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]

[Sherlock swings into a one way system with no hesitation. He might not know anywhere outside of London that well, but he can see the whole of his great city in his head no matter where he is, he can easily get them back to the flat.]

Crushed and diluted ricin solution, but it's irrelevant currently. Best estimated guess based on current respiratory distress indicates that the full effects are unlikely to hit for another six to eight hours, and death is unlikely to occur for a further eighteen to twenty hours. Plenty of time to get back to the flat.

[Honestly, he's not about to die in the car, nor does he sound too worried about his own impending mortality.]

The best chances for surviving ricin poisoning are hydration, blood pressure monitoring, preventative measures for seizures, and oxygen. All of these are things we can achieve without involving a hospital. Now will you call Bill?

[jumpthegun]

Ricin!? Jesus Christ, Sherlock!

[C is still for Consulting Detective, then. D is for Drugged? Jesus. Jesus! Yelling at Sherlock isn't really going to do much for the situation, though. There's another text to Mycroft:]

TO: MH: Send activated charcoal and tubing for stomach flushing, as well. JW.

[And he finally dials Bill and lets it ring through.]

Hey, Bill. It's John. John Watson. Sorry to bother you, but I was looking for some phone numbers for our old COs. It's for a case. Major Jones and Major Hargreave. Or... maybe you know. [He pauses for a moment.] Bill, have you heard of anyone in the unit dying in the last couple of years not overseas?

[It's the gentlest way he can think of to ask after potential suicides.]

[howdull]

[Although John will be on the phone, a message comes back from Mycroft almost at once. The elder Holmes is, after all, even better at deduction than the younger. He knows what this must be, and how likely it is for Sherlock to survive.]

FROM: MH: Take care of my brother, Doctor Watson.

[He worries. Constantly.

Bill sounds almost obnoxiously cheerful when he answers the phone.]

John! Yes, the case you texted me about, right? Sounds intense, I can't wait to read about it on your blog-- Hm? People dying... I've been to a couple of funerals, heard about a couple more. Remember Tommy Openville? Thyroid cancer, about a year ago, really sad. Aarush Khatri, he got hit by a car about eight months ago. Um... Danny Matthews, he killed himself. You remember him? You were on the mission where he got shot, weren't you?

[Tommy Openville had been a plump lad from Leeds, fresh out of school. Not very disciplined, more in it for the guns and impressing the girls. Aarush Khatri had been a middle aged Indian born Brit, quiet and generally friendly. Danny Matthews had been a bit of a party man, but generally nice. Got himself shot in the stomach and John saved his life, had even got him stable before he was shipped out still comatose, but there had been no reason to think he wouldn't make it.]

[jumpthegun]

[Stomach wound. Something cold and heavy settles in John's chest. Eleven minutes and fifteen seconds. His tone flattens out.]

Yeah, I remember. Sorry to hear about them. Don't think I'll be needing those numbers after all. Thanks, Bill. Keep a weather eye out, okay? Might be some trouble. You might want to think about taking a holiday out of the country the next little while.

Just one other thing, d'you remember if Danny had a wife?

[howdull]

No. Wait-- yes, actually, I don't remember her name but now that I think about it, I remember Danny mentioning her. She served too, not in our unit, but I think he said they met at basic training.

[He doesn't really see how this is of relevance, but he's always happy to help.]

Don't suppose you want to tell my boss that I'm allowed a holiday, eh?

[jumpthegun]

[There isn't much good humor left in John's voice.]

Tell him to contact Detective Inspector Lestrade, New Scotland Yard. He'll be able to tell him why. My sister Harry's dead, Bill. Everyone else I know is a potential target. You saved my life. You're a big target. Please, find a way to leave. It's important.

[howdull]

[There's a sharp intake of breath, the same sort of weighted silence everyone has in a moment of sympathy.]

Sorry to hear that, John. I'll get out of town, and when I get back then you can tell me about everything.

[jumpthegun]

Yeah. Good luck, mate. I'll see you on the other side.

[It's not the war this time, but it's starting to feel like it. John hangs up and looks over at Sherlock.]

