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Chapter Text

In the back of a taxi, John and Mrs Hudson sit in silence. The streets fly by in a blur outside as the taxi takes an unfamiliar route to a place where John doesn’t often go: the graveyard. In her hands, Mrs Hudson holds a bouquet of flowers – bright flowers – something that Sherlock wouldn’t possibly have welcomed, but…he wasn’t around anymore to say otherwise.

Soon, they arrived at their destination. The taxi stopped. All at once, it had seemed like the shortest, but also the longest taxi ride that John Watson had ever been in. He was frozen in the back of the car, eyes focused ahead of him. Only when Mrs Hudson nudged his arm through the open door, did he pull himself out of the vehicle and John took the first step towards the grave of his dead friend. He paused, only turning back to pay the cabbie.

Not long afterward, John and Ms. Hudson stood before the gleaming black headstone which marked Sherlock Holmes’ final resting place. It would remain the same forevermore, only stained by the hands of time as the years went by. Today, however, there were flowers resting at its base. The only bouquet that the great Sherlock would ever receive.

John almost laughed, because Sherlock wouldn’t have even wanted the one bouquet, but the pain in his chest was too great.

‘There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school,’ Mrs Hudson said. She turned, letting her eyes rise to meet John’s face. ‘Would you…?’ she began to ask, but John stopped her with a shake of his head.

‘I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment,’ he said dismissively.

Mrs Hudson takes his arm sympathetically.

‘I’m angry,’ John continued, taking a deep breath through his nose. He was trying not to break down, as Mrs Hudson could see.

She gently patted his arm. ‘It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.’ Her eyes flickered back to the smooth black marble, reading the only lettering on the headstone once more. ‘SHERLOCK HOLMES’. ‘All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!’ she exclaimed, reminiscing.

‘Yeah,’ John said.

‘Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!’

‘Yes.’

John closed his eyes as Mrs Hudson continued, her voice breaking, ‘And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!’

John turned to her, finally. ‘Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?’ he asked, slightly taken aback by the rage that the usually calm woman was presenting.

‘Okay,’ Mrs Hudson said, turning away from him, ‘I’ll leave you alone to, erm…’ her voice broke away, ‘…you know.’ Crying, she walked away, fishing a tissue out of her pocket and blowing her nose.

John looked down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. Looking back over his shoulder, he waited until Mrs Hudson was out of earshot before he spoke. He cleared his throat.

Once he’d gotten himself back together, he looked down at the grave and said, ‘You…you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm…there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human…human being that I’ve ever known, and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so… There.’

He proceeded to blow out a breath, letting a whimper pass his lips. Looking over his shoulder again, just to check that no one was watching, he took a few steps forward, resting his fingertips on the top of the headstone.

‘I was so alone, and I owe you so much. Okay.’ Standing, he went to turn away, but stopped himself. ‘No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t…be…’ His voice broke as his eyes filled with tears. ‘…dead. Would you do…? Just for me, just stop it.’ He gestured to the grave, to the freshly shovelled dirt beneath his feet. ‘Stop this.’

When no answer came to him from the grave, he stood once more, a final time, and walked away, following Mrs Hudson back to where the taxi was waiting.

Catching up to the woman at the entrance of the graveyard, John went to open the gate, but never got the chance. In front of his eyes, everything turned white, his eyes burning from the intense light. All he felt was Mrs Hudson’s hand grabbing his, her voice crying out: ‘Oh dear! What is happening?’

Then, there was nothing.

‘See?’ Donovan said as she, Anderson, and Lestrade walked into the Detective Inspector’s office. ‘I told you he was a fraud. Gone and proved it, now hasn’t he? The Freak. The truth comes out, and he’s committed suicide. He’s dead, but good riddance! He’s had that coming for years!’

Next to her, Anderson wasn’t as vocal. He was staring at the floor, his eyes searching the carpet as if it held the answers to life itself. At his desk, Lestrade was in a similar situation. His index and thumb were massaging his temple, something he often did while nursing a headache, or when he was out of his depth and he knew it.

Lestrade sighed. Looking up at the woman in front of him, he spoke: ‘Sgt Donovan, it just doesn’t seem like him. No matter who you are, you can’t pull something like this off for so long. So, maybe he did fake a few of his cases, but why would he go and jump off a building for it? I’ve known Sherlock for years, and this isn’t something that he would do.’

‘You never really knew him at all! He went and fooled us, so how would you know what he was really like?’

‘Look, there are just some things that you can’t fake,’ Lestrade answered.

Donovan huffed. She turned to the forensic scientist who was standing next to her. ‘How about you, Anderson? You’ve been awful quiet.’

Anderson hummed his acknowledgement of her statement but took a few more seconds before looking up. ‘As much as I hated the guy, I didn’t want to see him dead. He got a lot of cases done that we couldn’t do ourselves, I’ll admit that. There are some that I’m certain he didn’t commit himself that he solved, so he couldn’t have been completely a fraud.’

Donovan threw her hands up into the air in frustration, but Anderson wasn’t done yet.

‘And even if he was responsible for everything, he’d still have to have been a genius to pull off the charade for so long.’

Seeing that he was done, Donovan opened her mouth to retort, but before she got the chance, the office lit up in a brilliant light. All three officers snapped their eyes shut, bringing their hands up to shield their faces.

