Day 4…

Where are you, Cyndy?

I have news, and I need more suggestions.

Don't make me hack your computer.

I will.

Hello? Sorry, I just got off the chat with another client.

I'm here now. Delete them.

Of course, Mr. Redbeard. How can I help you today then? Jog my memory; are you the one who was going to be doing something fun together with his partner?

Redbeard is the ridiculous screen name I was forced to use to sign up here. It is childish and rather fantasy bound. Please refrain from referring to me with it.

Alright. Um, what shall I call you then?

…..

…..

…..

Redbeard is fine. Nevermind.

So anyway, sir, are you the one who was supposed to be doing something fun with his partner?

Yes. But I don't see how you can fail to remember such things. Honestly, how many people can possibly be asking you for advice every day other than myself? There can't be so many in my position.

Just speaking for myself, I generally end up chatting with anywhere from 20-50 clients per day.

…..

…..

I see. This only serves to exhibit your expertise to me. It is invaluable, which is why I refuse any of your other associates.

Thank you, I guess. So how did it go with the idea to do something together?

This time, it worked somewhat. He acted as though he didn't like it at first, but by the end of the activity, he was participating.

Oh, well good then. Seems like we're on the right track. He likes to do things with you, so you should definitely try to incorporate that with any future attempts at fixing this issue.

Yes well, still not fixed. What next? Don't be boring.

Well, have you tried maybe doing something for him that he could never do for himself? Not just something he likes, but something he'd never do for himself.

I don't understand. If you like something, why not do it? What prevents you?

For example, some people may like the idea of going to a spa or a resort, but they would never spend their own money on something like that for themselves.

Ah, I see. Something John can't do, or can't afford, for himself. Yes.

So his name is John?

No.

Could you really hack my work computer?

…..

Hello?

Gone again I see.

Sherlock's mind worked fiercely. Perfect. This was perfection! He whipped his phone from his pocket and began to energetically text Mycroft.

My, you there? -SH

…..

Yes, what brother dear? –MH

I need something. –SH

Something for John. –SH

Oh? Intriguing… -MH

Shut up. I'll owe you. –SH

Then I look forward to the details… -MH

Sherlock tucked his phone back in his pocket, settling down in front of the laptop again. He opened another window over the one with Cyndy's last question hovering in it so as to email the information to Mycroft. Excellent, he thought as he typed in John's bank account information. John won't have to work as much after this. So we can spend more time on cases together. Effectively, what he was sending Mycroft would get John's debts settled and cleared. For while the doctor himself had made no large material purchases, his sister, Harry, had gotten in far too deep a few times and had caused John to take out a large loan to cover her. So he was essentially in debt for someone else. Ridiculous, Sherlock thought as he smiled inwardly, completing the last line.

He skipped down to a new paragraph and began the second half of his request. This part would just be icing on the cake, but it was essential nonetheless. He cross-checked himself on the internet, to be sure that his aim was guided to the correct identity. And once confirmed, he sent the email off to Mycroft and texted to let him know it was done and on its way to him. It took a bare moment for the British Government to reply via text once he had read the email.

My my. That will be some favor you owe me, Sherlock. –MH

…..

…..

Very well. Consider it done. –MH

Sherlock smiled to himself as he leaned back and waited for John to come home…

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

John's feet ached. His head ached. His back ached. His shoulders ached. Oh, and his ass ached; not for any particular reason. He supposed his backside just wanted to get in on the aching action, too. What a day in the clinic! Snooty, snotty people everywhere. No one wanted to just wrap in a blanket and eat soup at home anymore when they got a cold. No. They all wanted an instant fix. An enchanted wand. A magic pill. And they didn't like it when they were told that they needed to A) go home and wrap in a blanket, and B) eat some soup. He sighed loudly as he hung his coat on the hook. God save me. If the flat's in flames from Sherlock's experiments, I think I'll just lie down and let them burn me to ashes.

He had placed one heavy foot on the first step when suddenly the detective burst forth from the door above, almost tumbling down the stairs in his haste. If John hadn't been so bone tired, it would have been entertaining actually, watching the usually fluid and graceful Sherlock Holmes catch himself awkwardly on the railing, slip down to a seated position, and then slide bumpily down a few of the stairs to where John was.

"John. C'mon! There's something you need to see. Or do. I'm not sure which. Maybe both."

"Sherlock, I'm really not…."

"No no no, John. You need to come now. This minute. Come." And the younger man pushed past him and was on to the door where he threw it open and turned to feign great patience with the doctor. John looked forlornly up at the entrance to the flat, sighed once more with his head down, and then pivoted to follow his friend. Whatever it is, it must be exciting. And maybe that will take my mind off of this shit day.

Sherlock had bounded out of the door as soon as he ascertained that John really was following him. And lo and behold, as usual, John saw a taxi pull right up as soon as the tall man hailed. How does he do that? I mean, really, I'm not that short… He groused about in his head as he climbed in, just missing where Sherlock had informed the driver to take them. Wonder if I get to know before we get there? And then he just shut that thought out. It didn't matter really. As long as he wasn't at work, at that place, he was okay for now. His head whipped toward the detective as a question directed at himself got repeated.

"The name of that man, John, the one you told me was so horrible to you in the military? It was Martin Pendek, right?

"Huh?"

"You told me a while back that there was a man named Martin Pendek who had raped two of your female friends and had tried to get you kicked out of the service. He was never actually convicted. That was his name, correct?"

"Um, yeah. Yes, it is. Was. Whatever. Why?"

"No reason. Just rearranging files in my mind and came across it."

