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]

[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.

[howdull]

[He's getting steadier on his feet the longer he's on them, which is good because he doesn't have the time or inclination to be falling over. He gives Molly a tight smile, though it's mostly distracted.]

Excellent deduction, I assume you gathered that from the sound of the sirens? If you don't mind, Molly, I'd like to get going. You can take John and I back to the flat and then go from there, your assistance won't be needed after that.

[jumpthegun]

[Molly wilts.]

Y-yeah. [And quickly hops into the car. She wants to ask why they aren't waiting for the police, but Sherlock doesn't seem like he's in a very good mood. Maybe he wants to have a lie-down. ] Um... there's not much room. And isn't your... sorry. But John's just told me your flat's blown up.

[John frowns at the seating situation, but there's really not much time to be concerned about dignity.]

Get in, Sherlock. I'll sit in the center with my legs over you.

[Ish. Realistically, he's going to be sitting mostly in Sherlock's lap.]

[howdull]

[He doesn't notice the way Molly wilts, nor does he notice the way she draws herself up and squares her shoulders as if she's dressing herself in armour.]

No, you can't do that. You'll-- sorry, but you'll make your injuries worse, John. And Sherlock, if you're hurt then-- well. Um. You two take the car, one of you can drive, right?

[Sherlock blinks at her for a moment in surprise, but he doesn't question it because it seems logical. He just stares for a few seconds, before clucking his tongue in impatience.]

Keys, then, Molly.

Oh! [She says, flushing.] Right. Yeah. [She fishes them out of her bag and holds them out.]

[jumpthegun]

[John blinks in surprise as Molly holds out her keys. It's only have a second before John goes around to grab the keys. In a moment of madness he also leans forward and kisses Molly's cheek.]

Thank you. I'm sorry. Where should we bring the car back to? Your flat or Bart's.

[Because Molly is getting her car back as John slides into the driver's seat with a grimace.]

[howdull]

[She flushes as bright as the setting sun and takes a few hurried steps backwards.]

Um. Uh.

[Come on, Molly, think!]

Barts is fine, no hurry, I'll get a lift with the police. Or a taxi.

[Sherlock folds himself into the passenger side and nods to her, but he can still hear the faint tick tick tick in his head and it makes him impatient, which translates to snappier than usual.]

Hurry, John. And give me your phone, I need to send a text.

[jumpthegun]

[John digs his phone out and flashes a tired smile up at this impossibly kind and over-worked woman. Well, a bit nosy and a bit too observant for comfort, as well, but John owes her a hell of a lot at this point. Maybe he'll open up to her about Harry a little. Later. Much later.]

Okay. We'll see you later.

[He pulls away as the lights from the police cars appear in the rear view.]

Why are we going back to the flat? How the hell did you get captured, anyway? Did you actually just walk out with her? I was joking.

[howdull]

Because my shirts are at the flat.

[He is not running around London in just his Belstaff and trousers, thank you. He sends off a quick text to Mycroft's number. He notes the new phone, but it doesn't matter, Mycroft will know it's from him in a moment.]

TO: MH: Found, obviously. I require the following couriered to my flat: IV equipment, six bags of saline fluid, oxygen mask and canisters, blood pressure medication, seizure medication. SH.

[He glances up at John as he types, fingers moving swiftly without him needing to look.]

You also need to call any of your former COs or whoever was in charge of that sort of admin work and find out if any of the men you served with have committed suicide since returning.

[jumpthegun]

[The reply from Mycroft is almost immediate.]

FROM: MH: This game is becoming tiresome little brother. You will find the requested equipment and a new set of clothes at your rooms at the Hilton. Do let the good doctor know.

[John's mind turns immediately to Major Sholto, but he can't imagine James has been keeping up with many people.]

I can try the VWS. Mm... Maybe Major Jones. [John never got on with Peter terribly well, but he'd been John's first CO over in Afghanistan. 'Lobster' Jones, a few of the men used to call him behind his back. He'd been burned red like a lobster most of the time. It probably contributed to the foul temper.]

Or Major Hargreave. [He'd been the only other one apart from James, a no-nonsense sort who'd simply been there to see top brass orders carried out firmly and efficiently. No one particularly liked the man... but no one had particularly disliked him, either.]

Uh... how exactly d'we get back to your flat, anyway?

[John isn't over in this part of the city often.]

[howdull]

TO: MH: I'm not going to the Hilton. I'd rather die; which I will, if you don't send the equipment to the flat. Your choice, Mycroft.

[He might anyway, he knows what he's dealing with here, but there's no need to worry John until it becomes absolutely necessary. He tuts.]

Pull over, I'll drive. You can start ringing your former Majors, there's little enough time to lose.

[Has John mentioned Major Jones and Major Hargreave before? He doesn't remember, but maybe he deleted it. He often deletes stories about John's army buddies, they're full of drinking and girls and other boring things.]

[jumpthegun]

FROM: MH: And shall I tell Mummy to have them put 'Refused perfectly acceptable and secure lodgings to his death' on your gravestone? Or perhaps Dr. Watson's? I do wonder how he might fare without you against his 'Alphabet Woman.'

[John casts Sherlock a sidelong look. He doesn't particularly trust the man's driving skills.]

I don't exactly have their numbers on hand. I'd have to look them up on the Internet, probably.

[Or again, call VWS first to get some contacts. Or, well... Bill might have their numbers, and he remembers the other man's phone number.]

Mm... There's someone else I can try first.

[He pulls over and winces as he pulls himself out.]

Don't wreck Molly's car. And don't text while you're driving.

[howdull]

[John's new phone is rubbish, it can't even access the internet. Why would he buy one that can only text and call? It's practically archaic! He thinks it through for a moment. Cost, obviously, but why would he not just use Sherlock's credit card? Some stupid sense of honour? Didn't have the credit card with him. Judging by his clothes, that's more likely, they have a style that John might not necessarily choose himself. A gift, then. From Molly. Which means the phone is too.

Why would she not buy one with internet capability? She makes adequate money at the morgue. Irritating.

He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat as he gets out for John to pick up when he gets in, and strides around to get in the driver's seat.]

Yes, calling Bill sounds like a good idea.

[Seems the most logical conclusion.]

Reply to Mycroft first and tell him that such blatant attempts at manipulation are pathetic, and he can send it to the flat like I asked.