John and Mrs Hudson reappeared in a room. It was dimly lit and had no windows, but there was a single door to the right, next to a light switch. There was a television mounted on the wall – a large one like in the theatres – but otherwise, the walls were bare.

Seconds later, there was another flash, dimmer than the last, and as it faded, the room had gained three new occupants.

‘What are we doing here?’ Greg Lestrade asked as soon as he saw the difference in their location. ‘How did we get here?’ He turned to Anderson, then to Donovan, then to John and Mrs Hudson. Everyone shrugged in reply to his questions.

‘We’re just as clueless about our situation as you, but if I were to guess –’

John was cut off as another light shone, this time, bringing only two more. Molly and Mycroft stood side by side, seemingly having been in a conversation, but as soon as they’d arrived, they stopped. Molly looked around, quite surprised, but Mycroft was better at masking his emotions. His eyes scanned the room, something so much like Sherlock that John’s chest ached.

‘We seem to have been transported to a theatre. How, I could not say,’ Mycroft said. ‘To watch…’ He paused, walking over to the side of the room opposite the television, bringing everyone’s attention to the couches and single coffee table. He picked up a remote – which was the only small item in the room. ‘Well, why don’t we see what we’re here to watch?’

Pointing the remote to the television, Mycroft pressed the ‘on’ switch, causing the machine to burst to life. On it, white words appeared on the otherwise black screen.

Welcome, the words read. You are here to watch the life of the late great Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Watson. Enjoy delving into the world’s only consulting detective’s deepest thoughts. Hopefully, then, you’ll understand.

John read the words aloud, his eyebrows furrowing. ‘What…?’ he asked. ‘How…?’ His voice trailed off as the screen went black again.

‘Is this the freak’s doing?’ Donovan asked, her tone angry. God, she loathed that Sherlock Holmes. For years, she’d wished he was out of her life, and now that he was, she thought that she was rid of him, but he just kept coming back to haunt her.

‘Might as well watch, since we’re locked in here,’ Lestrade said, having just walked over to the door to check it.

Together, the seven associates of William Sherlock Scott Holmes sat, their eyes focused on the screen, all still wondering who had brought them to this place, and how things would play out.

Chapter Text

The screen was alight again, images flashing the whole of the television, vivid and horrifying.

In a bedsit, somewhere in London, John Watson is having a nightmare.

‘What’s this? I thought we were watching something about the freak?’ Donovan asked.

All eyes turned to John, who was watching, his eyes focused on the screen. ‘I think…this was right around the time that I met him. I can’t really tell. I had a lot of nightmares around then.’ His voice was quiet, but it held the attention of the others in the room. He was met with sympathy before everyone turned back to the screen.

[…] Eventually, unable to stop himself, he begins to weep.

‘Oh, John dear,’ Mrs Hudson said, wrapping her bony arms around the veteran.

‘I’m okay, Mrs Hudson, really. I haven’t had nightmares about the war in years. Sherlock would always keep me too busy with his cases…’ John’s gaze fell to the floor.

[…] It’s daytime. The sun has finally risen and John, now wearing a housecoat over his night wear, hobbles across the room, leaning heavily on his cane.

‘And to think that you once needed that silly thing to walk, John. You’ve come so far,’ Mrs Hudson said proudly, patting the man on the shoulder.

‘Mrs Hudson…’ John complained, embarrassed by the old woman’s antics.

[…] Putting the laptop onto the desk and opening the lid he looks at the webpage which has automatically loaded. It reads, ‘The personal blog of Dr John H. Watson’. The rest of the page is blank.

‘Writer’s block, John?’ Lestrade asked, turning to the doctor.

‘No. Just nothing to say. I’d just come back from the war, and I didn’t have anything to write about. At least, anything that people would be interested in,’ John replied with a shrug.

[…] JOHN: Yeah, good. (He clears his throat awkwardly.) Very good.

‘You know, John, you are a terrible liar,’ Molly pointed out.

[…] ELLA: And you read my writing upside down. D’you see what I mean?

‘She had a point,’ John admitted.

[…] JOHN: Nothing happens to me.

‘Just you wait, Dr Watson. All at once, everything exciting that ever was is going to happen to you,’ Lestrade said.

‘That’s true enough,’ Donovan grumbled, ‘Freak makes everyone’s lives hell.’

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ Lestrade muttered with a scowl.

Donovan ignored him, having made her point.

Opening credits.

‘Why are there bloody opening credits? Like it’s a goddamn show on the telly!’ Donovan cried out in rage.

‘Maybe it could be. Blog’s caught enough attention already. Then again, Sherlock would’ve hated having people following him around everywhere he went, especially when he was sneaking off to do God knows what,’ John said, his voice humorous at first, but growing evermore melancholy as he spoke.

OCTOBER 12TH.

A well-dressed middle-aged businessman walks across the concourse of a busy London railway station talking into his mobile phone.

Lestrade sat forward in his seat. ‘Wait, is this…?’ he asked.

‘I believe so, Detective Inspector, if you are referring to the first case on which Dr Watson joined my brother,’ Mycroft said easily.

[…] HELEN: I love you.

‘He was having an affair with his secretary?’ Molly asked, eyes wide.

