We would just like to thank those who are killing us lovely reviews, favs and subs. We love all this appreciation. Thank you.
Also I think it is important to mention that those who read Chapter 2 before we changed it, yesterday or the day before, we mentioned Sherlock faking his death within an explosion. However Rayne and I talked it over and we decided that it would be an unlikely and also to be post Reichenbach you do really need a fall. It's minor changes. About 4 lines of dialogue. Nothing special.
Anyway, enjoy chapter 5.
After taking them left down Marylebone Road, the taxi took a right and passed St Pancras Parish Church. John stared at the aging red doors and towering columns. He hadn't prayed in months. Two years five months in fact. Since after Sherlock 'died'. He remembered yelling into the night, calling to the Heavens. He pleaded for God to listen to him. To return his only friend to him. The one he loved. John would curl up and mutter prayer after prayer until his voice was hoarse. Most nights he had gone on until his throat was left dry, tears streaming down his face. He mouthed his pleas till he actually passed out.
Whilst he was in Afghanistan his prayers had helped him. They had made him stronger. He wasn't exactly a strongly religious man. He didn't really resemble a religious man at all but when he was in need, when he felt at the end of his wick, he would talk to God. After a month, John stopped. No God was listening to his pleas. No Sherlock back alive and in his life. No best friend. It was John. Left alone. Though, we wasn't truly alone, was he? His friends and even Mycroft at one point had first gotten in the habit of checking up on him whilst he slept. In case he did something stupid apparently.
John continued to contemplate his decaying belief in God and the loyalty (and intrusion) of his friends whilst Sherlock continued to ramble on about something unimportant. Last time John checked he was on about a new Tesco Express on one of the corners John had forgotten. By the time the taxi drew up John had almost forgotten all about their detour. "Ready, John?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes." John nodded. "I'm ready to go."
"We're here." Sherlock said, jumping out of the taxi.
"This... isn't where I expected to be." John said, stepping out behind Sherlock. He turned to the front of the taxi and paid the driver the fare.
"Well, it's where we need to be." Sherlock said. "Let's go see Molly."
"...Molly. She knows you're alive, doesn't she?" John mumbled, a short and sharp pain shot through Watson's heart. He could only compare it to being shot.
"Yes."
"Ah... She helped you, didn't she?"
"Yes." Sherlock replied, his voice level and unemotional. He brushed past John and into the building. John followed slowly, his eyes looking dead ahead.
"You going to tell me how?"
"No. I don't think I shall." John sighed as they continued on their usual tour of St Barts. "I needed her help, John. They wouldn't suspect that she's a friend."
"I thought you only had one." John muttered bitterly. Sherlock halted in the hall and turned to look at John.
"In the usual social standards Molly is considered a friend," the words felt like ice to John. Numbing his heart. "By my standards there is only one." A slight warmth crept over his face as the pair continued on the path to the testing lab.
"Just one. Must get lonely." John laughed stiffly.
Sherlock laughed and shook his head. "One is more then I've ever had."
The pair turned a corner and walked into the testing lab.
"Hello," Sherlock said politely. "How are you?"
Molly was bent over, examining a slide that - Sherlock noticed - held three types of soil on it. Molly gasped and turned around.
"Sherlock?"
"Obviously, Molly." Ah. The usual Sherlock charm. Molly's eyes darting towards John.
"JOHN! You told him. I thought you still had six months." Molly was failing miserably at whispering. John was within ear spot, pointless. Glancing over, Sherlock noticed she was taking regular care with her hair and wore a nice shade of lipstick that complimented her. Her mobile laid next to the table but appeared on silent. So not an emergency. Somebody she didn't like lacking communication with. Can't be a relative. She didn't usually do the beautifying for them. Only one possible solution.
"Got bored. How's the boyfriend?" Molly dropped a slide of darker soil on the worktop.
"How di- Never mind. He's fine. Not a psychopath this time." She let out a nervous giggle. Still insecure then, thought Sherlock. He hadn't seen Molly Hooper since two months after his supposed death. Some of the lower end papers that attracted the working class still sniffing about but not enough for her to elude detection and meet Sherlock with all the necessary documents. "Hello, John. It's been awhile."
"Mhmm..." John nodded, looking at Molly. The girl that had cried at Sherlock's funeral, the girl who'd come with him to the grave, the girl that had sat with him night after night as he spoke about Sherlock. What was wrong with him? She didn't betray him... Did she? "Hello Molly."
Molly looked flustered, her cheeks were a light pink and her eyes kept darting back and forth between Sherlock and himself. John noticed too much these days.
"How are you?" Molly asked, playing with her fingers and scratching her ankle with her other foot.
"I'm fine. Surprised, but I'm okay." John sighed, he nodded at Sherlock. "He's a bugger."
"Isn't he always?" Molly laughed nervously.
"I am not a bugger, John." Sherlock said quickly. "Molly, I need your help."
"Again?" Molly asked.
"Again?" John sighed.
"Again." Sherlock confirmed.
John didn't even know why he was here. Sherlock hadn't told him any of this. Yet he trusted Lestrade and Molly enough. The people he didn't even call a friend. John felt torn. Torn between following Sherlock on his many adventures, enjoying the rush of the case or he could just ignore it all. Pack up and leave. John doubted he could even do the latter. Ever. "If you don't need me then, I'll go get a coffee."
