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

[jumpthegun]

Is she one of your homeless network?

[John does, at least, bring up Lestrade's number.]

Might be one of them saw something around Baker Street.

[howdull]

[He shrugs, he doubts the homeless network will have seen anything around there. It's got too high a foot traffic, too close to a major bus route, and too many police to keep moving unlicensed beggars or people sleeping rough. No, they tend not to be on his doorstep. If anything was seen, it will have been Mycroft on the CCTV.

He doesn't answer about Petra, lighting the cigarette instead and taking an almost sinfully delicious lungful.

Lestrade answers after only two rings sounding worried.]

Sherlock! How's John, he come round yet?

[jumpthegun]

Yeah. Uh, hi. I'm awake, detective. Could you bring my clothes 'round to the British Museum. They said I was good for discharge, but they didn't have my clothes... we were eager to get going. So. [John clears his throat. Lying isn't his strong suit, really.] As much fun as it is running barefoot around London.

[howdull]

Oh-- Jesus, John, didn't know it was you, mate. Glad to hear you're already out, but--

[He hesitates, obviously confused.]

Why are you asking me to pick you up some clothes?

[jumpthegun]

[John's brow furrows.]

The nurse at the hospital said someone from the Yard came to pick up my clothes for evidence.

[howdull]

[Sherlock's expression sharpens on John's face, straining to hear Lestrade's response.]

Uh, no? Nobody's been sent to get them, we got all the evidence we could from the flat itself, didn't see what more your clothes could tell us.

[jumpthegun]

[John's eyes widen.]

I have to go. [And he hangs up.]

She left her card. He said she left her card at the desk. Who the bloody hell steals clothes?!

[This really is starting to feel like a campaign to humiliate him.]

[howdull]

C is for Clothes? Surely not, that's patently unsustainable.

[She can hardly keep John naked for the rest of his life, can she? He's already turning back to go in, however.]

If she's left you a card then she's becoming more impatient, less cautious, that's good.

[jumpthegun]

[John waits outside, keeping an eye out. He'd rather not get snagged and shoved back into a hospital bed.

The desk nurse smiles at Sherlock, although, the scent of smoke on him makes her wrinkle her nose for a moment.]

Can I help you?

[howdull]

[He takes her life story in one glance, a photograph of facts that still baffles him that other people can't take. She's single but looking, unfortunate tendency to date liars and cheats, well-intentioned but with a martyr complex, a good fit for working as a nurse all in all.

He smiles at her; warm, friendly, and just a touch concerned.]

Oh yes, sorry to bother you. My brother was admitted here earlier today following an explosion, his clothes were collected by the police. He can't-- obviously he can't go and fetch them himself, but I was told the officer left a card here?

[jumpthegun]

[She perks up in response to Sherlock's act and her smile becomes more sympathetic.]

Ah, there was someone earlier... what's your brother's name? Sorry, just need to be sure.

[howdull]

John Watson, my name is Harry.

[It's probably a good idea that John can't hear this, Sherlock muses to himself, he would possibly be mildly annoyed at the use of his dead sister's name. It made sense, though, in case she was prescient enough to check for next of kin.]

[jumpthegun]

Ah, yes.

[Her eyes drop for a moment as she sorts through some papers on the desk and pulls out the card to hand to Sherlock.]

I'm really sorry about your brother, Harry. We'll take good care of him.

[howdull]

I doubt that.

[His smile drops off his face immediately as he snatches the card, whirling around in an overly dramatic gesture which would have been greatly improved by the addition of his usual coat, he strides back outside.

He's beaming by the time he rejoins John, holding the card out to him.]

Definitely impatient, she may as well have left her full name and address.

[The business card is normal sized, white cardboard, and the lettering is Courier New. It reads: P.C. SALLY DONOVAN, NEW SCOTLAND YARD, LONDON, with a phone number underneath it. Obviously it's not from Sally, she has all ten fingers and no real reason to go after John, but it's interesting to Sherlock that this was the name chosen.]

