24 February 2014, later
"She's still here," Sherlock says blankly from the entrance to the kitchen. He's addressing John.
Molly, seated at the table, stares at him. "She is present, hello."
Sherlock corrects himself, still looking mildly stunned. "You're still here," he says in thinly veiled disbelief.
"Your powers of observation still seem to be operative," Molly says caustically, lifting a teacup to her lips.
"So she's still here," John says mildly, glancing outside. The sun is peering out from behind heavy cloud cover.
"Yep."
"Okay."
New Scotland Yard looms above the cab as the trio steps out.
"Why am I doing this?" Sherlock asks, blinking in the unexpected sunlight.
"Because friends are important," Molly says as she pushes him toward the front door.
John steps on Sherlock's foot before he can make a "friends" comment that will get him slapped by the pathologist.
The atmosphere inside hasn't changed at all since the last time they were here. The frantic rushing about, the sporadic buzz of noise that chops up the tension, and the hassled faces of the bureaucrats and officers alike, all these are, if anything, only intensified.
John, Sherlock, and Molly scoot across the room to Lestrade's office. They're fortunate enough to find the DI in, staring blankly at a spread of photographs on his desk.
John clears his throat three times before Lestrade notices them. He has bags under his eyes.
"What do you lot want?" he asks tersely.
"Still having problems with the vampires?" Sherlock asks disdainfully. John and Molly bump him simultaneously in disapproval.
A scowl appears on Lestrade's face. "Do you need something, or are you just here to look down your nose at us ordinary folks?"
John edges Sherlock out of the way. "Actually, we were wondering if you needed something."
"Unless you've got a miracle, please go away," is the tired response.
John sneaks a glance at Sherlock, who is looking even paler than usual. "Miracles, we actually might have. Or Sherlock might."
Lestrade's eyes become slightly duller. "How so?"
Sherlock glares at the floor before speaking. "Is there somewhere private we can speak," he grinds out.
"Sorry, you three, but that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Lestrade says, shaking his head.
"It's not," Molly insists. "Just let us explain—"
"You've just wasted several of my minutes," Lestrade says, "And I really need to get back to work." He starts to leave the small meeting room.
Sherlock blocks his way, apparently coming to the decision, albeit hesitantly, to support Molly's idea. "What work?" he asks sharply. "You spend hours staring at information you don't understand and will never understand unless you change tactics. You go out, chase and kill one vampire, and you're no closer to realizing what the greater issue really is than you are to solving it."
"We have to try!" Lestrade shouts, losing his temper. "We can't sit around and let those monsters slaughter people until we're extinct! Your idea—you, of all people," he gestures generally at the other three, "is absurd and quite frankly, disgusting."
"What is so disgusting about working with vampires?" John asks heatedly, his own temper rising.
Lestrade's eyes fairly pop out in incredulity. "Why are you so bent on defending them?" Then he shakes his head. "No. The answer is no. It will never happen. No vampire is going to ever get an invitation into this building." He walks to the door.
Sherlock's mouth twists. "It's a bit late to be saying that," he says dryly.
"How do you mean?" Lestrade's hand freezes on the door handle.
"The vampires who've worked just recently within Scotland Yard include at least one of the custodial crew, two clerks, and a sergeant who only comes in at night or during heavily cloudy days. One of the clerks quit soon after the New Year, but the rest are still on the payroll," Sherlock explains somewhat smugly.
The Detective Inspector's eyes grow large and he returns to where the group is standing. "Sherlock! Fuck, why didn't you tell me this before? Who are they?"
"You're not to hurt them," Molly interjects fiercely. "Sherlock's not going to tell you who they are, and you're not going to try to find them."
"Why the bloody hell not?"
"Because then you're going to lose the very valuable potential allies we've proposed and the support of the most important vampire you work with," Molly says, fed up with waiting for Sherlock to get to the point.
Lestrade eyes her impatiently. "Cut the riddles, will you? What vampire are you talking about?"
Sherlock sighs. "Me."
"I said this was a bad idea," Sherlock gripes.
The detective is lying on his back, taking up the whole bench in the holding cell, so John has been relegated to the floor, which is less than sanitary. "You've said that at least three times already," he mutters.
"Look, I thought he'd at least listen," Molly calls from across the hall, in her own cell. "I didn't expect him to completely disbelieve everything. You could have at least tried to show him a demonstration the way you did for me," she reprimands. Sherlock sulks, rolling to tuck his face into the collar of his coat.
After a while, Molly asks, "Do you think he'll remember to let us out at some point?"
John bangs the back of his head against the wall. "He said he was just putting us out of the way so we don't bother him anymore."
"He did sound like he was getting to the end of his tether," Molly muses miserably. "How long do you suppose we've been in here?"
There's a bang at the end of the corridor, and then footsteps.
"I'm going home," Lestrade declares, sounding exhausted. "You three ready to come out?"
"We didn't decide to be put in here," Sherlock says sarcastically.
"That's what happens when you say stupid things," Lestrade says, unlocking Molly's cell first. "Sherlock, really, I'm surprised."