‘Seems like it,’ Anderson said.

[…] Smiling as he hangs up, Sir Jeffrey looks around for the cab rank.

‘From this perspective, it seems so obvious who’d done it,’ Lestrade said, scowling at the screen.

‘Well, that’s because we already know the end. That’s the terrible part about it, it’s not interesting if we already know what the ending is. Makes us seem like fools for the time,’ Donovan observed.

‘I think more of the reason for this is to see it from Sherlock’s eyes. Maybe the person who brought us here is trying to prove that he was innocent, and everything was just set up by Moriarty,’ John said. He was still convinced that Sherlock was indeed the man he knew, and not just some fraud. Maybe, just maybe, this video would prove that.

No one else spoke, though Molly and Mycroft shared a knowing glance, secretly, of course.

[…] Then, he is writhing on the floor in agony. Around his dying body, the office is empty of furniture.

‘I never thought about how much it must’ve hurt to die like that. Oh, poor Sherlock. It was almost him,’ Mrs Hudson whimpered, her eyes glued to the screen, unable to look away.

Donovan, though sad too at the prospect of the deaths being painful, was more curious as to how much this woman cared for Sherlock. Surely no one could care for the freak, could they?

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE.

[…] Standing at one side of the room, Helen tries to keep control of her feelings but eventually closes her eyes and lets the tears roll down her face.

‘Do you think she even knew that he was married?’ Molly asked.

‘You would think so, her being his secretary and everything,’ Lestrade answered, though his statement neither confirmed nor denied Molly’s inquiry.

NOVEMBER 26TH.

[…] JIMMY: Yes, yes, taxi, yes!

Everyone held their breath.

[…] He makes an exasperated sound, then starts to head back in the direction he just came, looking round at his friend.

‘Wait, what? Why didn’t he get in? Wasn’t he one of the victims?’ John asked.

‘Perhaps it was a different taxi?’ Anderson asked in return.

Both men shrugged.

‘Well, obviously,’ Mycroft said. There was an air of superiority in his tone.

Donovan scowled at the older Holmes brother. ‘Dear god, not another one,’ she muttered, leaning back on the couch.

[…] Some time later Gary looks at his watch, apparently worried because Jimmy has been gone for too long. He turns around and heads back in pursuit of his friend.

#

[…] We see that he is sitting on a window ledge inside a sports centre overlooking a sports court.

‘Didn’t he just say two minutes? Why would he still get a taxi?’ Donovan asked.

Anderson shrugged. ‘He probably thought that he could pick up his friend and they could get where they needed to go without needing their umbrellas,’ he said.

The following day, an article in The Daily Express runs the headline ‘Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports centre’.

#

JANUARY 27TH.

[…] The man smiles in satisfaction, then looks into the dance hall and frowns.

AIDE 1: Where is she?

‘Horrible workers, they are. Trying to prevent their boss from driving drunk, but not keeping an eye on her?’ John said, shaking his head at the screen.

#

[…] She sighs when she can’t find them and looks around helplessly.

#

Some unspecified time later, Beth stands inside a portacabin on a building site and sobs hysterically. As she continues to cry, she reaches out a trembling hand towards a small glass bottle which contains three large capsules.

‘And here is our third victim,’ Lestrade said, sighing sadly. ‘Maybe now we’ll see Sherlock.’

POLICE PRESS CONFERENCE.

Detective Inspector Lestrade sits at the table looking uncomfortable while his colleague sitting beside him, Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, addresses the gathered press reporters.

‘Ah ha! There we are. Maybe we’ll finally figure out some of the freak’s tricks. Like how he texts everyone in our press conference and always makes us look like fools,’ Donovan said with an angry scowl.

[…] REPORTER 1: Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?

‘Easy,’ John said, ‘They’re murders done by a person who was holding them at gunpoint, forcing them to take a fifty-fifty chance of killing themselves or dying rather than the certainty of a bullet.’

‘Well, I see that now,’ Lestrade said. Though his statement was one of annoyance, his tone wasn’t at all cold, only reminiscent of the times that Sherlock was around to tell him things.

[…] Everybody’s mobile phone trills a text alert simultaneously. As they look at their phones, each message reads:

*

Wrong!

*

‘I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I miss it when he used to do that,’ Lestrade said.

[…] REPORTER 1: Just says, ‘Wrong’.

‘Sherlock would’ve loved that guy,’ John said, sighing sadly.

‘Loved to make fun of him, you mean, ‘Anderson interjected.

‘Yeah,’ John replied. Obviously, that’s what he meant.

[…] REPORTER 3: Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?

LESTRADE: Well, don’t commit suicide.

The reporter looks at him in shock. Donovan covers her mouth and murmurs a warning.

‘That wasn’t the right thing to say,’ Molly said as she let out a breath through her nose.

[…] But Lestrade’s phone takes a moment longer to alert him to a text and when he looks at it, the message reads:

*

You know where

to find me.

SH

‘So that’s what you were looking at! I was wondering; it looked too long to just be ‘wrong’ like everyone else, but I couldn’t see it from where I was,’ Donovan said.

Lestrade sighed. ‘Yeah. He always seemed to know when I needed him.’

‘That’s because he always knew what was going on, and whenever it was enough to interest him, you’d need help,’ John replied.

