, Sherlock." He greeted the headstone with a little smile. He drops down beside the gravestone and counts his followers. It is easy in a place like this, where it is easy to tell who is actually mourning and who does not feel all that comfortable walking where mourners walk. John spots four of Mycroft's men and one of Harry's. The follower from Harry is new but John figures it is so he will not be held up for long enough to miss his appointment. Around 1 in the afternoon John finally leaves the graveyard intent on getting lunch and losing his followers. Thankfully he did know this wonderful little shop which was nearby, and the dining area was inside, making it easier to slip away. A few minutes later he was eating a sandwich and sipping tea in the shop watching at Mycroft's agents floundered with their order. It was all theatrics John knew but it was still highly amusing. While they were trying to order, John paid for his meal and headed back into the surging crowds of London. By now it was midday and more people where out and about. John was having a lot of fun just playing with Mycroft's minions but knew he would actually have to lose them at some point. He notes they have switched by 3 pm and grins, apparently they are not cut out for keeping up with a wounded army veteran. He does give them credit though for keeping him under tabs for five hours in London, a city that very few ever learn to navigate. A chance to give them the slip appears and John takes it, sliding into a very large tour crowd and losing a few choice items of his attire. He reappears from the crowd as a man a little down on his luck and hiding something in his coat. Most people ignore him now and he happily wanders off to Angelo's. He is a bit early but figures he can scope the area out a bit before he meets the one who may eventually be caught for 'murdering' him. 30 minutes of wandering later John bumped into someone and looked up to apologize to them before realizing who it was.
John had locked eyes with the person who was to be his murderer and recognized them. Not who they were but what they were. This was a person who had lost the will to live but refused to kill themselves, worrying over those they might leave behind, almost what he had become. By medical definition they were alive; by social definition they were dead. The person smiled and John almost flinched, the smile was like shards of glass. "Would you like to see your body?" They asked and John nodded, following him deeper into the shadows. They stopped at a black lump placed carefully in a dirty corner. The person knelt down and carefully removed the black shroud that had been thrown on the lump and John eyed the corpse critically.
"How long has it been dead? When was the surgery performed?" John fired off, knowing the answer could affect how crime played out.
"Freshly dead." The person replied monotone. "Surgery performed post mortem by a few minutes."
"Wonderful." John comments and hands his personal effects to him, minus his phone. "I'll leave you to your job then." The man nods and disappears leaving John alone, he sighs and hobbles off to Harry's knowing that she will have a place for him set up. He may be even able to watch the news coverage of his death. He arrives at Harry's shop just as the pot whistles; he can hear it through the flimsy door.
John knocks and Harry shouts, "It is open, you can come through, John!" John pushes the door open to see a ridiculous and domestic scene before him, one that does not fit his crazy, crime boss, drunkard of a sister. She sees his shocked look and grins, "I've been somber since you came to me about getting yourself killed. I'm trying to cook. Go watch your death on the telly and I'll shout when dinner is done."
John stands in the door way a bit longer before wandering out to do as Harry suggested smiling at the cursing coming from the kitchen. This reminds him a bit of when he was younger and his parents were attempting to cook as a special treat for him or Harry. John soon forgets about that, though, as the news suddenly flashes images of what appear to be his own dead body. The news anchor is rambling on about how London has lost a fine doctor and that many people are mourning. John snorts; he does not believe a word of it. What surprises him though is the fact that DI Lestrade and his men are actually allowed to work on the case. It then cuts to live footage of the crime scene as Harry walks into the room with spaghetti on paper plates. She hands one plate to John, grabs her business phone, and settles down to watch with him.
Harry frowns after several minutes though and pulls out her phone and texts a very direct message to the man who was standing next to DI Lestrade. She recognized him from the description John had given of his first kidnapping, Mycroft Holmes, older brother of Sherlock Holmes.
Mycroft's phone vibrated and he opened the incoming text to see, Step away from the body, Mycroft. Seconds later another one came through, Contact Sherlock, London has informed me that this is dangerous.
Mycroft stared at his phone but did not show any outward emotions. He was impressed with whoever it was though because the number came up as non-existant. "Eve, would you be so kind as to look up this number?" He demanded his secretary in a polite tone.
'Eve' looked up from her Blackberry and mouthed, 'It doesn't exist.'
Mycroft glanced back at the phone and carefully typed, Sherlock is dead-MH.
The reply came almost instantaneously, That isnt what London tells me
London doesnt talk-MH
But it has eyes and ears. I want Sherlock on the case and Im sure MrWatson would have wanted it to.
Youre family of the deceased are you not?-MH
Possibly~ with that the conversation ended and Mycroft was sure he had been talking to Harriet Watson, John's estranged sister. No matter, the surveillance cameras would reveal it all later.