Author's note: So, now, believe it or not, the plan is finally set in motion, after... about five chapters where I told you it would be? Sounds about right... I couldn't leave Mrs. Hudson like that. She's just too nice in the series.
But, now, finally, they are on their way. It might take a bit – it might be over soon – I really don't know. My stories have weird tendencies to progress and/or end at the weirdest of times.
Also, this chapter is going to be shorter than usual, I'm afraid – real life decided to intervene with my obsession. Real life has this annoying tendency to do that, as I'm sure every fellow Sherlockian has noticed.
And I got my hundred reviews! Yippie! You are the best!
Don't have anything against a few more, though (begging over).
I don't own anything.
They drive in silence.
Mostly.
"It's official: I haven't had that much fun in ages. Please tell me there's another old lady that needs rescuing".
"Why don't you take another drink, Greg" John suggests, but he doesn't say it sharply. His and Sherlock's eyes meet in the mirror.
And Sherlock is again left to wonder –
What happens when it doesn't work?
He has too little data to be able to work out what exactly is wrong with him. All he knows is that he must be in some sort of coma, with periods of half-awareness, and that his... friends are there for him, apparently 24/7.
He must make sure that John sleeps and eats enough once he's awake. Maybe a holiday? John seems to like New Zealand...
But the problem is, that, after all he's heard, it's no longer when he awakes. It's if he awakes.
He knows what "slipping away" means, of course, he knows the chemical and biological processes that the word death entails. But... He isn't so sure anymore that the soul is really just a concept people make up to help them with their grief.
He's stuck here and it feels so real that he isn't certain it's in his subconscious, although the idea that he actually landed in some sort of parallel universe is nothing more than ridiculous.
And still...
There is this part of him that doesn't want his subconscious to have created his world. His friends, his family... They are all, or for the most part, unhappy. Broken. And Moriarty...
Moriarty is alive and well and still controlling ever crime committed in London. Well, now he's probably controlling every crime in the United Kingdom. Aside from the fact that he's randomly killing people.
Sherlock never thought he'd wish for it, one day, but suddenly, Moriarty being obsessed with him and trying to destroy him doesn't sound so bad after all. At least he left the city mostly in peace. And he didn't kill people at random. He's losing control, of his psychopathy, maybe even of his empire, and this thought is unbelievably scary.
He swallows, tries to clear his head and says, "We're almost there. St Bart's is..."
"Turn right three streets from now" Mycroft responds. "Really, Sherlock, you are not the only one who knows the city he lives in..."
"Any chance I can get a GPS in my brain too?" Greg inquires. "Would be rather useful" He starts searching through his pockets.
"Left hip" John tells him automatically, then can't repress a chuckle.
"What?" Greg wants to know.
"Do you know that three days ago, the most exciting thing in my life was the crack in my living room wall?"
"I had more fun than you, then – I at least always had enough to drink".
"I have an alcoholic in the family, Greg".
"Not so positive, please, sunshine".
"We are here" Mycroft interrupts, a touch relieved. "Go ahead and get the evidence. I'll stay here."
"Why don't you ever – " John starts, but Sherlock answers for his brother. "Mycroft hates legwork".
"So – he is the brain of the family?" Greg asks. "Good God, remind me to stay on your good side".
"I'm fairly certain you won't forget it, Inspector, no matter how drunk you get". Mycroft waves a hand, and Sherlock, always recognizing a dismissal from his brother, exits the car, together with Greg, who stumbles a little, but doesn't look as drunk as he did when Sherlock first found him, and John, who limps a little, but seems to be getting better by the minute.
"Do you think Molly is in the vicinity?" Greg wonders, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide the hopefulness in his voice.
"If she isn't on a date with DS Dimmock" Sherlock replies, curtly.
"Bad joke, 'Lock".
"And you are not concentrating, Greg"
"I don't think any of us is concentrating" John informs them. "So, can we please go to the lab now?"
They do.
They make it to the lab without problems, but then –
Anderson and Donavan are talking to Molly, discussing the evidence, apparently. Sherlock can hear Greg swear under his breath.
Of course Donavan has already seen them, so there's no time for a retreat.
"Lestrade?" Her brows furrow when she recognizes Sherlock and John. "What are you doing here? With them?"
This time, however, Greg manages to lie smoothly.
"Taking him for a blood test, Sergeant" he replies, haughtily. "He insists that he isn't taking drugs, but I can tell just from the looks of him that this must be a lie. Because I want no one" he glares at John, who has the sense to look ashamed "to tamper with the blood test, I want it done here. Any questions?".
"No sir" Donavan answers, and when Anderson opens his mouth, she stamps on his foot. They leave with a grumbled "Goodbye" from the forensic tech – Donavan is apparently to angry to say anything.
Molly raises an eyebrow, and Sherlock notices that Greg apparently has nothing against the gesture when she's doing it. "I suppose you aren't really coming for a blood test, are you?"
"No, Molly, but I'd be most grateful if you could make us a copy of the DNA-tests on the glasses" Greg says politely.
"No problem – do you want a copy of the file with the missing DNA-profile too? I looked up the Randalls when I was searching for something I could compare the test with..."
"Molly, you are wonderful!" Sherlock exclaims; he's been debating with himself if he should ask Greg to go to the Yard and print out the file, missing DNA profile and all, rather angry that he didn't think to print it out in the first place, but he was very high at the time. He'd just shot up in Greg's office after all.
Molly smiles at him, and again it's a rather strange feeling to see the woman who has had a crush on him for years not even blush when he makes her a compliment. Then she turns to Greg, and even to Sherlock, who certainly isn't the best when it comes to interpreting emotions and relationships, it's incredibly obvious that all Greg would have to do is ask.