We're probably looking for the wife of Danny Matthews. Nice kid, liked to have a bit of fun. He got himself shot in the stomach, and I managed to stabilize him. He was in a coma the last time I saw him... but he was gonna pull through.

[He had pulled through, if he'd then gone off to kill himself.]

I can check the Obits when we... [Except Sherlock's place probably doesn't have WiFi.] I'll call Lestrade, have him check. [Lestrade is going to yell at him. John knows it.]

[howdull]

[Sherlock frowns at the road, attempting to piece these new bits of information into the jigsaw puzzle of the whole.]

Clearly he must have suffered some sort of long term injury, or his wife would have no reason to blame you for whatever occurred afterwards.

[It's still a tenuous link, surely there are others she could blame. The person who shot him, for instance, or the doctors at whatever hospital he was transferred to. Why John, specifically?]

Have him look up marital records too, I need a name.

[jumpthegun]

Mm... [John's already dialing the police station.] I need to be patched through to Detective Inspector Lestrade. This is Dr. John Watson about the case he's working on. I have new information for him regarding the suspect.

[If that goes through, and John really hopes it will with those qualifiers, he'll cut off the yelling at the pass.]

Lestrade, it's John. Sorry. I know you need to yell at me, but we're working on a lead just now. Danny Matthews. He's a man I treated in Afghanistan for a stomach wound. Apparently committed suicide. We think it's his wife that's after me. She was in the Army, as well, but was invalided out before she could be sent overseas.

Can you look up Danny's obituary and anything about the wife?

[howdull]

[The sound of wind and traffic in the background said that John has been patched through to his mobile, and he does not sound happy.]

Jesus, John, you can't keep doing this. I'm happy you found Sherlock and all, but you can't just run off, this is a bloody crime scene for a bloody crime and we need to talk to you both. Give me one good reason why I should give you the information after I've looked it up rather than pursue it myself?

[Sherlock rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.]

Obviously because I can solve it and he can't, I would think that's reason enough.

[jumpthegun]

[He's not saying that. John gives Sherlock a look.]

Three days. She told me the main event would start in three days two days ago, detective. All of this was the opening act. D'you really want us to slow down? She's only on C, and it might-

[He cuts himself off for a moment as something clicks.]

Lestrade, I think you should be very careful the next while. 'D' might be for 'Detective Inspector.'

[howdull]

That's, well, thanks for saying I mean something in your life, mate.

[Lestrade sounds a little wrong-footed, as he thought they'd established all the people and places so far were important ones to John.]

But that still doesn't mean I'm going to help you both drive yourself into the ground. Where are you going? I'm coming to talk this over with the pair of you.

[jumpthegun]

[Lestrade is the first detective John worked with and the one he has the closest connection to through Sherlock. It wouldn't be Dimmock, certainly. So, if there is a detective inspector in the Alphabet woman's sights, it'll be the one who's been helping them out the most.]

Did you ever get over to Sherlock's old flat in Shepherd's Bush Green to check for clues from the Alphabet Woman? That's where we're headed.

[howdull]

Right. [His voice sounds tight and disapproving.] Two hours and I'll meet you there, got it?

[He doesn't wait for a response before he hangs up. He's honestly furious, these two idiots are driving themselves into the ground for this case. He can understand it, but he doesn't like it.]

Talk me through what happened while you were investigating alone.

[Sherlock sounds as if he's only half listening, but he does want to know. Alone, with Molly Hooper, same thing.]

[jumpthegun]

[Well, then. At least Sherlock is going to be laid up for a while. That should give Lestrade time to come to them. He glances over at Sherlock, wondering if he really should be the one driving considering the man is in mild respiratory distress that's only going to get worse. It is what it is for right now. Hopefully, they can get to the flat quickly.]

After I left the Diogenes Club, I got the messages from the Alphabet Woman. We set up a meeting at a Starbucks on Oxford Street. Mycroft didn't seem like he was keen to offer a ride, and I ended up faking a heart condition to get a kid named Jake to give me a ride over there. We'd stopped a light a couple of blocks from the Thames and the Alphabet Woman just... got in.

