Chapter 10

John was in Tesco picking up the rest of the items on Sherlock's list when his phone rang. He almost dropped the half-dozen aluminium drinks flasks he was juggling with the cardboard box. Why on earth did I not get a basket?

It was Mary.

"Have you found her yet?" she asked immediately.

"No, but we're in the middle of a… a process."

"I've just had a very interesting conversation with Sherlock."

"Oh," said John, dropping the flasks into an abandoned basket and picking up a pasty for his dinner, "isn't every conversation with Sherlock Holmes interesting?"

"He told me, in no uncertain terms, to get out of London. I felt like I was in a western. He wouldn't tell me why. Is he just being a drama queen, or should I - "

"What the hell has he done now?"

"Maybe Mycroft started a war."

"How did he sound? Was he Okay?"

"He sounded fine. John, has this got something to do with Molly going AWOL? Are you alright?"

John took a deep breath and put the basket on the conveyor belt. "Look, I should have called. It's a lot worse than we first thought. Molly's new boss was found dead in his house."

"Oh, my God."

He hushed his voice as he got nearer to the cashier, "They think he was murdered. A man showed up at the hospital impersonating him."

"Oh, my God, Joh-"

"He was the last person to see Molly alive."

"That's not good."

"Very not good." John gave the cashier a hollow smile and paid for the stuff with the card Sherlock had marked 'Business Expenses', though he was never quite sure what the 'Business' was.

"Could this have something to do with… you know… when she harboured Sherlock after the fall?"

"I don't know," John said, truthfully. It wasn't a fall, Mary; it was a jump, he bloody jumped. He shoved the receipt in the bag and picked up the box, cradling it under one arm and holding the phone in his other hand. He was starting to get a little paranoid with all the eyes on him, although the content of the box was perfectly innocuous if you didn't know what it was for. "She was examining the body of a young woman we think was involved with traffickers. That's all we know."

"Except…"

"Except what?"

"Oh, Come on John, I know that silence."

"Except Sherlock's being pretty cagey about it. I think he's holding something back. He doesn't trust the police, and, um," John braced himself against the cold blast, going through the automatic doors.

"What? Come on, spit it out, I haven't got all day; I'm supposed to be getting out of town by noon, remember."

"It's just… argh, there's no other way I can put it; I think he's realised he… loves her." There was silence on the other end of the phone until he heard a little cough escape from Mary. "Are you laughing?"

"You've only just figured it out?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious isn't it?"

"Not to me – well, I'll admit it is obvious now."

"Oh, men, you're so unsubtle."

"What do I do?"

"For God's sake, don't say anything to him."

"I suppose it can wait until this is over. But I'll admit I'm not looking forward to having 'The Talk'."

"Do you think he's even been in love before?"

"Who knows, Mary, who knows?" John paused. What was he actually saying? He'd seen Sherlock acting like this before, over the Adler woman, but that wasn't the same; he hadn't known her very well. To Sherlock, Irene was like one of his puzzles; something to be conquered. She wasn't the kind of person you wanted to settle down and grow old with. Sherlock with Irene would be like fire with fire. Steel on steel. No, this 'thing' he had with Molly was far, far, as Mary put it, subtler and more complicated. "But I'm pretty sure he is now."

"Maybe it took something like this for him to realise."

"That's not going to do either of them any good if we don't find her."

"I'm coming down there to help - "

"No, no, no, you - You'd better pack a bag. Go to - who do we know who lives in the country?"

"Only David."

"David it'll have to be, then."

"You're not taking Sherlock seriously - "

"Have you ever known him to be wrong? If Sherlock wants you to leave town, then I'm sure he has his reasons."

"John, I can help. Let me - "

"No," he cut her off, "I'm putting my foot down."

"Putting your foot down?"

He could hear the amusement on her face. "I mean - oh, you know what I mean. Just pack a bag and go to David's. He won't turn you away."

"Okay, but you call me when you know more."

"Call me when you get there. Love you."

"John - "

"Yes?"

"Keep a close eye on him, won't you?"

"Will do."

He hung up and immediately speed-dialed Sherlock. It rung out. He didn't bother leaving a message. Instead he called the land-line. Still no answer. Damn.

"If I see any more number-plates, I think my eyeballs are going to explode. There's a reason we have people to do this, you know."

"Yeah, well, this is no ordinary case so you just keep looking, will you Sally." Greg Lestrade kneaded his own tired eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'll chase uniform about the fiancé."

"Still no progress?"

Lestrade shook his greying head. "It's getting late, you want some dinner?"

"Fine, honestly, boss." Donovan turned back to her computer screen.

