Chapter 4

Separation of Church and Estate

When you go to bed pondering a thing, it crops up in your dreams and you'll find that you're still pondering when you wake up. This was something that John's father used to tell him when he was bothered by something. When John awoke that morning, he lay there flat on his back and wondered if that's why Sherlock never slept during a case. Throughout the night, John had been caught in a hazy dream. He recalled small details until the memory of the dream and what had happened in it became blindingly clear once more. At one part of it, John had been on a date. Sally Donovan was there and she was speaking to him sharply. Her words were cutting and cruel. Somebody squeezed his hand. He was confused but reassured. Glancing to his left, he saw that it was Sherlock who was beside him. He expressed that he wanted to get away from Sally. He turned, leaning his head against Sherlock's chest and sighed as instant, immense warmth lightened in his heart. Long arms wrapped around him. He felt happy and comfortable…

"Jesus." John muttered, sitting up in bed. He shook off the thought, threw the covers away and reached for his bathrobe. It was still dark outside. He padded downstairs and into the kitchen where the sound of a rushing shower told him that the bathroom was already occupied. He put a kettle on, shifting back and forth like a child as his bare feet grew accustomed to the chilly linoleum. He seated himself at the table and reorganized the scattered newspaper to read.

With a loud creak, the bathroom door opened and John turned to see Sherlock exit, wrapped in a towel. He was pale, lean, his hair still dripping and there was a steamy cloud lingering in the space behind him. Briefly their eyes met. Sherlock half smiled before turning away, towards the privacy of his bedroom. John's heart was thudding in his chest and he looked away. He was staring at the newspaper diligently. So diligently that he had re-read the same paragraph several times, not taken in any of it and not realized it. Until…

"You've been on the same page for several minutes." Sherlock's voice made John startle. It was a careful, deliberate drawl and it came from directly behind him.

John gave a short laugh and set the paper down. "Right. I suspect I'll need a shower and another cup before I'm awake enough to actually read."

"You are up earlier than normal." Sherlock provided, turning away and pouring tea for himself.

"Have you left any hot water?" John asked and he rose from his seat.

"Possibly, but probably not." was the steady reply. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, eyes twinkling as he stirred his sugar cubes. John shifted his weight awkwardly.

"Right."

Sherlock found it a bit odd and somewhat intriguing that John was feeling so self-conscious that morning. He could tell because John, though he was about to shower, had synched his bathrobe a bit tighter over his shoulders as he turned away. He'd also jumped guiltily when Sherlock had observed that he wasn't actually reading the paper. Even the way he met Sherlock's eye that morning as he'd stepped out of the shower had looked somewhat guilty.

Puzzling, Sherlock glanced over his equipment and experiments, making sure that none of them were broken or disturbed. No, that isn't it. He checked the front room to make sure that none of his case files had been mixed up. It had happened once, when John bumped the table. Photographs from two different cases had gotten sloshed together. John had picked up the files and pictures off the ground and put them back in what he thought was the correct order.

The end result was that it had taken Sherlock an extra fourteen, frustrating hours to solve the cases. When Sherlock had voiced his excited but rather annoyed discovery that the photographs were jumbled up John had acted very guilty. However, his files were currently undisturbed. Nothing was broken, as far as he could see…

With a loud creak, the bathroom door opened and John came out, wrapped in his bathrobe. He looked up to see Sherlock staring intently at him, eyes moving from his face to his hands, then to his chest, head, feet, everywhere. John blushed deeply as Sherlock's invasive eyes made him feel x-rayed. However, John knew that look, it was the look Sherlock got when he was searching for an answer. He wondered what the question was.

"What?" He asked, looking around with a bemused expression. Sherlock's frown deepened and he shook his head.

"The service begins in one hour." Sherlock reminded him. "I'd dress in dark colors if I were you. The congregation will most likely be in mourning for the loss of their member."

John rolled his eyes. "Right, because I was planning on wearing my bright orange Hawaiian and a great bloody cross."

Sherlock sniggered and turned back to the paper, leaving John to get dressed.

The wind was strong, the leaves dry and as they skirted across the ground like little dancing tornadoes John took a deep breath and enjoyed the new smell of Fall. The morning was cloudy but rays of sun dappled through the stratus coat, washing London's towers and streets with a vibrant, blue grey hue. He watched as Sherlock stepped into a patch of sunlight, throwing an arm out to hail a cab.

"I've managed to obtain a copy of the building's blueprints." Sherlock said when they when the cab pulled out into the streets. "There's an office in the back and I need to access it."

