A/N: Jesus, I'm so sorry these are taking so long. I might have to split this final chapter up into several parts. Otherwise it would just be waay too long. Thank you for sticking with it!
Everybody froze and Sherlock peered around the door, his body relaxing almost instantly as he spotted Becker crouched over Alex, with the taller mans arm twisted behind his back. They were both grinning. Both of their weapons were on the desk and both weren't wearing shoes. They were both panting too.
Sherlock almost slapped a hand to his face (Another habit of Johns, especially around Sherlock.) clearly nobody was in danger here. He turned to John and pressed on his arm and the doctor lowered his weapon.
"Is that a browning?" Alex effortlessly threw Beckers hold off and got to his feet.
John raised his eyebrows. "Uh...yes. Yes it is." Suddenly Alex, Becker and John were grouped around the desk comparing their guns and joking and laughing and Sherlock glared at the back of his fiancés head. He seemed so relaxed, so at ease and when he clapped a hand to Beckers shoulder Sherlock all but growled, throwing himself onto his sofa with a soft thump. He lay there breathing against the cold fabric for almost five minutes as his heart rate went back to normal before he heard the kitchen doors slid open and a fourth voice sounded.
"Hey, what's going on?"
Alex spoke next, his voice full of excitement. "Scott! Come here, I want you to hold these weapons."
"I hope to god that's not a euphemism."
Sherlock growled. He was left out again. Suddenly he just wanted everyone out of the flat, right now. "Hey what's wrong with him?" Becker was speaking in a hushed tone but Sherlock still heard him. He clenched his fists against his thighs.
"It's...it's nothing." John was probably making faces at Becker, trying to keep some semblance of professionalism in front of the Americans whilst still letting the commander know that it was just Sherlock being Sherlock or something. He growled again and almost rolled over to voice his disapproval but the move was aborted when his phone began to ring in his pocket.
He ignored it.
Johns phone started ringing instantly afterwards and then Beckers joined in the chorus. Becker answered. "Commander Becker." There was a pause and Sherlock could feel eyes on his back. "Yes sir." Another long pause. "Yes sir." He hung up and Sherlock knew that it had been Mycroft on the phone. "I'm sorry guys but can I offer you a lift back to your hotel?" There was pause and Sherlock felt John slide onto the sofa at his feet, his weight pressing against the back of his knees, warmth slowly seeping through.
"Oh... Yeah sure. We are staying at the Americana? You can contact us about the case at uh...this number." There were the scratchy sounds of Becker writing the number down and then he addressed the detective and the doctor.
"Don't go anywhere."
Sherlock could feel John nodding and licked his lips, waiting for the men to collect their guns and put their shoes on it was all taking too long and he was glad for John's presence because it meant he couldn't just flip over and start shouting so instead he focussed on his own pale reflection in the shiny fabric. Finally, finally, the echoes of scraping of boots and the soft goodbyes were all that were left of the other men and for a long time John and Sherlock just sat in silence.
His clothes were beginning to smell, now he had nothing else to focus on he could almost taste the sweat and rain in his clothes and he screwed up his nose. John sighed and got up and Sherlock rolled onto his back glaring up at the ceiling as he forced himself to stop paying attention to his own smell and instead pay attention to the doctor who was tidying up, moving the massive tea tray to the kitchen sighing and muttering under his breath. Sherlock stayed exactly where he was.
He tried occupying his mind with his new case but it was a pitiful effort. After all simply finding someone, especially a criminal as uncouth and downright stupid as this was child's play. And yet... he couldn't bring himself to put much thought into it, he couldn't bring himself to feel excited about this case. He scowled and rolled over again so he was fully facing the flat, watching Johns hips sway slightly side to side as he wiped the kitchen units and put away pots.
John seemed to be trying so very hard to appear unaffected by the recent events.
Sherlocks eyes drifted to the chair that Moran had been tied to. Was it possible that John really wasn't as worried as Sherlock was? He thought about it for a moment, John still didn't know about the Moriarty moment or about Sherlock seeing (What maybe, possibly, could-have-been) Bossley or the panic that had developed in his chest and settled to a feeling of unease and anger. For all John knew they had a new case, Bossley was gone for the time being, they had both survived Moriartys visit fully intact and Sherlock was simply in one of his 'moods' and so things were looking up. It was safe to assume John was not as angry or unsure as the detective.
The bastard.
It was supposed to be Sherlocks job to feel better about things, John was the one who was supposed to worry, John was the one who was supposed to think about things like this. At once he hated the doctor and shot him a furious look as he returned to the room, receiving a confused glance and almost disappointed sigh in return.
"Becker will be back soon."
Sherlock didn't say anything.
"That was Mycroft on the phone wasn't it?"
Again, nothing.
