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]

Run? What?

[Running with cracked ribs is a bad idea. But John is immediately alert and tensing as he pockets his new phone and shifts the bag of clothes to his shoulder. That's not a great place for it with the burns, but it's going to have to do if they're running.]

Why are we running?

[howdull]

Because the British Museum has security and they don't usually take kindly to being robbed.

[He grins, sudden and slightly crooked, like a child about to play a prank.]

Come on, John, follow my lead.

[He turns to walk into the museum finally. The atrium is half full of tourists, there's a long desk at the other end of the hallway where people can purchase tour booklets or borrow audio headsets, and there are security men checking people's bags as they enter.

Sherlock walks purposefully through the atrium, relying on the fact that the security team will be more focused on John who looks like he might be a very inconspicuous flasher with only that long coat on, to where the donations box is. It's huge, about double the size of a microwave, and sits on a pedestal to accept donations in lieu of an actual cost to get in.

It takes all of two seconds for Sherlock to grab the box, heft it into his arms, and start running.]

[jumpthegun]

[John follows after Sherlock, feeling more than a little ridiculous walking barefoot across the marble floors of a museum. His eyes flicker toward the security people on instinct as he waits for Sherlock to do whatever it is he's going to do. Stealing the bloody donations box is not high on the list of John's guesses.

It's about half a second for John to realize what the other man is doing and then he's racing after Sherlock, trying not to let the long coat tangle his legs and trip him up. Why couldn't he have changed before this?! Running from the police in a very identifiable outfit is really not the best idea. Not to mention, he has no idea how this plays into sussing out their mystery woman.

C is for Charity? Is there something in the box? This had better be worth it because his chest and back are screaming now, and John's just struggling to keep up with his thieving friend.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock has the advantage here. Even with the added weight of the donation box in his arms, he's got longer legs and he's in peak physical health. He's not burned, fractured, and in severe amounts of pain.

Security all take off running after Sherlock, initially, but it's not long before they round John up in the chase too considering how quickly he followed the initial thief. Sirens start to sound in the distance, and Sherlock isn't even paying attention to if John is keeping up.

If he does keep up, Sherlock will lead him down about half a mile of streets to a little block of flats. If he doesn't, he'll be tackled by a police officer and cuffed.]

[jumpthegun]

[Unfortunately, while the heart and mind are willing, John's body isn't prepared to keep up with this. He has to bite down on an outright scream as he's tackled from behind and smacks into the pavement. The struggle is brief and rather pitiful for a decorated Army veteran. All the officer has to do is unwittingly step hard on his back to keep him down, and John's world goes dark at the edges.]

What's he got in the bag? Clothes? Some sort of flasher, are you?

[He doesn't even have the ability to speak for several seconds, just gasping through the pain. If any of the officers are particularly observant, they might take notice of the hospital identification band around John's wrist identifying him as a patient at Barts.]

[howdull]

Alright, son, you're under arrest.

[One handcuff is snapped on John's wrist and it's only when they pull the other one back that they see the hospital bracelet. It doesn't stop them snapping the other cuff in place, though.]

John Watson, correct? You a patient? [A psychiatric patient, says the subtext of the gentle and slightly condescending tone of voice.] You still can't wander around nearly naked and help rob a museum. Come on, lad, up you get and into the back of the car, we're going to the station and you're going to answer a few questions.

[jumpthegun]

Lestrade. Call Detective Inspector Lestrade. [John manages as he's hauled up. And 'lad'? Really? He's in his thirties.] There's been a misunderstanding.

[howdull]

I'll see about making a call when we're at the station.

[He's bundled into the back of the car like any common criminal, a bunch of tourists and even locals filming the arrest on their smartphones because it's pretty interesting.]

Can you check his record, Pat?

[The one who arrested John slips into the driver's seat and says that to the other police officer, a tall woman with dark hair, who does as she's asked on a small handheld device.]

ASBO, only issued two months ago. [She sighs.] Do you want me to contact DI Lestrade?

No, not yet. This is our collar, we can talk to him first.

[jumpthegun]

[John grimaces as he's just sort of shoved in the car. It's taking a great deal of willpower not to devolve into wheezing and grunts of pain.]

That-that was a mistake. I wasn't... I was just in the wrong place.

[howdull]

And I suppose you were just in the wrong place again today, hm?