"Okay, what for? I thought the point was to observe potential suspects." John asked, feeling somewhat left out.

"It is. However, I have a theory that I need to test."

John frowned. "Sherlock, what are you not telling me about this case?"

Sherlock smiled and glanced at John from his peripherals. "There's another case that I've been somewhat stuck on.. Across the UK there have been shipments of pharmaceutical drugs going missing. Pharmacies across the country have been running dry and patients have been getting cut off from their supplies."

"I remember reading about that. You didn't tell me you've been working on it."

Sherlock nodded. "I haven't been able to do much, until now. Loads of medications that are widely abused on the streets and sold at a much higher profit than your average, home cooked uppers and downers have been going missing and this is what's interesting; the drivers load the shipments but when they get to their destinations, the shipments are gone. Not a single DI across the UK can figure out how it's being done. Of course the drivers have been the prime suspects, but there is no evidence to convict any of them."

"What's this got to do with what we're doing now?"

"The minister of the Church, Bianca Westrom, happens to be the brother of the man I suspect to be behind it all. Saul Westrom."

"How do you think they've been doing it?"

Sherlock smiled, enjoying the curiosity in John's voice.

"The testimony of every driver being accused is that in between receiving the delivery and dropping it off is that they had to enter a mandatory weigh station. Four of the drivers have testified that the procedures were unnaturally long and they were held up for almost thirty minutes. Two more of the drivers were paid off to say that there was nothing unusual about the stop. However, the stations were all portable and the Secretary of State for Transport, Patrick McLoughlin, has provided evidence supporting his testimony that he none of the portable stations were issued by the Ministry of Transport. The recorded portable weigh stations did not match the weigh stations that the drivers all stopped at."

"Did Mycroft put you up to this?" John asked.

"He's not particularly concerned about it, however, some members of Parliament are and they've bothered him enough that he's been trying to hand it down to me."

"That's why you haven't spoken about it."

"I told him I'd look into it when I had the time."

"That's why you're not getting Lestrade involved yet."

"I told you it was a delicate case John."

"When do you plan on involving him?"

"Once I've got enough evidence for him to arrest someone of significance."

John grinned. "Okay, so who is Saul Westrom?"

"Do you remember the Wales Railway drug bust that happened three years ago?"

John shook his head.

"Of course you don't, you were in Afghanistan. It was all over the papers. An entire criminal organization was taken down, all except for Saul Westrom. He snaked his way out of the whole thing. He owns Cambri, the food corporation. One of the lower branches of that corporation is Hemming's Produce, the company that delivers massive donations to the church."

"That's brilliant, Sherlock. So Saul Westrom is back in business then and using the church his sister runs as a distribution point."

"I wouldn't have made the connection if it hadn't been for the empty Hemming's crates on the side of the McKinney's house and the church pamphlet with the name "Bianca Westrom" on the inside. Jason McKinney helped with the distribution of the food to homeless and low income families. I don't believe he had anything to do with the pharmaceuticals."

"Sorry, you don't think he had anything to do with the drugs and you don't think he was killed for his inheritance either?" John asked, disbelieving.

Sherlock's fists clenched. "Those are the two most obvious motives but neither of them make sense. I'm missing something. Either way, that isn't my main concern at this point."

"I was wondering about that." John murmured.

"Wondering about what?" Sherlock asked.

"Normally you wouldn't be so involved in a case like this. I could see how it interested you at first, what with the way Jason McKinney died but I couldn't figure out what about it was keeping you interested. Seemed a bit run of the mill for you and I kept wondering why you weren't just handing the case over to Lestrade. So what exactly are we doing today?" John asked, happy to finally understand where Sherlock's passion was really coming from.

Sherlock pulled a thimble size, black cylinder from his pocked and held it up for John to see. "I'm hoping to get away during the service long enough to key log Miss Bianca's office computer. She will be occupied ministering the service and I don't believe it will be particularly difficult to slip away for a time."

John nodded. Within minutes they were pulling up to the curb on Delmar Road alongside a single story brick building with a vast, wide parking lot. The building was wide and Sherlock could see people hovering around the entrance. John spotted Earl McKinney standing beside the door, handing out pamphlets. John pointed him out to Sherlock.

"Right, best go say hello then." He muttered. Earl noticed them coming up the steps. When they met him a few days prior, he'd looked healthy enough. Now grief gave him a deathly appearance. Though he was dressed well, in a dark grey suit with polished shoes, his face was haggard and strained. He looked like he'd hardly slept, his eyes were bloodshot and sporting dark bags beneath.

