Dear friends, I am sorry this has taken so long. Real life once again interrupted. However, my application for graduate school, which has taken up most of my free time over the past month, is submitted (!) so I can get back to this. Which is particularly exciting because *trumpets blare* this is a hella important chapter. Yes, friends - Sherlock is about to get the surprise of his life. Also, I am pretty sure that next chapter involves Sherlock interacting with Cecelia, so look forward to that. Anywho, not much more to say, so enjoy and let me know what you think! I have absolutely adored everyone's comments so far; you're lovely, all of you.
Chapter Five
"What do you mean we've been taken off the case?"
Sherlock became his own personal volcano of fury in Lestrade's office as the man dealing with the brunt of his fire sat awkwardly behind his desk, shifting in his seat in a mixture of discomfort and alarm. Lestrade scratched at his ear while Sherlock huffed in breaths through his nose, attempting to at least give the impression that he was calm.
"Look, Sherlock, I don't know what to tell you," Lestrade attempted to placate without an ounce of success. "They've taken us all off it, moved up to someone in a higher position. Don't think I'm not just as upset at the lost opportunity." Indeed, Lestrade looked more strained than usual, the dark circles below his eyes hollow grooves that sucked the color from his cheeks. From the tight set of his jaw, John could tell he was fuming at losing the case, though conveying his anger in less immature ways than Sherlock.
John remained silent through the entire exchange, lacking the heart to apologize despite the fact that they couldn't know he was at least partially at fault for what was happening. After talking to McGonagall, John rang up the last phone number he had for the Potters, thankfully still the same. After catching up with him a bit, he told Harry everything that happened at the crime scene, including Sherlock being able to enter the Leaky Cauldron. Though Harry had no idea of how such a thing could have happened and encouraged John to ask Sherlock himself, he thanked him for the information and told him that his Aurors would pick up the case from the Muggle police. When John tried to ask if they'd learned anything more on the deaths McGonagall spoke of, Harry could only lament the lack of additional knowledge.
"It's odd, John. I don't like it." Harry's voice tinged with worry and John could tell he was shaking his head on the other end of the line. "Just watch out for yourself and those close to you, all right? I know they've targeted you before, and there's no way to know if they'll do it again."
John came away from the conversation relieved that the Aurors were taking care of the matter but tense knowing that Sherlock would not take kindly to having such a fascinating case snatched right out of his grasp. He was proving John's worries sound from the agitated way he paced about Lestrade's office.
"What do you mean, moved it on to someone higher? You're one of the only halfway decent DIs in this city, a fact they are more than aware of – there isn't anyone bloody higher to pass it off to! How can they possibly dangle such a fascinating case right before me only to snatch it back before I've even had the chance to grasp at it?"
"I don't fucking know, all right?" Lestrade's voice rose to a shout just as he clambered to his feet, hands grasping heavily at his hips. He brushed a hand through his silver hair with a sigh. "Look, maybe someone wasn't too keen on having you on the case. I know you've done your time and all that, but the fact is that you did murder someone. If you weren't so bloody useful, the force probably would have made me kick you out on your arse years ago. You're just going to have to let this one go, mate."
Sherlock snorted, yanking out a chair to slouch low in the seat. "Let it go. How horridly quiet it must be for the rest of you if you can simply let it go. Even if I hadn't been desperate for a case to begin with, I would have jumped at the chance to investigate this one."
"Look, Sherlock, it's done," John finally said in a coaxing voice. "I'm sure something interesting will come along soon and you'll have forgotten this one had even been taken away."
Cocking his head to the side, Sherlock sent John a small grin as he steepled his fingers together. "Hmm, perhaps. Besides, I do have something to occupy my time until the right case comes up. I suppose I'll simply have to devote all of my time to the matter of investigating the past life of one Dr. John Hamish Watson."
"Oh God, what have I done?" John muttered to himself, stifling his comment with a groan. Sherlock launched to his feet with a wicked smile, causing John to shoot Lestrade a farewell as he jogged after.
