There is absolutely, positively no offence meant by using Prince Harry's name in here, it is simply something I thought up, and I mean nothing by it. I have the utmost respect for him and England's Royal Family.

Chapter 11

Catterick Base, North Yorkshire was known for producing some of the best soldiers in the world. It was known for being ruthless with its people and was very rarely in trouble for a lack of order. The base commander was four-star general Matthew Thornton, three wars, and several decades, and he wasn't any where near retirement. Being old, he always thought, as merely a good reason to get a seat on the bus, but it stopped him from doing nothing. As he shuffled his papers in a way that made it look like he was doing something, and his clerk sorted files in the office, the general spotted something out of his window. It's positioning was unique. It faced the entire compound, and gave him a brilliant view of everything that was happening in the main square of the training ground. Now, his attention was caught by the group that was making their way over to the hut that stood on the edge of the ground and contained nothing but old tables and chairs – though he was pretty sure that illegal games of poker occurred in there, but he had no proof and couldn't be bothered doing anything about it. He followed with his eyes the group that walked into it and watched as his protégée, Scout Trott, closed the door behind him. "I'll be back," The commander said, and the clerk snapped to attention. The general didn't salute back. He didn't even see the motion, as he was too preoccupied with what a civilian was doing in his camp.

The cabin was filled to the top with chairs and Sherlock briefly wondered what the results of pulling one chair out from the bottom of the pile would be, before pushing it to the back of his mind for 'trial' and focusing instead on the situation at hand. Stone grabbed a table from the corner of the room and pulled it into the middle, waiting, as the light that Scout flicked on grew brighter. Sally took the charts and folders from Stone, and, when the table was in the middle, she laid the A3 sized paper out. John grabbed one corner while Scout grabbed the other, and Sherlock and Sally made their way around to Stone's side to see better.

"So what's going on?" asked John, staring at the paper, which was, in fact, a map, in confusion. It wasn't charts of unknown jungle terrain and it wasn't the layout to a secret underground bunker. No, it was the map of London, blown up to be seen better.

"Well." Everyone fixed their attention on Stone and Sherlock noticed that his right hand was trembling ever so slightly, nervous then, he thought, and had to bite back the smile. John wouldn't approve if the doctor knew what he was thinking. Sherlock let his gaze fall on John as Stone began,

"I went straight to HQ," he said, "and I started a search, found some satellite feed, and the boat has been identified,"

"You don't say?" John said dryly and Sally smiled while Scout remained stony-faced. He hated Stone with a vengeance and therefore, whenever he was in the man's company he needed to keep his mouth closed before he said something he'd regret. He quite liked his career.

Stone shot an annoyed look at John,"I do say," he continued, "and you're not going to like it,'

"Spit it out," Sherlock said, not taking his gaze away from John. The doctor glanced up and was trapped by the steel green-grey eyes that were staring at him, observing his every move. Swallowing, John looked down and focused on Tower bridge, as Stone sighed, "The boat belonged to millionaire Stewart Howell."

Silence fell on the room and even Sherlock stopped his observation of the way John licked his lips every 135 or 136 seconds to stare at the director. John, who had survived the Afghanistan war, and therefore was considerably more well equipped to handle bombshells was the first to recover from this, "You're mad," he stated, 'Stark-raving, I've-gone-around-the-bend mad," the doctor blinked at the director and Stone sighed, opening one of the manila folders that sat on the table, revealing a fact file about the billionaire,

"Howell's a great man," Sally said, recovering her voice, "He has developed half of our army technology! And is our greatest asset, not to mention the fact that he's given millions to charity and spends every Sunday on the streets of London," Sherlock took over,

"The man is a living saint, not to say I believe in such, but, metaphorically speaking," John rolled his eyes and turned to face Stone,

'You must be wrong,'

"Believe me, I wish I were," Stone grabbed a chair and plonked himself down on it, looking up at the four disbelieving faces staring at him. He was about to carry on, and try to convince them that this man was not what he wanted the world to believe he was, when the door opened,

"TEN HUT!" the command had John and Scout, purely by instinct, snapping to attention, and John groaned as he felt something twinge in his back. He was getting too old for this. Sally copied them, feeling a little foolish in her civilian clothes and Sherlock came to a sloppy salute as someone walked into the room, shutting the door behind him.

