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]

Everything I say is of importance, John.

[Which is a no.

They can't do much else until they have the information on the child and whatever caused Danny to kill himself. The suicide, at least, Sherlock is sure has to relate to his injuries in Afghanistan, otherwise there could be no reason to blame John. Even so, the act of blaming John for not reaching him faster seems to be the desperate actions of someone with nobody else to blame.

He won't fight John putting the oxygen mask on him, though he does look disgruntled by the odd smell of it.]

Tedious.

[It's an irritated mutter, muffled inside the mask.]

[jumpthegun]

I know. Not dying so tedious.

[John heads to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for himself and just try to relax. He pulls out the note the woman left and glances down at it before moving back over to Sherlock.]

Here. Deduce what you can off that while you're still conscious and sensible.

[As sensible as Sherlock ever gets.]

[howdull]

I am not going to fall unconscious.

[He sounds almost offended at the suggestion, though he does reach out and take the piece of paper to examine it properly.

Luckily, it's not too much longer before there's a knock at the door. Lestrade decided he couldn't wait after all.]

[jumpthegun]

[John goes to fetch the door, relieved for the distraction. Lestrade's not going to like what he sees, though, no doubt. At least John is still in relatively decent shape. Relatively. He's still working on broken ribs and a burned back.]

Come in. He's on the bed. You'll want to talk to him first, and maybe save the yelling.

[Because Sherlock is the important one to talk to immediately thanks to his condition.]

[howdull]

[Save the yelling isn't something he's going to be able to do, looking a cross between furious and worried as hell when he looks between one and the other.]

You idiots. Give me one good reason why I don't call for an ambulance right now? You're going to kill yourselves and save that woman the trouble.

[jumpthegun]

I can take care of him. We've got what we need. [John sounds mildly affronted.] And if you put us in hospital, we might not be able to work. You really want to do that with some psychopath running around? They knocked me out long enough Sherlock might have died if I hadn't esca- hadn't left when I did last time.

[howdull]

You know, contrary to what both of you think, the police aren't completely bloody useless. This is what we do, we catch psychos for a living, so maybe you could've left it to us?

[He's so mad, and it isn't helped by the fact that Sherlock is completely ignoring him, eyes closed and fingers laced on his chest.]

You're both under bloody house arrest, you hear me? I'll let you help with the clues, but you're not leaving here until she's caught.

[jumpthegun]

[John glares at Lestrade, looking positively mutinous. He smooths that expression over after a moment and locks into something cool and calm... Captain Watson.]

He's got ricin poisoning. Of course we aren't going anywhere for a while.

[Which is to say, John seriously doubts Lestrade can keep them under house arrest longer than that.]

Molly needs her car back. And why d'you think we contacted you? We work together, detective inspector. It's my understanding that's how you've worked with Sherlock on the past. We don't have all of your resources, and you don't have all of ours. Or have I missed something?

[howdull]

[Lestrade isn't going to let himself be bullied, glaring right back at John as he slips into the role of army officer.]

Yeah-- yes, we work together, and I stick my neck right out on the line letting it go as much as I do. But I'm still a damn police officer, do you know how much trouble I'd be in if they found out I let two injured people, victims and relations of victims of the perpetrator, get involved with this?

[He sighs.]

Besides, you're my friends, I'm not keen on watching you kill yourselves. So you stay here and work on clues I bring you, we have a deal?

[Sherlock rolls his eyes, opens his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, and instead finds himself having to tear the oxygen mask off and roll over to be sick in the bin. Irritating.]

[jumpthegun]

[John watches Sherlock impassively.]

I think that means yes for now. [For now.] What have you got?

[howdull]

[Lestrade wrinkles his nose at the smell, but he gets his notebook out all the same to read from.]

Danny Matthews suffered a gun shot wound to the abdomen, he was treated in the field by Captain Watson and then shipped back to England in a coma. When he woke up, they discovered that he'd suffered brain injuries, likely because of a lack of oxygen or blood loss during the time taken to get to him on the battlefield. He killed himself seven months later.

[jumpthegun]

[John's expression only flickers for a moment to something pained. He draws up his walls a moment later.]

I see. And the wife?

[howdull]

There's not much about her in the file until four months after he died, when the CPS took her children - two boys, 11 and 7 - into custody over alleged neglect. It still hasn't gone to court either way, but it looks likely that she couldn't cope after he killed himself and that impacted onto the children.

[jumpthegun]

[His mouth goes dry and John looks over at Sherlock.]