"Dammit Sherlock, please just tell me what is wrong. It's just I'd rather not spend the next few hours of my life having to deal with you shooting me death glares whilst being grilled by your brother. We are supposed to be a team now."
Sherlock looked away from him. How did he even begin to explain? Johns sighed again and walked up to him, crouching on his heels so his face was almost level with Sherlock, eyes searching his face.
"Sherlock."
He looked. "I think I need to see Barrows."
Johns eyebrows rose a fraction but other than that he hid his surprise well instead replacing it with a encouraging smile. "I will make you an appointment asap."
Sherlock nodded and John sighed reaching out to run his fingers through Sherlocks hair, he screwed up his nose and tilted his head at the detective. "You need a shower. Go."
Sherlock didn't move and John tugged lightly on his hair, smiling softly. "Sherlock go for a shower."
The detective frowned and reached up grabbing the back of Johns head as leverage as he pressed an angry kiss to his lover's lips. John didn't push him back and when Sherlock pulled away he simply raised an eyebrow, got to his feet and pointed out of the door. He didn't want to move. Hopefully that had been distracting enough.
"Now."
Oh it was the voice again. Sherlock got up.
By the time he got back downstairs Mycroft was already there. He was lounging on the sofa sipping from the edge of a mug as though he was being forced to take poison. Ah yes, Mycroft would probably never get used to Johns tea. Sherlock smirked but quickly wiped the expression off his face as he swept into the room, grabbing John's laptop from the desk and flopping into his chair. He made a point of appearing not to even notice his brother's presence and didn't react when he heard John's irritated sigh. He replied to a few of the mountain of emails in his inbox, making sure to keep his eyes focussed on the screen as he listened to John and Mycroft talking.
"So I hear you have a new case?"
"Yes we do. A missing person."
"Missing person?"
John was obviously trying to play it off as less...dangerous than it was. Sherlock began pounding the laptop keys a bit harder than he needed too, why was it that everyone around him felt the need to downplay the danger that was his life. It wasn't going to change things and he didn't want anything to change. Mycroft looked over and narrowed his eyes but Sherlock simply feigned ignorance of this pointed move.
His brother sniffed and took another loud sip of tea. "I was also wondering if you had decided on a date?"
John frowned and moved from the kitchen doorway to sit in his chair. Sherlock instantly stretched his legs out from where his feet had been tucked underneath himself to rest on either side of the doctors legs, pressing back on the edges of John's chair. The doctor adjusted his position to make both of them more comfortable without looking up from his drink.
"No, not yet."
He looked up and Sherlock let his eyes flicker up over the edge of the screen to look at his fiancé for a moment. John looked almost sad. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and the doctor tilted his head a little to the left. The detective didn't understand what that expression meant. He looked back down to the screen and began typing again, keeping his eyes on the words but entirely absorbed on what that look could mean.
Perhaps John wasn't sure about setting a date? Did he not want this anymore?
Sherlock looked up again and John had started talking but Sherlock was too busy trying to decipher his micro-expressions that he couldn't hear the words. John placed his mug down on the side table and instead of using his free hand to gesture as he spoke (As he so often did.) he let it drop to Sherlocks ankle, resting on top at first before slowly letting his finger stretch up under the bottom cuff to fiddle with the string that had unwoven from Sherlocks sock.
The detective almost smiled, it was such a simple thing and yet the churning in his stomach seemed to melt into a warm sensation that tugged at the corners of his lips and made him miss a beat in his typing.
"What about Fulbright?"
Mycroft had been mid sentence when the detective interrupted. He shut his mouth at once at his brother's vocalisation.
"What? What's Fulbright?" Johns hand tensed on Sherlocks ankle and the detective let the laptop screen fall shut with a snap. He smiled at John and the doctor smiled back although there was a hint of unease in his eyes. Mycroft smacked his lips and Sherlock looked to him crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"Sherlock, you cannot-"
"Why not?"
Mycrofts eyes narrowed a little but he carried on talking. "Mummy would never allow it."
"I don't care what mummy would or would not allow. It is my wedding; I should be allowed to have it whenever I want."
John's mouth was hanging open and he shook his fiancés ankle to get his attention. "Uh still not understanding here?"
It was Mycroft who answered him. "Fulbright Holmes was Mummy's mother's father and on the anniversary of his death the family sits down to a meal to discuss how well everyone is doing. It is a tradition-"
Sherlock interrupted his brother again. "You mean failures."
"Oh come now Sherlock are you still bitter about that? Is this the reason you are always so conveniently tied up elsewhere every year?"
John was rubbing circles over Sherlocks ankle in a very distracting manner. He twitched internally at the mention of that dinner, despite his usual unaffected manner he was still a proud man and the events of his last Fulbright dinner still stung deep in his chest.
