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]

[That just makes her smile pull higher and a slight flush of colour come to her cheeks. It's nice to be appreciated, even just occasionally.]

Yeah, there's some near the entrance to Chinatown, that's not too far from Soho. We can, um, we can go in the disabled stall together and I can help dress your burns and then leave you to it.

[She knows he's a doctor and therefore capable, but even a doctor can't dress wounds on his own back, the human body just doesn't bend that way.]

I bought sticky gauze and breathable cotton pads, so we can get those on after the cream.

[She finally slides into the car and awkwardly pushes the bags down into the footwell by John's bare feet, since her Smart Car doesn't have any back seats.]

[jumpthegun]

[John shifts his legs to give her an easier time of it. And then they're off with him wondering-]

Molly, I appreciate all of this, I really do, but you have work, don't you? D'you need to call in?

[Molly has a real job, not like John with his rotations at the clinic and his 'work' with Sherlock. She can't just make her own schedule. He'd sort of been expecting to go back to Bart's, not tour around London with the woman.]

[howdull]

Don't you have work too?

[She fixes him with a look that has slightly more steel beneath it than her usual diffident personality might suggest.]

Sherlock has been kidnapped, are you going into work? Besides, I'm the most qualified mortician they have and I've never taken a sick day, what are they going to do, fire me? I'd like to see them try.

[jumpthegun]

[John's brows shoot up. That's a little more fire and self-confidence than he was expecting from Molly Hooper. He wonders if he should tell her he's more self-employed than actually employed, and decides against it.]

Right. Okay.

[And that's about all there is to say about that.

When they pull up near the public toilets near Chinatown, John drags himself out of the car, still feeling that jolt from the belt and gathers up the bags. He probably doesn't need to do the one with the phone, but paranoia about it getting stolen while they're away is too intense. Actually, he's a little worried leaving Molly's car unattended for the same reason. If the Alphabet woman is still somehow tracking his movements, she could plant a bomb on the thing or cut the breaks or...

John gives himself a mental shake. She's good, but she's not magic, and she's certainly not Mycroft or Sherlock Holmes. He still takes the phone and heads for the disabled stall. Letting Molly see his injuries isn't ideal, but he also expects she's not going to comment too much on it.]

[howdull]

[Molly is far from an idiot when it comes to the medical field, for all that her usual clientele are corpses, and she can tell at a glance that he's not meant to be out of the hospital. Well, she had figured that out anyway, what with the lack of shoes and calling her rather than Lestrade.

But she doesn't comment.

She understands. She couldn't just sit idly by if someone she cares about is kidnapped, just like she refuses to go back to work now, so she's not going to chastise John. She just carefully rubs the burn salve over his back, trying not to cause him too much pain, and then applies both the breathable cotton pads, then the sticky back gauze, until his entire back is sterile and covered.]

Um.

[Her fire has sort of deserted her now, and she's more embarrassed at being with a half naked live man than anything.]

I'll, uh-- I'll wait outside and let you get dressed, okay?

[jumpthegun]

Yeah. [John's voice is tight. The pain on his end is making this less awkward, at least. And then he turns to her before she leaves and grabs Molly's shoulder lightly.] The Alphabet Woman, she's platinum blonde, shoulder length hair. Blue nail polish and she's only got nine fingers, missing the index on her right hand. If you see anyone like that, just... just run, okay? Run back to your car and hide. We'll find a way to meet up later.

[It might sound incredibly paranoid, but John's not about to take chances. He lets Molly go and turns to the task of dressing. It's nice to be in something that lets him feel like a normal human being again, and it's really not bad stuff. He looks smart, which is ideal. He also takes some of the painkillers Molly bought, washing it down and pocketing the new phone before heading out. He keeps one of the bags with the extra and remaining clothes in it. No telling if he'll need those again. People need to stop confiscating his clothes, really. C really is for bloody Clothes, whether the Alphabet Woman meant it to be or not.

The doctor is tense as he steps outside once more and looks around for Molly.]

[howdull]

[Though she thinks he's being paranoid and it shows in her expression, she doesn't argue with him. She just slips out of the toilet and hangs around outside until he's done. She looks quite pleased when she sees him, a tiny swell of pride that she'd picked decently with size and style.

She can do something right, at least!]