There wasn't... I mean, we thought... there wasn't a baby? One that might not have survived?

[howdull]

[Sherlock has decided that he doesn't much care for ricin poisoning. His chest feels tight, his thoughts are slipping away from him, and he feels drunk in a most unpleasant way.

That's not going to stop him from interjecting his thoughts, though. A bit muffled from behind the mask.]

Those books are sometimes used to help victims of brain damage, nerve damage, or stroke to learn to read and write again.

[He's just going to gloss over the fact that this means his previous deduction about a baby was completely wrong.]

[jumpthegun]

[Well, then. Okay. There's a knot of guilt that settles in his stomach. He hadn't made it to Danny in time, and this had happened. He'd done what he could in the field and that's as much as can be asked of any man, but there's still the sense that part of this is his fault. Not that the Alphabet Woman should be-]

What's her name? The wife. What's her name, then?

[It feels wrong that he doesn't even know that much.]

[howdull]

Caroline.

[Lestrade answers at exactly the same time that Sherlock speaks, making their voices blend a little.]

Don't do that, John. There's no need for pointless self-flagellation over his condition, I am certain you reached him at your fastest possible time and saved his life. That he couldn't handle his recovery and chose to kill himself is not your responsibility.

[jumpthegun]

Shut up, Sherlock. And put on your damn respirator.

[There are times when John appreciates Sherlock's insight... and then there are times that his seeming ability to read John's mind prickles.]

Caroline Matthews. Okay. Fine. She's got an accomplice unless you find something about her being a technical savant in the next few hours. Good with tech. Might be someone she knew in the service. Someone she convinced... maybe another wounded vet.

[howdull]

[Sherlock scowls over at John petulantly, but he does pull his respirator back on because he's getting short of breath. Not because he was told to.

Lestrade glances down at his notebook and shakes his head with a sigh.]

I haven't found anything about possible friends. By all accounts, she was quite isolated and all his closest friends either died or are still out there.

[jumpthegun]

[John swears under his breath, rubbing his face. It seems like they're hitting a dead-end even with the new information, and it's making him more agitated than it probably should. What day is it, even? He's been so busy winding up in hospital and running about that he hasn't really kept track. He hadn't been close to Danny, but a part of him wonders if he'd received any sort of notice about the death, maybe sitting in his email. If he had Internet and knew when the funeral was, he could check the date against-]

The funeral. What's today?

[He flips open his phone to check. Christ, Clara doesn't even have his number anymore with the phones he's gone through. Has he missed it? She said Tuesday... was it Tuesday? He can't even remember.]

[howdull]

[It is Tuesday, but he hasn't quite missed it. Or he won't, as long as he can get down to the church it's being held at within the next hour, fully dressed and ready to attend a service.

If he checks his emails then he'll find at least four from Clara asking if he'll do a reading, asking if he'll say something, just trying to check in with him.]

Danny's funeral?

[Lestrade looks confused.]

[jumpthegun]

Oh, god. I have to... [John looks down at his clothes, then over at Sherlock. He settles on Lestrade, looking momentarily distraught.] Harry. Harry's funeral is today. [And he's a mess. He hasn't taken a proper shower in a few days, his clothes are new and nice, but they're not appropriate for a funeral. The thought of leaving Sherlock alone here again to be snapped up by the Alphabet Woman--Caroline--is anxiety-inducing, as well. He can't exactly haul the man to a funeral in his current condition, though.]

I can't go. [His hand goes up to his hair, running through it a few times.] I forgot. Fuck.

[howdull]

How long?

[Lestrade only looked shocked for all of two seconds before jumping into action. No matter what else he thought of these two idiots at the moment, he wasn't about to let John miss the funeral of his last remaining family.]

Come on, get up, into the shower. I'll call in and have Donovan pick out a suit in your size and meet us there, police escort, cut out the traffic.

[jumpthegun]

An hour, but I can't... I can't just leave him. [John's eyes turn to Sherlock. As annoyed as he'd been a moment ago with the consulting detective, there's no part of John that wants that to happen again.] She took him last time I did, and he won't even be able to fight back.

[howdull]

[A tiny frown of confusion mars Sherlock's face. He's heard sentimental feeling expressed in his person before, but not usually directed at him. It's oddly touching and he has no idea what to do with it.]

Don't be absurd, John, why would she come back for me? She has already given me a potentially effective death sentence, and I am quite capable of surviving or dying without your supervision.