Note: First of all thank you for all the nice comments on the last chapter. There seems to be a lot of love for Lestrade out there. And rightly so!
Also, I am visiting my parents at the moment (which is why I haven't updated in a while again, I'm so sorry) and found out that my sister has been reading 'Molly moves on' for quite a while now without knowing that I was the author. And, honey, I want to tell you two things: 1) Awww, thanks. You're very right to have joined the fandom and it makes me love you even more; and 2) I'm incredibly sorry for the awkward feeling creeping up inside you in about 2 seconds – when you think back to the dream-sex scene ;) Because, let's face it, you have read it…
I have been facing a bit of a writer's block lately and have been rewriting this chapter for ages. I'm also fairly slow because I have started to write different things all at once. I know it's not the most efficient way but I'm no sociopath, clearly not high-functioning, and it's fun :)
Grumpily, Sherlock had followed the other men outside, his mood only heightened by the fact that he'd found his beloved coat discarded in the main hall. Now outside, still shivering, but clad in their warmer gear again, the consulting detective, John, Lestrade and David stood and discussed how to proceed.
"Did you overhear them talking? Have they dropped a hint as to where they are heading?" Lestrade asked David as Sherlock wandered away from the group holding his phone in front of him, trying to get a signal.
"Well no," David answered the DI, "but I've got something even better." With that, the agent put a hand in the pocket of his trousers and withdrew it holding a device with a small screen. "I've placed a tracker on the younger guy's car." The agent smiled winningly.
Lestrade looked at him. "Really?" The words 'since when does the government train their war machines in thinking as well?' clearly showed on his expression but he didn't say them out loud. He just added, "great. Does this thing tell us where they are going then?"
The agent nodded and pushed a button on the black apparatus. A black and white map of Greater London appeared on the screen. A few moments later, a dot showed up, depicting the position of the tracker. John looked over the shoulders of the taller men and put in some effort not to look idiotic doing it. Sherlock was still pacing a few feet away from the group. He had finally managed to connect his phone to the Internet and was frantically searching for something, typing quickly. He started talking, "we wouldn't have needed the tracking device, it's quite clear where they are going now. John, Lestrade, didn't you listen to what Miller said, and then the thing with Sergej. It's obvious that-"
"They are heading back inside town." David interrupted the start of what was to become one of the more elegant amongst Sherlock's deductions. The dark haired man frowned and was about to chastise the other man for interrupting when he processed his words. He raised an eyebrow at the meaning and seemed a little surprised by it. "They're going into town again? But they shouldn't be!"
"Hm, well," Lestrade chimed in, "I better call the Yard. Get someone to pick us up and call for a team to be sent to wherever they are going." He grinned a little. "It seems we're wrapping this up pretty easily. I guess I'll have to thank you David. Sometimes, the fancy government technologies and gadgets are actually helping." David smiled broadly and Sherlock made a face. John could see his friend's brain working rapidly behind his eyes. Something was bothering him – apart from the presence of David.
_.:0:._
When Lestrade had called his colleagues several minutes passed without proper conversation. Every now and then David announced the current position of Phil's car and every time Sherlock's frown deepened. When the tall blonde man said, "they're crossing the Thames on Blackfriars bridge now," it was too much for the consulting detective.
"We cannot wait for your people to pick us up, Lestrade. John and I will go for a cab. Come on."
"Will we?" Only after he said this, John recognised that Sherlock was already running from the others in a direction - the doctor hoped - of a main street. He didn't really think it likely to get a cab around here. But John had stopped questioning why he was following his friend everywhere quite a while ago. So he ran as well. In the distance, he heard Lestrade scream, "but you don't know where they-"
"I do," Sherlock yelled back before turning a corner and escaping the other men's view.
After what seemed like ages, but was probably not more than five minutes, of running Sherlock suddenly came to a halt and raised an arm. John took another half a minute to catch up with him and when he arrived at his friend's side Sherlock was already holding the door of a cab open for him to jump in.
Breathing heavily, while Sherlock's respiration seemed only slightly elevated, John climbed in. "Sherlock, what… where?" The dark haired man ignored him and barked out a quick "St. Bart's hospital, quickly," to the cabbie. John raised an eyebrow in question at that.
