A/N - Humble thanks to the incomparable Jolie Black and Sevenpercent for speedy beta and encouraging words in all the right places.
John returns from the kitchen with his third mug of tea and resumes his post in the middle of the living room watching Sherlock work the wall behind the sofa. He's been at it nonstop since they returned from their interview with Daniel Manning. The tea John made for him has been cold for more than an hour, and he's still wearing his coat and scarf. The wall is now covered with Post-it notes and full size sheets of paper in various colors, all in Sherlock's cryptic scrawl. John tried talking to him during the initial flurry of activity, but gave up when the answers he was getting made no more sense than the brain dump collage that now stretches the length of the sofa and climbs nearly to the ceiling. A moment ago, Sherlock set off on a monologue that seems at least partly directed at John.
"Seven dead murder suspects are statistically significant, no matter how they died." Sherlock finally sheds his coat and drops it on the sofa, followed by the scarf, then starts pacing in the space between the sofa and the coffee table. His hands are in motion, long fingers spread, indicating the various groups of data that make sense only to him. "The Internet isn't the link. Anderson breaks that pattern." He moves to the opposite end to a group of notes layered over one another in a pyramid shape. "Anderson breaks the timing pattern as well. None of the others died so soon after the deaths of their victims. No other victim survived the initial attack except Anderson." He moves to the center and pulls three notes from their current positions and moves two to the left side, and one to the right, then steps back and steeples his fingers against his lips.
John sips his tea, expecting the monologue to resume shortly, but Sherlock remains motionless and silent. Minutes pass, and John walks over to confirm his suspicion.
"Sherlock?" There is no response, but he didn't really expect one. He's never seen Sherlock go into his Mind Palace standing up before, but that's clearly where he is.
John takes his tea to his chair and settles in for the wait.
Sometime later, Sherlock's mobile starts ringing from the sofa, and John gets up to dig it out of his coat pocket. The caller ID says it's Molly Hooper, and John swipes the answer icon with his thumb. "Hello, Molly. It's John."
"John? I'm sorry, I thought I called Sherlock."
"You did." He glances up at Sherlock's unfocused gaze and walks back to his chair. "He's taking a walk through his Mind Palace just now, looking for clues."
Her voice smiles in his ear."That's a good sign, isn't it? It means he's got something to work with?"
"Usually, yeah." Either he's onto something, or he's gone there out of sheer frustration. "What's on your mind?"
"Oh, right. I've got the results on the succinylcholine test for Michael Hartman. Inconclusive, I'm afraid. No metabolites that they could identify. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. We wouldn't be working this case if you hadn't caught the connection to the others. You did great."
"Do you think I was right, then?" She makes a distressed sound and he can picture her face. "Oh, I didn't mean that to sound so happy. I don't want to be right about a serial killer on the loose."
"I know, Molly. But don't forget that if he is out there, you're the reason his luck is running out. Do you want me to have Sherlock call you back?"
"No, that's okay. He'll let me know if he needs anything." She hesitates. "How are you doing, John? Working with him again, I mean."
"Just like old times," he says in a cheery tone that sounds forced, even to his own ears. But it is like old times. A bit.
"Oh." Molly seems to have heard it, too. "But it's not really, is it?"
If the words were coming from anyone but Molly, they might feel like a deliberate jab at a very sore spot. Her sympathy is almost as difficult to bear, and he lifts his chin. "It's good, Molly. We're fine."
"I just know how I would feel- how I felt when he asked me to work with him before- before you... He didn't really want me there. He was just being kind." She hesitates, and her voice goes soft. "He wanted it to be you."
He knows she believes what she's saying. "It's complicated." And if that's not a masterpiece of understatement... "But it's okay, Molly. Really." It's getting there.
"Okay." She takes a breath. "You'll give him the results?" There's distance in her tone now, pulled back from a topic that shouldn't still be sensitive, but is.
"Yes. As soon as he comes back. Thank you, Molly." He means for more than the results, and hopes she hears it.
"You're welcome, John. Take care."
