Playing the Fool
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Chapter Eight

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John found himself once again in the Spencer's living room, but this time there were no smiles and no social niceties such as baked goods and work related conversation. There were only hard stares and the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong somewhere, but neither party could agree on when. Samuel Spencer was sitting with his body taut, his wife at his side appearing anxious. John was sitting across from them with three pieces of paper spread out on the coffee table.

"You took his body. Why?"

It was obvious Samuel's head was trying to churn out a decent reply, but John pushed one of the paper's he had brought closer to the agitated doctor.

"You said that you went to University together. Oxford? Cambridge? He had brief stints at both from what his brother tells me, but never at UCL – which from this transcript I obtained, is where you came from." John retracted the paper to push forth another that was the one Molly had handed him last night.

"And this is an eyewitness's statement putting you at the scene of Sherlock's death, and then again at his... apprehension. Care to explain yourself?"

Dr. Spencer looked as if the world were collapsing around him. Silently he gripped Matilda's hand and adopted a pleading look, but John just shook his head and clenched his teeth. "No? Still not coming up with a story? Then I'll spin one myself then."

He took back Molly's work and brandished the last of the documents. "This letter is from Sherlock's collection. Do you recognize the letter Samuel? You should. It's in your writing."

The letter was folded many times as if someone had kept it in a wallet for quite some time. It refused to lay flat on the wooden surface between them, but the writing across it was in the doctor's untidy scrawl. It was addressed to 'Mr. Holmes' and it outlined the details of a case John had never heard of before.

"Now, I'll ask again. Why did you take his body?"

"John, I'm sorry... but I needed the money. Moriarty wanted his body and I knew I could get it-"

"Don't."

Silence punctuated the word. Sam Spencer froze in mid explanation, fearful that John might throw a fit and try to deck him across the table. Instead, the ex-soldier pointed his finger at Dr. Spencer like it was a gun.

"Don't you dare try to lie to me twice. You were recruited by Sherlock, not by Moriarty. The coroner on duty at the time was told, also by Sherlock, that you were coming. Give me the truth Samuel, or by god I will fetch someone from Scotland Yard and have this conversation in one of their interrogation rooms."

It was at this point Matilda let go of her husband's hand to stand. "This is quite enough! Tell him Sam. He knows enough now that Sherlock would understand." She turned towards the kitchen, but hesitated as she tilted her head to address John. "I'm going to make some tea... if that is all right with you John. You're going to need it. It might be a long explanation."

John nodded and allowed Mrs. Spencer to leave the room. He glanced to Dr. Spencer with a look of impatience.

"All right. Fine. Sherlock's going to murder me for this and the irony is no one will be able to investigate it." He chuckled darkly, if only to mask his duress, before he leaned forwards and rested his arms on his knees.

"You did your research correctly. I never did meet Sherlock in University; I only met him three years ago when I was in a spot of trouble. He fixed it for me, but the cost was out of my league. He said that he didn't care about the money and that it wasn't everyday he had a doctor indebted to him. He proposed that if there were ever a situation where he needed some discrete medical care for himself - or an ally, I was to be available. I agreed whole-heartedly to ease my conscience. I hadn't heard from him for years. Occasionally I'd have some bum off the street show up at my door with a bullet wound and Sherlock's name ... but I hadn't seen him personally. That was until he rang me four months ago, asking for the favour to end all favours."

"He wanted you to help him fake his suicide." John wanted to cut to the chase.

"Not just that Dr. Watson. So much more." Sam seemed like he wanted to drop dead right then and there. "I couldn't refuse him... but damned if I wanted to. He told me that if I went along with the plan he'd wire me enough money to start my own practice. I'd be free of suspicion, free to do what I love and free to live the life I always wanted... but only if I did exactly what I was instructed. I'm violating that now just by telling you this." Spencer grimaced and rubbed his hands together fretfully. "I'm a reliable man. I have never broken my word before now."

"Tell me exactly what he told you." John felt like the knot he was toying with had finally loosened. He was seconds from the truth he had been waiting for.

Doctor Spencer took in a steady breath of air and closed his eyes to better clear his head. Matilda came in with some hot buttered scones and a tea set soon after. She poured them all a cup and set a coaxing hand on her husband's back.

"He said that I needed to be at St. Bart's in the morning during the shift change. I was to bring anything that would make the average layman identify me as a doctor, as well as six shots of Romazicon and ten milligrams of Lorazepam." He wrinkled his nose at this - as did John. Those items alone explained why Sherlock appeared dead at the scene and in the morgue. Hell, from that dosage Sherlock might not have been faking.

"Once at the hospital, I was to meet at the bus stop where there would be a man dressed in a tan jacket and a woman in black waiting for me. They were there to explain everything – what I needed to do... when I needed to do it... etc. From what I gathered, there were a total of eight people that were going to be involved in our part of the process. Everyone else we encountered had to be distracted if they got too involved. Two of the people were RNs; there was one other doctor besides myself, and the two I was referred to were average working class citizens by appearance. The last of the eight were dressed up vagrants in emergency response jackets. I was worried about the part they'd play." Sam started to tear apart a scone as he talked.

