"Is this yours?" John asked wonderingly when he came into the squalid cell.
"Yes. I'm Shezza here, John. Like you, I made a deal to get myself locked in here for a brief time. Unlike you, I've been here almost five weeks."
"What?" John asked incredulously. "Sherlock, why?" Now that John's vision had adjusted, he could see the detective had done himself up in full prison disguise. He'd cropped his curls short which made his high forehead gleam in the dim light. He'd lined his eyes in black and had let his scratchy beard grow out along covering the lean lines of his face. Along with the black hoodie, he wore a dark pair of chinos and the prison issue boots. His skin looked blotchy and red, and his lips look chewed. He hoped to god the man hadn't been using. "You look terrible, Sherlock."
"I know," Sherlock smirked delightedly. "I've been letting myself go. Wanted to play the part of a drug dealer who sampled his own wares. But, I'm all right. Most of this is just for show," he said gesturing to his face and hair. "Nothing permanent and no, I'm not on anything. Just the appearance of it. I could see your brain whirring, wondering if I was," he said his eyes flashing a little indignantly.
"Shezza…" John said wonderingly pushing back a strong urge to giggle at the ridiculous name. John could hear Sherlock quickening like he did when he was revealing the solution to a case. John's heart speed up right along as it usually did when Sherlock brilliantly deduced all possibilities correctly.
"I happened to come to the same conclusion Mycroft did regarding Trevor's possible information but far earlier, and I knew he'd try to send an agent in to retrieve it. When I found out he was sending you, I tried to get in here first. I wanted to spare you having to come to this place." Sherlock looked tentatively at him. "You of all people deserve to have the life you want, John. I didn't see that before because I couldn't. I didn't know how."
"I know you've been following up on me, and right now, I'm actually glad you did." He knew he shouldn't be leading Sherlock on like this but he was so fucking glad to see him. Instead of solid dread washing over him at the thought of trying to finish this impossible mission, he now felt a tickle of excitement and hope. God, he missed that heady rush of danger and the thrill of solving the case with this impossible man. This was after all, still a case – the same old case they'd been trying to solve before Sherlock's suffocating possessiveness, and before Mycroft's exploding collar turned their once perfect friendship to shit.
"I never wanted you anywhere near here," Sherlock said suddenly unable to meet John's eyes. "It's abysmal, the very pit of human blackness. I only wanted to make things right between us."
"Shezza!" John said warningly. "This isn't a good time to discuss our past!" John stopped himself before he went any further.
"I know you came back to London for your mother, but I wanted to see you again," Sherlock pressed stepping closer. "I can help you now."
"God help me, I do want to hash things out with you later, and maybe we can work something out. But, right now, I – we need to work together to get Trevor to give us Moriarty. He's close but I don't know if he's ready to cave in."
Sherlock's eyes darted back up a bright flicker of hope sparking out from them. His whole face brightened and despite his desperate appearance, he began to look like his old self again. "Right, John. Case first, talk later."
"Shezza…Jesus Sherlock. I can't believe you've been here more than a month. Mycroft's been prepping me day and night for this place and I was still woefully unprepared. You waltz right in and manage to…what exactly?"
"I've managed to convince the right people that I've been put away for drug smuggling. I've managed to avoid being stabbed or other things… And, I knew enough about various cartels and heads of cartels that I convinced the inmates who essentially run the place that I was a man to be reckoned with. I got one of them to put me in the same block as Trevor. However, I can't seem to infiltrate his little group of cronies. They don't seem trust me at all. Yet, in a matter of twenty-four hours you've managed to get yourself included in their group and even spent the night in Trevor's cell."
John thought he detected a hint of jealously in Sherlock's voice when he mentioned his staying in Trevor's cell.
"I carried Trevor to his bunk after he nearly passed out on whisky, Shezzzza," John drawing out the ridiculous name. "I spent the night counting out his breaths to make sure he hadn't poisoned himself with booze. Trust me, I had an agonizing evening."
This seemed to appease Sherlock as he scanned John carefully trying to deduce the truth of that statement. He apparently found fidelity in John's face and he couldn't help but feel a little prickle of pride that he'd passed some kind of test. "We need a plan, Sherlock. I hope you've got something worked out because I'm afraid I don't have a lot of pull with Trevor. He's either going to buy into Mycroft's offer or stay here and dig his heels in. Either way, he's sick and he may not have a lot of time left unless he gets treatment."
"I know. I've been able to deduce an infection of the lungs compounded by possible emphysema, but you're the doctor, John," Sherlock said with a sad smile. "You've always been the healer."
"We just have to convince him it's in his best interests to…leave with us," John said giving his head a short, half shake. He felt himself falling right back into the old cadences so easily with Sherlock. John needed a clear, objective course of action. And, he needed not to fall into Sherlock's pull. He wanted to howl and rage against his own eager acceptance of this partnership that his whole soul missed so much. But, how could he erase all that had happened during the past two years so quickly? But, his heart knew Sherlock meant what he said. He wanted to make things right. John just had to believe.
"I may be able to help with that," Sherlock said and chuckled low. "You see, but you don't observe, John. Trevor's got a pressure point both you and Mycroft have missed, and I intend to exploit it."
John's brow furrowed at that. "What pressure point?"
"His daughter," Sherlock said leaning into speak right into John's ear. "I know where she is."