"Sherlock, a word..."
John was suddenly up on his feet and a little pink in the cheeks and when Sherlock didn't get up the doctor reached out and tugged on the fabric of his shirt. He then turned and stamped out to the stairs leaving Sherlock alone with his brother. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and waved a hand in a sweeping motion as if granting Sherlock permission to follow. The detective scowled at his brothers' smirk but followed his fiancé none the less.
John looked tired, his hair was rumpled and when Sherlock shut the door to the flat behind him the doctor dropped a hand from where it had been rubbing his temple to his waist. Sherlock waited.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to comment but the doctor slapped a hand over his mouth shaking his head. "Don't answer that. Jesus this is our engagement all over again."
Sherlock thought back to his 'asking' John to marry him. He didn't understand what John meant, this was completely different.
"You don't get to decide what day we get married. We get to decide, together, as a partnership. That is the whole point Sherlock, it's not your day it's our day, our wedding and I think I should have some say in when it happens."
He paused for second and removed his hand but again when Sherlock went to comment the doctor raised a hand to stop him.
"Not to mention that we aren't exactly in the perfect position get married right now. We still have a homicidal maniac chasing us, you are still having those nightmares and we are both still recovering from Moriartys little visit. The day is supposed to be one of the best of my life and I don't want it to be spent looking over my shoulder, which I guess with you...I always will be..."
John huffed out a tense breath and flung his hands out. He seemed to stare into the distance as though deep in thought for a couple of seconds before he looked up to see Sherlock staring at him.
Oh, oh so John was having second thoughts.
Something painful and prickly had developed in Sherlocks throat and every time he swallowed it just drove it deeper and deeper into his chest. He felt hopeless and was struck by the image of Moran, needling in his chair searching for Moriartys comfort. He imagined that this was probably what it felt to be that helpless and he just stood there, blinking and trying not to show how disappointed he felt.
Johns face suddenly came back into focus and Sherlock searched it desperately looking for some indication of what he was supposed to do next. John looked confused. "Sherlock? Hey, what's wrong? You're not going to pass out are you?"
The doctor reached out to touch his arm but the detective flinched away. Johns eyes widened and he reached out again this time grabbing his fiancés arm and holding firm, tugging Sherlock closer to him his other hand coming up to cup Sherlocks cheek.
"Hey hey, what's going on? What's the matter?"
Sherlock couldn't look him in the eye so he stared at the concerned little downturn of his fiancés mouth. It was probably best to make this easier for John. He tried to keep his voice low, reasonable. "I am sure Mycroft will allow me to use his London house for a short while. Moving my things out will take a bit longer of course but-"
"Woah woah woah, what are you talking about?"
"You don't want to marry me."
"What? No, Sherlock, I'm pretty sure I do."
"You just said it, you don't want to get married whilst looking over your shoulder and if you stay with that is all you are ever going to do."
Johns eyes widened and he pulled at Sherlocks shirt, trying to get the detective to make eye contact. When they finally did he was attempting a cold indifferent gaze, but he wasn't sure if it came out that way.
"Sherlock listen to me, what I want...all I want is to marry you. It's all I've wanted since I met you."
Sherlock couldn't stop the doubt from making his eyelashes flutter or his eyebrows twitch and John grabbed his neck stroking a thumb over his cheek. "I mean it. I love you."
"I love you too." His voice was a mumble but it still managed to make John smile and he smiled too as the doctor pulled him into a tight hug. John's arms were tight around his shoulders and Sherlock let his own hand slip down to hold the shorter mans waist. He could feel John's heartbeat through his shirt and when John took a deep breath Sherlock pulled him in tighter to accommodate. The doctor's breath ghosted over Sherlock bare neck and he shivered burying his face in the warmth and strength of John's shoulders.
When he pulled back John was looking thoughtful.
"When exactly is Fulbright's day?"
"August 10th."
John breathed out of his nose and his hand stroked Sherlocks lower back where his arms were still wrapped around his lover. "I tell you what. We can set that as a very very tentative date and see how things go." Sherlock was smiling properly now because despite his fears over Moriarty and the Bossley problem and his nightmares John did want to marry him. "Agreed?"
The doctor was smiling back up at him, wide and soft and Sherlock finally knew just what to do.
"Agreed."
John nodded and pecked him once again on the lips before walking around him and back into the living room. Mycroft was texting when they entered and waited for his brother to sit back down before he slid the phone into his breast pocket and spoke again. "Enquiring about setting the date was not the only reason I came here. Sherlock, as you know Mummy is in London and she wished for me to pass along a message..."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Mycroft was looking at him with the same steady gaze he always used when he was about to tell his younger brother something that he knew would upset him. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin.