"I'm popping down to the canteen."

"No, you're not," Chief Superintendent Tattersall came into the office, "you're coming with me. Commissioner wants to see you."

Lestrade exchanged a look with Donovan. I warned you, she seemed to say.

"You let him into a crime scene again, didn't you?" Deputy Commissioner Virginia Uadi paced her office, arms folded, watching the two men with unbridled derision.

"I was worried he'd get bored."

Uadi held up her hand, laughing humourlessly. "Bored? You expect me to turn a blind eye and smooth this over because your pet amateur detective got bored."

"Trust me," Lestrade shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "you do not what to let this guy get bored. It would be worse than unleashing another crime wave."

"So you've appointed yourself his keeper, is that what I'm to understand?" She sat on the edge of her desk.

"I'd like to point out that bringing Holmes into the Birt investigation saved us hundreds of man-hours." Lestrade would be damned if he didn't even try to state his case.

"And I would like to point out the moral, ethical and legal ramifications of bringing a civilian into a crime scene."

"All of our SOCOs are civilians - "

But Uadi cut him off, "they're on the payroll."

"He's solved some of our worst cold cases with nothing but an iphone and a makeshift laboratory in his kitchen, for Christ's sake."

"Precisely. He's a loose cannon. A maverick. Unpredictable. I don't mind unpredictability in my criminals, Greg, but I cannot accept someone spreading the disease of unpredictability in my crime fighting force. It's impossible to contain all the tabloid sensationalism that man attracts."

Tattersall bristled with unspoken opinions, but stayed mercifully quiet.

"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Lestrade leaned back in his springy metal chair. "All 'The Force' cares about is its public image. I wouldn't mind betting that your press officer is waiting in the wings right now, pulling the strings. Bloody tail wagging the dog - "

Tattersall finally spoke up. "It's the very same press officer that protects your arse, I might add."

Lestrade wondered if he was still feeling stung from the run in with John Watson.

"All I'm asking of you," Uadi returned to her pacing stance, "is that you acknowledge that you've done something procedurally dubious and show me that you're prepared to work on your team mentality before this becomes a disciplinary matter."

"And is it likely to become a disciplinary matter?" Lestrade was skating on the thin ice between diplomatic dissociation and moral culpability. God, how he hated all the politics.

"That would depend on you." Uadi's mouth was a thin hard line. She had him by the balls.

"You're off the case." Tattersall said.

"The victim's a friend of mine - " Lestrade started to protest, jumping to his feet and squaring up to her.

"You're emotionally compromised," said Tattersall.

Uadi agreed. "I'm handing this one over to Spec Ops. Go home, spend some time with your kids. I'll see you on Monday morning, when I expect you to give your full cooperation with the press office in containing any fall-out from Holmes' involvement in the matter at hand. Am I clear?"

"What the hell has this got to do with Spec Ops?"

"No-one's told him yet," Tattersall turned to Uadi.

"Emotional involvement notwithstanding, the situation has escalated somewhat. Unfortunately I'm bound by the Official secrets act. You just don't have the security clearance, Greg."

Tattersall was totally unsympathetic. "You're out of your depth."

Lestrade looked at the Commissioner for a long, tense second. "Sod this." And then he swung his jacket over his shoulder and walked out.

The last thing John had been expecting when he rounded the north end of Baker Street was a white van marked Health Protection Agency and three people in white hazmat suits leaving 221b.

Gosh, Sherlock has been busy.

He nodded his acknowledgement to the lead operative as he approached. The man took off his hood and showed John his ID. G. Maddox. "Do you live at this property, sir?"

"No, just visiting. Why, has he received more anthrax in the mail?"

Maddox looked at the cardboard box that John now held close to his body, probably trying to reconcile the image of this newcomer holding chemicals with the usual scene of disarray inside the flat. "We're responding to a report of radioactive contamination, but we've given the property the all clear."

"And the, uh, inhabitants?"

"All clear."

John was sure the guy was giving him a funny look. "Good day to you, then."

"Good day," Maddox said awkwardly. Then he joined the other two HPA agents in stowing their equipment in the van.

Well, that was surreal, John said to himself as he pushed the door. "Sherlock!" he shouted as he bounded up the stairs as fast as he could considering the weight he was carrying. There was still no answer when he came into the kitchen. "Why aren't you answering the phone?"

Sherlock rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers, one hand loaded with old mobile phones and a selection of screwdrivers.

"Are you alright?" John said, a little out of breath, "what the fuck - "

"Are the HPA doing here? Good question." Sherlock started to prise the cover off the phone. "My brother sent them. It seems the presence of Polonium 210 in a badly disposed of cadaver is cause for some concern."