"The drill was supposed to be simple. Sherlock was going to jump into the back of a truck filled with bags – the contents of which I have no idea. He was supposed to roll out and make it look like he had some serious head trauma. That was Frank's job. He was the man in the tan jacket. Frank made sure he was properly bloodied up and laid out believably before we were to arrive at the scene. The two nurses, myself and the other doctor ran over as bystanders started to crowd around. Controlling them was simple until you got there and started to push through the nurses. That was a bit of a nightmare. I was panicking because the moment you were trying to get to Sherlock was the moment I was injecting him with enough Lorzapam to kill him."

He took a shaky sip of his tea and continued the narrative as a shadow passed over John's face. He was reliving the morning his best friend severed all contact with him. Samuel hoped that John would forgive him.

"By the look of it, he had already ingested something previously. His eyes were running and unresponsive to light. I was certain I was murdering him, but the plan had to keep going or everything would be for nothing. The vagrants came out with the stretcher and we rushed Sherlock into the alleyway. Apparently there should have been enough time to check him over and see if the overdose was going to be fatal before reaching the morgue, but I was shaking so hard that it was difficult to take his pulse. We were supposed to leave him for a few hours with the coroner. I wasn't sure he would make it. I had never done anything like this before. His blood pressure was through the floor and I don't even know if he was breathing when we wheeled him in."

"We were instructed to make as much noise as we could when we arrived in the morgue - Sherlock's orders. We were supposed to scare the daylights out of the coroner. I don't think it was really necessary since she was in a right proper state when she caught sight of the body. I was shocked she even managed to stay standing. I wanted to keep an eye on Sherlock since I was worried the coroner would faint and everything would be ruined, but my next task was to help throw a rather random canister of gas on the gurney and take it to a drop point while the woman was distracted. It was the oddest part of the affair, but at that point I would have probably danced a jig if it ended the whole ordeal." Dr. Spencer noticed that this new development piqued John's interest. "The other doctor said that Sherlock planted the gas earlier, and that it was a faulty container so I shouldn't breathe too deeply around it."

"Was there a label on the canister?" John asked, wondering if he had guessed the contents already.

"No... nothing. It was a fairly odourless gas too... since I'm sure I would have caught a whiff of it dragging that thing around. I doubted it was dangerous. I was thinking it might be nitrous oxide."

"Most likely not, but continue..." It was probably the same drug that John himself had been exposed to at Baskerville. If Sherlock planted it there, Molly would have been subjected to it for long enough that its effects would have kicked in full force. Sherlock told her that he was going to die, and the nightmare became a reality. Molly knew death like no other, she would have recognized the details of life easily... but the gas ruined her senses. She only saw what Sherlock wanted her to see.

It was amazing what detail Sherlock put into this plan of his. He probably left the canister there the night he surprised her in the morgue.

"Eight hours later we were to come for the body. This was to allow time for friends and family to identify him, and for the coroner to process him. She stored him in a particular fridge where Matilda and I were to fetch him with the help of those two homeless men and a nurse that worked at the hospital. We got him into my mother's van, and I gave him the Romazicon. One shot every half hour from that point on, till he came out of the coma. He was not in a good state. He was babbling nonsense and he started to seizure. It was a wonder I didn't drive into anything on the way home."

John was trying to imagine the scene. He couldn't fathom Sherlock putting himself into such a state, then depending on others to fix it. It just wasn't like him.

"Matilda had set up a bed for him in our guest room. I rigged up an IV from some of my old medical equipment from my school days and started to nurse him back to health. I think it was a whole month before he could even walk properly. He doesn't remember that month, but we do."

Matilda smiled faintly. "He kept reading the newspapers being surprised that the date had changed. He was worried about you though. He deduced the date of his funeral and went to see you. I accompanied him just in case he collapsed. He watched you for a long time John." The woman had small tears in her eyes as if she were empathizing several months too late.

"When we got back, that's when he told us to take care of you. He magically produced all of this money for Sam to start his practice. We spent about two weeks finalizing and transferring patient files and finding a decent receptionist..."

"A week after that he just disappeared, leaving a note to remind us to watch over you." Sam added, his voice trailing off as Matilda ended the narrative for him.

"And that's the day Hilda went out and hunted you down to try and get you to help out Sam at the clinic. From that point onwards, everything returned to some semblance of normality. We haven't seen Sherlock in around three months."

John sat quietly on the couch and let the information pool in his mind until it settled and he could reflect upon it.

"He is most definitely alive then." His voice was faint, and very relieved.

"Yes."

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Author's Notes:

There. Done. I dreading writing this part since it's just a lot of talking and it reveals the details of the suicide (which are not what I think happened, it is just one theory that had everything I wanted incorporated) Personally I think Mycroft is in the know and that there was some other trick, perhaps similar, involved. Now I can focus on the 'why' bit, instead of the how. Sorry for dragging you though the wee points! Please read and review! You've all been so incredibly good to me. I have a day off tomorrow, so if I get enough feedback I might post the next chapter in 24 hours~!