"Mummy would like to meet Mr. and Mrs. Watson. She has suggested her standing dinner at Giordi's next Thursday as a possible timing." There was beat of silence before everyone started talking at once.
"This is very important to her and-"
"That is not going to hap-"
"You're springing this on us now?"
John's voice was the loudest and both Sherlock and Mycroft looked to him. The doctor had two high spots of pink on his cheeks and his hands were clenched at his sides. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before crossing his arms and staring Mycroft down.
"What is it with you people! You seem to think you can just go around telling everyone what to do and they have to do it. You are not in charge of everything!" John was already yelling and flailing his arms around as his voice got louder and louder until he was interrupted by Sherlocks phone going off on the coffee table. Sherlock picked it up whilst hiding the smirk he had gotten seeing Mycrofts poorly hidden shock at being shouted at like that.
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Sherlock? There's been a murder, I need you."
Sherlocks smirk grew even larger and he relaxed his shoulder turning to make a face at John. Yes, Lestrade needed him, because he was out of his depth. (Not to mention of course that this got him out of having to argue with Mycroft over the dinner plans.)The doctor raised his eyebrows and the anger seemed to melt off of his face turning to confusion as Sherlock grinned wickedly back at him.
"A murder?" Sherlock let his voice drop to a low murmur and heard Lestrade sigh, frustrated, on the other end of the phone.
John closed his eyes and nodded to indicate he understood who was on the phone and what they wanted. Sherlocks grin grew a little bit larger.
"Yeah, I'm at the morgue I need you to-" The sound of doors slamming open in the background and then two familiar voices. Sherlock sniffed, these Americans were quick on the draw. He waited patiently for almost a minute as the muffled voices on the other end argued, strained politeness still managing to filter through. Finally he got bored of waiting and prompted the DI.
"Lestrade?"
"Oh yeah, sorry two detectives just came in and started trying to muscle me out of my own case-". He sounded angry and Sherlock could here Alex pipe up in the background that it was his case. He almost laughed.
"Tell the detectives that you are working with me on this. I am sure they will be happy to help you then."
"What? Are you kidding me?"
"Tell them Sherlock Holmes sent you." He dialled up the insistence in his voice until he was basically ordering the DI to do as he said. (A warm smug feeling was developing in his chest and the urge to play up to it was strong.)
Lestrade scoffed and Sherlock waited as he reluctantly repeated what the detective had told him. There was a long silence and then Lestrade spoke again. "Okay. What is going on?"
"We will be there in ten minutes." He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket.
"Not we Sherlock."
Oh, right. His heart sank at the idea of John not being there to admire him. "You're not coming?"
John licked his lips; he looked genuinely apologetic so the detective decided to make no further argument about it. (After all he was supposed to be working on not telling John what to do.)
"No."
Sherlock frowned and this time Mycrofts phone beeped and as he slipped it from his pocket to read the message Sherlock turned fully to look at his fiancé. "Where are you going?"
John sighed, and scrubbed at his hair with one hand, screwing his face up. "I think I will go to Harrys for a while..."
"Harrys?"
"Yeah, you remember? My sister?"
"I remember who she is John. I just don't understand why you would want to visit family voluntarily."
John actually laughed and Sherlock let a small smile twitch at his lips as Mycroft gave him a withering glare before addressing John directly. "Please inform me if your parents will be able to attend the dinner John. As I said before, it is very important to Mummy that she meets them."
John crossed his arms and nodded. "They won't want to come."
"Well regardless, just let me know."
The doctor nodded again and Mycroft swept around him and down the stairs, leaving the two men alone. Sherlock walked over to the table and grabbed his coat, slipping it on and fiddling with his cuffs. John walked up behind him and tugged on the sleeves, putting everything right with one simple gesture. Sherlock smiled and John patted him on the arm, squeezing his wrist for a second before letting go. "Don't do anything stupid whilst I'm gone."
"Honestly John, I managed to live perfectly fine on my own before you came along."
"Seriously? If by perfectly fine you mean becoming malnourished and not sleeping for days. Or showering for that matter."
Sherlock waved a hand dismissing his fiancés argument. "Don't wait up."
When he arrived outside Bart's he was greeted by Becker on the pavement, waving his arms enthusiastically and grinning.
"Commander."
"Sherlock."
He gestured for Becker to lead and they walked together in silence to the mortuary. Molly was talking very quickly and gesturing a lot. Alex and Scott were listening intently and barely acknowledged the detectives arrival. Lestrade however raised a hand and jogged the short distance over to him, bobbing his head in the direction of the Americans, his voice barely over a whisper. "So, clients of yours?"
"Yes actually. They are here looking for a fugitive who it appears has been keeping reasonably busy."
Lestrade slapped a hand to his face, the other clenching at his hip. His tone was less light now and much much more long suffering. "You didn't think to maybe pick up the phone, call me? I mean no of course not it's only a psychopathic murderer, why should I call the police!"