For a second, the General took in the state of the major and the cadet with ebony curls falling into his eyes and a cold glint in his eyes. His eyes swept over them to the young woman standing to the right of Sherlock, and his eyes finally rested on Scout, who looked as tired as everyone else, "At ease," the general watched as the major – doctor – the red cross on the arm became all too clear, underneath a layer of mud – slumped, leaning against the table,

'Sir?" Scout asked, looking at him, but the General wasn't listening as he was staring at the man sitting in the chair, dark circles around his astonished eyes.

'Matt?" Everyone's eyes swung to Stone, who slowly got to his feet, as if still not entirely sure of what he was seeing. The general tensed, he still didn't quite recognise the man in front of him. Maybe he should've stayed in his office, "Matty!" Stone exclaimed and John and to bit his tongue to stop the laughter form bubbling out. Stone had a friend?

"Francis?" the general's eyes widened in shock as realisation sunk in, with the use of a name no one had called him since his university days, and before either knew what they were doing, they were hugging and laughing and talking over each other and John, Sherlock, Sally and Scout had to wonder where was Stone and who was this replacement.

Lestrade woke to the dying rays of light casting a red glow over everything in the room, the entire sky, from his current position lit up with hues of red and pink. Lestrade sat up and rubbed his eyes, finding that he was feeling completely refreshed, the soft bed creaking slightly underneath him. Carefully, the DI pushed back the covers, and got to his feet, sliding out of the bed easily.

The floorboards cold on his feet, Lestrade walked to the door and opened it, providing him with a view of the hallway that contained a sideboard with a vase of roses in it. Smiling at these small comforts, Lestrade looked left and right. Left led to what he was sure was the bathroom and a second bedroom, and right led to what he could see was an open-plan living room. Deciding he didn't particularly need the bathroom just yet, Lestrade went right, and into the lounge, the carpet soft and clean underfoot. Despite the old design of the house, everything in here was modern and Lestrade glanced at the leather couches that looked oh so comfortable in the squishy shape they made. He walked into the kitchen, grimacing as he the cold tiles met his bare feet and took in the marble granite bench top and the stainless steel touch-control cook top with its range hood. He was obviously somewhere near an army base, and it was obviously an army house, but why the hell was it equipped with this many high-tech stuff? It was probably ridiculously expensive.

Eagerly, Lestrade opened the cupboards and found them packed with freshly bought food, judging by the stamp BAKED FRESH TODAY and today's date stamped on a box of triple-chocolate chip cookies. He glanced at the table calendar that was sitting on the kitchen top and found he was right. He reached up and brought the box down, removing himself one, and closing the cupboard again, leaving the cookies on the bench. He took a bite and found that the biscuit melted in his mouth, the chocolate smooth and creamy. He chuckled at the thought that John would probably kill him for these. Deciding he may as well explore the rest of the house, Lestrade set of with his cookie, heading back to see what was in the second bedroom, wondering what John would do if he told Sherlock about the doctor's secret love of chocolate cookies. It was amazing that John had kept it from Sherlock for this long, but he said that he wanted to have just one thing that Sherlock didn't know about him – just one. Lestrade wouldn't even have known if he hadn't seen John at a small café hidden away in the bustle of London, eating about twelve cookies – how the man still kept fit was a mystery to Lestrade who knew if he ate that much, he'd b in trouble.