"Mr. McKinney, we're so sorry for your loss." John said solemnly as they neared him. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"It's you two. You came to my home." Earl said quietly, passing them both a pamphlet. Jason McKinney's photograph was on the front side of it.

"This isn't the funeral service is it? I hope we're not intruding." John said.

"No, not exactly. We held a private service yesterday. He was well loved here though, and our minister made these in honor of him and his generous donation to the church."

"Donation?" Sherlock asked. John knew it was to confirm where the inheritance had gone upon his death.

"Oh, yes, he's left a decent sum of money, to go to the families in need here and to some restoration of the building." Earl answered quietly, his mind clearly elsewhere.

John scuffed his foot against the ground. "That was good of him. Well, we'll be going in then."

They entered into a large, dimly lit service room with long rows of benches leading up to the raised speaking platform. There was musical equipment beside the speaking podium and a microphone. At the front of the chapel there was a speaking podium. Sherlock assessed the room's exits.

There were two on each side of the platform, two at the entrance, two on either side of the main room. In the middle of the two right hand doors there was a large, one way window that Sherlock knew to be a room for nursing mothers where they could feed their newborns and still participate in the service. The left-hand doors were labeled Kindergarten and Children's Sunday School. The doors on the right-hand side were labeled Kitchen and Hall. Sherlock knew from the blueprints that if he went down the hall there would be bathrooms, the entrance to the nursery, a door to the kitchen and one to the office.

John nodded to the empty seats in the very back, closest to the hall door and Sherlock followed him. Time passed and as the building became full, the seats on either side of them were taken up. John thumbed through the pamphlet with Sherlock leaning onto his shoulder to see. There would be morning worship songs, words from the minister, greetings, then the sermon, ending with another song. In a few moments, the lights dimmed even more and the worship group began to play a soft melody.

Everyone stood to sing along and a projector in the back turned on to display the lyrics on the wall above the podium. A woman stood at the front of the platform who John assumed to be Bianca Westrom. She was tall, with close cropped brown hair and a modest, long sleeved blue dress. She was quite attractive actually, in John's opinion. She looked to be in her thirties with a slender, heart shaped face and a petite nose.

John and Sherlock stood, feeling out of place as the congregation sang, swayed and put their hands up in worship. Some closed their eyes and the feeling building in the room grew emotional as the second, slow hymn began. Sherlock muttered in John's ear.

"People believe that the energy they are feeling is the spirit of God, when really if you attend any sort of concert, whether it be religious or otherwise, the same feeling will be present. God is just the placebo that causes raised serotonin levels, endorphins and the feeling of togetherness that they are experiencing."

"Hush, we're either supposed to be quiet or sing along, tell me about it later." John scolded.

Sherlock scoffed at him and looked up in time to see Bianca Westrom lean towards the microphone during an instrumental segment in the song.

Her voice was a clear, melodic alto. "Today we are celebrating the passing of Jason McKinney, an incredible man who dwells now in House of the Lord. Though he will be sorely missed by all, he is at peace now with our Lord and Savior. Let us join hands and think of him during this song. Think of all that he's done for us as a fellowship and give our thanks to God for bringing into our lives."

There was a young woman on John's left who reached out and took his hand. They made eye contact briefly and the woman gave him a warm, friendly smile. John returned it before glancing up at Sherlock. He tried not to laugh at the strained, blank expression on his friend's face as his hand was grasped by an older man on his right. John knew how Sherlock didn't appreciate physical contact but in this case, would tolerate it as long as he had to.

Sherlock looked down at John, making eye contact briefly. His expression was now unreadable. Something brushed against John's right hand. He looked down, startled and realized it was Sherlock's fingers. They were cold, and John's heart stuttered as they hesitantly pressed against his palm.

Oh. Right. John thought, requiting the grasp. He thanked his stars that the room was dark as he felt his ears grow hot. The contact between them felt so light and fragile. Sherlock glanced down, viewing John out of the corner of his vision. He was staring straight ahead with the same blank expression he'd worn in Earl McKinney's home. After a moment, he appeared to relax slightly.

His hand was calloused but warm and Sherlock nearly startled when John's fingers wove between his, solidifying the bond between them. A moment earlier, Sherlock had been trying to work out a good way to get to the back office. Now though, he was assessing the moment intensely. He'd even forgotten his annoyance with the man on his right, who had clasped his hand only seconds before. All he could feel was the warmth of John's hand in his left. He gave a gentle squeeze, trying to feel his friend's pulse and failed. There was a pulse, it was fluttering like the wings of a small bird, but Sherlock couldn't tell whom it belonged to. The woman on John's left moved, forcing him to shift slightly to the right until his shoulder brushed against Sherlock's.

