A/N: Well, your nice reviews have given me additional energy to keep going! Thanks for the support of this story! :-)

Apologies that it's running longer than I ever anticipated! This is not the final chapter...

The Adventure of the Swinging Snitch - 6

I said my goodbyes and followed Sherlock back up the cellar stairs and out of the house. Sherlock was striding quickly toward the street, I had to jog to keep up with him. Just as he reached the front shrubbery, he stopped and violently threw up into the bushes.

I stood by Sherlock while his body convulsed over and over again, ready to catch him if need be. When it was finally over he straightened up and took several gasping breaths.

"All done?"

He nodded.

"Do you need to sit down?"

He shook his head then said, "No, I want to get as far away from this place as possible before Anderson gets here." He glanced over at the house. "I hope no one saw that."

"I think they're busy. Here," I linked one of my arms through his, "let's go." I started walking toward the street. After a few steps he extricated himself from me.

"I'll be fine. I can walk," he said in a firm voice.

"OK, just take it easy."

"I'm not a child, John," he snapped.

"I know, I just don't want you going arse over tit!" I shot back.

We walked on in silence. I noticed that more and more police cars were headed to Dr. Trevelyan's house. We had left just in time, a few minutes more and Sherlock would have been heaving in front of a dozen police personnel.

I was burning with curiosity as to what on earth was wrong with Sherlock, but for some reason I was reluctant to just ask him. Maybe because he had put his remote, impassive face on and was acting so brusquely with me. I figured maybe it would be better to wait and ask him after we got home where he was more comfortable.

Sherlock hailed a cab and after we settled in I noticed he had closed his eyes and steepled his fingers under his chin in his typical posture of deep thought. That usually meant that conversation was out of the question.

After we arrived back in Baker street Sherlock immediately went to the bathroom where I heard running water and the sound of vigorous tooth-brushing. After a few minutes he re-emerged and grabbed his laptop.

"Hang on," I said, "I have to check you out."

"What?"

"I have to make sure you are alright."

"Of course I'm alright."

I looked at him incredulously. "You most certainly are not! People who heave their guts out are not alright."

"I just got a little queasy, that's all."

"So you won't mind if I just verify that you aren't sick?"

Sherlock's mouth tightened into a thin line. "This is completely unnecessary, but if you promise to leave me alone afterward, I will let you examine me."

I paused, then said, "Agreed. I'll just get my bag."

Before I had left the room he had already started tapping on his computer. When I got back he allowed me check his vitals, feel the glands along his neck, and check his throat for any sign of infection. All during the check, however, he never stopped working, or attempting to work anyway. I suppose it's a bit difficult to type on a keyboard while a tongue depressor is halfway down your throat.

"You seem fine," I finally said.

"I told you so. Now can I get back to work?"

"Sherlock, why..."

"You promised to leave me alone."

I sighed. Of course, he had me there. I did promise.

"Alright. So what do we do now?"

"Hopefully Lestrade will get back to me on Blessington's true identity. I'm convinced that he isn't who he pretended to be. In the meantime, I'm pursuing my own line of inquiry."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not at the moment. It might be hours before they get a positive ID on Blessington, and it might take me hours to find what I'm looking for. You may as well go into work."

I looked at him skeptically. Sherlock rolled his eyes at me and said, "I promise I won't try to apprehend the criminals if I do find out who they are. This is one case I'm happy to let the police handle, successfully or not. I just want to satisfy my own curiosity."

"OK, well I'm late, but I'm sure Sarah would prefer me to come rather than not. So I'll be going. I don't know how late I'll be, I might stay late to make up for coming in late. But promise me you'll call if anything happens?"

Sherlock nodded, not looking up from the laptop screen.

I went ahead and went to work. I spent the day wondering what was going on with the case, and why Sherlock had seemed to be so deeply affected by it. I didn't think the appearance of Blessington's body was that bad, especially for someone who routinely experimented with bodies the way Sherlock did. If anyone else threw up at the sight, I wouldn't be that surprised, but it seemed very odd for Sherlock to do it. Was it just because we had spoken to him a few hours before his death? Was Sherlock feeling guilt that he hadn't been able to save him? I supposed it could be possible, but that wasn't a satisfying explanation. Sherlock wasn't acting as if he felt any guilt. But then, what form would guilt take in a personality like Sherlock's? My mind continued worrying at the problem, turning around in useless circles. I need more data, I thought to myself, then smiled, recognizing one of Sherlock's common expressions. I shook my head and refocused my mind on my own work.

A few hours into my shift I got a text: Not enough info on internet - going to Yard - SH

I felt briefly annoyed, then realized I was being silly. Sherlock was certainly not going to be in danger at Scotland Yard. I didn't need to be there just because Sherlock was going through old case files looking for whatever it was that he was looking for.

A few hours after that I got another text: Blessington ID confirmed - suspicions correct - SH

I texted back: what now? JW

Nothing - they wont get caught - youre not needed - SH

I knew it was ridiculous to get hurt feelings over a text, but the bluntness still stung. I was looking at the words trying to think of a reply that wouldn't seem pathetic when another message came through:

I mean SY is handling it - we re out of it - SH

I couldn't help it, I smiled. And then a third message came through:

Will explain all when u get back -SH

I got back a few hours later than the end of my normal shift. Since the case had been apparently wrapped up, I figured I should make up for the time I had missed in the morning. I found Sherlock in his dressing gown laying across the couch. He didn't acknowledge my arrival. I sat down in my chair and waited. And waited.

"Well," I finally said, "I'm home. Please tell me what happened with the case."

Sherlock seemed to come back from far away. "Oh, right." He sounded bored. "It was pretty much as I thought. Blessington's real name was Charles Sutton. 'Sutton the Snitch' he was called during the court case. He worked for the Russian Mafia in this country, then turned witness against them. His testimony convicted four Russian mobsters who were imprisoned here for a while, then deported back to Russia." Sherlock smiled grimly. "It was felt by certain members of our government that they would probably suffer more for their crimes in their home country than they would here. So they were shipped back and thrown into prison in Russia."

Sherlock sat up and started going through a stack of papers on the coffee table. "Let's see, the four men convicted were Vyacheslav Ivankov, Viktor Averin, Tariel Oniani, and Sergei Mikhailov. Remember how Dr. Trevelyan said that Blessington got really upset awhile back? Look at this."

Sherlock handed me a piece of paper. It was a printout of a news story about a mass prison break in Russia. Apparently, a gang of mobsters broke into a prison, freeing a bunch of Russian Mafia figures. Sherlock had highlighted three of the names of the escaped prisoners.

"Ivankov, Averin, and Oniani. Where is the fourth?"

Sherlock handed me another piece of paper. "I had to fax the Russian prison from Scotland Yard today for this."

It was a piece of paper with Russian writing on it, but a translation was attached. It was part of the prison record of Sergei Mikhailov. The report was of his suicide, he hanged himself in his cell. I looked over at Sherlock, horrified.

Sherlock nodded. "Vengeance. They made sure Sutton came to the same end as Mikhailov did." Sherlock reclined back on the couch and closed his eyes.

"Is Lestrade tracking them?"

"He's trying. I doubt he'll be successful. I'm sure they have already left the country, and they will disappear into the Russian underworld."

I looked over at Sherlock laying on the couch. He had one hand over his eyes. I thought I could see it trembling slightly.

"Sherlock - "

"Leave me alone, John."

"But Sherlock - "

"Please."

I sighed and got up to make tea. After it was made I offered him a mug. He did not respond. In fact, he refused to speak the rest of the evening. I finally gave up and went to bed.

I vowed to try again in the morning.

(to be continued)