"No, John. You're needed here too." John lowered his hand from the door handle and leant against the wall. This was going to take some time. "Molly, I need your expertise. John here is good but not in the same fields as you. Especially when it comes to ... design."
"How can I help?" Her usual perky tone was back. Slight smile twitching at her mouth. John looked her. Her eyes were normal, no sweaty hands and as far as he could tell her heart rate was fine. Serious about the boyfriend then. Not flirting. Just eager to help like the good old Molly nature would allow. Least John didn't need to see her messed around with by Sherlock just for some cadavers any more.
"What do you need?" John asked, curious as to what was going on in Sherlock's head.
"Anderson." Sherlock said, his fingers rapping against the wall. "I need him to know I'm alive. Lestrade knows, but he's know for a while. He's a trustworthy man, but he can't tell Anderson."
Molly looked at John, a confused half smile crossed her face.
"I need that man to know before the press release, that's tomorrow by the way, and I need to tell him myself." Sherlock continued, unaware of the other two not following him. "Molly, you need to call him on the case you've got for him. Tell him you've got John to help you."
"I- Okay." Molly bubbled. "I'll do that now." She grabbed her phone from the desk and searched the contacts. "Give me a second."
"Fine." Sherlock said simply.
"I still don't- What am I doing here?" John asked, watching Molly on the phone to Anderson. "Am I simply here to... frustrate Anderson?"
"No," Sherlock said, pushing himself off the wall, "you're here to find the signs of trauma on this body. I recommend looking at the fractured jawbone."
"Sherlock, a dead man cannot work cases. Yet."
"Exactly. That's why you are. Like you have been." John sighed.
"But Anderson? You hate Anderson. His supposed intelligence irks you. Also, I doubt he would be too pleased to see me." John scuffed his feet as he walked over to the worktop to look at the autopsy photos of case file #189B5. Showed no sign of apparent fracture to the jawbone itself, though it was there, and something was abnormal about the right side. Sherlock was looking at him with the usual interest.
"What did you do, John?" John mumbled, head down. Even with his hearing, Sherlock strained to hear John. He wasn't making it easy for him. He enquired again, with more force this time. "What did you do, John?"
"I... I punched him in the face, multiple times, didn't I? He had to go to the hospital." John picked up the photo of the man's jaw again. Trying to avoid the subject.
Sherlock stood in stunned silence. Really? He hadn't heard of an incident between John and Anderson... Who the - Lestrade covered it up. It was the only answer. Well done to him, keeping information away from Sherlock Holmes was a difficult task indeed.
John looked up at Sherlock, down at the case file and back to Sherlock's raised eyebrows.
"He was just... Infuriating." John explained. "Constantly on about how he was right about you."
"Oh, faithful John. Faithful John indeed." Sherlock muttered. He looked John in the eyes, "You shouldn't have."
"I- I know." John said, rather like a schoolboy being told off by his teacher. "But he was so nasty about you."
"He's Anderson," Sherlock stated, "his brain is too full of Donervan to be occupied with much else."
"I know." Sighed John. He looked down at the pictures and began tracing his own jawbone. "What am I missing here?
"Only the obvious, John. As usual." John rolled his eyes. Death hadn't stopped him being insufferable. "Look at the right side. Under the ear but not low enough to be the neck. There on the jaw. Do you see it? Looks like a simple mole or freckle from here. Normal but if you look at the surrounding skin area you can tell it isn't that at all. No sign of needle marks so it isn't an abnormal bruise but it's something that left a stain. One that would be disregarded. Certain chemicals do that. Definitely some poisons. According to the file he died in his sleep. Obvious murder but unapparent causes. No clear motives and no sign of wanting to cover the murder up. This person wanted to get caught but why? Not like anybody could pick this up. Obviously Molly didn't and seeing as Anderson was the person in charge of this crime scene, you can be certain he wouldn't. No, this killer was clever. Knew the audience he was attracting. Wants to be seen but by people he feels worthy of it. Chemical shouldn't be too hard to find. I would like to run some tests but that would be problematic."
John felt a smile tugging at his smile. He missed this. He missed it completely. No matter what he said. This was Sherlock and everything he missed about him. He simply nodded and turned around to look up at Sherlock. "Brilliant."
"Still fascinated easily I see." Sherlock smirked.
Sherlock grinned rather smugly as John set about examining the pictures. Molly wandered over to them, her phone call finished.
"He'll be here in ten minutes or probably less, Sherlock. You better be ready by then."
Sherlock nodded. He turned to John, "You need to buy me some time."
"Will do."
"Good." Sherlock said, stretching the o sound and ending with a sharp d. A small bubble seemed to burst in the room as he said finished his word. Before Molly could even ask Sherlock anything he was pacing up and down the lab looking for the perfection possession to work (and gloat in front of Anderson when he arrived). Turning to her next best bet, Molly looked at John and cheerfully enquired.
"Got the method of how he was killed yet?"
"Poison." John replied. "I can't tell you which unless I have the body, but I can tell you where it entered the bloodstream."
Molly nodded. "Save that for Anderson."
"Speak of the devil." John said quietly. The noise coming from the door was clearly Anderson arriving. Extremely early. "Here he comes now."