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]

[All right, they're doing this, then. John keeps his tone rigidly neutral, still not looking at Molly.]

Yeah, Harriet. She hates that name. Hated it. We've got about a year between us. She didn't have much time to enjoy being the baby.

[howdull]

Right-- Harry, not Harriet.

[She has no idea if this will work, but sometimes all someone needs is the peace of an hour or so with nothing else but memories to work through.]

Tell me about her when she was a kid? Did you play a lot together?

[jumpthegun]

[John's jaw tightens. He doesn't want to start thinking about Harry right now. That's almost guaranteed to put him in the wrong mindset for dealing with the Alphabet Woman. His replies are short, but polite. Molly may be able to tell by his bristling body language that he's not terribly happy continuing this conversation.

Her compassion is appreciated once more, but this just isn't the time for it.]

I guess so. I dunno. She had her friends, I had mine. She played with me a lot when we were really little. Mum and Dad weren't home much. We entertained ourselves. She's always been the artistic one. She was a graphic designer. We'd paint or draw or whatever.

[howdull]

[She can feel the hostility rolling off him in waves and it does make her want to stop. She's not naturally confrontational, and she doesn't know him well enough to push, but-- No, no but, she's overstepping her mark again, isn't she?

Her shoulders hunch a little and she bites her lip, falling silent.

The remaining twenty minutes are incredibly uncomfortable to her, so much so that she's almost grateful when she pulls up a few doors down from a possible psychotic killer's house.]

It's that one.

[She gestures to a red front door, peeling a little.]

[jumpthegun]

[John keeps quiet, himself. He feels a little bad about shutting Molly down, but he'll apologize after they have Sherlock safely in-hand.]

Okay. Here's the plan. Stay in the car and keep the motor running and the doors locked. We may need to make a very quick get-away, depending on whether or not she's home. I'm gonna check for other points of entry, and check the windows for any sign of Sherlock. If you see the Alphabet Woman, get out of here and phone the-

[John breaks off. Why is he thinking like Sherlock?]

Nevermind. Just call the police while you're waiting and ask for DI Lestrade. Explain what's happened and where we are. You haven't got anything? Not even a tire lever in the boot?

[howdull]

No, sorry. I have AA membership, they come if I get a flat.

[She shrugs, but she's already got her phone out ready to call for Lestrade. Which likely means that John only has ten to fifteen minutes before the police converge on this street in full force.

The house is a standard terraced house. There's the front door and two ground floor windows, and then down an alleyway around the back there's a small yard, a shed, and a back door leading into the kitchen. There's no sign of movement, though the curtains are drawn in the upper back bedroom.]

[jumpthegun]

[Breaking and entering. Okay. Again, this is more Sherlock's area of expertise. John steels himself and heads into the alleyway, not keen to tip off the Alphabet Woman if she's at home. He heads toward the back door and tests it. If it's locked, he'll check around for any sort of hide-a-key object or under any mat.

If that goes nowhere, he'll check if the shed is open or try to find something he can break a window with in the yard. It's a bad neighborhood, right? People can expect break-ins.]

[howdull]

[Unfortunately for John, the Alphabet Woman is either too clever or too paranoid to leave a key just sitting around for anyone to find, and so he will have to resort to a broken brick in the back yard.

At least it's the middle of the day so most people should be at work, and this is a bad neighbourhood so the crime won't be seen as too unusual. Nor does anyone come running when he does break a window, suggesting that nobody is home.

The house is completely empty and covered in dust, it's clearly not anyone's actual home but more an abandoned property that is being used as a base of operation. Footprints in the dust show recent activity.

On the stairs is a note.]

Dear Captain Watson,

If you are reading this then you have succeeded in finding him within your three day limit. Don't get too comfortable. I'm still going to take him and everyone else away from you.

Yours,

Harry.

[jumpthegun]

[There's a sense of relief that floods through him, but it's tempered with suspicion. John keeps an eye out for boobytraps as he heads upstairs and checks the room that had had the drawn curtains.]

Sherlock?

[His voice is careful, tight.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock is sat in the corner of the room attached to the plumbing pipes that lead into the en suite bathroom with ziplock ties at his ankles and wrists. He has on a blindfold, army fatigues, and dog tags. He tilts his head at the sound of the door opening rather than at his name.]

