Note: Happy Easter, everyone! This chapter starts Saturday morning. The previous night, Sherlock has had another dream about Molly - one of an adult nature. I wrote it down as an M-rated one-shot named "Dream a little dream". You don't have to read it to follow the happenings of this story. But, you may if you like a little bit of Sherlolly smut :)
The next chapter is already planned out in my head. I hope to be able to type it out rather quickly! Also, as always, a big thanks goes to all of you writers of nice reviews. Enjoy this chapter!
Sherlock needed some time to gain full consciousness after waking up from a rather intense dream about Molly. Pulling the sheets off his body and looking down, he decided to re-evaluate his notion of inter-personal relations, with a special focus on sexual intercourse. He made a mental note to deal with the topic whenever he would have free time to think. First, however, he needed to change his sheets and get fresh pyjamas.
He had only slept a few hours but wasn't tired at all anymore so he showered and got dressed quickly. John was sitting at the kitchen table, having pushed several experiments and a few notes to one side to be able to place his plate somewhere. He was still in his pyjamas.
"How was the reception event? Anything interesting? Did you get my text? I'm worried, Sherlock!"
Sherlock's eyes wandered through the room and took in John's appearance for less than a second. With a calm tone, he asked, "How was your date?"
John knew that he wouldn't be able to keep such things from his flatmate. He also knew that Sherlock had already deduced everything he wanted to know. So, instead of directly answering the question, he replied, "I would ask you how you know, but we are quite past that naïve stage, don't you think? So, as I wanted to pop in the bathroom, I'd appreciate it if you could just give me the abbreviated version of your brilliance. I'll make sure to be amazed by your deductions."
Sherlock grimaced. Nonetheless, he started his tirade. He just couldn't not do it.
"You've got the little red dots on your face and neck. You always get them when you eat Indian food. Can't you just tell her that your organism doesn't tolerate the spices? But you're lacking the love bites you usually have after a date with Cherry (see, I remembered the name). It didn't go very well. You clearly didn't engage in sexual interactions with a woman yesterday. Instead, you are portraying your shameful look of masturbation. After you got the call from the police and texted me the details on the dead man in Leeds, you were not concentrating on her anymore. She left you sitting there alone after this. The fact that your date ended early is clearly visible in the amount of beans you are consuming this morning. You left the restaurant still hungry and were too frustrated to eat something in the flat after you came home. You feel guilty about not appreciating her. The word 'remorse' is written in large letters in the wrinkles on your forehead."
John rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Neat, very… very good deductions, yes." He turned to go upstairs to his room. "I'll be with you in a minute. You can tell me about yesterday then."
Now, Sherlock really needed to look at this new body list. And, another thing was necessary. He took out his phone, sighed, and quickly typed in a text message.
His number?
- SH
You do realise I have important business to attend to?
- MH
Sherlock didn't reply and simply waited, knowing his brother was making the necessary phone calls right now. The detective knew it would be easier, and faster, to ask Molly for David's telephone number but he couldn't bring himself to demand that from her. So, Mycroft would have to do. He hated the fact that he now owed his older brother a favour.
_.:0:._
After John had returned from his room fully dressed and with still damp hair, Sherlock looked up from his notes on the new missing bodies and started to recall the events of the previous evening. He was curt in his explanations and more than once John had difficulties following the story.
"Ah yes, and at the end of the evening there came up another possibility to find out more. By the end of today, we might be a lot closer to catching Miller."
"How so?" John asked.
"The Ministry of Health is already onto him as well. I'm uncertain how much they know; have to talk to someone for that. It's probably not going to be easy, you will have to accompany me."
"Um, OK." John wasn't sure why Sherlock explicitly pointed out that a conversation would not be easy. Most of them weren't. Especially when he needed to talk to anyone official that wasn't Lestrade. He still wondered what all that Ministry talk was about when he noticed Sherlock's bruised knuckles. Pointing to his flatmate's hands, he asked, "What's that? Have you been in a fight?"
"Oh, this," Sherlock said, following John's gaze and looking at his hand, "I punched David."
"David?"
"Molly's…," he was searching for a word, "suitor. Well, ex suitor I guess."
"WHAT? How dare you? You said you wouldn't interfere. I shouldn't have left you to go out on your own. You're like a child. Poor Molly, you need to apologise."
"She sort of thanked me for it." Sherlock briefly thought about his dream and the way she had indeed thanked him, more with actions than with words, in his imagination. Quickly shaking the memories away, he proceeded to tell his flatmate the whole story of how David had used the pathologist to get to the hospital staff in general, and Dr Garrett in particular.
"Oh," John stated, "in that case… well done. You may have accidentally done something noble there, Sherlock!" John smirked. The other man looked almost appalled.
Sherlock's phone beeped with a text message. After reading it with a satisfied grin, he turned to John and said. I hope you don't have a lunch date yet. We're meeting up with David. Typing in the number his brother had sent him, he stood up from his chair and began pacing. He smiled brightly at his reflection in the mirror when he heard the agent's voice. "Hello there, how's your nose?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I'm sending you the address of a restaurant. Be there at one."