Sherlock just smirked and reached around the DI to grab some gloves from the box, he snapped the latex on and made his way over to the body. She was female, mid twenties and with dyed blonde hair and very pale blue eyes. She had bruising on her lip and a dark red almost purple coloured smudge going up towards her left ear. Clearly she had been hit very hard in the face. He carefully documented her injuries, lifting her hands to see she had no defensive wounds. The punch must have knocked her out. He moved around to her feet and the slight swelling there. He gently pulled her ankle and peered under at the back of her calf. Yes, there it was. The brand. The murderer's signature.
He took one last cursory glance and stood up fully, snapping the gloves off as he spun around finding himself almost chest to chest with Molly. "Well?"
She blinked at him, almost frightened. He had to improvise since he didn't have John to confirm his cause of death. Unfortunately their position seemed to be having a disastrous effect on the woman. "S-She uh-"
"Molly." Sherlock lowered his voice a little and titled his head and she blinked furiously smiling at the slightly pleading tone he used. "Thoughts?"
Surprisingly it worked and she lifted her chin, striding away from the detective and to the body with a small smirk. "We-well I can't be sure but...I think this was a surprise attack, he punched her in the jaw knocking her out making it easier to transport her to the hotel room where he raped, beat, branded and then suffocated her."
"With?"
"With some sort of red silk fabric judging from the fibres collected from her throat."
Sherlock smiled and nodded at her and Molly grinned too, pulling at her hair. "I need you to take a closer look at those fibres and I need to see the hotel room."
Lestrade sniffed and put both hands on his hips. "I will take you."
"What car are you driving?"
The DI's shoulders sank and he looked down. "A cruiser."
"Right well, then Becker and I will take a cab. I am sure my clients would be most grateful if you offered them a lift. All right? Excellent." He smiled at the Americans and swept from the room, waiting for Commander Becker to catch up to him outside. He hailed a cab and as it pulled up Becker took charge.
Sherlock slipped into the backseat and froze. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he automatically looked to the nearest CCTV camera, high on a ledge across the road. It was pointing away. He frowned, perhaps it was nothing.
In the car on the way to the crime scene Sherlock flipped through the messages on his phone ignoring the irritating sense in the back of his mind that something was definitely wrong. He sat up a little more in his seat and as they pulled up to the light he glared out of the window as though he would suddenly spot someone watching him.
Becker was chatting away into his phone and when he snapped it closed he looked across to the detective, staring at him as though deep in thought. Sherlock carried on searching the faces of the people in the cars around them, trying in vain to ignore the commander eyes boring into the back of his head. Finally, he snapped. "What?"
Becker sniffed and squinted at him. "Are you okay?"
"What? Yes, of course I am, why?"
"Well, it's just...you keep jumping at loud noises, putting yourself in corners...you know... "
"What? No I don't."
"Yes you do, you've been doing it for days. I am just saying, as a friend, that maybe you are more affected by what happened at the flat than you thought? I mean I see it all the time in my men, they think they are fine and then one day...one day they-"
"I do not have PTSD Commander. I am fine."
He wasn't fine, had he really been doing those things? Was that why John had seemed so unsure with him? Why Mycroft had come to see him personally instead of calling? Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the back of the cabbies head. How bad has his psyche gotten that he hadn't even noticed himself doing these things and yet the commander had.
He jumped when Beckers hand patted him gently on the arm and ignored the concerned glance this earned him, wrenching his door open to leap out before he had to endure it any longer. He made his way into the hotel (Four stars, rather more upmarket than expected. Therefore he probably used the room here for a while before bringing his victim here. Why spend so much only to use it to dump a body.) heading straight for the stairs, Beckers heavy footsteps fading away as he sprinted up to the third floor. Police were swarming the hallway and Sherlock made a point of ignoring them all, sweeping down and turning into the room.
He was stopped by a strong arm and Sally Donovan's furious face. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To my crime scene."
"Your crime scene? Don't make me laugh...unless...you don't-" Suddenly her smirk dropped and her eyes grew wide and she stared up at him.
How ridiculous. "Honestly Sally, I would've expected you to give me more credit than that. Turning up to the site of my own murder? Really? No, my latest clients have been tracking the killer for a while and I am now officially on the case. So if you don't mind..."
She didn't move. Rolling her eyes with a slight blush on her cheeks the detective pointed at him, moving her other hand up to point rudely in his face. "You are not going in! You could be lying!"
He was already tired of this conversation and decided to antagonise her a little more. "About what? That I'm on the case or that I didn't murder this woman." He made sure to let his voice drop and octave, eyes boring steadily into Donavan's eyes and again she went pale. Sherlock almost laughed at how easy to scare she was but then Becker turned up with Lestrade and the two American detectives in tow, breaking the tension he had crafted.