John felt that it would be a mistake but couldn't help it; he looked up anyways. Before he could advert his gaze, Sherlock eyes darted down to meet his. They were startled and searching. He knew that Sherlock had been feeling for his pulse, it was in his nature. He'd done it before, to The Woman, Irene Adler, early that year. It was the reason he'd guessed the password to her phone. John opened his mouth, but any excuse died in his throat as Sherlock's fingers caressed his softly, just once.

He looked away, struggling to control his breathing. Heat was building in his body that he wasn't prepared to deal with. He didn't have time to think about it, only time to react as the song came to an abrupt end. The lights grew brighter and the woman on his left released him from her grasp. In the same moment, John and Sherlock struggled to unwind their fingers. John couldn't bring himself to look at Sherlock as they stepped awkwardly away from one another. Bianca was speaking again and John caught what she was saying mid-sentence.

"_Good to see some new faces in the crowd. Let's have a chance to get to know each other and take a few moments for greetings before we start."

"Hello," The woman on John's left said. He turned to look at her. "I'm Riley, I haven't seen you before." She was young, in her early twenties with corkscrew curly blond hair and a bubbly disposition.

"John Watson, nice to meet you." John smiled, then glanced over his shoulder quickly and found that Sherlock had disappeared.

"Is he your husband?" Riley asked cheerfully.

"Sorry, what?" John turned back to her. "Oh, no, no. We're just_ he's my_" John struggled for the right words, flustered.

"He's your boyfriend then?" She asked.

John nodded. "Yeah, that. Did you see where he went?"

Riley shook her head. "Sorry, no. Suppose he's gone to the bathroom?"

"That must be it." John forced a smile and headed towards the door that he suspected Sherlock had gone through. Before he was half way there, a young man approached him, reaching a hand out.

"I'm Lodi," He said shaking John's hand. He was tall and muscled, with brown skin and a shaved head, in his late thirties. He had what John recognized as a permanent tension crease in his forehead.

"You were playing the drums." John replied, stepping as if to go around him. "John Watson, good to meet you."

"Haven't seen you before, do you know Jason?" Lodi asked. The question made John stop.

"You could say that." John said. "Why do you ask?"

Lodi shrugged. "I just can't believe he's gone. He seemed so healthy. It's said he died of a stroke."

John nodded carefully. "Yes, he did." He decided to take a chance and added. "Though, he was having problems with his liver as well."

The man frowned. "Is that so? How did you know him, if you don't mind me asking?" Lodi asked.

"Hmm? Oh, he_ helped me and my_ my partner with some fresh produce once." John lied.

"Oh yea, okay. You're boyfriend's the tall one who went off to ahh, use the restroom a moment ago?"

"Oh you saw him."

"I recognized him." Lodi replied evenly.

John tried not to grimace. He opened his mouth to speak but Lodi cut him off. He leaned in and spoke quickly.

"I'm not outing you. I think there's something off about this whole thing, about Jason's death. I've known him and Earl for years. Jason was fit. I just have a hard time believing he'd keel over from a stroke like that."

John's mouth tightened into a firm line. He didn't trust this man at all, which meant that he could be exactly the person they were looking for. John gave a short nod and followed his instincts. He spoke quietly. "Yes. Actually, that's exactly why we're here. It wasn't a stroke that was killing him. I can't disclose anything else, but whatever you know, if you could tell me it could be very helpful. This is a very secret investigation, so if you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself."

Lodi nodded, his expression serious. "Of course, Dr. Watson. I don't know anything really. Just that he was leaving a lot of money to the church and so far, there's not been any talk about distributing it. Supposedly a good portion is supposed to go to the building's restoration, but no plans have been made."

John leaned in. "Really?" He asked, doing his best to make the curiosity in his voice sound sincere. "Can you tell me who's in charge of all that? It's quite a lot of cash after all. It could be veryimportant for the police to know."

Lodi's eyes brightened. He nodded towards the podium where Bianca stood. "Her, there. She's in charge. Her name is Bianca Westrom."

"The minister? Really?"

Lodi nodded. "It was supposed to go over to the church's account, but so far, it's all in hers. I'm the accountant here, I would know. As of yet, she hasn't transferred it. It just makes me curious."