He was still awake when Sherlock texted him the next evening, taking advantage of the relative peace after Mary put Cecelia to bed to catch upon his blog. Mostly it was going back to spruce things up, looking after long forgotten typos and responding to comments when his cell buzzed next to him, nearly slipping off the table from the force of the movement. He snatched it up just in time and couldn't stop his grin when he saw it came from Sherlock. It was the first time he had messaged him in a while, and John would never admit aloud that he missed the familiar warmth that normally came from it happening often. Hoping it was something new and interesting to distract them both, he opened the message to read it.
Uncovered something important and need to investigate. Come to Baker Street immediately. SH
Frowning at Sherlock's vagueness, John shut down his laptop and returned it to its usual spot at his side table. Mary was in the kitchen preparing Cecelia's nightly bottles when he found her. "Sherlock's got something on and needs my help – you two all set if I kip on over there for a bit?"
"Heaven forbid I attempt to keep you from the great Sherlock Holmes," Mary replied with a chuckle as she rinsed her hands. She purposefully kept her head down, but even John could notice the twinge of sadness etched on the part her face he could see that accompanied her words. "Go on, off with you, then, and be careful. Give me a ring if you don't think you'll be back tonight."
"Right." John reached to pull on his jacket, digging about for his keys and following Mary's lead to avoid eye contact. He tried to tell himself that the clenching he felt deep in his stomach was from guilt over leaving her on her own again rather than the exciting prospect of a late night stakeout with Sherlock. "Hopefully he's just bored and wants something more to amuse him than talking to his skull. I expect I'll be back soon."
"Take your gun, just in case!" she called as he marched into his office and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. Inside sat his gun and a long, slender piece of wood, standing out mahogany against the darker grain of his desk's surface. He shoved the gun down into its usual place but considered the wand, eyeing it somewhat doubtfully. It had been years since he properly used it, but he felt a strange itch in his hands to bring it along as well. With a shrug, he shoved it up the sleeve on his right arm, expertly strapping on a holster and securing the wand in place. He made sure there wasn't an imprint of its shape before relocking the drawer and stepping back out.
"Already ahead of you," John said to Mary, giving her a wave as he headed out the door. "Don't wait up!" With that, he dashed out into the night, hailing down a cab and ordering him in crisp tones to Baker Street. There weren't many cars out that night, making the trip a short and relatively uneventful one. He popped his head down the hall to send Mrs. Hudson a brief hello before heading upstairs, finding Sherlock seated in his armchair with his legs crossed and his hands steepled. His eyes shot open at John's approach, his body replying by jumping up to yank on his coat.
"Excellent, John, just in time. Though I do wish you'd kept the cab, despite how dull the streets are tonight. We've no time to lose."
Sherlock nearly flew down the stairs, he was so fast, darting out into the street before John could even close the upstairs door behind him. He nearly missed the cab Sherlock already summoned and could only let out a huff of agitation and subtle excitement as they took off. "So what is it, then? Found yourself another case?"
"You could say that. We're meeting someone." He refused to say anything more as they drove through the city, streetlights casting an odd, otherworldly glow over everything. Eventually the cab pulled up beside an unfamiliar park, hardly even lit along its edges let alone inside, and Sherlock tossed a few bills at the cabbie before climbing out. John followed, a sense of trepidation settling in his gut.
"Where are we?" he asked, glancing around for a street marker. None stood nearby, and the park itself appeared to have no obvious sign giving it a name. John stared into the bleak trees as his feeling of unease grew.
"It doesn't matter – we need to get to the meeting spot before they do." Without warning, Sherlock darted into the darkness, slipping through the trees with unnatural ease. John struggled to follow, his progress significantly less graceful, and muttered curses under his breath. Figuring that whoever they were meeting would hear his elephantine scrambling regardless, he pulled out his phone and chose a torch app Mary had added, bringing an abrupt and enormous brightness into the otherwise eerie blankness. Even with the light, however, he struggled to keep track of Sherlock, the man's progress more feline than human in his ability to crawl through the trees almost silently. John was forced to assume he had been through here before.
"Who are we meeting? Sherlock! Slow down! Where in the bloody fuck are you taking me?"
"Hush, John. At this rate, half of London will know we're here." John could hear him somewhere to his left and headed off into that direction, intent upon catching him up until the sudden appearance of a curly head nearly scared him out of his pants. "Come along, we're nearly there."
