He gave a mirthless smile at his former best friend, challenging the younger man, and Sherlock rose to the bait.
"That creature," Sherlock spat viciously as he pointed again at Smith's photo, "that rotting thing, is a living breathing coagulation of human evil, and if the only thing I ever do in this world is drive him out of it, then my life will not have been wasted."
Sherlock paused to take a deep breath, before looking up at John. The blond man was still looking skeptical, staring at Sherlock with his head tilted to one side as Sherlock begged insistently: "Look at me."
He took a shaky breath as he admitted: "Can't do it, not now. Not alone."
Sherlock looked away, his eyes slightly teary, and he swallowed heavily as he fought both his unusually heightened emotions and the effects of the drugs on his body. John examined Sherlock for another moment before he sighed and unfolded his arms.
Holding his right hand out towards Sherlock, John waited while Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Standing, Sherlock also let out a small sigh as he grasped John's hand… only for John's other hand to come over and clasp Sherlock's hand and turn his arm over.
Sherlock – seeming unsurprised by this – simply rolled his eyes as John pushed up the younger man's sleeves to reveal the dark marks on the inside of Sherlock's arm.
"Yeah, well," John muttered as he released Sherlock's arm with a sharp breath, "they're real enough, I suppose."
"Why would I be faking?" Sherlock muttered, turning away, and John answered loudly and just a little sharply: "Because you're a liar."
At that, Sherlock turned back to him, his own eyes narrowed slightly as John pointed out sharply: "You lie all the time. It's like your mission."
"I have been many things, John," Sherlock retorted, "but when I ever been a malingerer?"
"You pretended to be dead for two years!" John shouted back, his eyes flashing as his temper flared.
Sherlock paused for a moment, before he tried: "Apart from that?"
John threw up his hands, turning away as he demanded: "Where's Marie?"
Sherlock didn't reply immediately, and John turned back to him as he said: "Smith seemed to think she was going to be there-"
He was interrupted as a loud knocking – banging more like – sounded from the front door.
John paused before his eyes narrowed as Sherlock exhaled sharply, looking between a mix of apologetic and apprehensive.
His jaw locking, John turned and stalked to the front door where the banging was continuing insistently as Marie hammered on the door, impatient and annoyed.
"Where is he?" Marie almost snarled when John opened the door.
John blinked, surprised.
First, there was the car behind Marie – a dark Jaguar sports car that he was certain couldn't belong to the woman… could it? Then, he felt a strange guilty twinge as his eyes fell on something around her neck. Marie was no longer wearing her wedding ring on her finger but on a necklace hanging from her neck… the way many widows wore them.
"John, where's Sherlock?" Marie demanded sharply, and John shook himself.
"He's… he's inside." John answered slowly, before adding incredulously: "What are you doing here?"
"Sherlock called me, two weeks ago, to tell me to come here if Mrs. Hudson ever called me." Marie answered flatly.
"Two weeks…" John sighed, and Marie sniped: "Yes. I'm assuming you've noticed a trend."
"Why… how?!" John began, before he switched questions as he demanded: "Why are you even here? I heard you walked out after-."
"Well, since he seems intent on dying," Marie snarled, her eyes zeroing in inside the house where she knew Sherlock could hear her, "I figured I'd help him on his way to hell."
"You don't mean that." John frowned, just as Sherlock appeared in the doorway at the end of the entrance hall.
Marie's gaze darkened, her green eyes filled with anger as she took in his disheveled state, while Sherlock told John as he leaned painfully against the kitchen doorway: "Oh, I think she does. She did warn me when she left that she never wanted to see me again until I 'cleaned my sh*t up', or else she'd kill me herself."
John started, staring between the two uneasily as Marie glowered at Sherlock, while she snapped: "But apparently, that meant nothing to you."
"Marie-" Sherlock began, but she cut across him as she thundered: "I told you then, and I'm saying it again – I'm not your pet, to be at your beck and call!"
Marie strode into the entrance hall, letting the door slam shut behind her as she snarled at Sherlock: "Do I look easy to you?"
"Of course not." Sherlock said quietly, appearing calm but his eyes gave him away – they were uncertain, regretful, and filled with grief.
It was those eyes that made John hesitate and – for the first time – actually think that Sherlock may be telling the truth.
"Oh, so you just really do have a death wish." Marie said to Sherlock sarcastically, her green eyes looking like emeralds they were so cold.
"Marie…" Sherlock tried, but she shrugged him off angrily.
John shook his head.
"No, no, stop." John interjected, causing Marie and Sherlock to glance at him, the former still fuming. "You two have tricked me before."