"Sally! Let him in for god's sake." Ah, the eternal fathering tone Lestrade used was usually very effective except Sally didn't move. She glanced quickly away from Sherlocks gaze to Lestrades slightly angry expression and back.
She removed her arm.
He grinned and danced around her and into the room immediately gravitating to the unmade bed and ignoring the crime scene team who stared at him as he threw himself around to the window. He looked out to see the park across the road and sniffed, exactly as he expected. Then back to the bed, he could see where the body had lain and the plain white sheets were crumpled and bunched up from the struggle. Sherlock frowned and dropped down to look under the bed, flying around the room opening closets and tearing open the shower curtain and yet he didn't find it.
"Is this exactly as you found it? The room hadn't been cleaned?"
Lestrade piped up. "No, there was a do not disturb sign left on the door."
"Then how was the body discovered?"
"An anonymous tip from the payphone outside."
Sherlock flipped his phone out and ignored Lestrade as he discussed theories with Alex and Scott. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. "How may I help you?" It was Mycrofts assistant. She was probably already aware of who was calling. "I need to see some CCTV footage."
"Of course. A car will be sent to your location, how many passengers are you expecting?"
Sherlock frowned and glanced around the various men. Well it would make it easier to have them all there. "Five." He hung up and licked his lips, knowing he would have everyone's full attention. They all shut up. He smirked. "We need to see the CCTV for that payphone."
Lestrade put a hand to his face. "I know that, I already put in a request for the relevant tapes. But it could ta-"
Sherlock just walked out followed very closely by Becker and the other detectives. Surely Lestrade should have known by now that Sherlock never requested anything. In the short trip outside Sherlock thought about that red silk fibre and the distinct lack of anything red or silk in the hotel room. Obviously the killer had brought it with him and yet...why not leave it afterwards; it had served its purpose. Perhaps he used the same piece of cloth in every murder. Clearly the red silk and the hotel room were just as much his signature as the branding.
"What's going on here?" Scott spoke up hands on hips. He sounded furious and Sherlock turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
"We are going to look at the CCTV footage."
Scott frowned and started to speak again but Sherlock wasn't listening because over the short mans shoulder he could see a familiar face and he walked forwards, pushing past his companions to follow that familiar face into the alley nearby.
"This is all I got." The man handed him a grimy piece of paper, folded into a square and Sherlock smiled and slipped a twenty from his pocket into the man's palm. Whatever the network could give him would be bound to help after all.
"Thank you."
The man's raised his eyebrows and shuffled away, glancing over his shoulder as Sherlock stared after him. He unfolded the paper on his way back to the group, finding Alex holding back his partner and Lestrade trying to explain that they needed to get used to Sherlock just walking off whenever he felt like it. It was just something he did.
A car pulled up not three minutes later and Sherlock smirked, hopping down into the road to open the door for his companions. They all climbed in and he sniffed glancing around as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. And yet...no. There was nothing. Even his keen eyes couldn't find the source of his unease and so he forced it out of his mind, throwing himself into the back of the car and almost onto Lestrade's lap in his haste to forget the niggling fear in his mind. "Ah! Watch it Sherlock!"
He didn't apologise. John had told him numerous times that he barely weighed anything so he couldn't have possibly hurt Lestrade as much as the DI was making out. The ride over to Mycroft's offices was tense. Tense enough that even Sherlock could pick up on it. He kept his eyes on his phone screen, texting John with updates about the case. More to amuse himself than anything else. He was still however watching the two American detective's body language carefully. It appeared as if Scott had not been as soothed by Lestrade as one would hope and Alex was sending obvious cues that his partner should calm down. Clearly one half of the pair was a bigger fan of his than the other.
"If you don't mind me asking, where did you hear about me?"
He didn't look up from the screen and his made sure to lace his voice with an equal amount of distrust and self confidence. It was Alex who answered him, his voice carefully calm, it betrayed his obvious enthusiasm. "Another member of my team reads your blog; she was the one who told me that she knew someone in England who might be able to help us."
"So you read it then?"
"Read What?"
"My blog." He looked up, fixing the man with a hard stare.
"Yes, I did."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and let a small smirk filter onto his face. He was thinking about Mrs. Hudson and that maybe she was right, maybe this man was handsome. This was a trait that could be useful as a distraction when it came to tracking the murderer down. But to use the detective he would have to make him warm up to Sherlock first. "What did you think?" He made sure to use the deep voice he used when he was being especially nice to Molly.
Alex grinned. "It was fascinating. I really-"
"Oh god, enough about that damn blog! His head is big enough already."