"Sherlock-?"
"Just a minute, John." Sherlock pulled out his phone and pressed against the screen with more pressure than necessary. Only when he raised the phone to his ear did John understand that he was calling someone. Well, that's rare.
_.:0:._
Molly was still in a small room with Mike Stamford having just finished the tumutltuous story of this afternoon's happenings and their background when her phone rang.
"Sherlock! What happened? How's John? Where are-?"
"Is Mike still with you?"
"Err, yes, he is. How are-"
"Good. Take him with you. The two of you need to go to your office immediately and lock the door. Then you will look under your desk. You'll find a machete taped to it. Don't touch the blade – it's dowsed in Curare. Remove it and attack anyone who forces their way in."
"When did you store a –"
"No questions now. Did you understand everything?"
"Yes, but-"
"I'll get back to you."
Molly stared at her phone and turned to Mike. "Um… we need to go to my office. I'll tell you when we're there." She was worried. Sherlock's voice had sounded strange. He had been trying to talk calmly but she'd heard the effort this had taken.
_.:0:._
John's eyebrows had almost connected with his hairline when he'd overheard his friend's call. And it wasn't even the tropical weapon the detective had hidden in Molly's office that surprised him. After all, the doctor had once found a basket housing a poisonous snake under his bed. No, it was the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just acted out of worry for another person. It was rather unlikely that Phil, Miller and that weird other man would come back to Bart's just to gruesomely murder the small pathologist. Like Sherlock had told them, there was no use in trying to eliminate witnesses as the information had already spread amongst government forces. But, John mused, they might think they'd have a little more time if everyone knowing about their very violent tendencies from first hand experience wouldn't be able to warn the officials. And, so far, only a few people knew that they planned to get out of Britain. Now, John was also worried.
The cab ride was mostly silent. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone rang. He looked at the screen and when he saw the name of the caller he wordlessly handed it to the doctor. When he grabbed the phone, John saw that it was Lestrade and answered it.
"Greg."
"He knew they were going to Bart's, right?"
"Yes. Are you on your way yet? Are there some forces close enough that you could send. Molly is still there. She might be in danger and-"
"Calm down, John. David is just on the phone with the hospital security. When we saw that they were heading that way we immediately called. They stopped the car a street away though. It hasn't moved since. I called the Yard for CCTV coverage." John could faintly hear the sound of several voices and car doors being slammed shut. They were finally picked up. He looked over to Sherlock who had heard and nodded, barely relaxing.
John hung up shortly after and waited for Sherlock to say something but the consulting detective kept silent. A text message interrupted the staring battle that had transpired between the men.
CCTV in Bart's shows them in garage, then in morgue. Grabbed a bag and left again. Security too slow. No sign since. Trace lost after. Going there now. Where are you?- Greg
John scowled. "So they must have found the tracker and changed cars or something. Shit." When Sherlock had read the message, he turned to the cabbie and announced, "new plans. Heathrow please." Slowly, his usual smug expression was returning. Sherlock apparently felt that he was controlling the situation again. He typed in a quick text message before putting his phone away.
"What-?"
"I was wondering all along why they would head back into town. Missed something again. I should have noticed to bag when we were still in the morgue." He frowned at that. "I looked up some things when you were engaging in small talk with Lestrade and that other idiot in front of the slaughterhouse. There's only one way out of the country that matches with the vast amount of information Miller gave me."
"Vast amount?" John wondered if he had been unconscious for some time because he couldn't really recall the part where Miller had revealed a detailed summary of his travel plans to the consulting detective.