Marie's eyes narrowed into furious slits while Sherlock winced, and John quickly added: "And while I admit, Marie you look really angry, I want another opinion. At least a second doctor's opinion on Sherlock."
"Excuse me?" Marie snapped. "I don't care what you want, John, I don't even want to be here. The only reason I came was because Mrs. Hudson," Marie turned sharp eyes back on Sherlock, "called to say she was terrified. Because of you."
Sherlock winced again, but John stated firmly: "Well, in that case, Sherlock could be playing you as well, Marie. So my wish still stands."
Marie was visibly fuming, while Sherlock sighed: "John, this really isn't the time-"
"No, see, there you are trying to avoid what you don't like." John interrupted, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket. "Well, you're not stopping me, Sherlock Holmes - I'm calling the last person you'd ever think of. Molly Hooper."
Sherlock grimaced, while John repeated: "D'you hear me? I said Molly Hooper."
"You're really not gonna like this." Sherlock sighed, cringing just slightly at the withering look Marie sent his way.
John paused, before he asked slowly: "Like what?"
And at that moment, the doorbell rang.
John closed his eyes, exhaling sharply while Marie's eyes narrowed on Sherlock. He just gave her a sheepish, and almost apologetic, grimace, while John turned and opened the door once more.
"Oh, um, hel-hello." Molly stammered in greeting as John just stared at her in resigned exasperation. "Is, uh... I'm sorry, Sh-Sherlock asked me to come."
John looked back to see the ambulance behind Molly, parked behind Mrs. Hudson and Marie's cars, and he sighed again.
"What, two weeks ago?" John asked, and Molly admitted in almost surprise: "Yeah. About two weeks."
John nodded a little, while Sherlock explained as he strode down the hall: "If you'd like to know how I predict the future-"
"Shut up!" Marie hissed at him, at the same time that John snarled furiously: "I don't care how."
"Okay." Sherlock surrendered, raising his hands against the dual wrath shot his way. "Fully equipped ambulance; Molly can examine me on the way. It'll save time."
He stepped up to the doorway, asking: "Ready to go, Molly?"
"Oh, well-" Molly began, glancing at John and Marie uncertainly and apologetically, but Sherlock interrupted bluntly: "Just tell me when to cough."
He gave her a fake smile, before striding out as he added: "Hope you remembered my coat."
"Wh-?" Molly began, but he'd already passed her and was on his way to the ambulance as Marie's eyes flashed dangerously.
"I... Sorry." Molly apologized to the pair in the doorway. "I didn't know that you two were gonna be here. Um, I'm guessing you and Sherlock haven't made up, Marie?"
Marie shook her head curtly, and Molly added hastily: "Um, I have absolutely no idea what's going on-"
"Sherlock's using again." John explained curtly, and Molly's expression fell instantly.
"Oh God." She gasped. "But, um, a-are you sure?"
Mrs. Hudson joined them in the entrance hall as John snapped: "No. It's Sherlock. Of course I'm not sure."
"Oh, no, he's definitely using again." Marie interjected icily. "That's why I left Molly – he was so high I couldn't let the twins see him."
"Oh, my God." Molly whispered, giving Marie a sympathetic look while John glanced at Marie almost thoughtfully and a little guiltily. "Oh, well, um…"
"Just examine him." Marie sighed, shaking her head. "John needs the proof, and I might as well start planning Sherlock's funeral date."
She sent Sherlock a glowering look as she spoke, not that the detective could hear her from where he was being strapped down in the back of the ambulance.
Molly could only nod slightly, and she started back to the ambulance with Marie, when John asked: "You're going with?"
"Yes." Marie answered, glancing back. "He's called me here for a reason – I intend to find out what."
"I see." John said slowly, and as Marie turned back around he called again: "Er, wait, Marie."
She glanced back again, looking impatient but waiting for him to speak. And John paused as he glanced again at the black, sleek Jaguar sports car.
"That's…. that's not your car….?" John stammered, and Marie scoffed as she gave the car a distasteful look: "Of course it's not."
"Oh, okay…" John said slowly, and Marie dismissed: "It's one of Mycroft's – one of the cars he keeps at his parents' cottage in cases of emergency."
"Aren't you… uh, going to return it?" John asked slowly, and Marie answered as she stalked after Molly: "No; Mycroft will probably send someone to pick it up soon anyways."
"Oh." John muttered as Marie disappeared into the ambulance with Molly and Sherlock.
John briefly wondered if it was a good idea to let the apparently ex-couple get into the car together – he had the smallest inkling that Marie was in a less than patient mood, and Sherlock could often be insufferable even on his best days.
"Of course it's not a good idea." Mary stated as she appeared beside him. "You know, deep in your heart, that Marie isn't acting – she's genuinely upset with him."