We'd be better leaving the car where it's parked here, Blink and Ink is only ten minutes walk. So... what's your plan when we get there? Ask if one of their employees has nine fingers? [She chuckles a bit awkwardly.] I bet Sherlock would say that was 'too obvious'. [She tries to mimic his baritone and chuckles again, though it peters off awkwardly after a moment.] I mean... what's the plan, John?

[She can call him that, right? Helping him with his burns seems like something that might have elevated him from Dr. Watson.]

[jumpthegun]

[John nods.]

Let me just put the clothes back in the car, then.

[They'll take care of that while he's speaking, and then start walking.]

I'll be D.I. Lestrade, and you're Sergeant Hooper. We're investigating a case of someone impersonating one of our officers, Sergeant Sally Donovan. We were tipped off that business cards were made for her here and we'd like to see the records.

[He clears his throat.] Have you got a wallet that flips open? People never actually look at the credentials. If we can flash your hospital ID like that, it'll probably pass a quick glance and get them moving.

[howdull]

[Molly glances down at her own clothes, some standard black trousers, a plain top, and her white coat. She slings the coat in the car and plucks out her hospital ID, though it's unfortunately on a lanyard.]

I just have my purse, sorry.

[Not very helpful.]

Maybe they won't ask too much, it's not like people often go into card making places and pretend to be the police?

[jumpthegun]

[Well, damn. All right, that's fine. He wishes he had that badge from Lestrade Sherlock had flashed at the American tourist on their first night together. They'll work with what they have.]

We'll make do. We'll just need to look confident. We're on a mission and won't take no for an answer. These people are standing between us and rescuing Sherlock.

[He's seen the fire in Molly Hooper's eyes. He knows she can be fierce when the moment's called for. John will try to coach Molly a little bit on the way to Blink and Ink. It's mostly on maintaining eye contact, not being too polite, and certainly not apologizing like you mean it if they get suspicious. Which, really, they might.

John is hopeful when they step into the shop and look around, though. He'll see if he can spot the Alphabet Woman before heading to the counter. His tone is firm, but polite when he speaks as he slips into the familiar role of Captain Watson, rather than Dr. Watson. It should be easier to fake if he's mostly himself. They have enough of the details for the lie worked out, anyway. It shouldn't be too difficult.]

We'd like to speak with the manager. Detective Inspector Lestrade, New Scotland Yard. We're here on a case.

[howdull]

[Molly pulls herself up to a straight posture in order to look more confident and strides out alongside John. If this wasn't for such high stakes, she would probably be having fun right about now, she never gets to do anything different from her usual work and this is definitely different.

The shop itself is quite large, with the neon and minimalist aesthetic of a shop that really wants to let the world know how 'hip' and 'modern' it is. Large paintings of just lips hang all around the walls in a variety of bizarre colours, and the man behind the desk is sporting more tattoo than blank skin.

He raises an eyebrow, and shrugs.]

Which manager? Sales, customer service, graphic design, or printing?

[jumpthegun]

[That's a little bit of a wrench, but it's only a second or two to figure out the most viable to start. They'll move on to a different one if this isn't it. Sales, probably.]

Printing.

[howdull]

[He sighs and picks up a phone that's shaped like a literal bone and mumbles into it for a few seconds.]

Alright, Adam says go right up. The lift's through those doors, you want the fourth floor, second door on your left.

[jumpthegun]

Thank you.

[And away they go. John takes a breath when they step into the lift and punch the fourth floor. He flashes a small smile at Molly.]

Figure we can get this manager to pull in sales if we need it. He'll know what he's been printing, though. You're doing great so far, Molly.

[howdull]

I haven't said anything yet.

[She just points that out quietly, though it's with a smile in return. The lift is pretty fast and the doors are soon opening, this floor is more utilitarian in style with plain white walls and office space.

Adam is a middle aged man in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt, he smiles nervously at them both when they come in.]

T-Troy said you were p-police? To see me? Can I just say that I never knew that stuff was in my suitcase, I swear, just-- god, it was a mistake. You can let me off this once, can't you?

[jumpthegun]

[John keeps his expression neutral, but really? This is almost too easy. Thank god. He's rubbish at lying. This is usually where Sherlock would take the reins. The doctor raises a hand.]

