For John Watson

[howdull]

[Sherlock is still finding pieces of the melted laptop in the carpet.

It had actually been quite an ingenious booby trap to be devised by a fourteen year old boy with only household chemicals to work with but, as Sherlock surmised, rather overkill to keep his mother from finding his extensive porn collection. Not one of their more illustrious cases, but it had been quite entertaining to watch both the boy and mother's faces as he revealed that he did know the how and why. He lost interest after the mother started shouting and John started shouting and the whole thing turned tedious.

He rather thinks John won't actually be doing a full write-up of this one on his blog.

It's been two days since their last case and he's beginning to get more than a little antsy. Lestrade has sent him nothing, just a boring hit and run that he refused to even leave the flat for, and nobody interesting has appeared through the blog. Said blog he is currently scrolling through on John's laptop, having borrowed it again.

He did ask, it's not his fault John hadn't been in the room at the time.]

Bored, John.

[He doesn't even know if his flatmate is even in, but that's hardly a necessity for him to actually speak to John. Frustrated, he throws the laptop across the room to hit the wall, where it summarily breaks. Which is where he can be found whenever John appears, sulking amidst pieces of laptop, both from the melted one of their last case and John's poor broken one.]

Comments

[jumpthegun]

[He has to strain to hear her over the ringing in his own ears. She looks nice. Very nice. His eyes are unfocused, though.]

Mrs. Hudson, she was hurt.

[Lestrade should take care of her first.]

[howdull]

Someone will be taking care of her.

[Her words were soothing and slow.]

I want you to come and lie on your front on here, okay? I'll give you a shot for the pain and we're going to take you to hospital, is there anyone we can call?

[jumpthegun]

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He's at the library. Text him.

[He's aware, as a doctor, he needs to be cooperative. As a doctor, though, he's also aware that there are other people in more trouble than him. John tries to wave her away, and then a thought occurs. An incredibly paranoid thought.

Unfocused or not, John's gaze tracks down to the woman's hands. How many fingers does she have? Why is she giving him a shot? Did Lestrade really send her. Without even confirming, he starts to shift away.]

Who are you?

[She has a perfectly legitimate pair of paramedics with her and an ambulance, but that doesn't mean anything.]

[howdull]

My name is Tracy Wells, I'm a paramedic, love.

[She has ten fingers and her nails are both cut very short and kept utterly clean of anything like nail vanish. Can't wear that on duty.]

Come on, Dr. Watson, please let us help you. Can you get onto the gurney yourself, or do you need some help?

[jumpthegun]

[The explosive, the chaos of it, all of this is taking him back to Afghanistan. He leans farther away from her and shakes his head, swaying for a moment. Danger. There's danger here. She might be working for the Alphabet woman. Or she might be the next victim. C is for Caring?]

You're in danger. She might be watching. Help someone else. I'll get a cab.

[He looks around, but there aren't any taxis in the immediate vicinity, police have set up blockades at either end of Baker Street. C is for Cab. He'll walk. He'll just walk. He needs to get up first, though.]

[howdull]

[Trust issues. Isn't that what his therapist said, and what Mycroft had confirmed in his little black book? The paramedic doesn't know that, though, and she looks confused and concerned at his response.]

You're not in a state to get a cab, you have burns on your back, okay? Who do you think is watching us?

[She gestures to her partner, a stocky man with no hair at all, who starts to prepare a syringe of something to help him relax.]

We're here to help you, Dr. Watson.

[jumpthegun]

The woman with nine fingers.

[He can't put this woman, Tracy Williams, in danger. John pushes himself up to standing and stumbles, having the steady himself on the gurney. John's eyes catch on the syringe being prepared.]

Don't you dare drug me.

[He needs to be clear-headed if he's going to walk. And he is going to walk as he turns from them and takes a few steps. John collapses to his hands and knees with a grunt, though, the pain searing up his back and vision starting to swim. They won't have to knock him out, luckily. John finally faints the rest of the way on his own.]

