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]

[There's a flicker of confusion across John's face before it smooths out. Sherlock had told him he wasn't a junkie. They're in the middle of a case, and the man doesn't even smoke now. It seems unlikely Sherlock took them there just to get high.]

Considering that flat doesn't look like anyone's stepped foot in it in months, I reckon the local dealing community's moved on to darker and seedier accommodations.

[howdull]

The role of a fool doesn't suit you, Doctor Watson.

[Mycroft's brows draw together, mild annoyance the only thing showing despite his underlying concern for Sherlock.]

Even had your late sister been sober for months, would you allow her to return to accommodations above the local pub?

[jumpthegun]

[Bringing up Harry is a very poor tactic indeed. John almost visibly bristles.]

I'd like to go back to Shepherd's Bush Green now, Mr. Holmes. Again, thank you for your offer of accommodations. You're welcome to ask your brother if he'd like to move to the Hilton. I'm comfortable in his current flat.

[howdull]

[He detests that flat. He's been there more than once to personally ease Sherlock through an overdose or bad trip, sweating and a shadow of what he should be, it's not a position he wishes to be in again.

For a moment he looks as dangerous as he's sometimes made out to be, before it smooths into his usual polite nonchalance.]

I would strongly advise you to reconsider your position. There are certain protections that can be employed for your coworkers and Dr. Sawyer.

[He's fairly sure that Sherlock hasn't told Dr. Watson that he's already negotiated for these things.]

[jumpthegun]

[That offer does draw John up short. But his expression stays as it has been. He pulls out his phone.]

If you'll give me a moment to talk to Sherlock before I make decisions on his behalf that he hasn't agreed to.

[Unlike Sherlock who will make decisions for the both of them as he sees fit. John starts typing out a text even before Mycroft has given him leave to do so.]

TO: Sherlock Holmes: Mycroft's offering protection for Sarah and the others if we stay at the Hilton. H is for hotel? Think it's even worth risking it?

[howdull]

[Sometimes normal people really are annoying. But he waits, fairly confident that Sherlock will be too busy thinking in order to respond. Which is why his expression falls slightly when John's phone does indeed beep a few seconds later.]

FROM: Sherlock Holmes: C is for Consulting Detective.

[jumpthegun]

[John's eyes widen, and already pale complexion blanches.]

I need to go.

[He turns and starts to walk out. He'll find a way to get back, himself, if Mycroft won't send his car to drive him.]

[howdull]

We are not finished here, Dr. Watson.

[Mycroft calls out, but he doesn't do anything as undignified as actually try and chase after him, so John can make it out of the club if he wants. There won't be a car there, however, Mycroft isn't about to aid in his rude escape.]

[jumpthegun]

[John stops at the door, and turns to glare daggers at Mycroft.]

Someone's going to kill your brother because he's my friend. Wherever the hell he's sleeping tonight just fell down the priorities list, Mycroft.

[howdull]

All the more reason for you to stay somewhere secure, don't you think?

[He doesn't sound at all concerned for someone just told their brother might be killed. But then, he doesn't believe that will happen. Nobody has eyes on them quite like Mycroft has on Sherlock.]

[jumpthegun]

Right. Because you can secure an entire hotel building. Nice job at Baker Street, keeping an eye out there.

[howdull]

Yes, I can.

[Simple fact. He isn't going to rise to the other bait, even if it does annoy him.]

[jumpthegun]

[John scoffs.]

Convince Sherlock yourself that you can keep him safer, mate. I'm not your errand boy and I sure as hell don't trust you.

[That said, the doctor does leave, not bothering to close the door to the Cherry Suite as he heads out.]

TO: Sherlock Holmes: I'm at the Diogenes Club and I just told your brother to go to hell. Don't think I'm getting a ride back. Can come meet me somewhere nearby?

[howdull]

[At least the evening air is quite pleasant and balmy, there's no rain about to pour down on John as he's stranded outside the Diogenes Club. It doesn't take long for a text to return.]

FROM: Sherlock Holmes: Sorry, Captain, that's not how this works. I told you, the main event starts in three days. Prepare yourself.

[jumpthegun]

[John stops walking. Oh, god, no. No, no, no.]

TO: Sherlock Holmes: Whoever you are, please, this is between us. He hasn't got anything to do with it. None of the people you've hurt have anything to do with Afghanistan.