Lestrade looked down, slightly red, though he nodded in agreement.

[…] LESTRADE: Well, if you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.

‘Too bad. I thought for sure we’d figure out how he kept doing that,’ Donovan said.

RUSSELL SQUARE PARK.

[…] MIKE: John! John Watson!

‘Friend of yours, John dear?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘Why, yes, Mrs Hudson. He’s actually the one who introduced me to Sherlock,’ John replied.

At that point, the three officers of the law turned to him in shock.

‘This guy?’ Lestrade asked. ‘How did he know Sherlock?’

Molly smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll find out if we keep watching,’ she said, redirecting everyone’s attention to the television.

[…] MIKE: Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.

‘I see. He was at Bart’s. Must’ve met the freak when he was there conducting one of his experiments.’

[…] MIKE (grinning and gesturing to himself): Yeah, I know. I got fat!

JOHN (trying to sound convincing): No.

‘You are a dreadful liar, John dear,’ Mrs Hudson said with a chuckle.

John sighed, his cheeks red with embarrassment. ‘Mrs Hudson, who ever is good at lying about someone’s weight?’

‘He’s got a point there,’ Lestrade remarked.

[…] JOHN (awkwardly): I got shot.

They both look embarrassed.

‘Guess now we know that Mike is definitely not a Sherlock. Pretty much anyone else could’ve guessed that,’ Lestrade said.

[…] MIKE: Couldn’t Harry help?

JOHN (sarcastically): Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!

‘Who’s Harry?’ Lestrade asked.

John chuckled as he remembered his conversation with Sherlock. ‘The first person to stump Sherlock since I met him. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find out.’

MIKE (shrugging): I dunno – get a flatshare or something?

‘Looks like it’s Mike we’ve got to thank for the creation of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, don’t we?’ Molly said with a small chuckle from the corner of the couch.

‘Guess so,’ John replied, agreeing.

[…] MIKE: Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today.

JOHN: Who was the first?

#

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL MORGUE.

Sherlock Holmes unzips the body bag lying on the table and peers at the corpse inside. He sniffs.

‘Ugh,’ Donovan groaned, ‘He sniffs them? Knew he was a freak.’

John scowled. ‘He’s just using all of his senses, not only his eyes.’

[…] Zipping the bag up again, Sherlock straightens up, turns to her, and smiles falsely.

‘That was as real a smile as most of us ever got,’ Molly said, looking down slightly.

SHERLOCK: Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before.

‘When has Sherlock ever noticed if a woman was wearing lipstick or not when it wasn’t for a case?’ Lestrade asked, staring at the screen in shock.

John shrugged. ‘I dunno, why is it that Molly is the only one Sherlock ever tries to keep out of a relationship? He’s never cared about ruining it for anyone else, as far as I know – except maybe me.’

Everyone turned to Molly at that moment. The mousy little pathologist blushed bright red but remained silent.

John and Lestrade then met eyes – easily, as they were sitting right next to each other.

‘You don’t think…?’ John whispered.

‘Sherlock and Molly…?’ Lestrade replied, his voice just as quiet.

MOLLY (nervously): I, er, I refreshed it a bit.

Molly frowned at the screen. Was her crush on Sherlock really that obvious?

She smiles at him flirtatiously. He gives her a long oblivious look, then goes back to writing in his notebook.

‘My brother never was one for picking up emotions,’ Mycroft observed with a disappointed sigh.

[…] SHERLOCK: Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs.

He walks away.

MOLLY: … Okay.

‘I don’t think that’s what she meant, Sherlock dear,’ Mrs Hudson said quietly to herself, though everyone in the room heard her comment.

BART’S LAB.

[…] John limps into the room, looking around at all the equipment.

‘You might want to pay attention to this. Try to watch how Sherlock figures it out,’ John said.

Immediately, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and Molly lean forward, watching the screen with avid eyes. Mycroft remains where he is for obvious reasons.

[…] SHERLOCK: Afghanistan or Iraq?

‘What?’ the three Yarders asked in surprise. They knew that Sherlock would obviously have John figured out by then, but how? It must’ve been obvious.

[…] SHERLOCK: What happened to the lipstick?

‘Once again, why is he concerned with whether she’s wearing lipstick or not?’ Anderson asked this time.

The question wasn’t answered.

[…] SHERLOCK: Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.

‘Well, that’s not nice, is it? Why would he say that? He’s never been concerned about anyone else’s looks,’ Lestrade observed.

[…] JOHN (turning to Sherlock again): Then who said anything about flatmates?

SHERLOCK (picking up his greatcoat and putting it on): I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.

‘Well, that was rather obvious. Not one of the more puzzling mysteries that my brother has solved,’ Mycroft said nonchalantly. The others in the room sighed in response to his statement.

[…] SHERLOCK: Is that what?

JOHN: We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?

‘Seems that Sherlock moves in quick,’ Mrs Hudson said jokingly.

John sighed. ‘Mrs Hudson, for the last time, Sherlock wasn’t my boyfriend! Why does everyone think that?’ He sat back in his seat, trying to ignore the chuckling coming from around him.

[…] Mike smiles and nods to him.

MIKE: Yeah. He’s always like that.

‘That was how you met Sherlock?’ Lestrade asked, disbelievingly.

