John stood close to Sherlock as he interrogated the art gallery's owner. The tall woman was slender, had dark hair, and wore a tight black dress, with a collar so high, he was worried it would make Sherlock jealous. Lestrade also stood close by, but he was pacing slightly. John imagined that he was feeling nervous about the lack of contact from the bomber.
"Does it not bother you that the painting is a fake?" Sherlock asked the woman as he eyed the painting.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman insisted. "I don't have time for this." She looked toward Lestrade, trying to make it clear that she wanted Sherlock out of her gallery. But Lestrade wasn't paying attention to her, he was watching Sherlock.
A shrill telephone ring shook the silence of the gallery. John felt his breath hitch and he was immediately ready to spring into action at Sherlock's side.
Sherlock wasted no time with formalities upon answering the phone. "The painting's a fake," He said into the phone. Silence. "It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." The group listened intently, but still there was nothing but silence. "Oh come on!" Sherlock exclaimed. He was losing patience. Why has he broken his pattern? Why? Say something? "Proving it is just a detail...I've solved it, I've figured it out." Irritation was ebbing away into fear. Why is there no response? Has someone else been killed so he and I can play our game? "It's a fake, that's why they were killed."
John's heart was pounding, and he could see emotion etched on Sherlock's normally stoic face, which made him all the more nervous. He wanted to protect Sherlock, save whoever was strapped to explosives, catch the criminal doing this, and mostly he wanted to apologize for ever doubting Sherlock's concern.
Sherlock was looking around at the other people in the gallery, but he was seeing none of his usual deductions. He couldn't think. Finally, he could take the silence no longer. He let out a long breath and said "Okay. I'll prove it. Give me time." Please don't kill another... "Will you give me time?" Answer me!
"Ten... Nine..." A small voice finally came from the phone.
"Oh God, it's a kid," were the first words Lestrade had spoken in a long while. John had realized it as well, but he was too mortified to voice it aloud. He had hoped that if he just ignored the sickening feeling in his stomach that maybe it would just not be true.
"Sherlock?" John asked quietly. "What's happening?"
"He's giving me time." Sherlock stood inches from the painting and was scanning it rapidly, desperately looking for a single sign that could prove the paintings origins.
"Seven...Six..." John was moving closer to Sherlock, willing him to figure it out. "Five...Four..."
I don't see it... Why is it fake...It has to be... This child is going to die. Emotion erupted from Sherlock and he rounded on the gallery owner. "Why is is a fake? Tell me now!" But as the woman opened her mouth Sherlock changed his mind. "No, shut up! It only works if I solve it..."
"Three..."
"Sherlock?" John's voice was growing frantic.
"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed and pulled out his phone, typing frantically.
"Two..."
"Sherlock!" John yelled, startling everyone in the room.
"The Van Buren Supernova!" Sherlock held his breath. Silence once more.
"Please...Is somebody there?" the child's shaking voice asked. "Please someone help me."
Sherlock turned and rushed into John, wrapping him in his long arms, and let out what sounded desperately close to a sob. John held him back. "It's okay. You solved it. That was brilliant."
Lestrade raised an eyebrow, but then returned to the task of sending officers out to retrieve the child.
"You lied to me you know," John murmured into Sherlock, who pulled out of the embrace only slightly, looking down at John puzzled. "You told me you didn't care. Maybe you think you don't, but this, this is caring. It's unpleasant and messy. But it's worth it." Sherlock gave John a half smile before pulling the doctor back against him.
John's phone buzzed, another text from Mycroft. "I should get back to this..." John said to Sherlock, who simply nodded in response. "I'll catch up with you later."
Sherlock gave John one last squeeze and pressed his forehead down against John's. "I'll miss you," Sherlock practically whispered, but John heard him, and he couldn't help but grin at the small sentiment. He tilted his head up slightly and Sherlock pressed their lips together softly.
Lestrade happened to look over at that exact moment and he found he had stopped talking mid-sentence. He shook his head and tried not to stare as Sherlock and John broke away from one another and Sherlock started walking toward Lestrade.
Author's Note:
I am so sorry it's been so long! School has been really stressful lately. I know this chapter isn't very long, nor does it have a lot that's way different from the episode. But I hope adding Sherlock's thoughts is giving a clearer picture of him and his feelings. Also, this sub-plot is almost at an end. The next chapter will bring an end to this Great Game! But fear not! The story will go on. We've got a lot more romance and angst and smut in our future. And don't worry, this whole sub-plot has a purpose, and a twist from the show, so it will all make sense.
Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for all the people who followed/favorited this story. And thank you so much for the reviews. I love hearing from my readers, so please, if you have the chance, leave me a review.
And as always, thanks for reading!
-Padfoot333