fossilised | For John Watson

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.]

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[John is dubious.]

You've already contacted Lestrade?

[If he's getting out of here, he needs to know what there's still to do. Hopefully, Sherlock has kept his word about contacting someone to take care of the kid and to start clearing people from the street above.]

Naturally, though he's spitting mad.

[Moriarty shifts on his seat, interested, but he doesn't interrupt. Sherlock's footsteps come a bit closer, enough that he can see the outline of John in the carriage.]

I believe I may have uncovered some vital information, but it might not be wise to speak about it now.

[Well, fair enough. John knows he and Sherlock have probably aged Lestrade a half a dozen years in the span of a couple of weeks at this point. To be fair, John feels he's put on at least a decade.]

Whisper it to me as you're getting on?

[He doesn't want Jim to hear it if it's important.]

[Sherlock's silhouette finally appears properly out of the darkness, right up to the edge of the train carriage.]

Give me a hand up, then.

[He reaches out, bracing himself. He knows John isn't in a fit state to be helping anyone onto train cars, but he doesn't really want help, he's planning on trying to pull John out of the car as soon as he has hold.]

[John assumes it's more so that he can lean in. He offers his hand to the other man. And is promptly dragged out of the car as the consulting detective puts his weight on. Not being in a particularly fit state to be flung about, either, the doctor's knees give out on the impact, and he collapses nearly face-first onto the ground.

It's a moment before he will himself to get up with a groan.]

Warning would've been nice, Sherlock.

Warning wouldn’t have been necessary if there really had been a pressure sensitive bomb aboard, as we’d both have been dead before you hit the ground.

[He looks almost insufferably smug for someone who just gambled with both of their lives.]

But it seems my hypothesis was correct, and there is no bomb. Or, at the very least, it’s rigged in a different way. More likely, an entirely different location.

[John scowls. He went to all of that damn trouble with the chair, and Moriarty had managed to get him to back down when he didn't need to. Bloody hell.]

I swear to god, London's got more bombs in it than Afghanistan... Are you coming out, Jim, or are you staying in there?

[There's no response from inside the car, and when Sherlock heaves himself up to peer in Moriarty is nowhere to be seen.]

Gone. At least for now.

[Damn it. He hadn't even heard the man leaving. They should look for Molly. Or maybe they need to follow the clues? Or he could just lie down for a bit... no. Not an option on that one. John will direct Sherlock to the case.]

That's the thing he said we needed to unlock. And that's... Well. Not sure how much there is to see for Caroline.

[At least beyond the obvious.]

He really is after you, Sherlock. Whatever this is, Jim wants you, not me.

Do you think that's why he killed Caroline? Her obsession was clearly with you, and their goals may have diverged enough to make her an annoyance rather than a useful pawn.

[He peers further into the car at the bloodied corpse of Caroline Matthews. He doesn't seem at all concerned by the news that there's a criminal mastermind set on toying with him.]

No. Irrelevant. Off-topic, irritating.

[If he's not focusing on Moriarty this easily, it seems the transport's need for sleep is getting the better of him. Stupid body.]

[He'd answer, but apparently, it doesn't matter.]

We should try to find Molly and the others. Check the car they were in. Maybe they went down another tunnel.

[Or should they go after Moriarty? John doesn't particularly want to split up to do both, even though that might be sensible.]

No, I’m going to a hotel and sleeping.

[He doesn’t realise how callous that sounds when there are people missing and in danger. It makes the most sense to him. If his transport is being so incapable of focus, then he won’t be able to help anyone effectively until he’s slept. Therefore sleep is the most productive thing he can be doing now.]

What? [John stares at the man, incredulous.]

Sherlock, Molly's missing along with more than a dozen people. Moriarty's on the loose with some... some bloke with a gun.

[He cuts himself and his outrage off. No. Maybe this is good. Maybe this is okay. Sherlock can be put out of harm's way. Maybe.]

We need to call Lestrade and have him get you an escort. Someone to make sure you're protected. I'll do the hand-off for you to him, then I can- [John turns a little too quickly to look down the tunnel and pain sears hot across his shoulders once more. The doctor gasps, thinking maybe he should get this dressing his has on changed before making any more moves.

But Molly. He can't physically help her right now and that's becoming more and more clear.]

Let's, mm... lets get up to the surface. We'll send Lestrade's men down to find the missing people. And check for any real bombs. That's the safest, right?

[Sherlock snorts and simply sets off up the tunnel towards the engineering access ladder that allowed him to get down to the tunnel, fully expecting John to follow. Molly wasn’t to be seen when he came in, and there’s very little for her that he can do without having his mind at full capacity.]