John didn't answer as the doors shut on the ambulance.
The ambulance pulled up behind the limo that Smith had sent for them, right outside a television broadcast studio.
Marie stormed out the back of the ambulance, throwing the doors open before the staff could even get out of their seats, and she stalked off as John climbed out of the limo.
"Marie?" He called, but she was already shouting back at the ambulance: "You know what, I don't care!"
She glared fiercely, even though her eyes were shimmering with tears as she shouted: "But goddammit, Sherlock Holmes, this isn't a game! And I am not going to stick around for it, not this time! So the next time you call me, it had better be either to tell me you're off the drugs or when you're on your death bed, because I refuse to watch this any longer!"
With that, she strode off, while Molly settled down shakily on the ambulance steps.
"… I'm guessing it wasn't good?" John said tentatively, but Sherlock dismissed as he threw off his dressing gown and reached for his coat: "She's exaggerating – I'm fine."
"Sherlock, I know you care more than that." John said flatly, and Sherlock winced but refused to say any more. And John realized that maybe, things were really as bad as they appeared to be – that, just maybe, this wasn't an act at all.
"Molly?" John asked slowly, and the specialist registrar said flatly: "I've seen healthier people on the slab."
"Yeah but, to be fair, you work with murder victims." Sherlock pointed out. "They tend to be quite young."
"Not funny." Molly hissed. "You could be one of them soon - if you keep taking what you're taking at the rate you're taking it, you've got weeks. How, Sherlock, how could you do this?"
Sherlock staggered over to the doorway, and he noted: "I'm worried about you, Molly. You seem very stressed."
"I'm stressed; you're dying." Molly snapped. "And you're ruining Marie with you – can't you see, with your clever deductions, what you're doing to her?"
"She has the children." Sherlock answered, suddenly sounding sober and very, very serious. "She has something to live for."
"And you don't?" John asked while Molly turned away and walked after Marie, going to console her friend as Marie called for a cab.
Sherlock gave John a sad look.
"… Do you live for Rosie?" Sherlock asked, and John's jaw locked. No; no, he didn't. He tried, he tried to be there for his daughter, his daughter who had no parent but him now, but he couldn't. He was failing as a father, he knew that.
And it seemed Sherlock was doing the same, just in a different way – in the only way the detective knew how to escape pain. Even if it pained those around him.
"You wouldn't." John said slowly, but he sounded uncertain. "You wouldn't do this, not to Marie."
"Oh, John." Sherlock sighed, looking away. "Haven't you learnt by now? Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. I am that losing side this time – I don't know where else I can go, but down. Alone."
He finally raised his gaze to meet John's as he said quietly: "You're right - I wouldn't do this to Marie if I had a choice. But I'd rather go to hell on my own, than drag her down with me."
"So, why call me here, why prepare everything two weeks ago?" John questioned, folding his arms, and Sherlock gestured around them.
"I told you." He reminded his ex-best friend. "This man, this vile creature – he needs to be stopped. I cannot do it alone, and you saw Marie – she won't help me, not when I'm like this, not with the twins to protect. She's expecting me to get better first before she'll help, but she doesn't understand – I can't. But you."
Sherlock sighed, and John raised a brow.
"You… I knew, you wouldn't care about that." Sherlock admitted quietly. "You're angry with me, you have every right to be. But that also means you are the only person who can help me right now, because you now see me for what I am, and you know I wouldn't have called you if I didn't think you were key to helping me bring this man down."
John stared at Sherlock silently, examining him, before he exhaled sharply.
"So this is real." He murmured. "You're actually out of control. I thought this was some kind of-"
"What?" Sherlock asked, frowning, and John finished flatly: "Trick."
"'Course it's not a trick." Sherlock answered. "It's a plan."
John frowned, but before he could ask, they were interrupted by Culverton Smith.
"Mr. Holmes!" The short, pudgy man called as he approached, surrounded by his entourage and a whole group of paparazzi and reporters.
"Thirty feet and closing." Sherlock whispered to John quickly. "The most significant undetected serial killer in British criminal history. Help me bring him down."
"What ... what plan?" John asked, bewildered, and Sherlock replied shortly and quietly so they couldn't be overheard: "I'm not telling you."
"Why not?" John demanded, eyeing the billionaire philanthropist getting closer and closer to them.
"Because you won't like it." Sherlock replied, and that was all they could say as Smith called again: "Mr. Holmes!"
And the so-called serial killer arrived beside the pair with a wide smile.
*A/N I'm really sorry guys! I realized as I was going through my files that I'd completely skipped two chapters! O.O Here's the first one that I completely forgot to update, and the next one will be the new chapter 20. Again, so sorry about this!
