Hi! Wow! I'm on a roll! Three chapters in two days! The next few chapters will be following closely with the plot line of His Last Vow, so there will be MAJOR SPOILERS. Emphasis is shifting away from the Conners siblings and towards Sherlock's relationships with his pressure points.
Apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes and for not having British slang down. Hopefully I don't sound too ridiculous.
Please review. :)
Chapter Six, In Which Love is a Puzzle
Sherlock had been researching the deaths of Robert and Evelyn Conners for five days. They had died in a car accident, and it had been ruled foul play because the breaks had been tampered with, and a greeting card with a grotesque version of a children's nursery rhyme had been found on Evelyn's body. However, no suspect had ever been named, and no murderer had ever been caught. It was a cold case, and the previous generation of the men and women of Scotland Yard had apparently passed along their ineptness to the Scotland Yard of this generation, because everything he dredged up on the case was full of mistakes and lost chances for obtaining evidence. He had a strong suspicion that the lead inspector on the Conners' case was somehow related to Anderson.
The nursery rhyme disturbed him, just a bit, because it reminded him of a certain psychopath who had a fetish for fairy tales and playing games, but that man was dead and gone. Although, all psychopaths must start somewhere, so it was certainly a possibility that Robert and Evelyn Conners were two of the early victims of one James Moriarty. It didn't matter, really, though, because after a few days of travelling about London and the surrounding towns and hours of research, there were dead ends all around, and he was about to go out of his mind with frustration at the police force's stupidity when a knock on the door sounded at precisely 11:17 p.m.
Mrs. Hudson answered the door, and given her exclamation of surprise and recognition, and her hurried assurances that she'd let Sherlock know right away, and her footsteps fairly flying up the stairs in an uneven gait (blast that hip), Sherlock knew a relatively well-known, important client had come to call.
"Oooh, Sherlock, look at you. It's all a mess, a right mess, and now she's come – I'll put on some tea, don't you worry, but try to make a good impression Sherlock – oh! Don't let her look in that fridge of yours." She was wringing her hands and pulling her dressing gown around her and fidgeting with her hair. Sherlock smirked.
"Tell Lady Smallwood she may come up whenever she pleases. And don't bother with the tea, I gather she won't be staying for long."
Mrs. Hudson gasped. "Oooh!" She scolded, "You behave yourself – Lady Smallwood coming, in my home, at this hour – you behave yourself. And I will make a cuppa."
After glancing around at the room once again, obviously in distress at the state of it, she puttered down the stairs and encouraged the client to head on up, and that she'd be in, in a moment with some tea.
"That really won't be necessary, Mrs?"
"Hudson, deari- I mean, ma'am, and I'll bring it up right quick. Just don't let the state of the place turn you off him, he's so good at what he does."
Sherlock smiled, in spite of himself, and straightened the suit-coat he was still wearing around his waist.
Sherlock stared in concentration, motionless in his chair. The remnants of the tea Mrs. Hudson had brought in, and Lady Smallwood had not touched, sat long cold on the tea tray beside him.
Lady Smallwood had given him the first ten he'd had since Moriarty had died. He'd heard the name Charles Augustus Magnusson before, of course – Moriarty had used Magnusson himself, to get information about the cabbie, Jeff Hope, and that girl hiding from the Black Lotus, along with information on Sherlock's own pressure points before the Fall. Sherlock had also been peripherally aware of his brother's dealings with the man, specifically in the cases involving The Woman. Mycroft certainly wouldn't be pleased to hear he'd taken on a case to bring the man down.
Never stopped you before. John's voice echoed in his head, and Sherlock shook it away impatiently. He knew that he could not involve John in this, not right away. It was dangerous, and with Baby Watson on the way, he couldn't risk it. In fact, he knew he would have to put some distance between him and all of his pressure points for this case. Actually – and a thought nagged at him, one that disturbed him and excited him in equal measure – he'd have to convince Magnusson that he wasn't a threat at all – that he was worthless and useless, and that his pressure points weren't worth applying pressure to. And he knew how to do that. His veins tingled with warning and anticipation. He could do this. He was strong enough. But first, he needed a way into Magnusson's life.
He'd found his 'in' soon enough in that bridesmaid of Mary's – Janine. The thought that it was somehow too perfect a coincidence that he was paired, at his best friend's wedding, with the one woman who could grant him access to Magnusson's private offices, was one that he repeatedly pushed down. He didn't believe in luck, or coincidence, but he was choosing for now to believe that he was just clever enough to realize a perfect opportunity when it was placed in front of him.
And he seized that opportunity. After watching the interactions of John and Mary, Casey and Jo, and even Molly and Tom, he'd had plenty of knowledge about how to woo a woman. And he was nothing if not excellent at applying knowledge. Sherlock tracked down Janine – after he'd realized her day job, of course – and immediately began putting his observations to the test. Pleasant dull conversation, casual physical contact to let her know he was interested, invitations to coffee, to lunch, to dinner, made way to breakfasts shared at either his flat or hers. And there was kissing, of course, and the sharing of a bed, but for all her flirting and feistiness, she really was understanding of his need to take it slowly and didn't press him terribly for anything more than a good snog. Of course, if necessary, he was prepared to take his ruse all the way – Magnusson was that important to take down – but thankfully, it had not come to that yet.