John, good of you to join me.

[He grimaces, voice matter of fact.]

I strongly advise you to hold your breath while untying me, two days of stationary confinement does not allow for a pleasant odour.

[jumpthegun]

Bloody hell... [He hurries forward, no longer paying any mind to potential traps. The smell isn't at all pleasant, but he's a doctor... and an Army doctor at that. He's dealt with worse things.] Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?

[He pulls off the blindfold first, ignoring the pain from the quick motions.]

Lestrade's on the way. I don't have anything to cut with.

[John looks around the room toward the bathroom. There might be something to cut with in there, but he'll wait for Sherlock's response.]

[howdull]

[He rolls his eyes in unfettered irritation. This isn't good enough, they're on a very tight schedule and he can almost feel the ticking inside him, like his mind palace has been filled with clocks. Clocks and Mycroft looking smugly at his watch while Sherlock races around always one step behind where he needs to be.]

Then what good are you if you didn't bring anything to cut with? Honestly, John, I'm a prisoner, didn't it cross your mind that I would most likely be restrained? Or did you truly think that I would have remained here of my own free will?

[He exhales a loud and pointed sigh, and slouches back against the wall.]

[jumpthegun]

[John's tone and expression flatten to mild irritation. If Sherlock can whine, he's fine apart from not having access to a toilet, food, and water, the past few days.]

You walked off with a serial killer and let him kidnap you on our first case. I'm sort of assuming that's what happened here.

[He gets up to check the bathroom for anything to cut with.]

Molly didn't have anything in her car.

[howdull]

You brought Molly?

[He's not going to answer that first bit because, while he didn't exactly walk off with her willingly, it's embarrassing how easily he was kidnapped.]

Hardly an ideal candidate for a daring rescue.

[The bathroom is completely empty, save for a small pile of Sherlock's original clothing, the back of the Belstaff coat slightly darker with dried blood at the collar.]

Husband was definitely military, definitely dead, likely of suicide. Don't quite see how that's your fault, but she clearly blames you. She's military too, or was, but has never served overseas. The missing finger was an accident on the firing range, got her invalided out of the armed forces before she could be deployed anywhere.

[jumpthegun]

[The casual mention of suicide and being invalided make John's jaw tense for a moment. He checks Sherlock's coat for anything useful, and if there isn't anything, he'll use his elbow to try to break the mirror in the bathroom. He'll also immediately regret the action for his ribs and back, but there's only a quiet gasp and swear under his breath to indicate as much.

If he can wrap Sherlock's shirt around a large shard, they can use that. And then he can have a look at the back of the man's head.]

You can afford a new shirt if this one rips. And you owe Molly Hooper a date and flowers.

[It's said to forestall any complaints as John kneels down next to him again and places a hand on Sherlock's shoulder to get him to lean forward. It should hopefully give him enough room to saw through the zip tie holding the man's hands.]

[howdull]

No.

[He doesn't owe Molly flowers or a date, and he's certainly not wasting his valuable time on something so asinine when there are other things that need to be done. He doesn't complain about his shirt, however, leaning forwards to let John get to the ties at his hands.

His wrists are left with deep red welts, but nothing dangerous. There is dried blood sticking bits of his hair in clumps, but it covers over the visibility of any wound. He sighs in pleasure when he can begin to rub at his wrists to improve the circulation, waiting for John to do his ankles as well.]

She's was definitely a mother, the child may be dead. Unfortunately, I didn't see her, nor did she ever address me directly, so my deductions are minimal.

[jumpthegun]

Yes. After all this. At least coffee. At least bring her a cup of coffee.

[Molly deserves something for her help, and John knows something involving Sherlock would make her happiest. They're rapidly devolving into the minimal effort required on Sherlock's part, but small steps. He gets the zip ties off of Sherlock's ankles and finally reaches for the dog tags around his neck to check them.]

How d'you know she's a mum? Didn't seem terribly motherly when I ran into her. She shot a random kid through the stomach to see what I could do in eleven minutes and fifteen seconds.