John only nodded. ‘Exactly like that. How this person managed to get the footage is beyond me, though.’

‘So, you really weren’t a colleague of his, were you? Just someone to help the freak pay for a place to live,’ Donovan commented harshly.

A glare was sent her way in response.

As everyone turned back to the screen, they were shocked to find that it was frozen.

‘Why did it stop?’ John asked, picking up the remote and pointing it at the screen. He pressed play, but nothing happened. Pressing the button again, more aggressively this time, something did happen.

The screen went black, more words appearing. Not so fast. That is only the first part. It’s time for a break. Time to discuss what you have seen. Have some tea and biscuits while you wait.

‘Why does it feel like whoever is behind this is mocking us?’ Anderson asked pointedly.

‘Probably because they are,’ Mycroft replied, his tone sharp as a silver platter appeared out of thin air. On it was a large teapot and seven teacups, accompanied by a plate of assorted biscuits.

‘Think it’s poisoned?’ Donovan asked, eyeing the tea.

‘Well, if it was it would make for quite the anticlimactic murder, don’t you think?’ Mycroft asked as he reached for a cup. He poured himself some tea, added one lump of sugar and sniffed it before taking a sip. ‘So,’ he said once he sat back in his seat, ‘what have you learned about my brother thus far?’

‘We haven’t seen much so far…’ Lestrade said, trailing off.

‘Humor me,’ Mycroft replied.

Lestrade shuffled in his seat for a moment, looking back at the screen, though only seeing words. Then, he spoke, ‘Doesn’t seem very plausible that Sherlock would’ve researched John before meeting him, as John said that Sherlock told him. There was no way for Mike to know where to meet John in that park, and even if he did, why would Sherlock go to all of the trouble to find John specifically?’

Mycroft only nodded in reply, a smile forming on his face, though it was cold. ‘Anything else?’

‘Sherlock asked John, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”, so either he was using that for dramatic effect, or he really didn’t know, the latter meaning that his deduction skills don’t go into that level of detail,’ Anderson said.

‘Freak’s either not as smart as he thinks, or way too dramatic for his own good,’ Donovan muttered with a small smile.

‘Also,’ Lestrade said, his tone harsh as he eyes his two co-workers, ‘we’re seeing the serial suicides in a whole new way. It seems obvious to us now who was behind it, but I guess, as this continues, we’ll see just how Sherlock figured it out.’

Mycroft nodded. ‘Precisely, though I do hope we see more than my brother’s dull cases. Surely, he has more exciting things to do.’ At the end, Mycroft’s voice was almost wistful – if only emotions were easy to detect from the elder Holmes brother.

‘I guess we can continue now?’ John asked as he sat back down, tea and biscuits in hand.

The screen was no longer displaying words, once again back to the scene of John and Mike Stamford in St Bart’s.

‘I guess so,’ Molly said as she grabbed the remote and pressed play. The video resumed.

LATER.

[…] Shortly afterwards, he has called up a search website called Quest and types ‘Sherlock Holmes’ into the search box.

‘You researched him?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Yeah,’ John replied, ‘wouldn’t you?’

Lestrade remained quiet, shrugging.

[…] Her fingers close around the bottle and she slowly lifts it off the floor, her hand still shaking.

‘And here is our final victim,’ Lestrade said with a sad huff. Now, he wished that he’d called Sherlock earlier, so that there were fewer killings by their dying and desperate cabbie.

BAKER STREET.

[…] JOHN: Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?

SHERLOCK: Oh no. I ensured it.

Molly and the Yarders raised their eyebrows in surprise. They turned to Mrs Hudson for an explanation, but the old woman just kept her eyes on the screen.

[…] JOHN: That’s a skull.

SHERLOCK: Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ …

‘Freak…’ Donovan mumbled.

[…] MRS HUDSON: What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.

Everyone in the room besides John chuckled at what Mrs Hudson was implying.

[…] John looks across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John are not involved in that way, but Sherlock appears oblivious to what’s being insinuated. Mrs Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock.

‘You don’t see the freak denying it,’ Donovan said quietly.

‘Yes, unfortunately, while my brother is quick with many things, he isn’t exactly…how shall I put this?…observant, when it comes to relationships,’ Mycroft replied, his tone taking on a slightly sarcastic lilt.

[…] John looks across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little.

‘Aw, he’d tidying up for John. How sweet,’ Mrs Hudson crooned.

More chuckles arose from the audience.

[…] He looks down at the car as someone gets out of it. The vehicle is a police car with its lights flashing on the roof.

SHERLOCK: There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.

‘Oh, is that how he knew? Seeing it from his point of view it seems so simple, like everything is just right there though none of us can see it,’ Anderson said, clearly interested.

[…] SHERLOCK: Where?

LESTRADE: Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.

‘You don’t even seem surprised that he knew,’ John said.

‘Well, he did send me a text saying that I knew where to find him,’ Lestrade answered.

‘How did you know? We had just moved in, right that second,’ John asked.

‘He sent me another text, earlier that day.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Who’s on forensics?

LESTRADE: It’s Anderson.

‘Finally, I’m going to be in it!’

Anderson’s comment was ignored.

[…] SHERLOCK: I need an assistant.

Sally scowled. ‘We never got that answered, why does he need an assistant?’