And quit the booze, that is.
"Just wait a moment, I have the file in the morgue", and she leaves the lab, still smiling shyly at Greg, who looks incredibly smug once the door closes behind her.
"Don't grin like the cat that got the cream, you don't even try to get it, after all" John advises him.
For a moment, Greg's face turns serious; a shadow seems to pass over his expression.
"She deserves better. That's all. I'm not going to force her to tie herself to someone who's slowly drinking himself to death."
Sherlock winces, John looks at the floor.
"You know it's true. Much as I would wish that I was the man Sherlock described – I'm not. Maybe, when the curse, so to speak, is lifted, and I am, I might make a move". Then, he suddenly grins again.
"I could call our first child Sherlock – I'm pretty sure you can call a girl that, too".
"What?" Sherlock asks indignantly. Greg shoots him a glance.
"You don't actually think many people know a name like yours even exists, right?"
Thankfully Molly enters the lab and passes Greg the file. "Here – " She colours slightly. "And the best of luck".
"Thank you, Molly" Greg says. They leave the lab, John thanking her politely, Sherlock just smiling at her gratefully.
"No problems?" Mycroft asks once they are back in the car.
"Not really, although Anderson and Donavan are definitely planning a hostile takeover" Greg answers cheerfully.
"He saw his... infatuation again" Sherlock explains to Mycroft, who just nods.
Once they are back on the street, Sherlock realizes something.
"Greg, where exactly does Lady Brackenstall's mother live?"
"Not that far off" Mycroft responds. "I knew her husband quite well. We appreciated each other's work" And Sherlock knows his brother well enough to recognize this as the big praise that it is. "He died before my dismissal. It's highly unlikely that his widow gave up the villa".
It would indeed have been highly unlikely, Sherlock concedes when he sees the "villa". It's even bigger than Mycroft's mansion and beautifully proportioned.
"I'd never have moved out" Greg exclaims, "I'd just have lived with my folks. Look at this – you can most likely get lost on the staircase."
"I wouldn't" Sherlock answers.
"Not everyone of us grew up having afternoon tea and dancing around a haunted mansion, 'Lock".
They decide that Greg will go in alone – although not quite, because Mycroft still has tiny microphones from his time as the British Government.
They hear Greg introducing himself to the servant who opens the door; he is let in immediately – neither Lady Brackenstall nor her mother are in favour of sleeping in, apparently – and led into the living room.
"Inspector... Lestrade, was it? Do you have new information?" a high voice, the woman is sure of herself, well educated, but a little bit nervous. Lady Brackenstall.
"Yes, Lady Brackenstall. We have consulted a Mr. Sherlock Holmes – he specializes in very difficult cases – and, with his help, we have formed a new hypothesis".
"A new hypothesis?" An old, shrill voice. Indignant. The mother.
"Yes... We no longer believe that the murder was committed by three robbers. Rather, it was committed by two men – "
"But there were three men! I saw them!" Lady Brackenstall gets more nervous by the minute. Excellent.
"You can't have, my lady, because only two persons drunk wine from the glasses, here is the DNA-test to confirm it" paper rustling, he shows her the test.
"Are you calling my daughter a liar?" The mother is getting angry. Either she is a very good actress or she doesn't know the truth.
"No, I am simply stating facts. Lady Brackenstall – someone killed your husband, and you wanted to put the blame on a gang of robbers who have featured rather heavily in the newspapers of late. Robbers whose DNA-profile disappeared from their file" he shows her the other paper "Just to be replaced, I am sure, by the profile we got from the glasses, when the need arises.
You husband's murder was arranged to look like a robbery gone wrong – by a very intelligent individual, no doubt. Someone who knows enough about the crimes committed in this city to make it plausible. Someone who – Someone who sits in the middle of it all, like a spider in its web".
Excellent, Greg, Sherlock thinks. As soon as Lady Brackenstall contacts Moriarty, he will want to know everything. Come looking for him. Now if Greg could only use his name –
"And, with the help of Sherlock Holmes, we realized this." The DI really has a talent for this sort of thing. "Don't worry, Lady Brackenstall, the guilty party will be held responsible for the death of your husband. I give you my word for it".
"My daughter is very tired and still upset, naturally, Inspector" the voice of the woman is harsh. "She needs to rest. I trust you can show yourself out."
Greg says goodbye and leaves the house. He turns a corner and gets into the car.
"You should have seen her face. Priceless. Do you think it worked?"
"It has to – the Moriarty I know wouldn't be able to resist this temptation." Greg still looks at them expectantly, so John finally raises himself. "Well done, Greg".
"Thank you, John" the Di grins, just as Sherlock says, "Yes, well done" and Mycroft adds "Not bad".
"Not so much praise, please". He waves a hand. "So, what now – back to My's and wait?"
"Exactly" Sherlock answers. He's never been good at waiting, but he will have to. Though he hasn't had another flash of semi -awareness for a while now, and, as Mycroft pulls the car back on the road, he starts to fear –
That his time is running out.
Author's note: Like I said, shorter this time, but I didn't want to let you guys without an update today... All of you who are so anxiously waiting (sarcasm). And another Molly appearance – I hope you like it. I do, because I like her. And I can empathize with her in the series so much (ahem, her crush on Sherlock may have something to do with that).
Mind (whining): But it's shorter...
Me: I need to give in to life's demands, now and then, you know.
Mind:...
Me: You know, real life. Outside crazy obsessions.
Mind: Sounds dull.
Me: It isn't.
Mind: So... You are not going to write the next chapter immediately?
Me: No, but soon.
Mind: I hope so, for if you don't, I will make you into sho–
Me: Don't. Just don't.
I hope you liked it, please review.