fossilised | For John Watson

[Mycroft will let him go for now. His is not the way of brawling in a hospital corridor, but he will make sure that Dr. Watson is dealt with when the moment is right. For now, he does not wish to endanger Sherlock any further, and so he will observe this Jim from a distance, but allow it to go ahead.

Sherlock is laid out on the bed when John re-enters the room, looking for all the world as if he might be unconscious or asleep. He opens his eyes after a moment, though, having heard only John's distinctive tread on the floor.]

Is everything ready, John?

No. Mycroft wants me to leave and never come back. So, I'll be on the lookout for the government kidnapping me and throwing me in some prison somewhere, I suppose. Told him to go to hell, though. That felt nice. Dunno if he's gonna hold off bringing things in, but I did tell him to.

[He clicks his tongue in annoyance.]

Count yourself lucky not to be related to Mycroft, John. Don't pay any attention to his blustering, I'll hardly be allowing him to take you.

[In spite of the fact that that should probably be a troubling sentiment, being the toy in the middle of a pair of brother's tug-o-war, the words are bracing. Sherlock has his back as much as John tries to have the other man's. He just nods and goes to sit down, trying to get into the mindset of being scared and worried for Sherlock and everything else. That's fairly easy, at least.]

Probably want to go back to pretending to sleep. I'll keep an eye out for Molly and Jim. Anything you absolutely want me to ask him?

No, concentrate on getting him to open up. Anything will do, no matter how seemingly insignificant, pretend you wish to get to know him as a person.

[Sherlock is more than confident of his ability to piece together a far larger picture than the one actually shown, just from the answers given and the answers not given.

He watches John a moment to make sure that he has the instructions down clearly, and then closes his eyes once more to pretend to be asleep. It's another fifteen minutes, however, before Molly pokes her head around the door.]

Um, John? Is it okay if we come in?

[Showtime. John's spent the past fifteen minutes contemplating what's going to happen if he does get locked away by Mycroft, if Sherlock slips away from him. If Molly or Lestrade are hurt. If Sarah is hurt. Mike and Bill. He draws in a shaky breath, voice tight.]

Yeah. Sure, Molly. Sherlock's sleeping again. [John looks up to see Molly with Jim. He offers here a tired smile and tries his best to quell the suspicion as he flicks his eyes over to Jim.] Thanks for coming by to look after her, uh... Jim? It's been a long night.

[Molly slips in, looking nervous, and takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs by the bedside. Jim stays standing and puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing in a comforting manner.]

It's really no problem.

[His eyes pass over the sleeping man in the bed, then to John, the picture of concern.]

It was a dreadful thing to happen at the funeral. Sorry for your loss, by the way.

[John grimaces, and he doesn't even have to fake that.]

Yeah, that, um... Sorry. Didn't really go to plan. I've just been... [He gestures to the bed where Sherlock's lying.] Distracted, you know? I was an arse. Clara's... Christ. Sorry, that's not your problem.

[He hangs his head. It's easier to lie if he doesn't have to look at the man.]

Are you all right with all of this? Don't mean to be keeping Molly away from you. They think he's out of the danger zone now, at least. Probably safe to head home for some proper rest.

Oh, don't you worry about me.

[Jim smiles, and it's utterly sincere.]

I'm glad to be able to be here and help out, even if it's just as support. Molly's told me so much about the great Mr. Holmes, after all.

Oh, right. [Where does he go from here? John's searching for something that might lead to a 'breakdown.' Jim sounds like a perfectly decent human being, though.] He's usually a lot more coherent than at the funeral. Ricin, right? Gets us all.

[Another grimace, mostly at himself. Bloody hell, what is he doing, turning into Molly for this? That was an awful joke.]

We're working on a case is all. He gets caught up in things. Molly helped me rescue him, though. [The doctor looks up to shoot her a grateful smile.] Clever girl you've managed to catch hold of. Don't lose her.