[howdull]

FROM: Sherlock Holmes: They're all to do with you, that's the point. You cost me everything, you're going to know what that feels like.

[jumpthegun]

TO: Mycroft Holmes: The Alphabet Woman has Sherlock. Find him. Now.

TO: Sherlock Holmes: I don't know who you are. I don't know what any of this is about. Please, can we just talk? I don't know how I hurt you, what I did, specifically, but I'm sorry. All of this? It's not going to fix anything.

[howdull]

FROM: Mycroft Holmes: Perhaps you should have taken my offer, Dr. Watson. Should any harm befall my brother we shall talk again, rest assured. Return to the flat, I shall send word when Sherlock has been retrieved.

[It's said in all but overt words, but Dr. Watson has done enough damage. He'll be lucky if Mycroft does actually contact him again.]

FROM: Sherlock Holmes: Not there. I like coffee, Oxford Street, Starbucks. Tell anyone, bring anyone, he dies before the deadline. Understand?

[jumpthegun]

[It's almost certainly a trap, but John doesn't have much choice. How the hell is he supposed to solve this without Sherlock? The only clue he has is Blink and Ink... Ink and Blink? Whatever the bloody name is. How is he supposed to figure out anything from that?

Mycroft's reply makes him angry, though.]

TO: Mycroft Holmes: If you hadn't ordered me into a car and dragged me off here, I'd still be there guarding him.

TO: Sherlock Holmes: I understand. But this phone is being monitored. You realize he's probably getting my messages?

[Wait... How does she...? Wonderful. His phone is being twice-monitored. John starts walking again, one hand going up to his chest as his ribs shift and stretch and hurt with the movement. Oxford Street. Where is he even to begin with? He'll figure it out. He has to.]

I've put the Diogenes Club on Carlton Terrace bc that's what was used for exterior shots in the show

[howdull]

[Mycroft doesn't respond again, at least not yet. He is busy doing other things; namely, trying to find his little brother and make sure that he's not been killed via association with some poxy little army doctor.

Neither does Sherlock's phone reply either, not right away.]

Excuse me? Hey, mate-- [A cockney man, perhaps around twenty with several piercings and a skateboard, stops beside him.] --you okay, mate? You having a heart attack? Jesus. Mate? Can you hear me?

[As the man is speaking, another text comes through.]

FROM: Sherlock Holmes. I understand. Be there, 8pm sharp.

[Unfortunately for John, Oxford Street is forty minutes by car from the Diogenes Club, a good ten miles in city centre traffic, and it's already 7.]

[jumpthegun]

[Fuck. John is only half-paying attention to the Cockney man, waving him off. Except... maybe. John has nothing but his clothes and his phone on him.]

Y-yeah. [He looks to the stranger, and it's not hard to fake looking sickly and disoriented. He's honestly feeling those things.] My meds. I need my meds, but I live on Oxford Street. My brother was meant to bring them, but I don't... I can't get ahold of him.

[howdull]

[He looks a combination of concerned and suspicious, but this isn't an area known for addicts or scam artists, and John seems dressed in pretty respectable attire.]

What kind of meds? Do you need me to call an ambulance?

[jumpthegun]

[Luckily, faking a medical condition is one of the easier lies for John to work.]

Kerlone, it's a beta-blocker. I've got a cardiac arrhythmia and angina. [John winces and it's not faking when he gasps in pain.] It's not fatal, but I need my medicine in the next hour or it's gonna get bad. I didn't bring money for a cab. Bloody hell!

[howdull]

[That sounds pretty serious, though the name of the medication and arrhythmia get a slightly non-plussed and even more worried look.]

Alright, mate, just deep breaths, okay? I don't have cab money, but I've got a car, I'll run you there. I'm not dangerous, I swear, I'm a uni student. Music. Name's Jake, so-- come on, you'll be okay.

[jumpthegun]

[Oh, thank Christ. John takes a few deep, pained breaths.]

John. My name's John. Music? That's good. Played the clarinet when I was a kid. Mm!

[He would feel worse about taking advantage of Jake, except this is kind of a matter of life or death.]

I dunno how I can repay you, mate. I'm so sorry. Thank you.

[John will follow to wherever the young man's car is. There's a part of him that's worried this man is part of the Alphabet Woman's lot, but she wants him at the Starbucks. If he has been sent, it's just to deliver John. D is for Delivery.]