The detective turned to stare out the window as John's eyes narrowed in suspicion. What is going on with him? First all this weird nonsense about Christmas, then a body, now we're off to God knows where and he's dredging up memories of bad people. Something's up with him. But the detective just continued to stare off into the distance as the city passed them by, nothing suspicious about him at all. Except that he was Sherlock Holmes…

John's line of mental inquiry came to halt as they pulled up in front of the bank, causing the doctor to look quizzically at the detective as they did. Had there been a robbery? That seemed somehow too boring for Sherlock. So maybe a robbery turned homicide? But there were no officers to be seen around the perimeter. Perhaps it was just another private-hire job like the Blind Banker case? He paid the cabbie as Sherlock once again leapt away, like an eager puppy brought down to the beach. And he caught up with him as he stood outside of the large double doors of glass.

He was just about to ask Sherlock about this case, when the other man smiled, as if deliberately trying to evade speaking, and pushed the doors open, entering and heading immediately for one of the private rooms in the back where loan officers were located. Sherlock went to the small desk in front of all the little offices and handed his ID to the receptionist, who phoned someone after glancing at it. Great, he's probably been here before and caused a ruckus, John thought as he waited in tense silence.

From a back hallway, a tall man with silver hair emerged. Immaculately clad in suit and tie, he reached out his hand to Sherlock, saying, "Ah, he called just before you got here, and I've just managed to bring all the paperwork together for signing." The man then turned to John, saying, "And you must be the lucky Dr. John Watson? Pleasure to meet you. My name is Robbie Silvent, and I will be assisting you with this closing." The man had turned back to Sherlock and motioned for them to follow him into one of the offices, leaving John to follow after, mouthing the word: Closing?

They sat across from Mr. Silvent, and he slid a small stack of paperwork towards them before exclaiming, "Oh, excuse me, I forgot to bring a pen. How ridiculous. Just look over these, and I'll be right back." And as he exited the room, John picked up the papers and saw what was on them. And freaked. To put it mildly. Standing as he did so, so he could look down at the puppy-eyed detective, he began to overload with words. Lots of them. Bad ones.

"Sherlock! What is this about?! And how did you…? When did…? There was supposed to be a… Harry didn't… Hhmm…" He collected himself, head down, with thumb and index finger to his forehead. Prioritize. There was only one immediate question needing answering.

"Why?"

Sherlock seemed almost shocked to hear this, but he answered all the same.

"Because you would never do this for yourself, John. Never be able to. And it's not fair to hold debt because of something someone else has done. And now, without it, you won't…John…John, are you listening? You've got that funny coloring again. Did you hear me? With this paid off, you won't have to…John? John….? ….."

John's mind was so filled with the shock of his private finances being violated that he first thought he would end up finally killing his friend after all. Where did he get this idea? His hands dropped to his sides, and his eyes closed; he breathed slowly in and out. The loan official had started to come back in during this time, but a look from the detective had sent the man back out. And slowly, so slowly, John worked his mind around the concept of his private life being violated and dealt with it. Then he considered that his flatmate was very much like a child, and so he probably thought this was an okay thing to do. And actually, when he thought more on it, he could see that his emotionally constipated friend was trying very hard to make him happy for some reason he couldn't fathom. He sighed as he considered that he was going to need to create a rulebook for Sherlock to follow in order to prevent these sorts of things. Scratch that. Sherlock would just think it was a new game in which he was supposed to find ways around those very same rules. John thought that maybe he really did deserve gifts and wellwishes on Father's Day. After all, he was raising one of the biggest children he had ever met.

He looked up at the younger man, seeing the tentative disappointment in his eyes because he had thought he was doing something good. Gah, this was ridiculous. But still, he is my best friend. Better not crush him too bad.

"Sherlock, I can't accept this. It's not my money."

"Of course not. It's Mycroft's."

"What?! It's Mycro-?!… No. No. It doesn't matter whose it is. It's not mine. And if it came from Mycroft, then it's taxpayer money. Money that isn't mine by right. I can't take this. It will make me no better than those who just sit on welfare systems and live off of other taxpayers. Can't you see that? Please, Sherlock?"

"Are you sure we can't? It still seems fine to me."

"Of course I'm sure. Look, I wouldn't steal, right? And that's essentially what this would be. I'd be taking money from people who worked for it, and I can't have that. What if someone else needed that money? I don't want anyone to suffer on my account; not financially, mentally, or even physically." Sherlock twitched at that last line, interrupting for a question.

"Not even Martin Pendek?"

"I- What?"

"Martin Pendek. You wouldn't want him to suffer, even die for the pain he caused?"

"I, uh…no. No, I would want justice done. A trial and sentencing. I guess." This switch in conversation topic had thrown John off balance.

"I…see," said Sherlock thoughtfully, his hand suspiciously sliding behind his back. "I suppose you should tell Mr. Silvent," he said as he waved the man over from where he waited a little ways away from the room. "Just tell him you are second-thinking for now, John," he gestured toward the incoming employee, one hand remaining behind him. And as John focused his attention elsewhere, Sherlock texted with his hidden hand furiously.

Wipe the news. Take out all mention of Pendek's sudden demise. Abort! -SH

He waited anxiously as John chatted with Mr. Silvent. Finally, his phone vibrated as a response came in.

Done and done, brother mine. I am growing confused of your motives of late. –MH

Relief flooded through the detective. This case of John Watson was going terribly. Why did anyone ever willingly seek out friendship? Everything he had tried seemed to backfire. Although, he could tell, just at the end there, that John had been somewhat touched by the idea of Sherlock trying to do something nice for him. So it wasn't a total loss. He'd have to contact Cyndy right away tomorrow. Thank God John didn't read his news at night, so Mycroft had all night to rid the internet and other venues of the headline story: Grisly End Met by Military Rapist. What a waste of a favor…