Lestrade walked past his room and reached the other bedroom. He reached for the handle and opened it, his mouth dropping open in awe as he stared at what was obviously the master bedroom. The floor was carpeted, from wall to wall, in a luxuriously thick, scarlet carpet. A huge, king-sized bed sat in the middle of the huge room – it was deceivingly small when seen from only the door – and the bed was complete with hangings of the finest gauze, and a scarlet red canopy made of velvet. The rails that held the bed and canopy up were gold, and glinted red in the rays of light that the sun cast through the huge glass doors that opened up onto a balcony, still on ground level, but made from marble, as far as Lestrade could tell. Lestrade moved into the room and over to the doors, staring at the gorgeous garden that sat outside the window, with an arch covered in light pink and yellow roses over the entrance into the garden, which had a little path running around it. It was facing in the opposite direction to his room and the garden was blooming with life and colours. Lestrade turned around to face the bed and saw a plaque that was on the wall: OFFICIAL GUEST HOUSE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES.

Lestrade's heart almost stopped…this was the Prince's guesthouse? And now he had the great honour of being able to stay here? Suddenly, the DI decided he needed some fresh air. He still couldn't believe what he read and was feeling oddly light-headed about it all. Pulling the curtain's aside, Lestrade opened the door that led out onto the terrace and found a pair of slippers next to the door. Gratefully, he put them on and shut the door behind him. The air was cooling, but it was pleasant as the wind gently blew his dark, slightly greying hair, back. He walked into the garden and exclaimed in delight as he spotted a swing the Willow that was growing in the centre of the garden. Feeling like a child, and as if he were in some sort of incredibly pleasant dream, Lestrade walked to it, along the soft path, brushing against the long stalks of lavender, still eating his cookie, and he sat down, gently setting the swing into a rocking motion, taking in the glorious sunset in front of him, smiling as he felt a small piece of his turbulent soul settle into contentment.

Sherlock, Sally, John and Scout had been immediately dismissed as Stone and the General started talking and left, completely bewildered,

'What just happened?" Scout asked as breeze blew and John shivered in his wet clothes,

"Later," Sally said, before anyone could answer, 'Sherlock, John, take a shower now and change into dry clothes, you're not getting sick if I can help it," she said, "I refuse to go in alone because both of you are in bed," John and Sherlock exchanged a glance and Sally groaned while Scout coloured, as the doctor and his partner smiled, "Different beds!" Sally shook her head as Sherlock and John laughed, "Go," she urged them, turning them around in the direction of the shower, 'and if you're not back in ten minutes, I don't care, I'm coming after you," Scout shot her a scandalised look as the other two made for the showers,

'What?" she asked,

'They actually listen to you," he said, and Sally chuckled, pulling her cloak a little tighter around herself, 'C'mon," she said, "Let's get inside," She nodded towards the private quarters that Sherlock, John and Lestrade, when he was called, would share. She had been put with the other women, and still hadn't met any of them, because they missed lunch and hadn't seen anyone yet.

Scout and Sally entered the private bunkhouse and Sally had to admire the positioning of the beds. They were in three different corners of the room, John's being on the bed under the window to her left, Lestrade's in the top left hand corner and Sherlock's in the right, directly across from the door. It's as if the army were trying to keep those two as far apart as possible, 'So," Scout took a seat at the centre table, which was round, and had a light hanging above it, a light which he switched on the to combat the creeping shadows as the sun disappeared,

"Yeah," Sally felt the awkwardness around them and sighed, "While we're waiting…you play rummy?"
"Do you?" Scout's eyes lit up and Sally smiled,

"Course I do. Champion at my college,"

'Bring it on," Scout said, as Sally extracted a pack of cards from her pocket and Scout wondered what the hell they were doing in there in the first place.

Believing Sally's word, Sherlock and John finished their shower in just under ten minutes, John making sure that he took the one furthest from Sherlock, who pouted when he realised that every other shower between him and John was full and there was no way the doctor was going to let him in. By the time Sherlock was done, John was fully dressed, the green camouflage of the uniform standing out against the white tiles, his cheeks were pink and his hair was ruffled by the towel that was sitting on his shoulders as he waited for Sherlock. The detective had also opted for fatigues and was wearing them when he stepped out of the shower.