"Polonium?" John put the box down carefully on the kitchen table. "Isn't that - "

"Radioactive? Yes, nice of you to notice. There's no immediate threat to us, because we haven't ingested it. However they did take my best Moleskine and my favourite pencil. You haven't ingested any Polonium have you, John?" He started to chip off the glass cover on the phone's camera lens.

"Where's M - "

"I told Mrs Hudson to go and stay with her sister for the weekend. It was only decent considering the circumstances. As of half an hour ago we're on yellow alert for a city-wide terrorist threat. I trust you've spoken to your wife."

"Yes, but - "

"I do hope she hasn't alerted anyone else, it wouldn't do to add widespread panic to the list of today's problems."

"Terrorist threat?"

"I'll explain on the way."

"Terrorist threat?"

"Thames House, MI5 headquarters. Her Maj's finest will be picking us up shortly."

"Terrorist threat?"

"Yes. Terrorists. I thought I said that."

"And what's all this?" John gestured to the broken mobile phone parts littering the table.

"I'm making an alpha particle detector."

"Like you do."

"The Health Protection people wouldn't let me borrow one. They're funny about that sort of thing. Have they gone? When I say borrow I mean - "

"Steal?"

"Steal. Funny how I never thought of this before."

"What possible occasion would necessitate you to have an alpha particle detector?"

"Now," Sherlock finished his modifications to the phone, "all we need is an alpha emitter to calibrate it with."

"Look, Sherlock, I really need to talk you about something."

"The fire alarm should do. I'll be right back." He took one of the dining chairs out to the landing, leaving John wondering how this had all happened so quickly, and why on earth he'd spent the last hour or so gathering items from around the city. At least it had given him some space and time to think.

John had been so sure that nipping this Molly thing in the bud was the right thing to do. Now he was face to face with the Sherlock, who was for some reason dismantling the smoke detector at the kitchen table, his resolve was waning. All he felt was guilt and disloyalty. Who was he to decide what would make Sherlock or Molly happy? Nothing he could say or do would dissuade them if that's what they ultimately wanted. John's interference would just ruin their friendship. If two years down the line this turned out to be a train wreck, at least he'd still be there to pick up the pieces. If someone was your best friend and you loved them, then you just had to stand by and let them make their own mistakes, didn't you?

I can't. I just can't do it.

"You were going to say something." Sherlock isolated a metal disc from the casing.

"No. No, it's Okay, you go ahead, whatever you were going to say." John tried very hard to look interested in what Sherlock was doing.

Sherlock looked at him for a couple of beats and then, thankfully, went back to the smoke alarm, in full lecture mode. "This metal plate contains a tiny amount of Americium 241. Now, if we put the sensor in this camera close enough," he held the two devices together for a couple of seconds, "the alpha particles should knock out a few of the pixels."

"Huh," John was impressed, "would you look at that." Pixels on the phone's blank screen were indeed disappearing gradually as they watched.

"Quite primitive, really. Frontier science."

"Still, it's quite brilliant, Sherlock. It makes me wonder why they need all that equipment."

"Unfortunately it's hardly a quantifiable measuring technique. It'll tell us if something's contaminated. It won't tell us how much."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What if I'm contaminated?"

"It's highly unlikely, since you didn't touch the body," Sherlock frowned.

"Just to be sure."

"Give me your hand." Sherlock held his gaze firmly the whole time. John tried not to let him see that holding another man's hand felt somewhat strange. He told himself it was no big deal; they'd held hands before, with no hint of ambiguity, hadn't they?

Sherlock pressed the sensor on John's right thumb since that was the most used part. John felt like a lemon standing there with a broken mobile phone being held there by this, frankly pretty eccentric man. The seconds passed uncomfortably until Sherlock let go and said, "it doesn't look like there are any more pixels knocked out. You're good."

"So," John said to diffuse the unease, gesturing to the box, "what's all this stuff for?"

"You'll see." Sherlock's eyes flashed with a familiar mischief. He went to the kitchen cupboard and brought out a set of suspiciously professional looking scales and a huge pestle and mortar.

"I'm just worried you're not content with being a kleptomaniac and you're trying your hand at being a pyromaniac."

This amused Sherlock as much as it possibly could given the taut situation. "Help me, would you?"

Together they filled the flasks with Sherlock's carefully measured ingredients, fitting them with strips of magnesium for a fuse and screwing the lids on tightly. They did it all systematically and with a quiet reverence that could only hint at the ordeal that was soon to come.