Sherlock Holmes (
howdull) wrote in
fossilised2016-11-06 04:25 pm
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For John Watson
[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.]
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.]
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When you're up, I'm gonna need you to run to the drug store, pick up some ointment and bandages. Think you can manage that, Sherlock?
[He'll probably need to remind the other man, but leaves it there for now. John will disrobe the rest of the way once he's in the bathroom and only peel the bandages off in the shower when the rushing water can at least partially muffle the pained grunts he makes as he twists to remove them. The washcloth he uses comes away bloody when he'd done, as does the towel, but John tries to ignore it. He pulls his underwear and jeans back on before going to collapse face-first onto his own bed.
How many years has it been since he slept? It certainly feels at least half a dozen. He leaves the bloodied towel covering his shoulders, just in case. Best not to let that get all over the bed. Sleep comes quickly, even with thoughts of madmen, psychotic women, and bombs swirling in his head.]
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Despite how obviously tired his body is, it takes a while for his mind to shut down enough to drop off, too busy running over and over what Moriarty might do next. It's both frustrating and invigorating to not be able to plan it properly, to not know. Moriarty is just as clever as he is, and this will be an epic game between them. He just needs to get ahead once, just once, and...
Zzz.
Unusually for them in recent days, nothing comes to disturb them throughout the whole time they sleep. Not that Sherlock sleeps long, four or five hours at most, before he snaps awake and to full alertness in seconds. And for a wonder, he remembers to go and nip to the chemist down to the road and buy some supplies for John.
When John does eventually wake, he'll find Sherlock stood on the dingy looking hotel room chair, scribbling on the wall with a red biro he found.]
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Christ he shouldn't have just left.
It is what it is, though, and a good eight or nine hours of solid sleep have made it abundantly clear that he needed this.
The soft scratching of the biro draws his attention after a long few minutes, and he tries to look around without-]
Sherlock!
[He shoves himself up and immediately regrets it.]
Mm... Sherlock. What the... what the hell are you doing? Are you five? That's not even our wall.
[Not that Sherlock should be drawing on their walls, but at least Mrs. Hudson is more understanding.]
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[It's an absent sort of admonishment, his eyes still fixed on the flow chart that he's been mapping out in tiny neat handwriting.]
We've been coming at this all wrong, John. Moriarty himself isn't the weak link, but his tendency to use others to do his dirty work is. That's our next move.
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He killed Caroline, so she's out. The only other person I know who's got my number already is the bloke investigating me for war crimes. Did you have someone else in mind? When you're done with that, I'm gonna need your help for my back, by the way.
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[He's not a medic himself, but he can follow orders when instructed to and he does have the advantage of not being at all squeamish when it comes to the sight of injuries.]
That soldier is certainly one avenue to explore, a good place to start, but I also think my brother might know more than he's letting on.
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[Because John isn't seeing many other ways to get his assistance.]
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There are a few things I can try.
[And something that would definitely work, but he'd rather not stoop to that.]
I suppose I could always tattle to Mummy.
[Is that a joke? Is it not? Hard to tell.]
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If you need me to rough him up for you as an option... I'm really gonna need you to take care of my back, mate. Might be a minor infection. [Very minor. He doesn't need to check himself into hospital again. He'll be fine. Probably.]
Have you heard anything from Lestrade about what they found in the Underground?
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[It's a short and almost terse answer. Hearing nothing isn't a good thing, as far as he's concerned, not in a situation like this. It more than likely means that Lestrade has found something he doesn't want them to know about.
He gestures to the bathroom, inviting John to follow him so that he can fetch the tiny amount of medical supplies they have and get cleaned up.]
Most likely he's just sulking about us continuing to disobey his tedious orders.
[Or not, but there's no need to worry John overly much.]
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He doesn't seem like the sort to sulk, Sherlock. I'll give him a call.
[He puts it on speaker phone before dialing. This is probably going to involve some being ranted at, but if it's in service of finding out what's happened to Molly, so be it.]
Maybe let me do the talking, Sherlock? You can talk to Mycroft.
