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

[howdull]

[This is so far outside Sherlock's wheelhouse that it's almost comical. He doesn't deal with the grieving family other than to get details for the case and he doesn't care if he upsets them then. He has never had a panic attack himself, though he can list off all the physiological symptoms and even fake one convincingly if necessary.

He pushes himself up to his feet and crosses to stand in front of John, glass crunching under his feet. He hesitates, unsure what to do or say in that moment. He recalls hearing other people give breathing instructions at this point, but that's so stupid. John is a doctor and a grown man, he knows how to breathe.]

You do not owe me anything, John. The assistance you provide on cases as a physician and the company you provide of a generally less tedious nature than most people, is valuable beyond monetary recompense.

[He doesn't see that as especially sentimental, it's just plain fact and he thought John knew it already. His contribution is not fiscal, he could achieve that without an ex-army doctor on hand.]

Here.

[He thrusts the business card from the hospital at John,]

Perforations down the side, four for an older stock, five for a newer one. A surgeons hands are better suited to feeling the difference and I'm bored. You take over.

[jumpthegun]

[John stares up at Sherlock for a moment, breathing hard as a different emotion washes through him. It's gratitude, but it's not the sort tinged with anger at his own incompetence and reliance on other people, as it had been for Mycroft. Sherlock is trusting him, giving him a task and just getting on with things.

The doctor feels his eyes burn and blinks hard as he takes the card. The symptoms of the panic attack aren't going to ebb that quickly, but he manages to get his breathing a little more under control and that helps to alleviate some of the other things.]

Thank you.

[John manages to pull himself up and move over to the pile of cards. His hands are shaking, but he just focuses on doing as he's been asked, feeling for the perforations. This is something Sherlock could easily do on his own and that would probably go faster with him doing it, but he's given it to John, and the doctor will not let him down.

By the time the buzzer goes off to signal the food delivery, John's mostly back to himself, although he's feeling rather emotionally and physically drained for the panic attack.]

[howdull]

[For once it's Sherlock that goes down to get the food, reappearing with takeaway which he puts on the floor within reach of John before he goes to sit on the bed. He isn't interested in the food, he doesn't eat while on a case, but he does want to think. This woman, the Alphabet Woman as John has dubbed her, is intriguing but indeed.

Perhaps it's because John is focusing so much harder on the task than Sherlock had been, but he might notice that the curve of the capital D in Donovan has the tiniest added line above it to make it seem like another part of a Pashto word. Piecing it together with the other fragment would spell the word "Hero".

There are also three business cards with the right amount of perforations among the several hundred on the floor. One for a bakery in Soho, one for a winery in Kensington, and one for a shoe shop in Oxford Street.]

[jumpthegun]

[John works away as he eats, feeling just a little better for the food, in spite of himself. He takes more ibuprofen with the meal, knowing he's going to max out on it soon. But he needs to stay focused on the task at hand. The D in Donovan doesn't immediately catch his attention, but looking at the damn card hundreds of times as he compares the card stock, feels over the letters to see if that helps him feel out similarities does eventually lead him to the flaw.

He sets aside the cards he's found and for the moment, along with his mostly-eaten orange chicken.]

Sherlock, give us your phone. I think... there's something wrong with the letters on this card. Well, the D, anyway. [The rest don't have the tick, which makes it stand out more.]

[howdull]

[There are words floating in the air, formless and vivid all at once, helping him to visualise the different ways this could go. The important thing now was deducing what C would be, another person or another place? Perhaps something abstract. He thinks he might almost have it when--]

What?

[Everything dissipates around him and he scowls at John in annoyance.]

Couldn't you have just collected it? I'm busy, you've interrupted me.

[He honestly doesn't see why John didn't just come and take it out of his trouser pocket as he laid there and thought.]

[jumpthegun]

[The look John gives Sherlock is one of extreme skepticism. He knows where Sherlock's phone is. A breast pocket is one thing. Going for Sherlock's trousers without warning is very much another. John considers what he would do in those circumstances... were it anyone other than Sherlock.

With an irritated sigh, the doctor just crawls over and places the three matching cards on Sherlock's chest before reaching across him and pulling his mobile free from his pocket.

A few seconds later, he's sat back on his heels, scrolling through Sherlock's pictures. It's... uncomfortable. He tries to skip past the ones that show Harry's face in full. He finally gets to a decent picture of the symbol on her forehead and compares the card he has to it.

He gets up to find a pen and joins the two pieces together directly on the card he has, brow furrowed. John knows this word. It's something they saw a lot of for the fallen in Afghanistan.]

Hero.

[Is the Alphabet Woman calling Sally a hero? Well, no, that wouldn't make sense. Him? If she's murdering people because of him, then she hardly thinks John is a hero.]

[howdull]

[Uninterested in whatever John is doing, Sherlock is trying to recreate the mental pathways that had almost led to his epiphany before he had been so rudely interrupted and lost his train of thought.

He hears John speak, and his reply is distracted.]

Very kind, John, but inaccurate. I'm not a hero.