"Thank you for your help, if you have anything el_" John's voice failed him, mid-sentence as an arm snaked around his waist and a hand rested on his ribcage. He looked up to see Sherlock, who smiled quickly before directing his attention towards Lodi. He reached a hand out.

"You are?"

"Ludovico Benici, Lodi in short." He replied. "I was just speaking to Doctor Watson abo_"

"I know what you were discussing." Sherlock interrupted. "Please understand that the topic is very secret. While your cooperation is appreciated I think we've got everything that we need." He glanced quickly at Bianca, who was speaking to the young blond woman Riley.

John almost smirked at the excited look in the other man's eye.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes, of course." Lodi said with earnest. "Thank you, it means so much knowing that everything is in good hands."

Sherlock's smile was quick, forced and detached.

"Good day." He said, dropping his arm to grasp John's fingers and lead him in tow.

When they were out on the street Sherlock dropped his hand like a hot stone and hailed a taxi. They climbed in.

"221B, Baker Street." Sherlock commanded.

"I thought we were going to speak to Bianca?" John said as he buckled in.

Sherlock looked at him, clearly very excited. "No need. You were speaking to the killer and you told him exactly what he needed to hear. Brilliant, John!"

John flushed with pride. "Ah, well. Good. I had a feeling about him. Glad I was on target."

"How did you know it was him? Come on, John, don't tell me it was just your intuition. It was more than just a feeling. What did you observe?" Sherlock pressed.

John thought about it. "Well, you said that Bianca is being framed and he seemed to really want us to be suspicious of her. Also, now that I think about it, I didn't approach the topic. He approached it with me. He recognized you, and suspected that you were here about the murder. So he came right to me when you left. It's funny though." He laughed.

"What's funny?" Sherlock asked.

"Him thinking that he could fool you."

"He wouldn't be the first and he won't be the last."

"Right, so do you have any notion as to why he's setting her up?"

Sherlock nodded. "From what I've gathered, Jason and Bianca were somewhat of a team. Aside from allowing her chapel to be a cartel's distribution point, she is very adamant about helping families in need and all of the_ God stuff. I suspect that if Saul Westrom were not her brother, she wouldn't be so keen on it. Lodi is the Bianca's accountant and completely uninterested in anything other than moving up in the cartel's circle. Being Bianca's right hand man, he would be in line to take over her rather resented position in her brother's cartel. He's setting her up to take a fall for murder and go to prison so that he can take over her position."

"You don't her brother will get involved at that point?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Saul Westrom will protect himself over anyone else. As Bianca takes a fall for murder he will cut contact with her. It will most likely be weeks before he gets in contact with Lodi and reopens the church distribution point. In reality, Lodi's selfish actions may have cost him his job and his freedom, if this can be played right."

"Jesus. Did you manage to get onto the computer?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. "The computer was finger print encrypted. Thankfully, the desk had a glass surface and I was able to lift a left hand index print that was clear enough to unlock the desktop."

"I thought you could only do that kind of thing in movies." John said.

"Nope. You can learn on Youtube."

"So, you've hacked her computer, now what?"

"My laptop is downloading everything she does onto a file that I'll send to Mycroft if anything interesting appears. I doubt she does any substantial business on it though."

"Got a plan then?"

Sherlock tilted his head. "The shipments of food arrive every Sunday night, to be distributed to the population every Monday. I suggest we stake out the building and wait for a shipment to arrive. Among that shipment should be boxed and labeled pharmaceutical drugs as well as fresh produce."

John nodded. "So you're thinking we'll just hang out and watch for a bit, take a photograph or two, maybe a video?"

Sherlock ignored the sarcasm in John's voice. "Precisely."

They returned to the flat to rest up and finalize their course of action. John fed and armed himself while Sherlock sat, lost in thought.

"You've got to eat something." John said, bringing him a plate of left over rice and chicken. Sherlock made a face.

"On the off chance that we can get anything useful from this little excursion tonight, it would be the time to inform Lestrade and have Bianca arrested." Sherlock said, picking at the food with his fork.

"Have Bianca arrested and not Lodi?" John asked.

"All the signs point to Bianca as the killer. For the time being, she needs to take the fall as such. We need Lodi to return to working for the cartel and to reopen the distribution point. I want him to think that nothing is wrong. It will give us time to watch, question Bianca about anything she knows and when her brother does not come to her aid, offer her a deal for information that she will at first be reluctant to give."

"We know for certain that the drugs are being distributed along with the food?" John asked.

"We're going to find out."