Sherlock grinned and John steeled himself for the deduction that was to come. "Sergej," the taller man started, almost as if that would explain something in itself. "As I'm sure you've noticed his name is very Eastern European. I assume he has been sent by Miller's confederates to ensure the smooth passage of the samples. Eastern Europe, however, is rather big. But Sergej has pretty bad teeth and I recognised a certain type of dental filling I had once seen on a corpse in a case involving the Russian mafia. These sorts of fillings were only common until 1985 in Russia, Poland, Slovakia, Ukraine, Moldova, and Romania. Further, their travel time cannot exceed roughly four to five hours, including the way to the airport and transportation in the country they're heading to. The samples will be destroyed if they are not cooled for longer than that. So, we can exclude every flight – which would have to be a direct one, of course - that would take longer than three hours. Thus, Russia, Moldova and Romania don't make it through to the next round." A little smirk crossed Sherlock's features there as he was obviously pleased with his reference to pop culture. "That leaves Poland, Slovakia and Ukraine. Miller wasn't only talking about any partners in another country; he implied that he was operating under the knowledge of - more likely directly for – the local government. This requires the government to have the funds to support him and also to not have too many moral concerns. Poland is too democratic and Slovakia too small and poor. Which leaves us with Ukraine. Flights to the East of the country would take too long, so somewhere near the Western border it is. The only direct flight from London to that area leaves from Heathrow in an hour and will land in the beautiful town of Lviv two hours and forty-six minutes later. Although I suspect they'll be a bit faster than that - favourable winds." With that, Sherlock elegantly extricated his phone from his coat and showed John the screen with the flight information.
"Um, yeah. That was pretty good!"
_.:0:._
Molly was standing in her office with Mike. After she had told him what Sherlock had said, neither of them hesitated and she had a pretty good idea why she was to hide here. They had somehow lost Phil and Piers Miller. Sherlock had reason to believe that they were coming back. She felt excited and her heart was beating fast but she found that she wasn't really scared.
She had found the machete under her desk and made a mental note to ask further about it at a more appropriate time. Neither of them dared to say something and when Molly's text alert beeped loudly, Mike jumped in an undignified manner.
No immediate danger. Lestrade will be with you shortly. Please reattach machete to underside of your desk, officials would not be overly enthusiastic about it. - SH
_.:0:._
When Sherlock and John were walking into the big building, the taller man immediately walked up to a man that obviously belonged to the security services of the airport and showed him something he'd retrieved from his coat pocket. When John had caught up with him he managed to overhear the last part of the short conversation.
"Oh, of course, Detective Inspector. Please, just follow me," the man in the dark jacket said. Then he turned to a wireless set and spoke again, "Oi, Jamie. Coming through to the other side of Gate 16 now. Police are here, some guys on the run."
John rolled his eyes and turned to his friend as they walked behind the security worker. He started silently, "so when is the real Detective Inspector turning up? I'm not comfortable with getting into an airport by pretending to be a member of the police force. We're a potential terror threat, Sherlock."
"Oh, don't be so overly dramatic."
"I'm not, I'm just not keen on getting arrested. So, did Lestrade already answer?"
"Answer what? Why do you think he is coming? I doubt that he deduced as much as I did."
"But, you sent him a text message earl-"
"No, I didn't."
"You didn't?... You didn't." John inhaled deeply to refrain from screaming at Sherlock right there. "Yeah, why would I even think that you would be so foolish as to count on help from the actual police? But who…?" Then he understood, "oh!"
"You wish to comment?" Sherlock's voice told him to do anything but comment.
Before John could comment nonetheless, they were entering the Gate area through a side door. Sherlock immediately scanned the room. The security guard was gone to talk to a woman behind a counter and John, also searching the room and awkwardly trying to blend in, whispered, "what are we going to do if they show up?"
"When they show up we will of course stop them from taking the plane and arrest them."
"But how?"
Wordlessly, Sherlock opened his coat and John saw a gun sticking out of his friend's jacket. A gun he'd never seen before.
"Sher… You've got to stop doing that. One day Lestrade will press charges."
"It isn't Lestrade's. It's David's. I took it off him when he was busy explaining to you how his tracking device worked. And seeing as he's brought it from Australia not entirely legally, he won't report it missing." Sherlock was obviously very pleased with himself and John decidedly didn't want to do him the favour and ask how he knew that. It wasn't the time anyway. Sherlock suddenly went still and subtly gestured in the direction of the glass windows. Piers Miller, Phil and Sergej were walking along a corridor, heading for the Gate. They hadn't seen the detective and the doctor yet and Sherlock quickly positioned himself behind a pillar nodding to John.
The doctor calmly went over to the security guard. Even though he and Sherlock hadn't arrived at an agreement of how to proceed, everything came naturally. John was almost in soldier-mode and movements followed automatically. Without being aware of it, he and Sherlock acted in synch from now on.