They continued for another few minutes, Sherlock leading with John lighting the way. Eventually they trudged through a tiny clearing, hardly large enough to be considered more than a break in the trees. Sherlock's head darted about like a dog on the hunt searching out his prey as he surveyed the area. He gave a decisive nod and dragged John back into the undergrowth, nearly tripping him as he pulled him down to kneel on the spongy grass below. John considered asking questions about what exactly they were getting into here, but a glance at the focused expression on Sherlock's face told him the man was in his mind palace. He took the moment to watch him in the near darkness, only part of his face visible in the bits of starlight fighting their way through the branches. The lack of light only helped to accentuate the sharp dips and curves of his face, and the slight twitches across his skin as he thought danced in the beams. John noticed the signs of Sherlock returning to the present in enough time to school his expression into thoughtful consideration, so that when he turned to glance at John he was simply studying the clearing silently.
"Make sure you turn off your phone," Sherlock mumbled in a low voice that caused John to jerk in surprise at the sudden noise. He frowned and raised an eyebrow.
"Why would I need to turn off my phone? Which isn't going to happen, by the way, particularly since you won't tell me what's going to happen so I at least have some clue about what I'm getting into."
Sherlock sighed deeply, the noise he let out as he did one of long suffering. "I haven't told you because I know you wouldn't approve and it's easier than dealing with your monologue that basically amounts to 'a bit not good.' And at the very least, turn it on silent and put it in your jeans pocket so it can't be seen or heard."
John did as he was told with a roll of his eyes. Though it was doubtful Sherlock could have seen the action, John heard him let out a small chuckle. John shoved his shoulder gently into Sherlock's, a playful motion they had become comfortable with since his return, and Sherlock reached out to give the arm a squeeze. John was just opening his mouth to make a comment when Sherlock squeezed again, his blunt fingernails digging somewhat painfully into John's arm. Shooting his head up to look into the clearing, John saw three figures begin to gradually approach from three different directions.
From the shapes and sizes of their bodies, they all appeared to be male. One of them was slightly taller than the other two, and from the authoritative stance he took when he stopped, John guessed him to be the leader. They all wore dark clothing, covering almost all of their features, black hoods folded over their heads to block out their faces. The tall one's hood jerked as he nodded to the other two and lowered himself to sit cross legged on the ground. The others followed his motions, sitting directly in front of John and Sherlock's hiding spot and facing the first man.
"I haven't seen anything about it in the papers," the first man began, his voice quiet but carrying easily through the near silent dark. "Don't tell me you've backed out on me, boys."
"Oye, not a chance." The second voice was definitely male, but higher pitched than the first. John guessed he couldn't be more than his late teens. "We did a right fine job of it, didn't we, Travers?"
The third man merely grunted in reply. The first leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hood swishing back and forth as he regarded them. "Excellent. And you left them where they could be found?"
"Yep, right outside the Leaky and right in front of their bleeding noses."
At the first mention of the Leaky Cauldron, John instantly understood. He reflexively reached for his weapon, but instead of his gun for once it was to the wand tucked up his sleeve. "Sherlock," he hissed, hardly even moving his lips to speak. "This isn't our case. We shouldn't be here!"
"And let the murderers get away from right in front of us? Come now, John." Sherlock's voice left little room for argument, but it made John even more uneasy. His attention returned to the three men just as the second was finishing explaining where they dumped the bodies.
"Ha, clever of you, Smith, I'll give you that. But something's gone amiss; Holmes has got the Ministry involved."
John had to hold in his gasp as his head darted around to Sherlock, who was nearly leaning forward into the bush in his intensity to hear more. The deep furrow between his eyebrows told John that the news was just as baffling to Sherlock as it was to John, but even so, he didn't feel particularly reassured.
"But that's impossible! I was there watching from across the street when they found 'em, it was only the Met, I swear! I checked 'em all before I swanned off, not a wizard in sight!"
John flinched when he said the word, all of the confirmation on the men's identities solidified more than enough for him. He pulled at Sherlock's collar to bring his ear close to John's lips, allowing him to hardly even breathe to be heard. "Out. Now. The both of us. We've seen enough." Sherlock pulled out of John's hold and waved him away, eagerly moving forward to continue listening. As he did, a few curls snagged in the branch directly in front of his face, causing an echoing crack that sounded like a bomb in the near quiet. The three men in the clearing jumped to their feet in a rush, the unmistakable shape of wands pointing in their direction.