[jumpthegun]

[John can't help raising a brow.]

C is for Calling Card? You want to call her or should I?

Maybe somewhere a little more private.

[howdull]

No point, the number is the bereavement counselling line.

[Don't ask how he knows this.]

Look more closely. The font isn't standard for a business card, that means she has some passing knowledge with technology. [Better than John, anyway.] The card-stock is old, perhaps five to seven years, but it smells fresh. She works somewhere with a high stock holding of blank business cards. The choice of name suggests she has us under close surveillance, but we haven't noticed her, making her former occupation as a soldier more likely. She's blonde, but not natural, the scent of the recent semi-permanent hair dye and the faint trace of a smudge along the corner, and she wears an extraordinarily cheap perfume with the primary scent of lavender.

[jumpthegun]

[John stiffens, another flush of shame lighting his cheeks. He's being taunted. Well, clearly.]

So she works in some sort of office supply place or a print shop, maybe?

[John's not sure where else there would be large amounts of blank business cards.]

[howdull]

[He shrugs, more willing to admit when he doesn't know things in front of John than other people.]

Perhaps.

[His mouth twists in disapproval as to what he's about to say.]

I suppose Mycroft may have seen something, the whole area around Barts is covered extensively with CCTV.

[jumpthegun]

Baker Street, as well?

[John just assumes, what with-]

Hold on, has he tried to phone you at all? Your flat exploded.

[And Mycroft has Sherlock under surveillance... or wants him under surveillance. The doctor checks Sherlock's missed calls and texts for anything recent. For Petra, as well as Mycroft, if he's being honest.]

assume the date ic is 10th feb for ease

[howdull]

Why would he bother? I'm sure his spies have told him that we are both relatively unhurt.

[Sentiment wasn't really something expressed between the Holmes brothers.

It's quite easy for John to find the last five text messages received, from newest to oldest, though all outgoings and call logs appear to be deleted.

10.02 From MH: Appelle-moi. Immédiatement. Ce n'est pas une requête, mon frère.
24.12 From MH: Maman ne va pas être contente, Sherlock. Essaye d'appeler avant qu'elle ne devienne insupportable.
21.12 From Morgue: I have a John Doe with gangrene in the right foot, did you still want him? Molly xx
10.11 From MH: Ton médecin ne comprend evidemment pas comment organiser un tiroir à couverts.
09.11 From PD: £20 n/n £26 gs £30 rgs. T/7/p.]

[jumpthegun]

Why d'you text your brother in French?

[John knows enough of it to make out the general bend of the conversation.]

Is he talking about me?

[He thinks that's 'your doctor' there.

PD looks to be some sort of pricing expert. Clothes? Sherlock doesn't seem like a bargain hunter.]

[howdull]

I don't, he texts me in French, obviously.

[He holds his hand out for the phone, if he has to call Mycroft then he'd rather get it over and done with as soon as possible.]

I try to avoid texting him at all, in any language.

[jumpthegun]

[John frowns, but hands over the phone. A part of him wants to ask Sherlock for Mycroft to send a car with some clothes for him. The more prideful part won't allow that, though.]

You're actually calling? Not just text.

[howdull]

I live in eternal hope that doing so might cause a shock-based heart attack.

[After all, the latest text message ordering him to call is only a few hours old. Perhaps he did see the explosion after all. He dials, and starts speaking as soon as the line stops ringing.]

Don't say anything, Mycroft, you'll only make me want to hang up immediately. CCTV from Barts, Baker Street too. [A pause, then:] Clothes for John, the key to my old flat, I know you still have it.

[This is awful, Mycroft is going to require so many favours for this. He shoots John a glare as if this is all his fault and his poor flatmate isn't the victim of a criminal who has killed his sister.]

[jumpthegun]

I suppose you'll be wanting a laptop to review the footage on, as well, brother mine? And a new phone for your doctor, of course.

[A bugged and closely monitored one, of course.]