[Because John's had just about enough of the insufferable arse to last a lifetime. Nothing like the elder brother to make him appreciate Sherlock all the more.]
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Perhaps he would delay the inevitable by making sure John got some treatment for this infection before it became more of a liability than it already was.
The phone rang for almost a full minute before it was answered, Lestrade's voice booming out into the bathroom, brusque and clipped.]
If you're calling to tell me that you've got into another bloody mess, you can hang up now.
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[Wait. How much had Sherlock told Lestrade?]
Uh... and I guess... any chance you've been looking for a bomb around the city? He pretended like there was one down in the tunnels, but nothing was actually there. At least not where he said it was.
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Right. Fine. Tell me about this bomb.
[No, Sherlock did not tell him about any bomb.]
We can talk about the rest after.
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I dunno much about it. He claimed it was rigged to an abandoned carriage I was trapped in with him. Pressure trigger. There was a briefcase in the carriage that had a code we supposedly needed to disarm it. He gave us, uh... some kind of clue. Sherlock looked into it, but it didn't make much sense.
I assume you found Caroline's body down there? She was dead in the carriage, sitting with Jim when I got there.
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If there'd been a bomb, no doubt Scotland Yard have enough deductive ability to have noticed it.
Is that Sherlock? [Lestrade growls.] You can't just-- no, you know what? Forget it. John, I found Caroline's body, there was nothing on it. There was another body too, armed, looked professional. We sent two of the passengers to hospital, Molly as well, the rest of them are at the station giving statements.
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I think there was a man outside the carriage when Jim had me in there. I was testing him about getting off because I didn't believe him about the bomb, not really, and I saw... some one out in the dark. Or, well, he sort of alluded to them being there. I dunno how he'd have been killed, though. Unless Molly and the passengers did something? Or maybe it was from earlier if Caroline gave them any trouble?
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Sherlock points to himself and mouths "it was me". He doesn't expect that John will have any issue with him killing someone quite clearly in the criminal category, but he'd rather not get arrested by Lestrade.
Lestrade makes a mildly irritated hum, but he doesn't have more information to add.]
I might have been able to tell you more, if our mortician wasn't out of commission for work.
[Thanks for that, guys.]
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Anyone working for Jim had to be a very bad man, indeed.]
Right. Um... might be a lower priority sorting that out than... other things. What can we do to help? Apart from sitting still, I mean. [Given everyone here knows that isn't going to happen.] Sherlock has some ideas about what Jim might try next.
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[He's used to being annoyed by the antics of these two, but they really have gone above and beyond in this particular instance.]
Caroline obviously isn't going to be making trouble for you any more, so sitting still, healing, and keeping out of my way, are exactly what you should be doing right now.
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Detective Inspector, I'm still being investigated for war crimes, unless someone's called to say those charges are being dropped. And it's been Sherlock's work that's led us to the next clue each time. This man--Moriarty, if that's even his real name--he's obsessed with Sherlock. Caroline? Me?
It's been a way to get to him. I don't know why, but he's a stalker. Our best chance to draw him out is to use Sherlock.
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[Lestrade does at least lose some of the edge in his voice there, he does feel for John in that regard.]
It's a military matter, all I can do is send over the evidence that it was likely part of this campaign against you, which I've done. Other than that, the police have no jurisdiction. But Moriarty is something I can deal with. Me. The police. Not you. Not this time.
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Good luck, Lestrade. We'll be in touch if there's anything that comes up on our end.
[He hangs up before the other man can yell at him for that.]
So. Mycroft?
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I suppose we must.
[His nose wrinkles in distaste.]
You ought to wash as best you can in the meantime.
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Yeah.
[He hands the phone off to Sherlock and will try to wash up while the man deals with his big brother.
Said big brother sounds extraordinarily smug when he picks up.]
Brother-mine, so good to hear from you.
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cw: allusion to suicidal ideations/suicide
cw: allusion to suicidal ideations/suicide
Happy 3-year Anniversary on this PSL, by the by!
oh wow, that's nuts! Happy 3 years to you too.
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