Sherlock glared at the DI. "I see you still haven't gotten over the-"
"Sherlock." A warning tone.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes even further and crossed his arms. He did want to argue more but the car had pulled up outside an anonymous office building and Scott was already leaping out of the car.
Sherlock waited for them to assemble inside the lobby. He checked his messages again as Lestrade approached the woman on the desk. Sherlock smirked to himself as he walked right past her and through the double doors, the group following him after a brief pause.
"Sherlock! Wait up!"
He didn't adjust his pace; simply turning his back to the doors as he went through them and dancing his way through the rushing figures that filled the hallways. Eventually they made it to the top floor and to the office of Mycroft's 'local intelligence office', a large open plan room with soaring views over London and a background hum of chatter, electronic beeping and the steady thrum of hundreds of fingertips on keyboards. Sherlock made straight for the tiny room in the far corner, knocking only once before letting himself in.
"Bradley."
An average looking man in his forties spun around in his office chair, large glasses making his eyes appear three times normal size, even larger headphones dwarfing the rest of his face. He blinked at the small troupe. Sherlock slid his phone into his coat pocket.
"I need to see some footage."
Bradley lifted his chin and eyed the other men. "They don-"
"I know they don't have the security clearage. But I do."
"They are going to have to wait outside."
Sherlock nodded and turned around to see all three men giving him hateful glares. Sherlock shrugged allowing himself to smirk. "Well, you heard the man."
They grumbled and muttered under their collective breath but they did leave and Sherlock grinned widely as the door shut behind them. He turned back, leaning in to give Bradley the correct time code and camera location.
What he saw, or rather who he saw was...unexpected.
The anonymous tipster was wearing a long black trench coat and a wide brimmed hat with a thin grey scarf and tidy, well heeled shoes. His face was not visible because the tipster kept his back to the camera, almost as though he knew Sherlock would be watching.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't think.
He just stared and stared at the blurry frame on the enormous screen in front of him. It was like he was suddenly propelled under water and everything else felt so very far away. Abruptly a still warm stack of fresh photographs were thrust into his palm and Sherlock blinked, his fingers snapping closed automatically. He barely managed to rumble out the words 'and a tape for DI Lestrade' before he was out of the door and pushing past the group and flying out into the street almost skidding on the rain soaked pavement. He kept walking and walking ignoring his phone as it trilled in his pocket. Probably Lestrade wondering what had just happened. Eventually he came to a tube station and he jogged down the stairs.
It was easier to concentrate in the hustle and bustle of the underground, the screeching as the train turned on the tracks was almost deafening and Sherlock pulled his feet up to rest on the seat beneath him. He still held some form of appreciation for the underground from the days he would spend, buying ticket after ticket, strung out and haunted by a case he couldn't solve. The combination of the warm damp air that billowed through the open window at either end of the car and the odd revered silence of the travelling crowd was oddly soothing. Of course, nowadays he would avoid travelling on public transport as much as possible.
Down here it was much too easy to get off at that one particular stop and visit his old dealer. Get lost again. Sherlock scrabbled at the photographs in his pocket. He couldn't stay here forever. This time he had somewhere to go, and the faster he got out he better. He pulled out the note given to him earlier and read the scribbled words. He then took out the photographs and stared intently at them.
So, Bossley was the one who called in the tip. He must still be watching the detective; surely he would know that Sherlock would see the CCTV footage...which was why he didn't show his face. He wanted to see Sherlock's reaction? He glanced up and eyed the car suspiciously but didn't find a single suspicious face. The detective sniffed and read the note again. It was an address and a word.
Liliputia.
Probably a password of some sort. The tube train came to a halt and Sherlock stuffed his papers back into his pocket before leaping up and escaping into the cold London air.
He didn't even have to knock. The door flew open before he could raise his hand so he simply waltzed right on in because although he had promised to try and act like a 'normal' human being and be polite and respectful around Johns family and/or friends right now he couldn't even think straight with his mind running at million miles a minute. His fiancé might have said something as Sherlock rushed past him but he didn't hear. He began pacing the small living room hand to his forehead until he felt hands on his shoulders and was being pushed into a sagging sofa that all but swallowed him.
Sherlock looked down at his feet, a finger under his chin tugged his gaze upwards and John was frowning at him. "Hey, you need to calm down."
He clenched his jaw and for a second Johns expression softened and his thumb rubbed the detectives cheekbone lightly and suddenly Harry appeared with a large navy mug filled with what appeared to be tea and so the detective took it from her and sipped at the edge and decided it would be best if he ignored everything but the heat of the mug in his hands and smell of the warm pottery and the taste of the too-strong tea coating his tongue. (Clearly it was a Watson trait to make such heavenly tea.) When he finally came back to the scene John and Harry were discussing the goings on in the TV show John would often watch with Mrs. Hudson when Sherlock was busy doing experiments. He recognised the character names.
