Chapter Five
"Well I can tell you what's going to happen." Sherlock announced.
John and Mrs. Husdon looked over at him.
"You do?" John asked. A part of him knew he was not going to like the answer to much, but the other part wanted him to be the brilliant problem solver he remembered. He was the man who had cheated death.
"Yes. I have a box of information that you are going to take to Lestrade. It contains all evidence the about Moriarty I can find. It unfolds the webs that he created. It should be sufficient to clear my name."
John felt a little rush of excitement. The adventure had started again. But then he came back to earth. The adventures were over for him, it was time to finally grow up.
Sherlock pointed over to a big box in the corner of the kitchen that John had somehow been able to miss. Inside were lots f brown paper files and the tops of evidence bags and as far as he could see a few computer disks.
"There's more evidence, I've got it locked away, but that should be enough to get Lestrade to start asking questions the evidence will just prove the point."
John knew that Sherlock wanted him to take the box to Lestrade it felt like old times, when Sherlock would just expect him to do things without questioning and without any thought of the consequences. Of course John always questioned and always tried to think of the consequences though often they were completely beyond what he would expect. Part of him wanted to rebel. Wanted to say no, now you will have a little more appreciation for me. But it was a small thing to cause a fuss over. A important thing, he couldn't spend the rest of his life trying to hide the fact that Sherlock Holmes was alive from everybody.
"I'm not going to get involved in all your shenanigans again. " John said thinking at least putting up a little defence would do him good even if he knew where this was going. There was a shot of pain down his leg he carefully eased his weight from one leg to the other.
"Leg hurting again John?"
Sherlock said not missing anything. John was about to snap and call him a Bastard when he heard a small voice behind him.
"Finished."
Hamish stood by the door waving his plastic plate in the air. John plastered a smile on his face and bent down to take the plate and banana skin off the little boy.
"Good Boy."
"Bicwick?" Hamish asked.
"Biscuit One."
John reached for the cupboard for the familiar lion shaped cookie jaw and hand Hamish a chocolate chip cookie.
"What do you say?" He prompted.
"Thank you."
"Why don't you go with Mrs. Hudson and watch the fuzzles?" John suggested knowing that the rare treat of TV. was enough to get Hamish out of the way for a little while.
"Yeah!" Hamish said excitedly looking up at Mrs Hudson.
John sent Mrs. Hudson a pleading look. She nodded and held her hand out to Hamish leading him back into the front room. John waited for the sound of insipid music to start up before he turned back to Sherlock.
"Admit it you can't live without the danger John."
"I have to Sherlock. I have a child."
"Yes, mine." Sherlock said in the annoyed tone of voice he used whenever it seemed people were being stupid.
"Yes, yours. But he doesn't know who you are and he loves me and I owe it to him to do my best to look after him."
"Owe him?"
"All children deserve a stable home."
"Your dad was absent a lot wasn't he?"
"Stop trying to be clever you already know that he was."
"Take it to Lestrade John, help me clear my name. Please. We can take things from there."
Sherlock rarely said please and rarely had that ever slighlty vulnerable beseeching look in his eyes.
John sighed and turned from Sherlock. He felt like he could not stand to look at the man whom he usually found so beautiful.
"Mrs Hudson. I'm going out. Will you babysit?"
Mrs. Hudson rushed back in on quiet feet eyes still wide from the shock of seeing Sherlock alive.
"Alright dear." She said after a long moment. "Does he need bathing or anything?"
"No he can do that himself, just make sure he doesn't put any bits of disembodied flesh in the fridge where Hamish can find them."
The police offices had not changed. Same cold institutionalized chairs and tables and felt boards. As he walked in Lestrade was coming out of his office already alerted by the receptionist that he was here. John put the box on the floor just as Lestrade meet him and clapped him on the shoulder.
"John."
"Hi Greg."
"It's been a while. How are you?"
"I'm fine thank you. "
"And little Hamish? He's coming up three now right?" Lestrade said his eyebrows furrowing slightly trying to remember the adopted boy's birthday.
"Still another two months. Don't worry you'll get the birthday party invite."
Lestrade smiled. He and John had shared quite a few beers in the last couple of years. Usually in the house as John couldn't get out. They had watched sports or talked of old times. Occasionally they had discussed cases and John had given his input, his analytical skills honed by his time with Sherlock. During that time he and Hamish had become friends, in the way that adults become friends with children, occasionally playing and laughing at each other.
