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]

[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.

[jumpthegun]

[It's the dying part that more concerns him.]

Because she's a bloody psychopath!

[John looks to Lestrade.]

Could you put a guard on him? Someone you trust. It has to be someone you trust completely.

[Because paranoia whispers in his mind that Caroline or her accomplice might have gotten to someone in the police force. It's not another day until the her main event is meant to begin. But he can't help but distrust that assurance.]

[howdull]

[Lestrade is equally unwilling to leave Sherlock unattended when he's talking about dying like it might actually happen, but he only really has Anderson and Donovan on call today and neither one of them would be a good choice.]

I'll sort something out, just get going. What's the address, how long do we have?

[Getting across London is at least easier in a police car, especially if he sneakily puts on the siren for a while, but they might still be cutting it close.]

[jumpthegun]

[That will have to do. He gives Lestrade the address and his size for a suit.]

We only have about an hour.

[John is moving toward the bathroom. It should be a quick rinse in there. He doesn't have the time for a long soak, and he doesn't want to have to reapply what Molly put on his back. He's mentally berating himself for forgetting as he pulls off his clothes faster than he probably should, given his injuries. He hisses and grimaces through the pain.

Five minutes later, he's stepping out--thank god for the military teaching him how to do very quick showers when he needs them--and grabbing for... a hand towel. There's not much in the way of linens in here. He calls out through the door as he pulls on his pants:]

Are they going to bring the suit here, or are we going to meet them at the church?

[He doesn't want to have to get dressed and undressed and dressed again unless he absolutely needs to.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock is going to hate Lestrade, but needs must and he doesn't have anyone else that he trusts to have Sherlock's best interests at heart, so Lestrade may have just sent a sneaky text to Mycroft telling him that Sherlock would be alone and if he could see his way to coming by and spending some time then that would be great.

Sherlock really was going to kill him if and when he found out, but hopefully that wouldn't be until after he had left with John.]

Meeting us there, there's not enough time to wait for them to get here and then go. You'll have to change in the lav at the church.

[jumpthegun]

[Mycroft will be coming swiftly, so Lestrade will need to make haste. Luckily, he doesn't have a police escort, so they'll probably manage to get out before the brother arrives.

John pulls his clothes back on as fast as he can manage, not paying too much attention to having them sorted neatly. They're coming off soon, anyway. He steps out, hair wet, and looking rather rumpled, but it'll do. He can't help stopping for one last, earnest comment to Sherlock.]

I'll be back soon. Just a couple of hours. Text me if there's anything off. And make sure whoever's staying with you changes out your saline as soon as it's running low. The oxygen canisters, too.

[Sherlock might not be able to actually do anything but lie in agony and vomit in the near future, but this is as much for John's peace of mind as anything else. He can't lose anyone else. He can't.

As that's about all that can be said, though, John nods and then motions for Lestrade to lead the way downstairs and out to the car. The doctor doesn't like leaving his friend and patient alone, even for a short spell, but they need to get going.

And in any case, a familiar black car is sliding up the drive just as John and Lestrade are pulling away.]

[howdull]

[The last time Mycroft had deigned to come out to this little flat himself, it had been several years ago and Sherlock had been in the grip of a rather unpleasant overdose. It hadn't been long after that he had suddenly found himself back in touch with Mrs. Hudson and persuaded to take on more cases with Lestrade to give him something to occupy himself with.

He doesn't realise it's his brother that's been called until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, and by then it's too late to kill whichever of John or Lestrade actually called him. So he has to settle for glaring at the door and making his voice as acerbic as possible from behind an oxygen mask.]

Suddenly the throes of a ricin induced death seem almost appealing.

[brotheryours]

Hardly the dramatic death you might have hoped for, some little hovel with no one about.

[Mycroft's tone is drawling as he steps in, umbrella in hand. He pays very little mind to Sherlock's glare and just casts a disparaging look around the flat.]

I hardly think you want to become a footnote in history out of spite.

[howdull]

[He rolls his eyes and shifts onto his back on the little bed so that he can look at the ceiling instead of Mycroft, the stain of mildew is a much more welcome sight.]

Quiet day in the government today, then?

[Must be, Mycroft has come personally and in record time.]

Or is it just that the cafe around the corner still sells those pork pies?

[brotheryours]

Busy day in your neighborhood, brother mine. Have you any idea the number of people coming and going from this area recently? And several of them in the absence of usable CCTV footage. It's rather curious. I thought I might investigate.

Your DI also thought we might like to catch up while Dr. Watson sees to his... arrangements. Tragic. Nearly a double tragedy. I trust you've already begun narrowing the potential list of suspects for Mrs. Matthews' accomplice in your head?

[howdull]

Lestrade has a lot of idiotic ideas, but this one may have propelled him into a new league of stupidity. Why would anyone ever think we might like to catch up? What on Earth do we have to catch up on?

[Is that what normal siblings do? Discuss the mundane over tea and biscuits as if there could be nothing more interesting in their utterly trivial lives than to hear about another equally trivial life.

He doesn't answer about the accomplice, because truthfully he has no suspects. John's idea of a fellow veteran with technological skills is the best one they have so far. But he's not about to admit that to Mycroft.]