[howdull]

[The dog tags, on closer inspection, are not real army issue. They're more the thin metal ones that can be bought from most alternative clothing shops for teenagers to wear as a fashion accessory, there's no engraving. The fatigues, up close, are also more fashion items than real army issue, and they don't fit particularly well. Too short in the leg and too baggy at the waist.]

Sometimes when she visited to check I remained where she placed me, she would hum lullabies to herself. Melodies we hum subconsciously are always ones we have heard recently, generally not lullabies or nursery rhymes for adults. However, I detected a thickness to her humming and a change in her breathing that suggested tears, therefore a lullaby to bring her grief. Likely the death of a child, possibly what pushed her over the edge and it might explain why Harry was positioned in a facsimile of an infant.

[He pushes up to his feet quickly and very nearly falls right back over again, swaying violently. Lack of food, a head wound, and the loss of circulation to his feet all contribute to that. He forces himself to keep moving, though, there's no time to wait around.]

[jumpthegun]

[John grabs hold of Sherlock to steady him, blanching slightly at the sudden movement that rocks them both.]

Lovely. [His ears pick up the wail of sirens.] We'll want to get you to hospital. Bart's. We can work from there while your head gets looked at and you get a shower and some food.

[Sherlock absolutely needs a shower along with the food.]

[howdull]

Dull.

[That one unimpressed word and a twist to his lips are all he intends to give that suggestion, he's not going to go to hospital. He just swings towards the bathroom instead.]

I'll shower here, dress in my own clothes, and we can be on our way.

[jumpthegun]

Sherlock, the police are going to be breaking down this door in about three minutes. You haven't eaten or drunk anything for two days. You need to rest.

[Says the man running around with second-degree burns and broken ribs.]

Lestrade already wants to cuff me to a bed. He'll add you to the list, you know? And he's going to want to take a statement.

[howdull]

[He just meanders into the bathroom and half shuts the door, even he has shame enough not to want even John to see him in this state, and starts peeling off filthy clothes. He raises his voice to be heard through the door.]

He can take a statement when we've finished solving the case, time is too much of the essence to spend any of it on unnecessary tasks.

[jumpthegun]

[A part of him agrees. A part of him feels bad about it. John goes downstairs to give Sherlock some level of privacy, collecting the note from the Alphabet Woman and putting it in his pocket before unlocking the front door. Better that the police don't have to actually break down the door. He also checks outside for Molly's car and offers her a thumbs up. Hopefully, that'll settle her down and make up for him being... something of a dick to her.

The wail of sirens is fast-approaching.

He shuts the door and heads back upstairs, looking around for any other clues about the Alphabet woman in the house itself. He does stop by the room Sherlock was in, though.]

If you want out before the police get here, you'll need to be fast, Sherlock, and we'll be piling into Molly's smart car.

[howdull]

[Sherlock is as fast as he can possibly be in getting clean. He doesn't have soap, so there's only so much he can do, and the hot water is turned off so the shower is freezing. But he can sluice off the filth and, with it, the worst of the smell. His hair is brutally scrubbed to get the blood out as best he can, possibly the most rapid shower he's ever had.

He's out just as Sherlock says the word 'car', stumbling into his clothes even as he opens the door. If John is particularly observant, he might notice a fresh looking needle mark in the crook of his left arm before that arm disappears inside his coat. He likes his Belstaff, but not so much over bare skin, still there's not much option since his shirt has been destroyed.

Sherlock sweeps past John and heads for the stairs, calling over his shoulder for all the world as if John is the one holding them up.]

Come along, then. No time to lose.

[jumpthegun]

[John is being more observant than usual of late, and he catches sight of the mark. His mind runs to the Alphabet Woman and what she might have injected his friend with, though, not what Sherlock might have been doing to himself. He'll leave off asking until they're at their next destination. It might be the morgue where he can make a proper examination of the idiot, and Molly can fetch them anything they need to get Sherlock stabilized. Also maybe a nice morphine drip for John.

They step out the front door to the not at all distant blare of sirens. Molly is standing next to her car looking nervous, wringing her hands. When she sees the pair emerge, her face lights up, and she starts to come around the side of the car.]

Sherlock! Are you okay? The police are nearly here.