A few weeks later, nearing October, Janine was at work and he was in his mind palace, putting together the pieces of the next part of his plan. Once he had established himself firmly with Janine, he needed to 'discredit' himself in the eyes of Magnusson. He knew the best, fastest, and surest way to do that was to relapse. He ignored the fighting voices of John, and strangely, Molly, in his mind, gagged them both, and told himself it was for the best. The world would be a better place with Magnusson out of power.
He was interrupted by a soft knock on the door, and the entrance of Josephine and Sarah Jane Conners. He started, eyes wide for a moment, before gaining control and frowning at their presence.
"You need to leave."
Josephine raised her eyebrows. "Good to see you too, Sherlock. Yes, we've been well. Sarah Jane's doing well in school-"
"You really do need to leave. I'm on a case."
"Yes, well, we'll only be a moment. Go on, Sarah Jane."
Sarah Jane had been studying the lounge curiously, and her eyes were firmly glued to the bullet-hole smiley face in the wall. "Er – right. Um," she began, blushing a bit, and she fumbled with a small package in a grocery bag and held it out to Sherlock. "I wanted to say thank you for letting me help you on some of your cases. I really like it, and…thank you for understanding about Lucy. Thanks."
She walked forward and placed the bag in front of him on the side table. "I made it myself. It's a bit of a puzzle. You'll solve it in five seconds, I'm sure, but…I just wanted to say thank you."
"And you have." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They needed to leave.
Josephine smirked at him. "You're supposed to open a gift when you get it Sherlock." When he didn't move, she made to sit down on the sofa across from him.
He understood her meaning loud and clear – if you don't open this gift and tell Sarah thank you I'm staying here for as long as I can before work. Which for Jo, was only an hour. Unfortunately, he didn't have an hour to waste with their stares and awkward silence, and he didn't need her singing and humming right now.
And, although he'd hoped that avoiding the Conners would be enough to distance himself from them for this case, he still wasn't sure about his feelings toward them, and could not let them be used as a pressure point, if it came down to that. They weren't much of one, but they still saw themselves as his – acquaintances, if not friends, and he'd rather not be responsible for whatever misfortune might occur to them. He needed to get rid of them, for the next few weeks, maybe months.
So he did.
Sherlock's face stayed perfectly calm and stoic, as he unwrapped Sarah Jane's 'puzzle'. It was framed artwork. She had obviously made it herself. Straight lines crossed at odd angles, in patterns creating triangles and quadrilaterals in varying sizes and shapes. She had shaded the various shapes with different colours – shades of gray and blue and purple. It looked like a mess of modern art, but his quick mind saw a pattern in the lines – and in the spaces. It was a code of some sort – that much was certain – but he didn't have time to process it at the moment. He needed them gone, and out of his mind, and out of his hair, and he needed them gone for a long time.
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then tossed the picture across the room. It crashed against the wall, cracking the glass, and landed in the rubbish bin. He stared, unfeeling, at the two girls in front of him, and repeated himself for the last time.
"You need to leave."
He leveled his stare at Josephine, because she was the master of her emotions, and he knew that with tears in her eyes and mouth opened in shock, Sarah Jane would look too much like her mother. Josephine's eyes weren't smiling anymore. They were angry – but they were also suspicious. Good. It meant she understood something was going on. Maybe he'd have a chance after this case to get back into her good graces again. Then again, it didn't really matter. He'd probably have to find a new technician – one without any relation to his childhood- if he couldn't get a reign on these blasted emotions.
Sarah Jane blinked rapidly, but he retreated to his mind palace, and it was an hour later before he realized that they were gone and he had a new text.
I'm not sure what that was about, but when it's over you owe us an apology. –Jo
Sherlock stretched, feeling the muscles and bones stretch and crack into place after sitting in one place for so long. He deleted the text, and walked to the kitchen for some coffee. He passed the bin with Sarah's puzzle in it, and stared at. He picked it up, and studied it.
As the coffee brewed, he recognized that the puzzle was a square – twenty-six even spaces on all four sides, and from the indentation and sharpness of the pencil mark on the top line, he could tell that Sarah Jane had started to draw the puzzle there – at space number nineteen - S. He followed that line to the space on the right hand side of the square – space number eight – H. He continued to follow it, and realized that it was his name – Sherlock – spelled over and over and over, connecting the four sides of the square until it was filled with a myriad of shapes. His lips twitched, and he silently thanked Sarah Jane for the gift. It was rather thoughtful.
As the coffee finished, he stared at the puzzle again, committing it to memory. Then he shoved it down into the rubbish bin, beneath egg shells and coffee grounds and something that looked suspiciously like a human kidney, and refocused his mind on the Magnusson case.