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

[gallowshumour]

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?

[jumpthegun]

[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.]

[gallowshumour]

[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?

[jumpthegun]

[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.]

[gallowshumour]

[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.]

[jumpthegun]

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.]

[gallowshumour]

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?

[jumpthegun]

[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.

[gallowshumour]

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.

[jumpthegun]

[John's eyes widen.]

I'll be back in a mo.

[He heads out and asks for the phone.]

Mrs. Hudson? It's John.

[gallowshumour]

[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.

[jumpthegun]

[He winces at the admonishment.]

I'm sorry. I didn't... sorry.

[He listens to the rest of it, though, paranoia prickling at his skin.]

Mrs. Hudson, where are you? Did he say what his name was?

[gallowshumour]

I've been staying with Mrs. Turner next door, her married ones are away on holiday and she's let me have their rooms for now while our flats get repaired. Dreadful business, wasn't it? Just... awful.

[Wait, the man who's come, focus.]

His name was-- oh, I've forgotten. Shouto or Shunty, something like that. He's upstairs having a bit of tea, I said I'd call and see if I could get you to pop round.

[jumpthegun]

Major Sholto. [The sinking feeling he'd felt earlier turns into a plunge.] Mrs. Hudson, is Mrs. Turner in the flat with you?

[James is a recluse. He wouldn't drop by to reminisce. Does the Alphabet Woman have more accomplices? If she has Jim, who else is there? Some man posing as the Major?]

[gallowshumour]

That's him. Nice fella, bit quiet, and I think there's something wrong with his arm.

[There's the sound of the kettle boiling in the background.]

Mrs. Turner's out, but can I tell your friend that you'll pop by, or should I get him to come back? I wouldn't know, you see, nobody bothers to keep me in the loop.

[jumpthegun]

[That details settles him slightly, at least. It might really be James. But what the hell Is he doing around? Did Bill call him?

John can hear the irritation in Mrs. Hudson's voice, but ignores it for the moment.]

Yes. Sherlock and I will be right over. He's being discharged this morning. I'd really like it if you could have someone you know and trust come over, though, Mrs. Hudson. Maybe one of the lads from the shop? [Speedy's likely doesn't have any customers whilst being blown to bits. Even if there is James, there's something wrong here, and he'd like Mrs. Hudson protected until he can reach her.

D is for... what? Discharge? Dishonor? Christ. John hadn't thought to warn James. He shouldn't have been reachable.]

We'll be there in just a few minutes. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for letting him stay there, but it may not be safe. James isn't dangerous, but the woman after me might come after him, or she might be using him. Please be very careful.

[gallowshumour]

Don't worry, I know how to handle myself. If he turns out to be dangerous, it won't be the first time I've had to tie up a man threatening me, my husband was a drug dealer, remember?

[Honestly, sometimes those boys seem to think she's utterly incapable.]

It'll be good to see you both again, though. I'll tell him that you're on your way.

[jumpthegun]

[He spares a moment to give the phone an absolutely perplexed look before pulling it together.]

Right. Okay. I'd still feel... Well. We'll see you in a bit. [The faster they get there, the faster this will be a non-issue.] Talk to you soon, Mrs. H.

[He hangs up there and turns to the nurse at the station.]

Sherlock Holmes -- uh, William. He's in room 508. His brother was out here getting his discharge papers and clothes. Where's he gone? The brother, I mean. We need to leave. Now.

[howdull]

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, actually.

[That's Mycroft as he steps around the corner with perfect timing, the tip of his umbrella tapping on the floor. His voice and expression are perfectly polite, but there's a simmering dislike underneath it now. John Watson has endangered and possibly permanently damaged his little brother, that will not go without a reckoning.

He holds up the papers, and then very deliberately pockets them in his inside jacket pocket.]

I've rather changed my mind about allowing Sherlock to go running off with you again, you may go alone, as discussed before.

[jumpthegun]

[John bristles.]

We don't have time for games, Mycroft. Give me his discharge papers and clothes. He's asked for them. And Mrs. Hudson may be in danger. I don't think you want to stand between him and her.

[howdull]

You're the only one standing between Mrs. Hudson and safety, Dr. Watson, I suggest you make a move now. I'll deal with my brother. As stated, he is no longer your concern, should you attempt to return here, you will be removed.

[Trust him, he has that kind of influence.]

Good day, Dr. Watson.

[jumpthegun]

[Don't cause a scene. Don't cause a scene. It's exactly what he wants. John's hands all but shake with suppressed fury. He goes striding after Mycroft, and brushes by him without a word to reach Sherlock's room first.

He is aware that Molly will be there and Jim may be, as well. John can't even be bothered to school his expression away from quiet anger and frustration.]

Sherlock and I need to leave, Molly. Your car. It's, um... it's back at his flat. Sherlock's flat. His other flat. We need to get back to Baker Street, though.

[howdull]

[Petty and childish, does he think that getting to Sherlock's room first will make any difference? Mycroft sighs and follows on behind, to see the little room quite crowded with people.

Sherlock is still prone, either pretending to be asleep or actually asleep because Jim is in there, who pulls a slightly too exaggerated confused face.]

Leave? He doesn't look to be in much condition to leave.

[Molly, however, is already halfway on her feet. She takes hold of Jim's hand bravely to try and pull him to the door.]

I'm sure that John just meant himself, he's frazzled. Come on, Jim, I'll walk you out and go and get my car, but-- um, thanks for coming.

[jumpthegun]

[He should have said himself.]

Right. Yeah.

[The doctor's voice is distracted.]

Thanks, Jim. We'll talk later.

[Much later. John waits for the pair of them to leave the room before turning his attention to Sherlock's prone form. He speaks quietly.]

Jim's gone, Sherlock, you can stop pretending to be asleep. Mrs. Hudson's just called. She might be in danger. Mycroft's refusing to hand over your discharge papers and clothes, though. I can deck him, now we're not in the middle of the hall, if you'd like. [It's not even really joking, as evidenced by the look thrown in Mycroft's direction.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock sits up and slides his legs off the bed in one smooth motion, barely a second after John finishes telling him that Jim has left. He knows, of course, he smelt the cologne going away, he heard the footsteps, but there's no need to point that out.]

Don't waste your energy, you'd only break his nose and then he'd whine for a month. Mycroft, either be useful and give me both the clothes and my discharge papers, or get out of the way and I'll leave without them.

[He's not messing around. If Mrs. Hudson is in danger, one of the precious few he cares for, he will not be detained here. Especially not by big brother.]