He sets the phone on the table beside him and leans back, eyes closed. It's not just Molly. He's noticed the way Greg, and even Mrs. Hudson, seem to be walking on eggs around him and Sherlock. No one seems sure how to see them. As best friends happily reunited, or uneasy allies under a flag of truce. He knows the confusion is at least partially his own doing. Greg knows too well how Sherlock's suicide crushed the life out of him. Greg is the one who came to his rescue that night in front of Bart's when he had seriously been considering heading up to the ledge himself, his strength stretched to the breaking point by the anniversary of Sherlock's death with no end in sight to the pain. Greg had been the one who drove him to the psychiatric hospital on Mycroft's tab, and then tried to stay in touch after his release. 'Tried' being the operative word. John had avoided him. Not just because he was ashamed of how close he'd come to giving up, but because there was no way to be in Greg's presence without feeling Sherlock's absence like a knife in his chest. He had avoided Mrs. Hudson, too. Although she still has the wrong idea about his relationship with Sherlock, she knows how much losing him hurt. They're waiting for a sign that things are truly back to normal, and he just hasn't been able to give it to them. It's not for lack of trying. It's just not quite there yet, and the scrutiny isn't helping.
The past two days have been filled with mixed feelings. He's still convinced that Sherlock would not have involved him in the case if he hadn't been here when the call came in from Molly. He's okay with that, but it would have meant so much get a call out of the blue at work to come join him. Sherlock has spent two years working alone. It's only natural that he would be more comfortable working that way now. It's not a comment on John's worthiness to work on the case. It's not a comment on anything. He needs to stop examining every nuance under a microscope. The thought makes him smile. Sherlock would appreciate the irony.
John looks over at Sherlock, then checks his watch and considers calling Mary to tell her he won't be home for dinner. He doesn't know how long Sherlock is likely to be mulling things over, and he wants to make sure he's okay before he leaves.
He switches on the fireplace to take the chill out of the room, and sits back in his chair with a fresh cup of tea to wait. A short time later, the soothing warmth combines with the four hours sleep to make him irresistibly drowsy. He puts down his mug and crosses his arms over his chest. He'll close his eyes for a moment.
When he opens them again, Sherlock is sitting across from him, and the late afternoon shadows in the room say that it's been a lot longer than the few seconds it seems. He sits up straight and winces at the twinge in his neck. "What time is it?"
"Miranda Anderson was not dead when the killer planned Michael Hartman's murder." Sherlock says it as if they're already in the midst of a conversation. "There wouldn't have been enough time to work out so many details if he'd waited until she died. Her death was incidental, not the motive."
John pinches the bridge of his nose, then glances at his watch. It's been more than two hours, and his nap has left him sluggish and irritable. "What are you saying?"
Sherlock steeples his fingers beneath his chin. "We assumed that the vigilante is avenging unpunished murders because of Miranda Anderson, but her case began as a rape, not a murder. The two others Molly found to support her theory are men who got away with murder, and that led us to link them on that basis."
"No, it wasn't just because the victims were suspected of murder. She was looking for cases that could have involved succinylcholine. She chose the two cases because the victims didn't try to defend themselves." His brain is coming back online now. "You seem to have discarded the drug connection, but that was the original link."
"There was no evidence to support it. It's basic victimology, John. Find the common factors and they will point to the killer. We've just focused on the wrong link. It's not the killers we need to look at, it's their victims, and being dead doesn't necessarily have to be one of the criteria. Miranda Anderson should have told us that. The killer didn't plan Hartman's murder in twenty-four hours, no matter how much practice he's had. Finding the best place to ambush him, and taking the chance of doing it in the underground garage, took advance planning. He was going to kill Hartman because of the attack, not because he expected her to die. Do you see?"
"You want to include victims who didn't die." John shakes his head. "Unsolved cases that include rape and assault. Going back how far? Isn't that going to be a huge number of cases?"
Sherlock smiles. "You're not giving the Yarders much credit."
"Oh, and you do." Greg would enjoy this. Sherlock defending the investigative abilities of Scotland Yard.
"I don't believe we're going to find dozens of unsolved assaults whose primary suspect has been murdered. In fact, I think the number will be exceedingly small. I also think the link to the killer will be among them."
John is tempted to ask for a recap of whatever went on in his trip to the Mind Palace that gave him this insight, but he knows better. He also knows better than to question its validity. This is the first time since they started on this case that Sherlock seems to be firing on all cylinders. "Okay, so what do we do with this?"
"You've already forgotten your question."
It's a typical Sherlock topic leap, and it takes John a moment to follow. "The one I asked in the cab on the way here? The one I asked again as we were coming up the stairs? You ignored me both times."
"I didn't ignore you. I didn't have the answer when you asked it."
"You want me to ask again? Okay. Why did you think Manning was only pretending to be surprised to see us?"
"He's hiding something."
John holds up one hand. "For those of us who don't have multiple trains of thought going simultaneously, could we try to complete one before we move on to the next? What links the victims if it isn't that they were murdered by men who got away with it?"
"They shouldn't have been victims of a violent crime at all."
"No one should be a victim of a violent crime."
"Ah, but that's not always true, John. People who lead risky lives and frequent high crime areas are statistically likely to meet with violence. The victims we know about so far should not have been victims, but they were. They were killed, or attacked, in places where they had every reason to feel safe. Two of them were killed by people they trusted, or should have been able to trust."
John digests this for a moment. "So, you think the vigilante is avenging them because they were innocent victims whose attacker got away with it. Scotland Yard's investigative skills aside, that still sounds like a big group."
Sherlock springs to his feet and heads for the sofa to grab his coat on his way to the door. "We're going back to edit the query and see what it turns up. Come on, John."
Getting into the taxi in front of Baker Street reminds John of the question he asked about Manning. "Hiding what?" He knows Sherlock will have no problem picking up where he left off without the need for a refresher.
"I was right about his surprise being a facade, but I was wrong about what he was hiding."
John makes no attempt to hide his smile. "Sorry? You were what?"
"Don't gloat, John. It's unbecoming. He didn't specifically know that we were coming, but he's been expecting someone for some time now. He already knew that the database has been hacked, and he's been trying to resolve it on his own before someone else found out. When he saw us, he knew why we were there because why else would two famous detectives show up at his door?"
John allows himself to bask briefly in the glow of 'two famous detectives'. "And then you asked him about hacking into the database and proved his suspicions were correct."
"Exactly."
John replays the interview in his head, but it's not lining up quite as clearly as it seems to have done for Sherlock. "I know I'm about to have my head handed to me, but what the hell. He seemed pretty damned convincing to me. He even offered to show you the security logs."
"Being a skilled liar is not a talent you would recognize, John, not being one yourself."
There is literally no comment John can think of that isn't going to bring up the very talented lie Sherlock sustained for two years. But the silence he chooses instead is apparently comment enough, going by the subtle change in Sherlock's posture.
"John." His tone is soft with regret.
John mentally shakes it off. Let it go. "Do you think he knows what the hacker is doing with the information?" He keeps his eyes forward, but he can see Sherlock watching him from the corner of his eye.
"That would make him an accomplice, and I think we would have seen a very different reaction. No, I think he's worried about losing his job and his reputation. He wants to find the hacker before the breach is discovered, but he hasn't been able to. If he had done, and if he'd confronted him, Manning would be dead now, too."
"Then shouldn't we tell him that we know what he's up to before he gets himself killed? He wants to be a crime fighter. We have his dream job, remember? Maybe he would help us find the hacker, if he knew why we were looking for him."
Sherlock gives him the pleased smirk that he reserves for these moments when John manages to read his mind. "Very good, John. We're going to do exactly that, after we finish editing the query. But this time, we're going to let him know we're coming. I want him to have time to think about it."
Sergeant Power takes his time coming to the door. Without Greg and his entry card, they can only knock briskly until he lets them in. Power's vaguely irritated frown melts into surprise when he sees who's calling.
"Well, hello again." He steps back so they can enter, then lets the door fall shut behind them. "Forget something?"
"Actually, yes. I need to make some changes to that query before you run it," Sherlock tells him, barely pausing on his way to the computer.
"Uh, sure. Yeah," Power replies to Sherlock's back, then gives John a puzzled smile. "Things change fast, don't they? You come up with new information since you were here?"
Sherlock glances up in surprise, although no one but John would recognize the expression. John turns to Power. "What makes you say that?"
Power's smile is full blown now. "No need to look so shocked. I was a detective myself for a while, remember. What did you find out, if you can tell me?"
"I thought of something that will narrow the results," Sherlock replies without looking up.
"You know, if you want some tips on how to search that file, you should talk to Manning. Better still, Cal Ellis. Could save you a lot of time."
"Cal Ellis?" John asks, trading glances with Sherlock.
"I thought I told you about him. He's the one who designed the database. Even after he left, he did the maintenance until they hired Dan Manning. He was a DI for something like 15 years before he came down here. If there's anyone who can explain how to find what you're looking for, it's Ellis."
Sherlock stops typing. "When was the last time you talked to him?"
"It's been a few years, but I know he's still around. Does system security work, last I heard."
Sherlock gets up from the computer desk. "Would you happen to have his number?"
Sherlock calls Callum Ellis as they're walking out of the building. It is a very brief conversation. "Yes, of course. We only need a few minutes of your time." Pause. "I know the street. We will be there in ten minutes." He puts the phone back in his pocket and does his usual magic hailing a cab on the first try.
Ellis buzzes them in before they can ring, apparently having seen them pull up in front of the building.
He is standing in the open door of his flat on the first floor as they come up the stairs. "I can give you five minutes." He steps back inside, leaving the door ajar.
The flat is a studio, although much larger than the one Daniel Manning occupies across town. It's also the diametric opposite of Manning's in terms of tidiness and decor. Manning's was shabby chic and cluttered to the rafters. This flat is spotless and spartan, and there is a bank of computer equipment on a long table that takes up one entire wall.
Ellis himself is as different from Manning as their flats. He's as tall as Sherlock, but substantially more bulky. His hair is as short as Greg Lestrade's, but not as gray. Probably in his mid-fifties but with the shoulders and upper arms of someone who works out. His gaze is steady, and his eyes are ice blue. But his hands are what John is trying hard not to goggle at. They are massive, even for a man his size.
"You said you have questions about the database I set up," Ellis prompts. His arms are crossed, and his hands are tucked in, which relieves John of the need not to stare.
"The database has been hacked," Sherlock begins, taking John by surprise. It seems that Ellis' appearance has inspired Sherlock to throw subtlety to the winds.
Ellis frowns. "How is that my problem?"
"You don't seem surprised," Sherlock says mildly.
"Any database can be hacked. I haven't worked on that one in years. You should be talking to the man who maintains it now."
Ellis's expression is unreadable, but his voice has an edge that could be defensiveness, or guilt. John is suddenly wishing for the comforting weight of the Browning in his waistband.
Sherlock moves a step closer, not quite into Ellis' personal space, but eye to eye.
"Any database can be hacked by the right person. It occurs to me that no one would be better at hacking a database than the man who designed it. Is it true that all designers put in a back door so they can never be locked out?"
Ellis' gaze doesn't waver for an instant. "Information security is what I do for a living. If I wanted to access that database, I wouldn't need a back door." He chews his lip thoughtfully. "What do you think you know?"
"If I were to call Scotland Yard and ask their computer forensics expert to come take a look at your system, what might he find?"
Ellis drops his arms to his sides, and John tenses from head to toe.
"I guess that would depend on what he's looking for." Ellis's voice has lost its edge and gone oddly soft.
Sherlock's expression shows surprise for just an instant. John doubts Ellis noticed, but to John it is stunning. Sherlock clearly didn't expect his question to elicit what amounts to a confession.
"What started it? Who did you lose?" Sherlock's tone is questioning, but not accusing.
Ellis crosses his arms, and his expression hardens. "I think it's time for you to go. I have work to do."
"It's over. Come back with us and talk to the police."
Ellis smiles. "I've talked to the police. I'm not doing that again. Now, if you don't mind, I have a deadline to meet." He walks to the door and holds it open for them.
"We will be talking again." Sherlock walks out into the hall.
John follows, pausing to give Ellis a warning look.
Sherlock waits until Ellis closes the door, then heads down the stairs and out to the street. He's on the phone when John catches up to him.
"No, you have to shut it down now before he can cover his tracks. And I need everything you have on him. We'll be there in a few minutes."
Greg listens to Sherlock's summary of their interview with Ellis, his expression growing darker with each passing moment. "Okay, how do we prove it?" He taps the folder on his desk. "Ellis was a damn good detective, and now he's a computer security expert. I don't care what he said that sounds incriminating, he's not going to have left any evidence for us to hang him with."
Sherlock takes the folder and flips it open. "We can find the trigger that started him on this path. Who did he lose? Circumstantial evidence is better than none."
Greg lifts his hands, palms up. "There's nothing in the file to suggest anything like that. He had an exemplary record for eighteen years, six of them as a DI. He spent two years in the Evidence room by his own choice, then he left."
"What made him trade the streets for the evidence room?" John asks. "If he was so good at being a detective, why the change?"
"It doesn't say, and I never heard."
Sherlock's page flipping accelerates. "There has to be something."
Greg shrugs. "Unless he's not the killer."
Sherlock gives Greg a look that says clearly what he thinks of that notion.
John shakes his head. "You wouldn't say that if you'd been there when we talked to him."
Greg sighs. "But I wasn't, and we'll play hell getting him to come in and talk to us now. The good news is that he'll probably stop now. Unless he's bent on getting caught after all, he'll know better than to try anything again."
Sherlock snorts. "Or he'll see it as a challenge." He gets up and walks to the window. A moment later, he turns to face Greg. "Who was he working with at the time he moved to the evidence room?"
"That's a good thought. His DS would be mentioned on the case reports."
While Greg types, Sherlock comes back to his seat and looks at John. "Who would know better than his partner what made him leave the streets for the evidence room?" He quirks a half smile before he turns back to Greg.
John recognizes that smile. It's Sherlock's way of saying that John has somehow inspired this interest in Ellis' partner. John knows he means it as a compliment, but he also knows that partners can't always be counted on to share their plans. Or the truth. An instant later, he's annoyed with himself for dwelling yet again on the unchangeable past. He smiles before the memory can show this time.
Greg stops typing and looks up at Sherlock. "Detective Sergeant Harry Wallace, now DI Wallace, was Ellis' partner at the time he switched jobs to the evidence room." He looks a bit stunned.
"And?" Sherlock prompts. "There's obviously more."
"I didn't know Ellis, but I have heard about Wallace. DS Wallace's wife Jessica was raped and nearly strangled to death in their home. I could look up the dates, but it was right around the time Ellis changed jobs. I think you've just found your trigger."
"Excellent." Sherlock closes the folder and drops it on Greg's desk. "We may need to interview DI Wallace to confirm, but I would say this is confirmation enough, for the moment. You need to put a tail on Ellis and keep it there until we sort this out. And they better be good. He won't be easy to follow."
"He won't get out of our sight." He picks up the phone, then pauses as Sherlock and John head for the door. "But don't let your guard down, just in case. He knows you're after him."
Daniel Manning is on his way back from the kitchen with a mug of black coffee, ready to continue his work, when he hears the warning ping from his laptop.
Frowning, he sits down and wiggles the mouse to clear the screen saver.
The message on the screen reads "Connection Lost"
"Shit." He clicks to reconnect and waits.
A new message pops up. "System Unavailable"
He stares at it for a moment, then goes in search of his phone. He either missed a call from Sergeant Power, or he's about to get one. He finds the phone under a magazine on the counter, but the screen shows no missed call. He takes it with him back to the laptop and scrolls through the system logs he managed to download before the connection was lost.
What he's seeing is nothing less than he expected. Nothing he can't handle. But the silence is worrisome, and he picks the phone up once more, then punches in Power's extension.
"Sergeant? It's Dan Manning. What's going on with the computer?"
"They shut it down," Power says, slightly out of breath. "I was just on my way out the door. They're sending me home until further notice. I gotta go."
Manning sits staring at the phone for a long time before he presses the power button and lays it face down on the table.
NOTE: The event where Greg rescues John in front of Bart's is shown from Greg's POV in chapter 7 of another story of mine, Something Borrowed.
End of chapter five