Changed the rating back to T. This is the chapter where everything begins. It may seem confusing but fear not – it will all be clear soon.
Warnings: Contains slash.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot.
Upstairs, John got dressed too quickly. His clothes from the previous day were dumped into the washing hamper and that was filling up fast; another thing to add to the to-do list. Sighing, he felt around his wardrobe drawers and pulled out the first thing his hand came into contact with. It was just a plain white t-shirt and a checkered shirt. He pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans and shoes and headed back downstairs where Sherlock was already donning his coat and scarf.
"Did you feed the cats?" John asked, grabbing his keys. Bitsy seemed to be quite content as she pounced after Tobias's tail.
"Yes, John. Tobias seems to be warming up to Bitsy." As he said that, the tomcat swatted at Bitsy's nose with one tabby paw. John smiled over at the two cats briefly and ushered his lover out the door.
Sherlock hailed them both a cab and gave the cabbie a quick "Scotland Yard" as he settled back into his seat. The possibilities flew a mile a minute around John's brain – was it a present from one of Sherlock's previous clients who didn't know where he lived? Was it from an admirer, a different country, a… a threatening letter? He shook his head of that thought and tried to clear his mind as they reached Scotland Yard. It had started to rain heavily during the ride and now John was cursing himself for not bringing a thicker jacket.
Sherlock left John to pay the cabby, sweeping out into the rain as soon as the car had come to a
full stop. He barely twitched his coat free of the cab's door before it slammed shut behind him. He disappeared into the building in the matter of a moment, stripping off his scarf as soon as he came through the doors. "Lestrade! Where's this package you texted me about?"
John threw the cabbie a fiver and stepped out after Sherlock and into the station. He noticed Sherlock taking off his scarf and burned red, but he quickly shook that off and looked at Lestrade. His arms folded across his chest and he looked around for any sort of suspicious looking package.
There was a small box sitting on the corner of Lestrade's desk, and the detective nodded to it.
"That. Showed up first thing this morning with the rest of the mail." Sherlock glanced at Lestrade before picking the box up and turning it this way and that. Something inside rolled across the bottom as the box was rotated, and Sherlock set it down quite quickly.
"You checked it for any booby traps already, I assume?" He was answered with a short nod from the DI. John peered down at the box with a squint. The feeling of something being out of place had still not left him and now that he saw it right in front of him, his fears were heightened.
"The writing looks familiar." John noted, taking in the 'rounded' off handwritten name.
"Of course it does, John." Sherlock had borrowed a letter opener from Lestrade's desk and was working it under the taped-down label. The tape finally came free; Sherlock tossed the letter opener into the mess on the DI's desk, and pulled the flaps of the box back. A brief flash of puzzlement crossed his face when he noticed what was inside. After a moment, he muttered a single word: "Moriarty."
"Moriarty?" John's voice changed, growing dark. "I bloody knew it! What is it, Sherlock?" He glanced around, expecting the psycho to jump out at any point. He felt sick but took a breath and stepped up beside Sherlock, a look of confusion crossing his features at that point. The box contained three things: A small red lighter emblazoned with a golden 'M' in fanciful script, a miniature tape recorder, and a photo of John and Sherlock at their last crime scene. At least, Sherlock had to assume it was John; where his head would have been was a charred hole in the photograph.
"I'd have you dust for prints, Lestrade, but he's smarter than that."
"...There would be no need for that." John cut in before Lestrade could comment.
"It's obviously Moriarty. Who else would send something so strange and with an 'M' on it? And we already know he dislikes me." His eyes narrowed a bit and he swallowed. "Sherlock, what does this mean?"
Lestrade remained silent, looking between the suspicious items and the two men. He looked tired and the situation of Moriarty didn't seem to be helping. Also, the DI could swear there was something on Sherlock's neck…
"He said he'd burn the heart out of me if I didn't stop what I was doing." Sherlock said softly. His eyes flicked to John, however briefly, before returning to the contents of the box.
"It seems that he means to make good on his promise."
John banged his fist on the table and cursed. He stood up straight then, took a second to compose himself and looked to Sherlock. "Sorry." he apologised and looked back at the strange package.
"He won't burn the heart out of anybody. Not while I'm around." The doctor shook his head.
"I don't intend to stop, John. I refuse to let him think he's won... Yes, Lestrade, it's a love bite! Now would you PLEASE stop staring at my neck?" Sherlock's cheeks flushed slightly pink as he said it, but Lestrade's attention was sufficiently distracted from the red mark peeking out of the collar of his shirt.
"Mycroft already knows of this, I'm sure. He'll have someone watching you constantly, John, to make sure you aren't snatched off the street going to the shops for milk or something."
Sherlock's outburst made John blush a little and he coughed, looking away briefly. "Remind me to be nicer to your brother." John said dryly after a moment and rubbed his palms together. "And what about you? That psycho may be obsessed with you but that doesn't mean he wouldn't try anything shady." The look he gave Sherlock screamed 'I wouldn't live with myself if he did'.
Lestrade walked over to the two of them, avoiding Sherlock's eye (and neck) and cleared his throat. "So, what's the plan?"
"Carry on as though nothing's changed." Sherlock plucked the lighter out of the box and pocketed it. "John and I are going to Bart's for the afternoon. As the saying goes, there's more than one way to skin a cat, and wouldn't it be wonderfully ironic if we tracked Moriarty down through the lighter he gave us? Come along, John." Sherlock collected his scarf and swept out with his usual drama.
"We'll keep you updated." John nodded to Lestrade and followed Sherlock. In his mind, he cursed himself for not killing Moriarty at the pool. It might not have been possible, but he still should have tried. They reached St. Bart's labs eventually. "You think Moriarty left clues in there?"