_.:0:._
Molly woke up with a weird mixture of feelings. She had to have slept very long; the light and shadows in her bedroom were peculiar and it just didn't feel like morning. She turned around and looked at the small alarm clock on her nightstand. 1.03 pm. Oh my god, I slept half the day!
Then, she started to remember the last night and wasn't wondering about her emotional state anymore. Brief flashes of memory flooded her mind: David kissing her, caressing her face, sliding his hands down her body hungrily. She wanted to vomit. A deep, cruelly familiar sadness took hold of her. Fiercely shaking her head, she banned the pictures from her mind. Instead, she replaced them with the dull sound she had heard when Sherlock's fist landed on that bastard's nose. A small smile crept on Molly's face.
She slowly lifted the sheets off her body. Surprised, she noticed that she was still wearing the dress from last night. She realised she wasn't really remembering getting ready for bed. Then it hit her. She must have fallen asleep. In Sherlock's arms. She blushed slightly as she recalled the feeling of his warm arms around her shaking body. He must have carried me to bed. Oh.
She swung her feet out over the edge of her mattress. At the fast movement, she felt a pulsating pain in her head. She had cried too much. Sighing, she stood up and dragged herself to the bathroom. Taking a long shower, Molly replayed everything that had happened. Eventually she stopped pitying herself and remembered how she had almost met Piers Miller. She felt a little pinch in her stomach when she thought about Sherlock's warnings. Still, this chance was just too good. He must be at the hospital today, she knew about a presentation of his latest article later that day. If I could just.. Just what, Molly? I'll see what when I'm there. Her decision was made; she would go and investigate. She would show all of them that she wasn't pitiable, mousy Molly.
When she came out of the shower, a new energy flooded her. She remembered something else and re-entered her bedroom. Molly stopped at her nightstand and looked down to the thin silver necklace with the microscope charm that was still lying there. Without hesitation, she picked it up, went back into her bathroom, threw it into the toilet and flushed. A satisfied grin spread across her face.
_.:0:._
Sherlock and John entered a fancy looking French restaurant at two minutes to one. John had never been here. Sherlock, however, most definitely had. The waiter immediately made his way over and shook his hand effusively.
"Mister Holmes, hello! There is a man already waiting for you."
They were led to a slightly separate table. A blonde man with a cast on his nose was sitting there, looking up at the two men. Dark bruises had formed around the nose and under his eyes. John was glancing sideways at Sherlock who seemed very calm holding his hands behind his back.
"David," Sherlock started, "this is my friend, doctor John Watson" John frowned a little and nodded towards David, who eyed him suspiciously. They sat down at the table.
"Let's get this over with, shall we?" David said with suppressed anger in his voice.
"It's like you can read my thoughts," Sherlock countered. John looked back and forth between them. He had expected some tension after his friend had told him that he had punched the other man. But this was a truly venomous atmosphere. Most striking was that Sherlock was so openly furious after just being so composed. It was very unlike him to have mood changes like this. Not on cases at least, with his guard up and his chosen persona in place.
"Tell me what you know about Piers Miller and his associates. Be precise and quick."
"Piers Miller was applying for government funding for a research project of his. It got turned down. He wanted to work with human subjects and test medication he claimed could slow down the growth of tumours. There hadn't been done enough research before. The ministry thought it too dangerous and told him that it was neither feasible nor ethically justifiable to start such dangerous experimentation on humans."
At that, Sherlock snorted, "Since when do you care about ethics?" Ignoring him, David went on, "he complained but ultimately backed away and started on another project on a similar drug. It wasn't as promising but also not as risky. The ministry funded him. A few months after this, they started to find irregularities in his study reports and looked into everyone involved in his studies. Doctor Garrett popped up early on."
"What irregularities?" John asked.
"Incoherencies about his test persons. Sometimes the age varied in different reports, sometimes their medical history was inconclusive. We also discovered that in several cases the CAT scans of tumours were duplicated from other person's reports. The experts in the ministry soon thought that maybe he was illegally trying to test the other drug as well."
Sherlock nodded and gestured for David to go on as two glasses of wine they hadn't ordered arrived at their table. The waiter smiled at them and left again quickly.
"This being a study on cancer patients, naturally a lot of them died. The ministry wanted to act on their suspicions silently so they got some warrants and exhumed the bodies."
"But they only found coffins filled with stones," Sherlock finished.
"In most cases at least. They knew that this was a potential scandal no one needed, so they decided to get someone into the hospital -"
"That someone being you." Sherlock's expression darkened slightly again. "Right, that's all I need to know for now. I trust that my brother has forwarded all of my contact details to you. I expect your files promptly."
Without even having sipped from his wine, Sherlock rose from his seat and turned to leave. He was already several steps away before John stood up to follow him, awkwardly waving at David.
When they were walking down the street after having left the restaurant, John turned to Sherlock. "What about lunch?" he asked.
"What about it?"
"You said we were meeting David for lunch and not a complimentary glass of wine and a four-minute conversation. Are we going to go somewhere else? We haven't actually eaten!"
"You know I don't eat when I'm on cases," was all Sherlock had to say while he positioned his coat collar.
Why do I put up with him? In moments like this, John honestly didn't know.
By the way: I actually had to look up the name of John's date myself in one of the earlier chapters. I can see how Sherlock forgets their names... ;)