Molly stares at Sherlock, urging him with her eyes, through the window in the cell door, to do what he should have done earlier. He rolls his eyes, but he swings his legs under him and stands, walking to the front of the cell as Lestrade is opening Molly's. Then he rips the hinges off the door, one-two-three in rapid succession, and pushes the whole rectangle out of the way. It barely misses Lestrade on its way to the floor.
John jumps to his feet as Sherlock sweeps out, oozing melodrama. Molly joins them in the corridor, frowning at the door. "That wasn't what I meant by 'demonstration', " she comments, but not very severely. A grin cracks her expression. "That's really amazing, though."
"I thought that was my line," John murmurs.
Lestrade is staring at them in shock rather than outrage. He might be fumbling for a sidearm he doesn't have.
Sherlock's eyes roll again as he walks out.
"Do you think we should have just left him back there?" Molly says as she tries to catch up to Sherlock's long-legged strides.
"He'll be fine," comes the curt answer.
Molly frowns and jogs a bit. "What if he just reports all of us? I mean, well, it's Greg, but his judgment seemed a tad clouded."
Sherlock sniffs. "He isn't going to tell his superiors. He'll come to us first. He knows where to find us, and he'll be curious once his brain processes what precious little it can."
"And he let us walk out," John points out.
Molly nods. "Okay. I just think we could have stayed to explain things. Really, Sherlock, wasn't that a bit excessive, ripping the door off?"
"There's just no pleasing some people," the detective comments snidely. He increases his pace and his two shorter companions give up matching his speed.
27 February 2014
Mrs Hudson opens the door to the haggard face of Detective Inspector Lestrade. Her face lights up. "Oh, the boys have been waiting for you to turn up! Molly Hooper, too, she's staying here; do you know her? That nice girl who worked at Bart's?"
Lestrade's frown creases his already anxious face. "They were waiting for me?"
The landlady hesitates. "Now that I think about it, I believe that you weren't to know that. Still, come in, come in! They're all upstairs, those three. They're working on some project; heaven knows what and I didn't ask," she chatters as Lestrade steps inside. He removes his hat, but after a moment's hesitation, decides to hold it in hand rather than put it on the rack.
Upstairs, something is burning on the stove.
"No, no, no, no! You add those before you capture the vapor! And it's eight milliliters precisely! This is delicate chemistry, not cake-baking!" Even from downstairs, Sherlock's voice is clearly audible.
"If you're going to be like that, you can do it yourself!" and "Fuck you, I'm a doctor, not a chemist!" come the simultaneous replies a moment later.
Lestrade reaches 221B and peers into the kitchen apprehensively.
Sherlock freezes immediately, then drops his hands, which had just been pulling at his own curls. Molly and John notice Lestrade soon thereafter. All three, Sherlock included, wear somewhat stupefied and definitely embarrassed expressions.
"Hi, Greg," John says lamely.
The DI is very nearly wild-eyed. "You're awake," he says in an equal tone, apparently addressing Sherlock.
"Evidently," the detective shoots back, regaining his wits. He leans back against a cupboard.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, you've seen him during the day before," Molly says, scowling downward and turning the stove off after a moment's thought. The bubbling in the pot on top of it starts to slow.
Lestrade isn't talking. John takes the initiative and pushes the whole group to the sitting room. He and Sherlock sit on the sofa, and Molly takes a chair. Lestrade leans against the doorframe, looking prepared to bolt.
Interlude
"VN Electronix tech support, how may I help you?" The man in the cubicle listens to the customer only with the tiniest sliver of attention; the issue being explained to him is a fairly common one. Most of his attention is directed at his own computer, where Tetrimonos are falling rapidly down the screen.
He guides the customer through the steps to reset a device, fingers not even hesitating on his keyboard as he speaks. Then the voice on the other end of the line asks him to repeat something, and he slips. The incomplete rows start building up. He quickly turns his attention back to the screen, but those few rows are difficult to vanquish, particularly as the pace of the game picks up.
He finally gets to hang up after another three minutes. Then he pauses the game, leans back, and closes his eyes, trying to rid himself of the headache he always seems to get after talking to idiots who can't read instructions manuals.
When he opens his eyes again, the message he's been waiting for pops up on his screen. It simply reads, He's moving.
The tech support man feels behind him for his bag. He grabs his mobile phone from a pocket and dials a number. The tone he uses once he hears the "Sir?" from the other end is completely different from the cheerfully helpful one he'd used a minute ago on the help line.
"Mycroft Holmes has been steadily falling behind in containing the vampire population since the announcement. Sherlock's already been taking things into his hands, and the poor thing's going to have to step it up, maybe even go public. It'll be just delicious, don't you think?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Anyway, it's been so long since I've seen darling Sherlock in person. The last time was that silly suicide bluff." And then, "I know, right? Okay, get to work. You know what to do."
A/N: This work is discontinued on as of 10 Mar 2016. I will continue posting on AO3, where my username is consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective, but updating on this site is just so convoluted and it's easier for me to remember to post on only one fanfiction site.