She had a gun with her and told Jake to start driving. [John closes his eyes, trying to dredge up details.] She was wearing a hoodie, panda bear on the front, crucifix, and hoop earrings, along with her wedding ring. Cross-dominant shot, probably after the accident. She was holding the gun left-handed. Somerset accent, but... it was like she was putting on an act at first. Accent got rougher as things went along.

[howdull]

[He's actually quite impressed with John having the gumption to fake a heart condition to get what he wanted, and even more so at the details recovered. It's not as much as he could manage, of course, but still very good for John's usual level of observation.]

Excellent, John.

[It would probably be more complimentary if he didn't sound quite so surprised.]

Now, what can we infer from those endlessly useful nuggets of information?

[jumpthegun]

She was tracking the phone Mycroft gave me. I pitched it when Molly picked me up. [He thinks, anyway. She'd have to be tracking his every move with CCTV at all times to be able to figure where he was, otherwise.] And, uh... she's religious? [And likes pandas? There's only so far he can get with that.]

There's something else, though. She had us drive down through the warehouses, just looking for a quiet spot. She got out of the car and then shot Jake through the stomach. [It's another point for the Danny connection.] She said she wanted to see what I could do and I had eleven minutes and fifteen seconds before I could call an ambulance.

[howdull]

[Sherlock takes his eyes off the road long enough to shoot John a withering glance. Hardly an impressive array of deductions with all the interesting little clues that had been presented to them.]

We can assume that's how long it took for you to reach her husband on the battlefield.

[Seems obvious enough.]

What else, John? Think.

[jumpthegun]

She's a damn good shot. [That's not a deduction so much as an observation.] She managed to hit a swerving car twice when we were pulling away from her. [This isn't actually relevant, but he has to share it because it's cool and he still feels a little like a secret agent.]

I had Jake lay his chair back to deal with the wound, then told him to hit the accelerator while I put us in gear and drove backward out onto Oxford street. It was like something out of James Bond. [John clears his throat.] They, uh... made me go to hospital after that and knocked me out for a day.

I had Molly pick me up after I... left. [Escaped.] We figured we'd go to Blink and Ink... Ink and... whatever the place is called. Molly and I managed to convince one of the managers we were from Scotland Yard and got the address where you were at, along with another description of the Alphabet Woman from an employee who worked with her. She said the woman paid in cash for the cards.

[howdull]

You're too short to be James Bond, he has to be taller than the female co-star in order to seem dominant and masculine. Most of the Bond girls are models, meaning their height is in the upper regions for a woman, far too tall for you to play opposite.

[He doesn't even intend for that to be hurtful, it's just an observation as he swings the car into Baker Street.]

I meant what more can you deduce about her, John. Your exploits with Molly are largely irrelevant to solving this case.

[jumpthegun]

There are short models. [The dig stings, even if it's not meant to. John knows that conversation isn't going to go anywhere, though.]

I dunno. She was kind of insane. She kept referring to me as Captain Watson and got really upset when I asked if she was the wife of one of my men. That all just fits into place with what we've already figured out, though. With the accent... maybe she's not so well-educated? But if she isn't, she has to have picked up a hell of a lot on-the-job with her being able to hack my phone and the CCTV. That or she's got an accomplice who's good with technology.

[howdull]

Good!

[He sounds enthused again, smile finding his face. His chest hurts a bit, but that's irrelevant at the current moment in time.]

An accomplice, that's exactly what she has. She also clearly wasn't long in the army herself, not wearing something as vulnerable to attack as hoop earrings, yet she's a good shot with her non-dominant hand. Most likely this accomplice also helped her in that area.

[jumpthegun]

[His brows rise. That was right? Oh! He feels a little lighter, in spite of things. Granted, it probably took Sherlock two seconds to work that all out, but it's nice of him to let John get there on his own every once in a while.]

So, I've got two people who hate my guts? That's nice to know.

PLEASE PRETEND I SAID SHEPHERD'S BUSH NOT BAKER STREET UP THERE gdi brain

[howdull]

Perhaps. Perhaps not. The accomplice could be someone who cares about her enough to assist her, they may not have any direct link to you at all.

[Or possibly they do, but it's unlikely. John is far too amenable to have two deadly enemies.

He pulls Molly's car to the curb and kills the engine, getting out of the car and staggering a step before recovering his balance. Damn poisoning.]