[That is adorable. He doesn't usually like average people with their mundane brains and boring lives, it's why Sherlock is perfect for him, but he can see why Sherlock has kept this one around. He has to resist grinning widely, but he's very good at playing a part so his expression never wavers.]

Believe me, I intend to never let her go.

[Molly's eyes dart up towards John briefly, startled, before she looks back down at Sherlock on the bed.]

You sound like you've been through a lot, sorry-- what was your name? Molly only usually talks about Sherlock.

[The proclamation of never letting Molly go is troubling.

P is for Pathologist. Or maybe M is for Morgue... and Molly.

Something cold settles in the pit of his stomach, and John can't help the look of concern that briefly flashes across his face when he meets Molly's eyes before he schools his expression back to crafted misery.]

John. John Watson. I'm his flatmate. Was. We don't... really have a flat anymore. I do write-ups of some of our cases in my blog. [He pushes himself up, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and chest and offers a hand to Jim.] I think Molly said you do IT? How's that, then?

[No. John gives himself a mental kick. His natural inclination is to steer off difficult topics and onto neutral things. Need to pull it back somehow after this. Ah!]

Might be we could use your help if you're interested, at all. There's been some high tech stuff going on with this case. Cameras being turned off or CCTV footage altered. Don't suppose there's anything you know about cybersecurity?

[Nailed it! Well... maybe.]

[Jim laughs, a half awkward and half amused sound, seemingly genuine.]

I don't know that I'd know how to look at cybersecurity, that's a bit beyond my remit. I'm the old NHS computers that still run Windows '98, the worst I have to deal with is a frozen screen.

[He definitely looks interested, though. Who wouldn't be? This is so much fun.]

But of course I want to try and help. How exciting, boring old Jim helping out on a real criminal investigation. It's like something out of a movie.

You'll be the next James Bond! [God, why is he talking? John wishes Molly would say something.] Or, uh... Neo. He's the hacker. But you're a young bloke. Probably cleverer with computers than me. [This is too optimistic. Does he actually need to break down? He's sort of already 'letting Jim in' to their confidences.] Harry was, um...

She was a graphics designer. Better at computers than me. Liked to have all the latest gadgets. [His brows furrow.] She gave me one of her old phones when I got back to London. Wanted to keep in touch. [There's regret in his voice and that's not faked, either.] I didn't ever really... [He clears his throat and looks away to where Sherlock's pretending to sleep.]

Lost it in the mess that's gone on the past while. Probably for the best. The Alphabet Woman--she's the suspect--she was using it to track me, I think. It really is like some spy movie, right?

The Alphabet Woman? You mean like A is for apple, those children's books that people use to teach spelling?

[He seems completely oblivious to John's imminent breakdown and desperation. He's not, of course, but this is deliciously entertaining and he'd not spoil it for the world.

Molly reaches out and puts a hand on John's back, apparently in a comforting pat, but she presses down hard.]

I'm sorry you lost what Harry gave you, John. That must be hard, to not have anything to remember her by. Didn't anything get saved from Baker Street?

[Jesus, Molly. The pain coupled with the reminder that he literally has nothing from the flat is enough to bring legitimate tears to his eyes, but John blinks hard and turns half away, clearing his throat. His voice is tight again.]

No. I... I haven't gone over to look at her flat. There might be... I need to... [Christ, he does need to, now he thinks about it. Unless Clara's already taking care of it? The landlord won't just let Harry's place sit. And if there's damage, what is he supposed to do about paying for that? Maybe the deposit will cover it? He needs to go clean it out, regardless. When the hell is he supposed to find time to do that? Or have Lestrade's men been by to clean some things out? Look for clues on Caroline Matthews after the murder?]

Sorry. There's just a lot going on. Give me a minute. I'm sorry. Molly. Could you. Sorry. Could you get me some water?

[A part of him really wants to get her away for whatever reason. He'd been desperate for the woman to speak up, but now, he's not so sure. She's seen him break down once. This is supposed to be fake, but the more he's thinking about it, the more overwhelming this is becoming. And if this really is the man who helped murder his sister? John doesn't know what to do with that.]