"Wouldn't miss it. So... What's in the box?"
John took a deep breath. Here we go again...
"Jim Moriarty ."
Lestrade looked at him with slight surprise followed by something close to pity. He glanced around nervously and lowered his voice.
"Look John both you and I may believe that Jim Moriarty existed and that Sherlock was the real deal. But the general consensus is that Jim Moriarty was just a character and that Sherlock killed the innocent man who played him."
John nodded slowly, the things that people said about Sherlock still pained him. Lestrade put his hand on John's shoulder.
"There's not much that I can do about it. I'd loose my job if I tried to push this. I know you mss him John, even I miss him sometimes and I didn't even like him that much. But I believed in him. And I believe this is unfair, but John, you need to get on with your life. You need to concentrate on Hamish."
"Yes, but this is going to prove that Moriarty did exist and that he was the head of some big criminal fraternity."
Lestrade looked at him as if he had gone insane. He didn't quite believe the words himself. It had been three years; things were not going to just go back to how they were. The public and the police force had believed they had been fooled and they knew how to hold a grudge even against a dead man. None of them were going to want to admit they had been double fooled.
Lestrade sighed and looked at the box picking out one of the brown paper folders.
"How?" He asked as he flipped the page open.
"I don't know."
Lestrade sighed again and looked at him.
"How do you not know?"
"I didn't do all this."
John waved at the box.
"How could I I've got a job and a toddler?"
"Then.."
"It was left on my doorstep, with a note."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow but continued to flip through the brown folder then flinging it down on the table he picked up another. Then the only red file, the thickest one of the lot. By the time he was done with that one he had a mixture of confusion and tiredness in his face.
"Do you know what these are?"
"I've not looked; I was supposed to bring them straight to you."
"Well. This one," He pointed to the one on the table. "Is a detailed file on a prominent Russian Gangster who was found dead over a year ago. This one here is information on a slave trade circle that the Met and the Albanian services were working to bringing down. We had a man on the inside, just as they were getting close to bringing them down the whole thing callapsed. The top three men or at least those we suspected to be the top three men disappeared and the rest of the circle callapsed. Then twelve women who had been in transport suddenly arrived on our door. Two homeless women brought them in. They gave us all the information we needed to catch the remaining bad guys. All that information is written in this file.
John listened to what Sherlock had been doing with his time, making the world a better place, whilst John had sat at home hating him for being gone.
"This one." Greg picked up the red folder.
"This one is on Jim Moriarty, Its page numbers correlate to those on the files. I've already looked up these two and it seems to suggest that Moriarty was in contact with both the Russian gangster and the slave ring."
"Right." John said, he knew the questions he couldn't answer were coming.
Lestrade lowered his voice to make it almost a whisper.
"Is it him?"
Johns heartbeat increased he could see piercing blue eyes before him.
"Who?" He breathed trying to keep his voice steady.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"Oh." John was flooded by relief. "Like I said, left on my door step. No idea."
"I'm not buying that."
"Go through the information and ring me when you're finished. I may be able to tell you a little more then."
"Give me a reason why I shouldn't take you into custody for withholding police evidence?"
"Because we both know you won't."
It was already getting dark when John left the police station and went down into the underground to take the tube. He was more tired than he had been in years by the time he got back to 221B Baker Street. As he walked in he saw Sherlock coming out of the bathroom. He was fully dressed but his hair was dripping wet and hanging down straight almost to his shoulders.
"Sherlock, Did you kill them all?" John had to ask.
"All?" Sherlock asked looking confuse at the sudden question.
"You know what I'm referring to."
"No. I may have had to take extreme measures to protect myself in a few instances but people like that always have enemies John. "
"And I'm guessing these enemies found files on their doorsteps that gave them more reasons to hate them and detailed instructions of where to find them."
John took a deep breath. It was brilliant, it was morally grey, it was Sherlock all over. He didn't know whether to be happy that his past lover was not a cold blooded killer or shocked that he was alright turning people over to cold blooded killers rather than the police. But in their world, the world of murders and laws and consulting criminals morality was not as clear cut as in most peoples.
"Something like that."
John was so tired, numb. He needed a break from it all.
"I have to look after Hamish."
He stated wanting to see things for a moment from the simple world of a child and to be surrounded by the loving affection and need. He walked past Sherlock and into his front room. His eyes immediately sort out Hamish. He was on the sofa, head in Mrs. Hudson's lap as she ran her hand through his soft curls. John smiled fondly. There were times like these when his heart seemed to almost pause for a second and all the worries of the world dropped away.
"Is he asleep?" He said quietly to Mrs. Hudson.
"No, just very tired."
"I'll take him." John said bending down and shifting the little boy into his arms. Hamish blinked up at him immediately putting his chubby hands around John's neck in a gesture of complete trust.
"Thank you for your help Mrs. Hudson."
"You know where I am if you need me."
Mrs. Hudson got up to leave as she met Sherlock in the doorway she let out a long huff of breath and hugged him to her.
"It's good that you're alive Sherlock. I don't understand it all but I'm glad."
Sherlock smiled and bent down to kiss Mrs. Hudson on the cheek.
"It's good to see you again. Sleep well, we'll talk more tomorrow."
"Come on Hamish bedtime." John said carrying the boy towards his room.
"Story?"
"Yes."
"And they live happily ever after." John whispered as he shut Hamish's favourite fairy tale. Hamish was already asleep. He's podgy hand was clasped around the little blue teddy bear. It had been the first thing that John had brought for him. He had left the mini Holmes with Mrs. Hudson as he had made an emergency run to the stores for nappies and powdered baby formula. The little bears had been sat on the top of the baby shelves, all bright colours with soft fluffy material and sewn on eyes and noses. He had stretched up and took one of the little bears without really thinking. When Hamish had started to talk he had called it Bear because that's what John called it but for the last few months he had been having private little conversations with it and called it Madock. John had absolutely no idea where the name came from but he had been glad that he had brought the bear that day.
John bent down and placed a loving kiss on Hamish's forehead. He stood watching Hamish's chest moving slightly in sleep for just a moment longer hen as he did most nights convinced himself it was okay to leave him. He yawned as he walked to his bedroom, it had been a long day full of surprises and though he doubted he would sleep that night at least he would get solitude and peace. Except when he got to his room and opened the door he found that somebody was sleeping in his bed.
Sherlock was laid flat out on his bed in an almost unnatural way. John almost expected him to have his fingers steeped as if he was thinking even during sleep. As he walked in Sherlock looked up and gave John a small lopsided grin. John sighed.
"Sherlock, couch."
"No. It's quiet alright John. I am comfortable with you sharing my bed."
John looked down and counted to ten. How was it Sherlock had been back for just over four hours and he already wanted to deck him? John had always thought himself an even tempered and patient person before Sherlock had entered his life. In fact many thought him infinitely patient and good natured to even be able to live with Sherlock.
"It's my bed." He said steadily.
Sherlock sat up.
"It's in my room." He stated.
"Not anymore. Out." John pointed to the door.
"Pardon?"
"Go sleep on the couch Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly but he jumped up and slide out of the bed grabbing a pillow as he went.
John sighed and looked at the floor.
"Sherlock!"
"Oh what now?" Sherlock asked.
"Put your trousers on." John said still not looking at the naked form in front of him.
"Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked smugly.
"Yes." John admitted. "But mainly it's because Hamish might get up in the middle of the night and he already thinks you're scary. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!"
"God, you're starting to sound like Mycroft." Sherlock said and though John wasn't looking at him he could imagine the slightly bulging eyes and the way he flung his hands up in the air. He heard the bang of a draw opening.
"I'm stealing yours because mine are uncomfortable."
"Right." John said keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he waited for Sherlock to leave. He flet the warm body pass close to him and pause for a moment.
"Goodnight John." Sherlock said softly.
John didn't answer; he didn't think he could because his resolve was quickly disappearing. This was Sherlock. This was the man he had made love to, had buried himself in and watched fall apart. He was the man John had longed for literally like no other. He closed his eye and let out a deep breath as the door finally closed.
He got undressed, slipped on his soft pyjama trousers and slipped under the sheets. The slightly spicy smell of Sherlock clung to the pillow. Knowing he was alone he buried his face in it and breathed in deeply. He was really here, Sherlock had really come back. Now instead of thinking over all the problems this brought up with Hamish he just thought about the fact that Sherlock, his friend (at least) was back. He smiled. And then his hand crept downwards over his stomach and under his waistband. Sherlock looked exactly as he had when he had left. His body was still lean and pale with tight muscles. He sighed. It had been a long time.
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