[howdull]

[That wasn't ideally how they wanted to treat their patients, but at least it did get him out cold and stopped the arguments. She quickly administered morphine and a mild sedative to keep him under until he had been taken in and examined by a proper doctor.

When he did finally wake up in a hospital bed it would be on his side to avoid causing more damage to his back, an IV of both fluids and low grade morphine feed into the back of his hand.

Sherlock is sitting on the visiting chair, still in his Belstaff despite the warmth of the hospital room. His knees are drawn up to his chest and somehow, despite his long limbs, he's impossibly managed to curl his entire body into the one small NHS standard chair. His eyes are fixed on the middle distance, fingers a steeple below his nose.]

[jumpthegun]

[John struggles back toward consciousness. The morphine means he's not really feeling much from the burns but it is making everything a bit fuzzy. The tinnitus seems to have quit while he was out, at least. It will make conversation easier.]

How was the library?

[howdull]

[For once it takes no time at all for Sherlock's attention to refocus, his eyes suddenly sharpening onto John's face.]

Uninspired, only two books in Pashto.

[One of them was a Judy Blume novel, that's just low.]

Why am I your emergency contact?

[jumpthegun]

Because we live together... [And Sherlock is his best friend, even in their relatively short acquaintance... but something less sentimental there, too.] And I just got your home blown up. B is for Baker Street. Have you talked to Mrs. Hudson?

[howdull]

Started to, but I had to tune her out, she wouldn't stop wailing and it was very distracting.

[It's just a place, just possessions, he can find somewhere else. Money isn't exactly an issue for him.]

Family and home, someone wishes to systematically remove your ties to the world. You should contact Sarah, any other relatives that may be hiding in the woodwork, and any unfortunate that you believe to be a friend.

[jumpthegun]

[Sherlock's thoughts are trending in the same direction as John's for where this is going, which is never good.]

Bill, Mike... Mike's the only one still living in London.

I didn't see any symbols on the package they delivered. Just the alphabet. What's Lestrade said about it?

[howdull]

Not Bill, B is for Bill, we've had B.

[He dismisses this absent friend, whoever that might be.]

Mike may be in some danger, D could very well be for Doctor, though that could also encompass Sharon and your other colleagues.

[It was Sharon, right? John's current girlfriend.]

Lestrade has taken the note and what remains of the bomb to be tested, I have ever faith that they will return with nothing useful whatsoever. Haven't you learned by now not to trust the police in matters that require even half a brain, John?

[jumpthegun]

Her name is Sarah. And N is for Nurse or L is for Life. Bill's the reason I came home from Afghanistan.

[And god, Sarah... he hadn't even thought about that. John's hand shifts down to his pocket, but of course he's in a hospital gown, not his clothes. There's an immediate spike of panic and paranoia that he can't quite control at having his things taken away. It's normal, but his tone is sharper for a moment.]

Where are my clothes? My phone? We need to get out of here. People are in danger if I'm here.

[howdull]

The doctors have them and wouldn't hand them over to me, some nonsense about a breach of policy.

[He doesn't argue that John makes it more dangerous here, because he quite patently does. Someone wants to hurt him, and that makes everyone around him a target.]

Of course, it's quite possible that B is as far as your admirer thought, that bomb could have been intended to kill you. Which would make the connection more familial based, Watson in general, rather than just you.

[jumpthegun]

[John's going to ring for the nurse with the button near his bed. He doubts he'll be able to talk them into giving his things back, but Sherlock might be able to. Or he might be able to deduce them into compliance... as cruel a tactic as that is. Needs must. It's not like John can go home to grab a change of clothes.]

I'm pretty sure we haven't got any family enemies anyone mentioned. And why would she draw that symbol on Harry? Why would she put her body like she did? Like a little girl.

[There seems to be some sort of message there, now John has had time to process it more... if only just.]

cw: mention of sexual assault and paedophilia

[howdull]

There are a number of reasons why a killer generally chooses to infantilise a victim.