"Aww," he said, his voice quiet under the sounds of running water,

"What?" John asked, pretty sure that Sherlock was not calling him cute, as they walked towards the exit of the showers,

"I would much rather see that uniform somewhere else,"

"Oh yeah?" John asked, grinning slightly,

'I can show you, if you want," Sherlock said, seductively slowly and John was very glad that the cold air blasted them as they walked outside,

"No thanks, Sherlock," John said, looking straight ahead, "but I can imagine exactly what you're thinking," with that he led the way to their cabin, and he was pretty sure he heard Sherlock make a sound somewhere between a meow and a groan.

As they approached the cabin, laughter from inside reached their ears. They were pretty sure that it was from there, because their cabin was set just a little aside from the other ones, as if the army were worried they'd corrupt their officers. Oh second thoughts, though, it was Sherlock Holmes they were talking about. "What's that?" Sherlock asked,

'You act as if you've never heard laughter," John replied, climbing the few stairs and opening the door, to see Scout banging his fist on the table and throwing the cards down as Sally laughed, pushing her hair back, 'You really need some more practise," she said, "How many points is that now?"

"Oh shut up," Scout turned and flushed as he caught sight of the amused John and annoyed Sherlock – annoyed because John wouldn't let him go in,

"Oh, hello Major," Scout said and Sally turned,

"Oh good, I was about to come and get you," she said as John finally let Sherlock in, closing the door behind them,

"Really? You two looked like you were having fun," he said, and Sally laughed,

"Yeah, yeah, but that's not important. We've only got half an hour before dinner, and I'm starving,"

"Mmm, me to," John admitted, pulling up a chair and throwing his towel onto his bed while Sherlock collapsed onto his own bed, covering his eyes with his arm.

"So?" John asked,

'Well, I've been thinking,"

"Amazing," Sherlock quipped from the corner, ignored by everyone in the room,

"And it seems that Stone's got things mixed up," she said and both of the two soldiers nodded, "But what if he doesn't?"

'What do you mean?"

'I was reading the file as Stone did his little re-union thing with the General,"

"Really? I was too distracted by the fact that Stone had a friend" Scout guffawed and Sally frowned,

"Be nice, doctor," she said and John laughed,

"Moving on,"

'Yes. It said that Howell reportedly brings in a net income of around sixty million a year, yeah?"

"Yeah," both officers answered simultaneously, the figures published on the front cover of Times magazine,

"Well, the file says in his bank account there's over a billion dollars," The other two stared at her,

"So…" Scout looked at John, who picked up what he was trying to say,

"So, where's that money coming from?"

"It's very likely to be illegal," Sally said, grimacing,

"and all the donations…?" Scout asked,

'A scam,"

There was silence in the cabin as they considered these new findings, "So Saint Bob, is actually a devil in disguise?" John asked and Sally nodded,

'Damn, and there goes any hope for the good in humanity," Scout mumbled.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the three of them, " 'roves my point," he slurred, not bothered to form proper words,

'What point?' John asked, twisting around in his chair to look at the detective,

"Heroes don't exist," Sherlock said, not bothering to open his eyes,

"Not true," Sally said, sending a pointless glare his way, pointless because his eye were closed,

"Yeah, not true," Scout agreed, "we're sitting with a hero in this room," Sherlock opened his eyes to find them all pointedly staring at John and found, for the first time, that he conceded. Heroes do exist, he smiled as John met his gaze, the brown eyes embarrassed, you just got to be lucky enough to find them.

HEY!

I'm sooo sorry for the long delay, but I think I'll be updating Friday nights from now on, because I'm buried in homework every other day, so...yeah.

But I love you all so much for your support

Aza

xoxo

P.S. C'mon. Who wouldn't want to stay in Prince Harry's guest house? ^_^