Settle down, sir. Sergeant Hooper and I are here on another matter, unless you'd like to have a discussion about that one. [He raises his brow and goes to sit down across from Adam.] We've had reports that someone's been impersonating one of our officers, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Your print shop came up as the supplier for the card stock used.

[John looks to Molly for a moment.]

Sergeant Hooper will be taking a few notes, if you don't mind. We do have a description on the suspect, but we'd like to know if you did print any cards under that name. Our records don't indicate a payment by the Yard to your company, and Sergeant Donovan, herself, has denied making the purchase.

[howdull]

[Oh, good GOD. He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and swipes it shakily over his sweating brow, before he shakes his head fervently.]

N-No, I don't want to talk about-- I mean-- let me pull up the records.

[He hurries to his computer as Molly pulls a notepad out of her bag and hurriedly tries to hide the pink kitten on the front by folding it double. Thankfully, Adam doesn't notice.]

I don't have any record of an order from the Yard, you're right, and-- Uh-- There was a small order of cards printed, but I don't know who purchased them. The name was given as J. Doe, sorry, but there's an address on file. 25 Palmerston Road, Walthamstow.

[Molly looks up sharply and scribbles on a corner of her paper - WALTHAMSTOW CENTRAL, LAST STATION ON VICTORIA LINE EASTBOUND.]

[jumpthegun]

[John glances at her and nods minutely.]

Do your records indicate if it was a call-in order or a walk-in? We'd like to speak with the employee who took that order if it was made in-person.

[howdull]

It must have been a walk-in because the method of payment is listed as cash, so you want Helen, she deals with all walk-in orders and then sends them up via email to be printed while the customer waits.

[He smiles ingratiatingly, clearly trying to be as helpful as possible to keep their attention off his infractions.]

I'll go and fetch her, shall I?

[Molly nods authoritatively, and Adam practically scurries out of the room. She leans into John and murmurs while they're alone.]

Why do you want to speak to her? We have an address, it's on the Victoria line, shouldn't we be going to get Sherlock?

[jumpthegun]

Because I want to check the description Helen provides. I dunno how quickly the Alphabet Woman changes her looks. She can't hide the missing finger, but her hair might be important. If it's a different description, we can give it to Lestrade and have him track her movements from CCTV footage for the day she made the purchase. We have an idea where she's keeping Sherlock, but she might not be staying there for very long when we find him. It'll be good to know the other places she's been for when we go looking for her.

[He shrugs and then grimaces, regretting that.]

Plus, it'll look suspicious if we don't ask a little more. We're the police, right?

[howdull]

Right.

[She falls silent, chewing her lip, until Adam reappears with a young dark skinned girl with a nose piercing and a friendly smile.]

Hi, Helen, Adam says you're from the police? Can I help?

[jumpthegun]

[John offers her a polite, but brief smile in return as he rises to address her.]

Yes. You took a cash order from a woman for cards printed under the name of Sally Donovan. If you could give us the day that happened and a description of the woman, we'd appreciate that. She would have been missing her index finger on her right hand, if that sounds familiar.

[howdull]

[She looks utterly blank until John mentions the missing finger, and then it's like a light bulb goes off in her head.]

Oh yes, I remember her, she was really nice. It was about two weeks ago now that she came in, she was kind of plump, uh, pale skin? Blonde hair, but I don't think it was real. Really nice pink nail polish. She said the cards were for her friend who'd just passed out of the police academy and made PC, like a well done present. It's not-- oh no, nothing's happened to her friend, has it?

[jumpthegun]

[Blonde. Okay.]

No, no. Nothing like that. Thank you, very much, Helen. We'll see ourselves out. Thank Adam for us, as well, and keep up the good work here.

[And now to head out and hopefully not be stopped. They're actually going to get away with this. John doesn't know if he should feel this excited when they're in the middle of a potentially deadly situation for Sherlock. He can hear the other man's voice echoing in his head, though.

'The game is on.']

[howdull]

[Molly looks almost as excited as John might be feeling when they make it outside, cheeks flushed and grin stretching wide across her face.]

I can't believe that worked! Oh my gosh, we have to do that again someday!

[She gives him a spontaneous hug, and then hurriedly pulls back looking mortified.]

Oh, um... sorry.