John glanced over to him from an equally shabby armchair and stopped mid sentence. "Hey, you back now?"
Sherlock licked his lips and reached into his coat pocket pulling out the photographs. "What's that? Is that the lead you were talking about?"
"Yes and no." He thrust the short stack towards his fiancé and sat back with his fingers steeped, watching Johns face as he shuffled through the grainy images. The doctor's expression was blank but his micro expressions gave him away; at first confusion but the further he shuffled the more it dawned on him until he carefully placed the photos on the coffee table, ordering them neatly without looking at Sherlock. He then took three short breaths and sat back in his seat. He looked up and caught Sherlock's eye.
"Bossley."
"Yes."
"Okay, so that is a grand total of two master criminals who are after us. Fantastic."
Sherlock frowned. "I would hesitate to call Bossley a master criminal. He is sadistic, vengeful. He lacks the ability not to let his emotions into his craft; he is a master of nothing." Sherlock could almost hear that jingling laugh way back in his mind and he fought a shiver. Yes, Bossley may not be a master criminal but he was something much much more dangerous.
John sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, his eyes drifted to Harry's phone and he seemed to come to a decision about something. "Right, you know what, this is stupid. We can keep talking about this forever but we are going to have to face them sometime. I am done running away from them." He got up and grabbed the phone dialling speed-dial one. Sherlock looked to Harry who had gone pale and was holding a hand over her mouth.
"Mum?"
Sherlock's eyebrows rose and Harry glanced desperately across to him. He sniffed and watched Johns back straighten instinctively.
"Yes, I know you weren't expecting to hear from me. I have something to ask you."
There was a pause and John kept staring ahead at the wall. "Sherlock's mother would like to meet you and dad before the wedding. She wants to invite you to dinner next Thursday." Another pause and Sherlock could hear the faint tinny voices of John's parents arguing and Johns shoulder set even straighter.
"Oh be quiet for a second would you? Listen to me. I love Sherlock, he loves me, we are getting married whether you are involved or not but it would mean a lot to everyone if you were there...It would mean a lot to me and to Harry. The work Sherlock and I are involved in is dangerous mum, we could die from this dangerous and if there is one thing I would like to do before that happens it is to walk down the aisle towards the man I love with my parents at my side."
There was a silence on the end of the phone and Harry scooted along her seat reaching for Johns sleeve. The doctor didn't look at her. More voices at the other end. "Yes I have talked to her. We spent last Christmas together at Sherlock's parent's house actually." Another long pause where now it sounded like Johns mum was talking. John blinked and swallowed hard. He seemed unsure for a moment before turning and handing the phone down to Harry.
"She wants to talk to you..."
John stood with his arms crossed; chin down against his chest eyes on the floor as Harry stuttered out a few words to her mother. Sherlock leant forwards and placed his mug on the table. John glanced over to him and frowned, stamping around the coffee table to slump onto the sofa next to him. His thigh was warm. So was his palm as his strong fingers gripped Sherlock's hand tight.
Sherlock let him.
He was close enough now for Sherlock to smell him, new cotton and that aftershave John somehow knew he liked and kept buying. The doctor's body was tense, knee jiggling against the floor and Sherlock leant against him. Harry's face was pouring with tears and she kept gulping at the air as though she had forgotten how to breathe. The detective focussed on what she was saying for a moment.
"Of course I support him; Sherlock is a great guy... He may have lied to you but you have done things that are inexcusable too." There was a long long pause as Harry wiped her face on her sleeve. "I can be there."
Johns hand tightened and then the siblings shared a watery, emotional gaze. "Sherlock's brother can find you a place to stay. He will probably call you." John sat forward in his seat and Sherlock turned his eyes to his fiancés hand squeezing it a little, John squeezed back. "Okay. Goodbye mum."
Harry handed the phone back to John and the doctor took it in slightly shaking hands. "Mum?...yes he is here."
Suddenly John was pressing the phone into his hands and the detective frowned holding the earpiece up to his face. "Mrs. Watson."
"How dangerous is your job? What did John mean when he said he could die?"
"I am a consulting detective, I solve crimes, deal with criminals. Some of these criminals tend to bear grudges and John... he is my weakness. Therefore he is in great danger most of the time."
"If you loved him you wouldn't make him do this."
"Be under no illusions. I make John do nothing. He chose to be with me and there is nothing that can change that."That at least he knew for certain. He didn't force John into this. He could hear Johns steady breathing in one ear and his mothers concerned mumbling to a deeper voice Sherlock could only presume was Johns father.
"Where are we supposed to stay?"
"My brother Mycroft will contact you and will find suitable accommodation and transport. Now, if you will excuse us we are working on a very important case. Goodbye."
Sherlock hung up the phone.