You’re hardly in a position to be conducting a hand-off, John, you’re approximately eighteen minutes from collapse. You ought to return with me to a hotel and rest, there’s little of use you can accomplish otherwise.

[Plus he doesn’t want to face Lestrade at the moment, the man is sure to be incredibly tedious about things like procedure and risk and public security.]

I'm not about to collapse!

[He is. God is he ever. He does follow dutifully after Sherlock, but then another thought occurs to him.]

The boy! [The boy whose name John keeps forgetting.] Sherlock, we can't just go to a hotel. Who's taking care of Caroline's son? We need to... Oh, god... Someone has to tell him his mum's dead. Not you. Someone else.

[Preferably someone who is not John, either.]

I contacted Mrs. Hudson to go and see to him, I'm sure the grisly news of his mother's demise can wait for a few more hours while we sleep. She'll be no less dead by then, and he'll likely appreciate the extra hours of ignorant bliss being fussed over and fed cake.

[He's got his plan, stop putting roadblocks in the way of it, it's irritating.]

Usually you can't wait to pack me off to bed, must you be so contrary now that I'm acquiescing?

[John's frowns at the other man's back.]

Usually we aren't in the middle of a case with multiple dead bodies and a missing friend who's already been almost murdered once.

If Molly has been taken, which I highly doubt, then a few hours sleep will make no difference. If the intent was to kill her, then she's already dead, and sleeping won't allow you to save her. If the intent was to hold her, then she's in no more danger now than when she was taken, a few more hours is a small price for effective rescuers.

[It's difficult to fault that logic. John doesn't particularly like it, but he can't fault it. And he needs to change his bandages. And get some more medication, probably.]

Are you actually going to take Mycroft up on the rooms he wanted to rent for you, or are we checking into some other hotel?

Urgh, you must be tired. Of course we're not going to take Mycroft up on his offer, do you have any idea how much he'd gloat?

[Thanks, but no thanks, he'd rather sleep on a street corner somewhere.]

There's a Holiday Inn half a mile away, we'll go there.

[Privately, John wonders how far Sherlock's lines of credit and bank account actually run.

But he supposes there isn't going to be a rent due this month. Or any utilities. That's something. John is quiet, contemplating--trying not to feel too feverishly fainting--as they make their way back up to the street. There's a heavy presence of police and they duck away quickly. When they're on their way properly, he speaks up again.]

What do you think Moriarty's going to do next? He hasn't got Caroline anymore. But... I mean, there's still that investigation by the Army. Lestrade's gonna skin me alive.

[But he has to hope the man will cover for him given the circumstances. God knows it seems like Sherlock has tested him to the breaking point over the years.]

I don't know.

[There aren't many people he admits that to as candidly, but John is different somehow. Perhaps it's because John doesn't look at him as less of a genius on the rare occasions he doesn't have the answer.]

He's incredibly clever, perhaps even as clever as me, and I'll need to really think on it to determine his next course of action.

[There's also Molly still in the wind. John hopes that if she finds a place with some decent reception, she'll call him. Or Lestrade. Or Sherlock. Probably Lestrade would be the best out of those options. John knows he should call the man at some point. Maybe Mrs. Hudson, too, just to let her know they're all-

Just to let her know they're alive.]

Right.

[The walk to the hotel seems to stretch on for miles to John's feverish and weary body. The hotel clerk eyes the pair of them with more than a little concern as he checks them into a room. His gaze falls particularly on John, and he knows he must look a wreck.][John jumps in:] Whatever's cheapest.

[Cheapest turns out to be two smaller beds in a room that smells faintly of cigarettes. The doctor shucks his jacket as soon as they're in the room and moves to pull off his shirt, as well.]

Use the loo now, if you need it. I'm gonna need the shower to wash off.

[Sherlock can tell how tired he is by how sluggish his evaluation of the clerk at the hotel is. Wife, but currently not a harmonious matrimony given the faint lines on his face suggesting his current bed is the sofa. One cat. Or perhaps two? He's far too tired to tell, and definitely too tired to care.

He merely follows John into the bedroom and sinks onto the nearest bed, laying fully clothed on top of the mattress without even bothering to take off his coat and shoes.]

I came here to sleep, John, nothing else. Use the shower if you wish, but be quick about it, you will require more rest than me and so it's imperative that you get into bed as soon as possible.

If I didn't know you better, I might take that as concern. [He huffs, then winces as he slowly peels off his shirt and drops it on the bed, and kicks off his shoes. The bandages on his back last applied by the nurse at the hospital are looking the worse for wear with as much as John has been running around and exerting himself.]

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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