Chapter Three
"So I take it this was some kind of sting operation?" John asked, as he filled the kettle with water and set it on to boil. Lestrade nodded.
"While you were gone, we called Sherlock in on a case of serial murders. Each of the victims had been shot dead by a bullet through the heart. After about three days, Sherlock worked out that the killer was Owens, who you saw earlier, based on his personality and his toothpaste - don't ask," Lestrade added at John's quizzical look, holding up a hand and shaking his head in resignation. John shrugged and started digging in the cupboards for the tea - he could always ask Sherlock about it later.
"But unfortunately," Lestrade continued, "he didn't have any solid, courtroom material evidence. So he essentially let Owens know that he knew it was him who was behind the shootings, set up an appointment to "blackmail" him," Lestrade made air quotes, "and then called me and told me he'd done it so we'd have to go along with it." John nodded in understanding, pulling out the tea bags and finding the biscuits, which they were also not out of.
"Of course he did."
"So we set up in Sherlock's room, gave him a vest and a wire and waited for Owens to show up. Only then you walked in, completely unexpected and unprepared. I told Sherlock to get rid of you."
John took out a plate and dumped the biscuits onto it.
"And Sherlock couldn't just explain to me what was going on because...?" Lestrade crossed his arms and gave John a pointed look.
"Because then you'd have argued."
"Oh, come on," John protested. Lestrade shook his head.
"You'd have argued. You've have wanted to stay to make sure he was all right, and you'd have argued and we didn't have time for that. You could have come back in the bedroom with us, but we didn't have a spare vest for you, and I imagine it'll be a cold day in Hell when I can get you to just stand in a corner while everybody else rushes out after an armed maniac." John shifted uncomfortably and took down the sugar. Lestrade leaned in a little closer, his voice growing serious.
"Owens is a complete psychopath, one hundred percent dangerous. The only reason he didn't shoot at us when we came out was because he was so busy yelling at Sherlock he didn't notice us until we were almost on top of him."
"And you just let Sherlock sit out there alone with him," John said, anger flaring up again. Lestrade held up his hands.
"I told you, it was his idea. Besides, we knew all the victims were specifically shot in the heart, so if he did end up shooting the vest would do its job." Lestrade paused. "All of the other victims were only shot once, but Sherlock, uh, you know... pissed him off."
"Yeah, I can imagine," John said dryly, taking three cups out of the cupboard.
"And Owens was perfectly happy to empty four bullets into him. With a man like that, we weren't going to let you be involved in any way without a vest on."
The kettle whistled. John poured water into the cups and set the tea to steep.
"So Sherlock tried to get me to go to Tesco's," John muttered.
"Yes, and we all saw how well that worked out," Lestrade said with a grin.
"And when that failed he decided the quickest way to get me out would be to piss me off." Recalling the conversation, John placed a bit more heat on the words than intended. Lestrade gave him a pained look.
"Yeah, well..." Lestrade scrubbed a hand down the back of his neck. "That was his decision, not mine, but he was at least trying to protect you, John..."
John stared at Lestrade, sudden realisation making his eyes widen in horror.
"Oh, god. You heard that. You heard all of that." He pressed a hand against his forehead. "That was... that was sort of... private stuff..."
"Uh, yeah, sorry." Lestrade looked at the floor. "I can promise you that won't go outside this flat, you know, your sister and all, and, well, sorry." John glanced up.
"What about...?" He gestured vaguely outside the kitchen.
"Sally knows how to be discreet," Lestrade said firmly. "Besides, she likes you well enough, she's not going to go blurting your secrets out all over town."
"God." John sighed and began measuring out sugar into one of the cups. "Sugar in your tea?" he asked Lestrade.
"Oh, thanks," Lestrade said, taking one of the biscuits off the plate.
"Don't eat too many of those, they're for Sherlock," John said, stirring the tea with a spoon. "He'll want some paracetamol after that, and I don't know how much he's eaten lately - probably nothing knowing him."
"Yeah, probably," Lestrade agreed, crunching on the biscuit. "You know, the team's been taking bets on what might happen without you around." John raised his eyebrows in surprise, then laughed.
"Oh. Well. Okay." The spoon clanked sharply on the edge of the cup as John knocked drops of tea off of it. Tossing it into the sink, he put the biscuit plate on his elbow and picked up two of the cups. Lestrade snagged his own tea and the two of them headed back out into the sitting room.
Sherlock was sitting mostly upright on the sofa, his body slumped back against the cushions and a grimace of pain on his face. He had re-buttoned his jacket to ward off the faint vestiges of autumn chill in the room, and the torn threads of his shirt stuck out bizarrely between the smooth edges of the black material. The wire device had been flung on the floor - it lay in a twisted heap beside the discarded vest. He glanced up as John and Lestrade entered the room, his eyelids raising wearily from their previously closed position, and his head turning laboriously in their direction. He tried to straighten up a bit, wincing.
"Here." John dropped the plate of biscuits on the detective's lap and pushed a cup of tea into his hand. "Eat those. I'll go get you the paracetamol." Sherlock stared at the biscuits for a second or two as John disappeared again, then picked one up and started to eat it, chewing mechanically.
"Well? You explained everything then, did you?" he asked Lestrade, blowing on his tea to cool it. "To his satisfaction?"
"Yes, yes, I gave all the details," Lestrade said, rolling his eyes.
"Good."