[He raises a hand and ticks them off on long fingers.]

The slight that the killer wants revenge for happened during Harry's childhood, and the pose is a reminder or clue. The killer thinks of all her victims as children in comparison to herself. The pose is a manifestation of OCD tendencies, that would only be able to be tested with further victims. The killer is motivated by a sexual predilection towards children, or making women appear as children in order to satisfy paedophilic tendencies without the 'greater' crime of actually molesting a child.

[He stops all of a sudden, blinking rapidly before correcting himself.]

Though, ah, I'm certain your sister was not sexually molested. Her clothes were not rumpled in any distinctive fashion, nor did they bear the hallmarks of someone having redressed her.

[jumpthegun]

[It's a very good thing Sherlock corrects himself because John's eyes go wide and horrified as the man is talking. Something cold and painful curls tight around his stomach. He tells himself he would have seen the signs, as well. But really he wouldn't have, not while examining Harry.]

Harry didn't do anything as a little kid. Not when she was young enough to be sucking her thumb. She only got into trouble when we were older. Maybe ten, or something? She started getting in fights with other kids, but it wasn't serious. Just fights. [It got more serious when she'd come out as a teenager. That's when John had tried to step in.]

[howdull]

It doesn't necessarily have to be something she did, perhaps something one of your parents did around that time. The pose simply gives us a time-frame, not a definite indicator of her culpability in whatever occurred.

[A nurse comes in responding to the call button, a stocky young man in a blue tabard with the distinctive expression of a nurse that perfectly combines harried with sympathy.]

Awake then, Dr. Watson? Can I call you Joh--

Shush! Can't you see that we're busy? Get out.

[jumpthegun]

[John shoots a look at Sherlock before turning his attention to the nurse.]

Never mind him, mate. John's fine, thank you. I was hoping to get my clothes and other things. We're doing a bit of work trying to figure out what happened with that explosion. Might help to have those for clues.

[Absolute lies, but he tries to put on a harried smile to sell it.]

[howdull]

I'm sorry, but the police already came and took your clothes away to be tested for evidence. I can give you the number of the PC that picked them up? She left her card at the front desk.

[He bustles closer, completely ignoring how Sherlock glares. He's used to difficult visitors and his attention is for the patient, coming to check morphine levels and vitals.]

Have one of the doctors been in to see you yet, explain what's gone on?

[Sherlock lets out a 'pah' of irritation.]

No need, I've read the file. Predominantly first degree burns, though there are two small patches of second degree burns towards your shoulder blades. Two cracked ribs, and significant deep tissue bruising down your buttocks and upper legs. Nothing life threatening, now get out.

[jumpthegun]

[Damn it.

The cracked ribs are going to be the most inconvenient. He can deal with the burns.]

Yeah, no. Dr. Holmes, apparently, is fine on the explanation. Don't suppose you've got something other than a gown I could wear?

[Because he doesn't want to have to ask Sherlock to steal clothes for him. He'd ask to borrow some, but the other man's wardrobe has gone up in smoke, and it's all too big, anyway.]

[howdull]

[He looked doubtful.]

I'll see what I can find in lost property, but I can't promise anything. I'm afraid it might have to be a gown for now, but you'll be here at least three more days so maybe someone could bring you something before then?

[Sherlock finally uncurls himself from the chair, looming over the nurse to physically chivvy him.]

Yes, yes, run along and do that. Just take your overly priced shoes and uneven tan lines out of here.

[jumpthegun]

[Three days isn't happening. That's far too long.]

Right. Thanks!

[Once the nurse actually leaves, John makes a noise of frustration.]

I need you to steal some clothes for me, Sherlock. Or I need to borrow your coat. I can't stay here.

[Too many entry points, too unsecured, too many people to catch in the crossfire. It's going to be hell and a half off this morphine drip, but he'll just have to deal with it.]