"All right, who's in there?" the second man called with a sneer. "If you show yourself, maybe we'll do you the courtesy of killing you before we mark you up."
"Sherlock, get down." John's voice was deadly quiet and stern, having instantly reverted into the memory of being a captain at the threat. Sherlock flinched slightly at the sharpness but didn't move. The tall man slowly inched forward, wand pointed directly at Sherlock, and squinted into the darkness.
"Lumos," he muttered, and a soft glow shot out from the wand tip into the trees, cutting through the branches to illuminate John and Sherlock's figures. Sherlock's wide eyed and gaping expression of surprise might have been amusing to John if there wasn't a possibly deadly wizard with his wand in Sherlock's face. Just as the other two men raised their wands, John dove for Sherlock to push him completely to the ground, his body draped over Sherlock's.
"I said fucking get down!" John shouted as sparks of varying colours lit up the clearing. He scrambled at his sleeve to wrench out his own wand, muttering a quick, "Protego Totalum!" as he swept his arm in an arcing circle around them. A brief silvery bubble hovered over them before the sounds of the spells abruptly hollowed. "Stay here," John sternly said in Sherlock's ear before jumping to his feet, flinging a spell at one of the men.
"Oye, he's one of us!" the second man yelped as John's spell grazed his arm. Body working automatically, John sent a constant volley of curses at the men, sending at least one sprawling to the ground before they could respond. He was briefly distracted by Sherlock rising shakily to his knees, breaking the already feeble protection spell around him.
The first man saw Sherlock's movement and turned his wand on him. The shape of the words he was about to shout had barely even formed before John shot a shield charm at Sherlock followed directly by a stunner at the first man. He crumbled as it hit him in the chest and John watched as the last one, sensing his inevitable defeat, dashed out into the darkness. Sherlock, meanwhile, lay crumpled on the ground.
"Sherlock!" John shouted, dashing forward and letting the shield fall to examine him. "Jesus, Sherlock, when I tell you to stay down, you fucking need to stay down!"
"John!" Sherlock gasped out his name, his eyes wide and blown. The sight instantly called back the Sherlock of Baskervilles to John's mind, and frankly he couldn't blame him for the terror. "What…that…John!"
"Right then, up we go," John said, putting an arm around Sherlock's shoulders to help him to his feet. He wobbled a bit but stood, body easily malleable to John's will when he moved him to lean against a tree. Once he was certain that Sherlock could keep control over himself for the time being, he went to inspect the men on the ground. "What am I going to do with you, then?" he asked himself, staring down at the stunned pair of wizards. He glanced at Sherlock resting on his right, mouth gaping open and skin so pale that it nearly gave off its own light in the reflection of the moon. Sherlock shakily raised a hand and ran it through his curls.
"I hate to do this to you, John, and really, I consider myself a man of fairly strong fortitude in the face of a challenge, but to be perfectly honest, I'm feeling particularly light headed at the moment and I hope you'll forgive me if I pass out in a moment. Right, sorry, when I pass out." Having barely gotten his long winded warning out, he fell completely limp into John's arms.
"Jesus," John let out with a huff of breath as he attempted to catch him and lower him to the ground. "Can't even bloody faint without a damn speech about it first." He gave Sherlock a quick once over to make sure it was only shock that had knocked him out. Other than a few cuts from being shoved about in the dark by John and a light gash on his arm where the spell grazed him, he appeared to be fine. Nodding his satisfaction, John let him be for the moment and returned his attention to the pair of stunned men. Upon further inspection, it appeared that he had hit the leader and the younger man, letting the final male who never spoke escape. Given the number of years it had been since he used his wand, let alone duel, it could have been worse. He pulled out his phone and dialed Harry's number, shooting some ropes from the tip of his wand to bind his suspects at their wrists as it rang. Luckily he'd added Harry's number to his cell permanently, and he answered barely after the third ring.
"John? Is everything all right?"
"Erm, relatively speaking. You'll have to send out some Aurors for me, though, Harry. It appears I've got us some suspects."