"Here we are, then." John came back into the room and handed Sherlock a couple of pills - Sherlock tossed them back with the tea and picked up another biscuit.
"Thank you."
"Yeah, don't mention it," John sighed, stepping across the room. Sherlock sipped his tea and watched John through narrowed eyes as he flopped down in his armchair. Lestrade looked between the two of them.
"Right well, I'd better get back to the Yard. Donovan's handling things - "
"Oh, that's going well, I'm sure," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.
" - but as senior officer I should get down there." He drank his tea, then got his coat out of Sherlock's bedroom and picked up the vest and the wire from the floor. "We can get your statement tomorrow," he said to Sherlock. "Rest up a bit, will you?"
"Yes, yes." Sherlock waved a hand impatiently. Lestrade looked at John, shrugged, and headed out the door.
When his footsteps on the stairs had faded and the front door slammed, Sherlock set his tea down on the coffee table and looked at John intently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, picking up his teacup.
"It's all right, I guess," he said wearily. "But couldn't you have picked something else to talk about in front of the police?"
"I'm sorry," Sherlock repeated. "I didn't want to violate your privacy - not good, I know. But I had to get you out of here. Owens was due in ten minutes, and I'd already wasted time trying to get you to go to Tesco's. I picked the most relevant subject that would anger you the quickest."
"You couldn't just tell me." But it was more of a statement than a question.
"If I'd told you what was going on we'd have never been rid of you."
"Yeah, probably," John admitted, laughing a little. Sherlock flashed him a quick smile.
"If you'd come earlier I'd have wanted you around. There was no time to outfit you with a vest, that was all." John smiled back at him, the compliment cheering him up. Sherlock usually trusted him in him dangerous situations, as well he should, and John would have felt worse than he did when he was angry if Sherlock had sent him away simply because he thought John couldn't handle the situation. The detective crunched down another biscuit, enjoying his snack now that some of the tension had left the room. John frowned.
"How long has it been since you've last eaten?"
"Three days." Sherlock sipped his tea as John gave a long-suffering sigh. "I had a case," Sherlock defended.
"But you solved it. You couldn't have eaten something once you figured out who was behind it?" Sherlock waved that suggestion away.
"I wasn't hungry. Too much adrenalin."
"Right." John looked at him across the room and shifted in his armchair.
"Look, that stuff I said about you earlier, about you not caring about people and..."
"It's true, John. I don't care."
"Yes, you do."
Sherlock glanced at him warily and shook his head.
"Not like you do, John. What you said was true. I'm not nice or compassionate or polite." The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. "And I'm certainly not ordinary."
"Well, I'll give you the last two," John said, scratching his forehead. He looked at Sherlock again. "And, I mean, I don't think of you as a project if you really think that..."
"I was trying to make you angry," Sherlock said, finishing his tea. "I was just thinking of the worst things I could realistically say to you."
"But you don't really feel that?" John persisted. "I... I do try to get you to be... you know, less rude and, more, well... approachable, but..." Sherlock shrugged.
"I imagine if I was just a project you wouldn't have been quite so upset when you thought I'd been shot."
John was silent.
"Well..." he managed. "Well, you were shot."
"Mm, technically, yes. But no blood." Sherlock glanced down his ruined shirt. "You destroyed my shirt."
"You weren't breathing," John shot back. "Just be glad I didn't rip open the jacket too, I had more than enough cause." Sherlock tucked the edges of his jacket closer.
"Thank you. It wasn't pleasant, not breathing." John smiled.
"You're welcome." John sipped his tea and glanced out the window. "And... You. For trying to, um... You know, thanks."
Sherlock nodded once.
John finished his tea and stood up, crossing the distance between them. "We should get you to A&E soon," he said, pushing the jacket back to take another look at the livid bruises still forming on Sherlock's chest. "I want that X-ray." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. "I'll get you a new shirt." John straightened up and took a step toward Sherlock's bedroom.
"John." Sherlock was looking at the floor, fiddling with the end of his jacket between his fingers. John stopped.
"Yes?" Sherlock rolled his lips in and pressed them together.
"What I said was true, too," he said quietly. John frowned.
"What did you say that was true?" he asked. "That...?"
"What I said about Harry," Sherlock said bleakly, glancing up at John. "I said it cruelly, to upset you, but I honestly think it's what happened. I could be wrong, but the probability is low." John stepped back, tensing. Despite the apologies, after the brutal argument of earlier, he felt the violation of the delicate subject keenly. "I'm not trying to upset you," Sherlock said quickly. "But I have to tell you what I think is true." John pursed his lips and counted to five, then nodded.
"Well, if it is true I'll just have to deal with it."
Sherlock said something so quietly John couldn't make it out.
"What?"
"I said I could help. You deal with it." Sherlock swallowed hard but looked back at him steadily. John felt the anger suddenly evaporate and a warm glow take up residence in its place. He smiled.
"That's... that's really nice, Sherlock."
"I'm not usually nice." Sherlock looked at his empty teacup. "It must be your influence on me." John grinned and settled a hand very briefly on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock glanced up sharply at the touch, but John had already let go.
"I'll go get you a shirt," he said, and walked off to the bedroom.
Sorry about the lateness of this update - going to France + writer's block really plays havoc with fan fiction stories. To make up for the long wait and the subsequent shortness of this chapter, the last chapter will be posted soon - aka in two days.