[…] Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

SHERLOCK: Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!

‘He’s excited about this stuff? Such a freak. Just keeps proving my point,’ Donovan muttered.

‘I dunno. I think it’s funny how he waited until Lestrade was gone before showing how happy he was. Goes to show you how much his reputation is important to him,’ John said with a smile.

‘Though, clearly, he doesn’t care about his reputation around you and Mrs Hudson,’ Mycroft said.

[…] MRS HUDSON (turning towards the door): I’ll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg.

JOHN (loudly): Damn my leg!

‘John!’ Molly scolded. Her outburst was quickly overpowered by the quick words of the John on the screen.

[…] JOHN: Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got ’em.

MRS HUDSON: Not your housekeeper!

The Yarders, Molly, and John chuckled at Mrs Hudson’s antics on screen. The woman in question only blushed, her face flushed red. Mycroft, the only one not laughing, stayed quiet and still in his seat, clearly not amused.

[…] SHERLOCK: Wanna see some more?

JOHN (fervently): Oh God, yes.

‘What?’ Donovan asked. ‘Both of you are freaks.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!

‘Fun?’ Lestrade asked incredulously. He sighed. ‘Only Sherlock.’

He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her noisily on the cheek.

‘Well, Molly, maybe all you have to do is give him a real mystery and you’re in. It’s happened before. He’s only ever really been intrigued by people he’s deduced wrong,’ John said.

‘If that were true, he’d have to have deduced you wrong, John,’ Molly said, looking down sadly.

John just smiled. ‘You’ll see.’

At his words, Molly looked up, confused, though there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

[…] SHERLOCK: Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!

‘Well, Detective Inspector, this seems to be your first piece of evidence to tell you that my brother wasn’t a fraud. If he’d been behind every mystery he’d ever solved, then how come he’d be so excited to solve them?’ Mycroft asked, smiling as he gave the Yarders something to think about.

The three officers were silent, staring at the screen, though their eyes weren’t seeing. After a few seconds, they came back to the world, focusing on the images in front of them once again.

[…] SHERLOCK: Okay, you’ve got questions.

JOHN: Yeah, where are we going?

‘Didn’t you get the hint when Lestrade came in and told Sherlock about the fourth suicide?’ Molly asked, staring at John in confusion. ‘Where else could you two be going?’

John shrugged. ‘I dunno. Scotland Yard?’ Reflecting back to that day, he really didn’t know what he had been thinking when he’d asked that question.

[…] SHERLOCK: It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.

‘Hey!’ Anderson complained, though secretly, he knew it was true. Even if he was good, he had to admit that Sherlock was better – if he wasn’t behind all the crimes, that is.

JOHN: The police don’t consult amateurs.

‘Damn right,’ Lestrade muttered. ‘Only the best. John should’ve guessed that.’

Sherlock throws him a look.

SHERLOCK: When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’ You looked surprised.

JOHN: Yes, how did you know?

The Yarders leaned in, eager to learn how Sherlock had deduced John Watson.

SHERLOCK: […] Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.

‘Wow,’ Anderson said. ‘It all seems so simple when he puts it all in perspective.’

‘Yeah, the only talent in it is finding all the important pieces and putting them together. Besides, there’s more,’ John replied.

[…] He hands the phone back.

SHERLOCK: There you go, you see – you were right.

‘John was right? Sherlock was the one explaining everything,’ Anderson said, clearly confused.

[…] SHERLOCK: The police don’t consult amateurs.

He looks out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaits John’s reaction.

‘Why’s the freak look nervous?’ Donovan asked.

‘Because of people like you who think he’s a freak for being able to do that,’ John snarled in reply.

Donovan fell silent, thinking over what John just said as the images on the screen continued.

[…] JOHN: What do people normally say?

SHERLOCK: ‘Piss off’!

He smiles briefly at John, who grins and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continues.

‘Oh, poor Sherlock,’ Mrs Hudson said, frowning.

BRIXTON.

[…] SHERLOCK: Did I get anything wrong?

‘Why is he asking?’ Lestrade questioned. ‘He never asks if he’s got anything wrong.’

[…] SHERLOCK (looking impressed with himself): Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.

‘Really?’ Anderson asked.

JOHN: And Harry’s short for Harriet.

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks.

‘What? The frea–’ Donovan stopped herself. ‘He actually got something wrong?’

[…] SHERLOCK (exasperated, starting to walk again): There’s always something.

‘Always something? Not that I’ve ever seen,’ Lestrade said, leaning back as he crossed his arms in surprise.

They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Donovan.

‘Well, there I am. Freak’s gonna be annoying as usual, just you see,’ Donovan said, clearly forgetting what Sherlock had said to her that time, only that she didn’t like it.

[…] SHERLOCK (lifting the tape and ducking underneath it): Always, Sally. (He breathes in through his nose.) I even know you didn’t make it home last night.

‘How’d he figure that out by smelling you?’ Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrow at Donovan. She and Anderson turned red, only proceeding to confuse the Detective Inspector even more.

[…] DONOVAN: A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!

‘Apparently by needing someone to help him pay for a place to live,’ John rumbled sarcastically.

Donovan merely sent a glare in his direction.

She turns to John.

DONOVAN: What, did he follow you home?