[Molly hates this.

She's not built for subterfuge, she doesn't like it, but she understands it's necessary in this case and she'd do anything for Sherlock. To help him. Now, to a lesser extent, to help John as well. She snatches her hand away as fast as she can when she sees the tears coming, job accomplished, and gets up-- only to be stopped by Jim.]

It's okay, I'll get it. One cup of water coming up, Johnny.

[He smiles, a little too gleefully given the situation, though it fades quickly, and disappears out of the room.

Molly's shoulders sag.]

I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry, are you okay?

[Everything inside him stops for a moment at that nickname, and John can't help glaring absolute daggers at Jim for a split second. No one calls him Johnny except Harry, and while the man couldn't possibly know that, there's still something that feels calculated about the nickname. And it still makes the doctor's skin crawl.

That's quickly subsumed by the return of his grief and worry about what to do. Trying to run an investigation in the middle of all that's going on is proving far more difficult than he thought it would be.]

It's fine, Molly. I'm acting. [That has the benefit of being at least a little bit true. His voice is gruff, and he doesn't look at her, just turns his eyes to Sherlock's bed. There's no telling how long Jim is actually going to be gone.] I'll pick up some more pain meds on my way out of here. [It's just physical pain. It's fine. It's completely fine.]

[Oh. Ohhhhh. That glare is delicious, it's all that he can do to keep from breaking character there and then to revel in it. But not now, not yet. His client might have her sights set on the doctor, but he has much bigger prey in mind. He can't wait to tangle with Sherlock properly, but it's just not time.

Not yet.

Molly gives John a look that quite clearly asks how dumb he thinks she is, but she doesn't actually refute him. There's not a whole lot of point.]

We're not getting anywhere.

[But she doesn't know what to do to make this better.]

If it's definitely him, if Sherlock's that sure, why don't we just as the police to take him in for questioning?

[She gives a half look down at the bed for confirmation, but Sherlock is either playing his part exceptionally well or has actually fallen asleep, because he doesn't respond.]

Because we have no actual evidence, Molly. What's Lestrade gonna do? Give him coffee, ask him a few questions, and send him on his way? There's not even enough to make him a person of interest except Sherlock said so. I know Lestrade's willing to stick his neck out, but we don't want it getting chopped off here, not with Caroline Matthews to catch still.

We also don't want to tip him off that we know anything. If he is part of this, then we can just pull him into the 'investigation' and wait for him to trip over himself.

[That's John's logic here, anyway. He has no actual idea what Sherlock's is. Greg's a good man, though. Jim seems too clever to just give himself away for no real reason other than the big bad policemen asking him questions.]

I suppose you're right, but it seems wrong. He used me to get to the both of you, and I want to see him punished for that.

[Molly fishes in her bag for a tissue and holds it out to John.]

Here, this might make it easier to pretend, you can hide your face in it-- oh, hello?

[That's as a doctor enters the room, not one that's been treating Sherlock so far.]

Excuse me, is there a Dr. Watson here?

[John is worried about responding to the new doctor. They were supposed to be pretending he was German, right? Was it someone coming to chide for sleeping in the hospital. Better him than Molly.]

I'm Dr. Watson, yes.

There's a phone call for you, a Mrs. Hudson.

[He looks slightly annoyed, it's not his job to play receptionist, but it did sound urgent.]

You can take the call at the nurse's station.

[John's eyes widen.]

I'll be back in a mo.

[He heads out and asks for the phone.]

Mrs. Hudson? It's John.

[She sounds fairly harried and ever so slightly annoyed. She's been completely on her own since the explosion, sorting out the damage.]

First of all, there's been no word from either of you in days, I've been worried out of my mind! One phone call, John Watson, that's all I needed, and then I have to find out from Detective Inspector Lestrade that Sherlock is in hospital? It's not good enough.

[She huffs. Right, that's out of the way.]

Anyway, there's a man come to see you. He's from the military, he says he needs to talk to you about your service in Afghanistan.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject