Hot damn. Twenty chapters. Thank you guys so much for following and supporting us this far. This would have been uploading last night however I fell asleep and found a load of #'s in the middle of Lestrade's name this morning. So yeah, enjoy.
The first thing John thought about when he woke up the next morning was getting himself to the news agents as soon as possible to buy the morning paper. He couldn't wait to see the headlines. Even if that turned out to be the highlight of the day. It wasn't so much making fun of Sherlock with the idiotic headlines, especially from The Sun; it was about the fact he could finally turn to the world and show them how right he was. All the time they had told him to stop believing. Now they would be printing that Sherlock Holmes was alive and innocent.
John hurled himself out of bed and reached for his dressing gown. The material slid over his arms with ease before he tied the cord and headed for the door. When he opened the door he saw Sherlock lying on the sofa, humming to himself. Looks like he has forgotten to sleep. Again. Sighing he walked over to his chair to discover his usual paper waiting for him. The headline hidden. Probably a good thing too. He picked up the paper and sat down on the chair. Sherlock still remained silent on the sofa. "Thanks for getting the paper."
Silence replied. Just like he has expected. John unfolded the paper to reveal the headline and tried his best to stifle the laughter emerging from his throat.
Sherlock raised his head and smirked at John.
"Good headlines today, I rather liked this one." He remarked. "'Super Sleuth Sherlock Not Dead... Yet'."
John snorted and looked down at his paper, this headline was hilarious. He scanned the article in front of him, picking out key phrases and reading them to Sherlock.
"Look at this one, 'Our very own Sherlock Holmes, disgraced genius, pulled himself out of the lie today and proved to the world that he was well and truly alive.' It seems as if they worship you again."
"The media are fickle." Sherlock noted before shutting his eyes and continuing his humming. John read the rest of the article in silence. 'Confirmed bachelor, John Watson,' sprang out of the mess of words a few times. This was pathetic, he thought, why was he getting so worked up? It wasn't like the paper was lying. He was in fact a bachelor and had been for quite a while. He also had no intention of actually dating anybody because he felt like it would be betrayal. What was the point of dating somebody else when you felt your entire body and soul belonged to another? None, thought John. That didn't stop him getting worked up. Maybe it was because he felt that it was an invasion of his privacy. More than likely because it opened opportunities for people to start gossiping and how people loved to gossip. How John loathed gossip. It had been on every vicious tongue he encountered since Sherlock had 'died'. Especially the tabloids. Looks like another web of lies will emerge now. Just what they needed amongst the sea of crime and sociopaths. "I wish they would stop with the confirmed bachelor stuff."
"It's true though. You are a bachelor." Sherlock chortled.
"Not the point, they never mention your marital status thing."
"That's because it would be absurd for me to conduct in any form of relationship unless it was benefiting for a case. In which I would soon decease said relationship after the case had of course been complete. Relationships seem a pointless human pass time. The only decent thing it does is open up the possibility to pro-creation, in the heterosexual variety of couples of course, and even then the offspring aren't always what you would call... hopeful."
"Yes, I get it. Relationships are a work of the devil, are pointless and just get in the way." John rolled his eyes, trying to mask the slight tugging he felt in his chest. Of course he should have expected something like that from Sherlock. Doesn't mean that the realisation hurt him any less.
Sherlock heard something sharp in John's voice; this man was sharper and colder than the John he remembered. His smile, unlike the old John's smile, seemed forced. The thing with pretending to be someone else was that you always painted a perfect portrait of yourself.
John was not at ease with Sherlock the way he used to be. That was all that Sherlock knew because, although he had all the facts laid out in front of him, he couldn't decipher the emotions behind them.
Everything was the same, but something was different. Why did this silly little thing nag at his clearly superior mind, the same way it would to a normal person?
There were lines on John's face, and the way he sat was more relaxed... Almost clashing with his military hair cut. From what Sherlock could recall the way he stood wasn't as formal either, the training was wearing off. But there was a quality that Sherlock hadn't seen in John before, a worn down, beaten look that he had never seen on John's face.
What was it Mycroft had said? 'That man has fought a thousand wars in your absence.' It looked as though it were true.
Sherlock didn't get a time to contemplate these thoughts long as he soon saw John's entire face drop with what could only be shock. "Sherlock, did you actually read the paper?"
"You know we read different papers, John. I wouldn't dare read yours."
"And you only bought one today, no other one and read it already?"
"Will you stop talking in riddles and get to the point." Sherlock groaned. This was starting to get quickly tedious. He wished John would stop performing the basic human tasks.
"There's been a fire." John sounded worried for some reason.
"There's always a fire somewhere, John. It's not major news." He sighed before walking into the kitchen. He had yet to have a cup of tea that morning. From the kitchen he could hear John gulp. Obviously something was now troubling him.
"Sherlock, it was Jo's fish and chip shop." Sherlock stopped what he was doing and placed the cup safely on the counter. "They found a body."
A very disturbing silence came from the kitchen, like Sherlock was trying to calculate the possibility of this. It was unnerving. For some reason the man scared him more when he was not talking. He couldn't be upset, John knew that. That was emotion and Sherlock didn't have emotions. The most John had seen him portray was when that moronic American and harmed Mrs Hudson. Whatever it was John knew that Sherlock was thinking in the next room. "Get dressed. Now. We're going down there. I'll ring Lestrade."
Lestrade got out of his car, his phone had been ringing non stop for the last half hour. It was pointless as he'd already decided that the second the fire crew got off of the scene, he would let Sherlock and John in. They'd figure it out, that he could not doubt.
Sherlock was standing next to John, his coat whipping about him in the breeze and his collar pulled up to his angular cheekbones. John looked tired, but excited. Rather like a puppy that knew it had been playing for too long, but wanted to continue. There was something else about the pair... It seemed as though they were concerned. For who?
"Greg, thanks for getting here." John nodded, "We think we might know why it was done."
"The question we have at the moment is, how was it done?" Greg said quietly, "We told the papers it was an accident, the fryer over heated and sparked. But that didn't happen. We don't know how the fire was actually started."
"I see." Sherlock nodded. "Could you get someone with a ladder? I have a feeling I need to get to the second floor."
"The stairs aren't burnt out..."
"I need a ladder, Lestrade."
"I'll try to find you one."
They both watched as Lestrade walked over to an apparently new member of his team and ordered him to acquire a ladder. Well it would appear so anyway due to the face the man had pulled when Lestrade had finished talking to him. "We don't even know it was her yet, Sherlock."
"That was her room, John. She never leaves her flat from ten o'clock at night and the fire was reported to have started at two o'clock in the morning." John wasn't quite sure how he knew her schedule quite so well. He must have stayed here once.
"Okay, okay. Let's just solve this for her then. We'll forget about the Penber case for now." Sherlock let out a faint hmm. "You think they're both completely related, don't you?"
"There are never any coincidences, John. It's always connected to something. If it wasn't because of the Penber case then what? There were no grudges against her and it was obviously no accident. There is no other probable situation or reason. You were right when you told Lestrade we might know why this was done."
Lestrade soon returned and began going over the details of when the fire occurred. It had been called in at exactly twenty past two in the morning by a concerned neighbour. She was currently being interviewed. As soon as the fire crew had gotten there it was too late to save the first floor however they managed to stop it before it spread downstairs. When searched later they discovered the body at around three thirty am. "You have any ideas about who it is?"
"Already confirmed to be the owner of the chip shop below. Her face wasn't burn somehow and therefore it was easier for us to have her identified. The fire crew said the first floor is secure enough to walk on."
Sherlock walked quickly, his eyes taking in all of the mess around him. He reached the stairs of the blackened chip shop and turned to John.
"Can you get the ladder? I need to check one more thing before I can solve the Penber case."
"Sure... Yeah, okay." John nodded, backing out of the shop that he'd followed Sherlock into. Looking around he found Lestrade shouting towards the new recruit.
"They don't send what you need, eh?" John nodded at the lad.
"He's not too bright. Doesn't understand that a lot of the stuff he wants to deal in is not our department."
"I got that in the army." John sighed, "Young lad wanted to be a war hero... Didn't realise that the war was, well, what it was." John suddenly realised what he was talking about. "I... er, Sherlock wants the ladder."
"Yeah, I'll br- Can you get it from him? I need to find someone with the details of that woman's statement." Lestrade said, tracing the stubble on his chin.
"Sure, yeah." John smiled briefly before striding off to the new recruit.
Sherlock heard John returning with the ladder, about time too. He was getting impatient. He wanted to finish this case and start another, more interesting one.
"John, bring it in here."
"Alright, Sherlock. Keep your pants on." John muttered, carrying the ladder over his shoulder. He smiled as Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly pathetic when it comes to lifting heavy weights."
"Hmm." Sherlock nodded. "Put it there. I need to break the ceiling."
"...Break the... Why?" John asked, dropping the ladder on the floor suddenly. He scrambled to control it and hold it upright.
"I need to see if, like I think there will be, there is a flammable liquid on the roof."
"Sherlock, that makes no sense." John shook his head. He pushed the ladder against the burnt wall and stepped back. A heavy smell of burnt wood and plastic hung in the air.
Sherlock picked up an only slightly singed wooden chair and snapped the leg off. With this in hand he climbed the ladder. While perched on the top rungs he tapped the roof and listened carefully.
"Aha." he gasped, he swung back his arm and smashed it into the roof. A sudden crash and splintering sounded as Sherlock broke the roof. A cascade of dust and dirt fell around John.
"Thank you, Sherlock." John sighed, brushing himself clean.
"John, you better come up here. And call over Lestrade."