‘If you want to see it like that, yes, I guess he did,’ John said. He had a thoughtful look on his face.

Donovan turned a slight shade of pink. That did make sense, though not in the sense that she had assumed, because technically, it was also Sherlock’s home.

[…] ANDERSON: Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it!

SHERLOCK: So’s Sergeant Donovan.

‘Is Sherlock implying that you two…?’ Lestrade began, pointing at his two co-workers. They avoided his eyes, blushing bright red.

[…] SHERLOCK: And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.

At that point, Mrs Hudson began chuckling behind her fingers. ‘Sherlock dear,’ she said, trying to sound scolding, though her laughter ruined the firmness of it.

[…] SHERLOCK (to Lestrade): So, where are we?

LESTRADE (picking up another pair of latex gloves): Upstairs.

‘Hm. I never thought about it this way, but it really seems like Sherlock uses his deductions about people to defend himself,’ John commented.

Lestrade looked back at the screen, though it was black again. There weren’t any words yet, but his eyes remained fixed on it. ‘It does appear to be that way, doesn’t it?’

‘Why though? He’s pretty good at insulting people,’ John asked.

‘I guess using his deductions to insult others makes him feel clever,’ Anderson said. There was a frown on his face, as if he was remembering all the times that Sherlock had said something to incriminate him, either about his wife or his appearance, or otherwise.

Just then, more words appeared on the screen. Enjoying it so far? Have another break. It’s getting a bit late, so rest up. We’ll resume in the morning. After John had finished reading the words aloud, the previously locked door opened on its own. On the other side was another room with seven beds lined up along the walls, a divider keeping them separated. On one side, there were three, and on the other, four. At the end of each section, there was a door marked with the word, Toilets.

‘I guess we men will be on the left,’ Lestrade said, pointing to the side with the four beds.

‘We’ll see you in the morning,’ Molly replied, ushering Mrs Hudson and Donovan to the right. She closed the dividing door behind them.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after waking, changing, and washing up, the seven associates of Sherlock Holmes were back in the dimly-lit, theatre-like room, ready to watch the next section of footage.

Strangely enough, there were seven full breakfasts of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, and toast. Accompanying each plate, there was a cup of tea. After each member of the group had taken their breakfast and were well on the way to eating their food, the video continued.

[…] LESTRADE: I can give you two minutes.

SHERLOCK (casually): May need longer.

‘Ha! As if. Two minutes is plenty for someone like Sherlock. I only wish I’d known it back then, because I could’ve laughed instead of had that confused look on my face,’ John said. At first, his face was bright, but then it turned darker as he remembered the horrible moment of his friend’s death.

Mrs Hudson, sensing the man’s sorrow, began rubbing gentle circles on his back, taking his meal and setting it aside, though he’d abandoned it after eating only half of its contents.

[…] The three of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade.

SHERLOCK: Shut up.

Most people in the room were surprised by the sudden outburst from Sherlock, though John, Mycroft, and Lestrade weren’t, as they’d either been there or were used to Sherlock’s quirks.

LESTRADE (startled): I didn’t say anything.

SHERLOCK: You were thinking. It’s annoying.

‘Can’t believe I’d ever miss him saying that, but now, I tend to say it to myself when I’m thinking too much,’ Lestrade muttered.

[…] Sherlock makes an instant deduction:

*

left handed

‘Whoa, wait! What is happening?’ Donovan cried out in alarm. She and Anderson stared at the screen, as was Lestrade, John, Molly, and Mrs Hudson.

‘I assume, very obviously, that we are witnessing my brother’s thought process. Clearly, the person behind this wants us to see what Sherlock is thinking,’ Mycroft drawled, his voice betraying his boredom at the other’s confusion.

He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:

*

RACHE

German (n.) revenge

‘Hey! That’s what I thought!’ Anderson cried out, feeling slightly proud of himself.

[…] Next to the ‘e’ a rapid progression of letters appears and disappears as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place to form the word:

*

Rachel

‘Unfortunately, you have a long way to go from recognising the first possibility to getting to the right solution,’ Mycroft said to the sullen forensic scientist.

[…] serial adulterer

*

He smiles slightly in satisfaction.

LESTRADE: Got anything?

‘I’d say he got everything!’ Lestrade said, answering his screen-self’s question.

SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): Not much.

‘What?’ the two lower ranking Yarders cried out in alarm. They were beginning to feel bad. If that was what Sherlock did on a regular basis, no wonder he was so good. He saw everyday things – things that they themselves saw yet overlooked and connected them to form a story of a person’s life in his head. No wonder they needed his help on so many cases if they were this blind.

[…] While he was speaking, Sherlock has walked quickly towards the door and now begins to close it in Anderson’s face.

‘Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded again. She didn’t even know why she was scolding him, since he was gone… She looked down sadly. He was gone. She’d never be able to scold him again for doing such things as he did.

[…] He pockets his phone.

SHERLOCK: So far, so obvious.

‘Well, now that we’re seeing it from his perspective, it is obvious,’ John said. He was intrigued by seeing this scene again, though through Sherlock’s eyes. Back then, he’d been so confused, and he remembered playing the scene through his head on the taxi ride back to the flat. Now, it all seemed to make sense. No wonder Sherlock was so bored with people who couldn’t follow his thoughts: it was all so easy for him.