"No, but it may be possible to track him down through the type of lighter. It's clearly expensive. He's not out buying those cheap plastic disposables to send death threats." Sherlock hung his coat and scarf on a peg along with John's and actually smiled at Molly. The lab tech seemed a little stunned at the smile. "Hello, Molly. Lovely day, don't you think?"
John tried his best not to roll his eyes. He would give Molly the wrong message if he wasn't careful. Making his way over to the table, he picked up the lighter gingerly and tilted it upside-down. "Well, it doesn't say where it's made. Not on the bottom anyway. What type of metal is the clicker?" He put it back down and looked at Sherlock.
"An expensive lighter wouldn't be made out of cheap metal."
Sherlock had sent Molly off for coffee by the time he came over to John's table.
"Oh, it's not the lighter I'm interested in so much as the contents." Flipping back the cap of it, Sherlock gingerly pulled the guts out of the lighter and handed the shell back to John. "Look inside for a stamp of any sort. They wouldn't put it on the outside where it would mar the finish or wear off." There was a short pause, and puzzlement crossed Sherlock's face again. "Empty... Why would he send an empty lighter in the post?"
"To put us off? Maybe he used it all to burn me out of the picture." John's sighed and checked the inside for any significant logo or anything. He snorted then and had to do a double check. "Believe it or not, it's a DuPont! It's not in the usual DuPont shell, though." He made a thoughtful noise and handed the lighter back to Sherlock.
"He means for me to fill the lighter myself," The detective muttered, taking the shell back from John and stuffing the workings back into it.
"Something that I do is going to trigger a chain reaction that's going to lead to something happening to you - something to put you in hospital or… leave you dead." His silver eyes flicked up as Molly came back in with his coffee and he gave her another crooked smile. Had anyone cared to notice, they would have seen that Sherlock was holding his head just so at the perfect angle to show off the red mark on his neck.
John cursed quietly. He took into consideration this and replied. "And if you don't, something else would probably happen." He looked at Molly as her face dropped a bit. She cleared her throat and made herself look busy as John took Sherlock further away to speak to him in a hushed voice.
"Sherlock, if it comes down to it... If your life depends on it, I want you to risk mine."
He looked into Sherlock's silver eyes and gave him a serious look. "What's worse - both of us severely injured or dead or just one of us?" They were harsh words but they had to be spoken.
Sherlock didn't say a word. He was staring down at his fingers as he thought that over.
"I hope it won't come down to that," he said finally, not looking at Molly or John. "Molly, I told DI Lestrade that I'd be here most of the afternoon. Be a dear and tell him I've gone home if he calls? Thank you." He collected the lighter and his coat and scarf before sweeping out, looking distinctly troubled.
"O-okay. Your coffee- Oh, never mind then." Molly blushed and took the coffee away, smiling at John. The poor girl was just so unobservant.
"Where are you going? Sherlock!" John followed his lover, grabbing his arm and making him stop. "Can I come?" His face was concerned but he wanted in. No way were Sherlock and John going to be separated for long after what just happened.
"I'm going to walk back to the flat. If you go in that direction," one hand pointed down the main street, "Mycroft will have a car meet you within five minutes and take you home. I need some time to clear my head, John. Please don't worry." He touched his lover's cheek lightly before striding off, his hands deep in his pockets and his coat flaring slightly behind him.
John opened his mouth to protest but the touch to his cheek calmed him down somewhat. "Okay... I love you." He said, though Sherlock was probably too far gone to hear it. He took a breath and gave Sherlock one last look before turning on his heels and headed the other direction. Sure enough, a black car pulled up about five minutes later.
Mycroft Holmes was actually kind enough to lean over and open the door for John. "Get in, Doctor Watson. Let's have you home before everyone's favourite psychopath snatches you off the street." Leaving the door open, he leaned back in his seat, his usual umbrella propped on the car's floor between his feet. John nodded, glancing around once before sitting beside Mycroft. He didn't quite meet his eyes, but the doctor did say thank you.
"Look, do you know anything more about this case?" His hands twisted together as the car pulled off. Mycroft had that man-in-power aura about him and it was almost proctective.
"Only that there was a rather threatening package left for my brother at Scotland Yard. A threat upon your person, actually, given his general upset and your anxiety about all this." The car pulled smoothly away from the curb as Mycroft spoke. "It's a wonder Sherlock's even letting me get my hand in this one."
"You're his brother." John replied with a little shrug. "Where did you say we were going? I don't want to be apart from Sherlock too long. Not after this." John looked at Mycroft and then out the window, watching as London zoomed by. "You won't let anything happen to him will you?"
"I'm taking you back to your flat, Doctor Watson. Where you'll be at least reasonably safe." Mycroft glanced out the window, presumably to check where they were at the moment. "I'll do everything in my not inconsiderable power to keep the two of you safe."
John was grateful that Sherlock had a brother like Mycroft. Sure, they may not be close brothers, but Mycroft cared. As the car pulled up outside 221B, John stepped out.
"Thank you, Mycroft. Really."
"Not a problem, Doctor Watson-"
"Please, call me John." The doctor managed to smile at the elder Holmes brother. The other nodded once and closed the door, only to have the tinted window roll down right after.
"Have a good day, John." With that, the sleek black car pulled away and drove off. John could only watch as it turned a corner and he walked up to his front door. Mrs. Hudson was in the hallway watering her indoor plants. John nodded to her and proceeded up the seventeen steps two at a time.
This chapter is exactly how the roleplay went. I'm happy to have got this much correct.
How about this, a free hug if you review? Nah, I kid. But I do like reviews and story alerts, so bring 'em on.