[This is an excuse they've heard before time and time again.]

[jumpthegun]

Yes?

[Even John knows that sounds terrible.]

Look, I just, um... I was trying to catch the thief.

[Clearly.]

[howdull]

Is that so? And do you maybe want to explain why you were there in only a long coat and nothing else? Or maybe why you entered the building at the same time?

[Sherlock might be fond of calling the police stupid, but they're not complete idiots.]

[jumpthegun]

... I didn't know he was gonna steal the box, all right?

[howdull]

So you're saying that you do know the thief?

[Changing stories is never a good thing.]

Why don't you wait until we can take an official statement, Mr. Watson, hm?

[jumpthegun]

[Okay. He needs to get out of this.]

It's Dr. Watson, actually. Please, if I could just use my phone, I can call D.I. Lestrade and he can sort this out.

[Maybe that will carry some weight?]

[howdull]

You can make a phone call when we get to the station.

[That's the protocol. Neither of the officers will budge, getting John processed through fingerprinting and initial booking before he's allowed to use the main telephone to call anyone he wants. He is informed that he has ten minutes before his interview will start.

Lestrade, luckily for John, picks up on the third ring.]

Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking.

[jumpthegun]

Lestrade! Hi, sorry. It's John again. I'm at the station. I sort of got picked up. Sherlock had to take something from the British Museum for a case and... it looked a bit like I was helping him. Could you sort of... get me out of here? I need to get back to him.

[He lowers his voice.]

I think people might be in danger if I'm kept around them too long, y'know?

[howdull]

[There's a long pause, like a man taking a deep breath and then counting to ten so that he didn't break anything.]

Sherlock took something from the British Museum?

[Please tell him this isn't true.]

What was it?

[jumpthegun]

[There's an embarrassed pause on John's end.]

The donation box. Look, it's not like he needs the cash. He's bloody posh. I'll make him give it back along with all the other donation money. He must have needed it for something, though.

[howdull]

[Why is this his life? Why did he ever get tangled up with Sherlock sodding Holmes in the first place?!]

He better have a bloody good explanation for this.

[He should let them keep John and arrest Sherlock, but...]

If I pull some strings to get you off, can I trust you to make sure Sherlock returns the box, and everything inside it, by tomorrow morning?

[jumpthegun]

[Oh, thank god. Oh, thank Lestrade.]

Yeah! Yes, of course. And it'll have a very nice extra bit of donation on top of whatever was there, too. I really appreciate this, Detective. Have you... is there anything else on Harry?

[howdull]

[His voice softens considerably, the sort of uncomfortable but sympathetic tones of one grown man discussing potentially emotionally charged issues with another grown man.]

We know she died quickly, she was in that building for about twelve hours, and the only wounds were those on her throat. She has no defensive wounds, so we think she was asleep or unconscious before she was attacked, it's likely that she didn't even feel anything.

[jumpthegun]

[Pity. No. Sympathy. John forces down the urge to bristle. He knows he'd have that same tone if their positions were reversed. His voice is tight when he responds.]

Right. I'm assuming Sherlock already told you, but just in case, you're looking for a nine-fingered woman, blue nail polish, recently-dyed blonde hair. Works somewhere with a lot of blank business card stock. History of military service, most likely in Afghanistan around the same time I was there between 2006 and 2010. Also, you might want to let Sergeant Donovan know she's being impersonated.

[howdull]

Alright, cheers.

[He knows better than to ask if he's sure, Sherlock is good and that's why they work with him despite his interpersonal issues.]

I'll sort this for you, sit tight.

[He rings off to leave John in the custody of the two arresting officers, one of whom is called away for a phone call very swiftly. It's not ten minutes after that when he's returning with John's bag of clothing and personal belongings.]

You're free to go with a caution this time.

[jumpthegun]

Right. Thanks. [John winces as he gets up and heads to the loo before leaving. Finally he gets to change into some real clothes with socks and shoes. It's all rather nicer stuff than he typically wears, but that's Mycroft's touch no doubt. It's also mild agony to get it on, and he's breathing hard by the time he steps out of the stall. It's fine. This is fine. He really hopes Sherlock has drugs at his flat.

And thinking of Sherlock...]

Do you maybe want to give me your addressed? The police collared me on our merry chase. Thanks for the warning there. -JW