[jumpthegun]

No, the Pashto.

[He's still puzzling over it as he shuffles back to Sherlock and sits gingerly on the bed near the other man's feet.]

The pierce on Harry and the piece on this card... the parts line up to make the work hero. Most of the villages, they had a wall somewhere, a memorial to the fallen heroes from the war.

[howdull]

[That does get his attention and his eyes snap towards John with intense focus, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit up.]

She's almost certainly from your service days, then, and it's likely to be intended as sarcastic or an insult. Perhaps in memory of a mistake made that she does not see you as a hero for? Perhaps she thinks you should have died out there and your name been added to the memorial? Or perhaps it's a threat that you will soon be deceased and eligible to be added to the wall of heroes?

[So many options, all of them interesting! He's really enjoying this case and it shows.]

that was a lot of typos... SORRY

[jumpthegun]

I made more than a few mistakes in my day. [And some calls that ended up in people dying, but the mission being achieved.] That doesn't narrow it down terribly much.

[John motions to the cards that have slid down to Sherlock's lap when he sat up.]

Those are the ones I found that match the card stock.

never forgiven

[howdull]

[He plucks the three of them up and looks them over, giving John a small nod of approval for the work he's managed to do.]

Well, why haven't you called them and found out about their business card suppliers?

[A chance for John to show that he can act as well.]

[jumpthegun]

[John clucks his tongue and reaches for one of the cards. He hands Sherlock's phone back at the same time, and dials the first place--the winery in Kensington.]

Hullo, I'm looking to speak with the office manager or the person who buys your card stock.

[howdull]

[The woman on the other end of the phone has the sort of posh accent that has been trained into her to make her business sound good.]

No, thank you. We're quite happy with the cards that we have, we're not interested in changing supplier.

[She clearly thinks he's a salesman. Two beeps sound loud in John's ear during the call, two text messages in quick succession.]

[jumpthegun]

No, no! Wait! I'm not trying to sell anything. I just... I wanted to ask where you got them. I got one of your cards from a friend and thought it was, uh... great!

[So great he's going to pull his phone away from his ear and put it on speaker for a moment to glance at the text messages.]

I'm starting up a new home business.

[howdull]

[Sherlock glances over and shoots John a look that clearly despairs of his acting abilities. There are two texts sent within the last hour but a while apart, but a faulty signal in the area means they've come through at the same time.]

FROM: Mycroft Holmes: Your rooms are on reserve, Dr. Watson, please don't check in any later than 11.

FROM: Unknown Sender: Are you getting the message yet?

[The woman on the other end of the line falters, but doesn't hang up on him.]

Oh, uh, really? I suppose I can put you through if that's all you want to know. But we do have your number and we will blacklist it if you're lying and try to sell us something.

[jumpthegun]

[John frowns in confusion. He holds up the phone for Sherlock to read the text as he speaks to the winery woman.]

I understand. This really isn't a marketing call.

[howdull]

[Sherlock's face lights up and he mouths the words 'Alphabet woman' in excitement. How does she have John's number? Oh, this gets better!

John is connected quickly to a very bored sounding Asian man in the admin department, who informs him that their business cards are ordered from Ink and Blink in Soho.]

[jumpthegun]

[John thanks the man before hanging up. Soho catches his attention, but he files it away.]

What should I say? Tell her yes?

[howdull]

[His mind is working rapidly, obviously calculating the possible outcomes of every kind of text message in seconds.]

No. Tell her that you're sorry for what happened in Afghanistan, but what she's doing won't change the past.

[jumpthegun]

[John frowns, but starts typing.]

I don't know what I'm apologizing for.

Yes. I'm sorry for what happened in Afghanistan, but none of this is going to change what happened.

[howdull]

Don't add to what I said.

[Sherlock is suddenly looming over John like a giant gangly bird of prey, reading where John is typing.]

Don't say yes. Send it just as I said it.

[jumpthegun]

[Sherlock earns a Look, but John edits the text.]

I'm sorry for what happened in Afghanistan, but what you're doing won't change the past.

[howdull]

[That's better. He knows what he's doing, he can't have John ruining things with errant word choice.]

You can tell Mycroft to go away while you're waiting for a reply. We're not going to the Hilton, we have a place to stay.

[A very scummy bedsit with one bed and no actual bedsheets.]

[jumpthegun]

[Well, all right, then. John sighs as he sends off the first text to the Alphabet Woman. To Mycroft:]

Thank you for the offer, Mr. Holmes, but I'll have to decline. I don't want to put any hotel employees at risk.

Should I try calling the other places with the cards?

[howdull]

FROM: Mycroft Holmes: Do you enjoy merely parroting the words my brother gives you to say, Dr. Watson? I strongly advise you to reconsider my offer.

[That reply comes through almost at once, with the subtextual threat of another black car pulling up and dropping them outside the Hilton if they don't agree.]

Yes, you should. Tell them you're from Ink and Blink about their most recent order, then hang up if they confirm that's who they ordered them from.