[…] LESTRADE: I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.

SHERLOCK: Yes … because you need me.

‘That doesn’t mean that you can just do whatever you want, Sherlock,’ John said quietly, well aware that he was talking to a television.

[…] JOHN: Fun? There’s a woman lying dead.

SHERLOCK: Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.

‘How come John gets a compliment for that and when I saw something that actually takes some thinking, I just get a telling off?’ Anderson whined.

‘Because my brother likes John. The good doctor doesn’t label him a freak, and he thinks that Sherlock’s deductions are brilliant. Obviously,’ Mycroft said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.

LESTRADE: Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up …

‘Now that I’m seeing what he saw, it’s so clear that he wasn’t making it up, but back then…’ Lestrade said, trailing off. He didn’t need to explain; everyone knew what he meant.

[…] JOHN (admiringly): That’s brilliant.

Sherlock looks round at him.

JOHN (apologetically): Sorry.

‘D’you realise that because of John’s little outbursts, Sherlock is actually enjoying explaining his clues aloud?’ Molly asked.

‘Of course, he does. When we were growing up, Sherlock had only me to compare himself to. Since I was much older, I was therefore smarter. He thought he was an idiot for the longest time,’ Mycroft said.

‘Really?’ John asked, an incredulous look on his face. The others in the room had turned to Mycroft as well, similar expressions on their faces.

Mycroft nodded and continued, ‘When we finally met other children our own ages, Sherlock was quite pleased. He always wanted to tell others how clever he was, that he wasn’t the idiot he’d thought; they were. When they started to tease him about it, he stopped, but I guess that our dear friend John Watson has stirred up those feelings in my brother.’

At those words, John blushed slightly. His heart warmed at the thought of Sherlock feeling a little more normal because of him. The man, though horrendous at times, was a great friend.

[…] SHERLOCK (pausing as he looks at the other two): Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.

‘Well that much is obvious now,’ John said. ‘A little too late.’

‘It’s a bit funny how he wonders what it’s like for us while we’re wondering what it’s like for him, don’t you think?’ Anderson asked.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ Lestrade answered. ‘Not anymore on our sides. Or his, though for different reasons.’ His mood darkened.

[…] JOHN: That’s fantastic!

SHERLOCK (turning to him and speaking in a low voice): D’you know you do that out loud?

‘Yeah, John. Did you know that?’ Lestrade asked, jokingly.

‘Shut up, Greg,’ John grumbled.

[…] SHERLOCK: […] Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.

He squats down by the woman’s body and examines the backs of her legs more closely.

‘Okay, so there was a suitcase, but that doesn’t explain where it was or how Sherlock somehow had it later,’ Anderson said grudgingly.

His comment was ignored.

[…] LESTRADE: There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.

‘How many times are you going to say that before you realise that it must’ve been taken?’ Mycroft asked. He sighed. ‘Such simple minds.’

[…] SHERLOCK: We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.

‘Like I said, he’s a freak! Who else would enjoy serial killers? It’s like it’s all a game to him!’ Donovan shouted.

[…] SHERLOCK (stopping and calling up to the others): Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. (More quietly, as if talking to himself) So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.

‘Obviously, the cabbie. We’re now seeing all the clues play out,’ Molly said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh!

He claps his hands together in delight.

‘What is he realising?’ Molly asked.

‘He’s figured out the mistake,’ John said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!

‘Isn’t it “Houston, we have a problem”?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘Not to Sherlock,’ Lestrade replied.

‘I’m surprised that Sherlock even made that reference at all. I guess it wasn’t useless enough to “delete” as he would say,’ John said.

Lestrade let out a laugh as he remembered a few other things that Sherlock had ‘deleted.’

[…] SHERLOCK: PINK!

‘You know, I’m now realising that when he acts like that, it’s hard to not think he’s a psychopath, even though he’s not,’ Lestrade observed.

‘See?’ Donovan asked.

‘At least he can figure out murders that no one else can,’ John spat back at Donovan.

‘What use is that if everything thinks that he’s the one who did the killing in the first place?’ the sergeant snarled.

‘That’s only because you made them think that. Sherlock wasn’t a fraud! You’re seeing proof of that now! How can you still deny it?’ John’s voice was rising.

‘John, calm down. Surely, they’ll figure it out. We have to give their slow minds time to catch up,’ Mycroft said, his voice cold.

[…] DONOVAN: Brixton.

JOHN: Right. Er, d’you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er … well … (he looks down awkwardly at his walking stick) … my leg.

‘Hey, whatever happened to your limp? After that, it just seemed to be…gone,’ Lestrade asked.

John just smiled. ‘Oh, that’s thanks to Sherlock, too.’

‘Wait…what?’

Lestrade’s follow-up question was ignored.

[…] DONOVAN: He doesn’t have friends. So, who are you?

JOHN: I’m … I’m nobody. I just met him.

‘That’s true,’ John said. ‘Too bad no one believed it.’

DONOVAN: Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.

‘Well, that didn’t quite work out, did it?’ Lestrade asked sarcastically.

‘It’s not like I could’ve. I needed a place to live, too,’ John said.

Donovan just looked away from the two, her arms crossed, and her face pinched into a scowl.

[…] DONOVAN: […] One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.

Most of the room’s occupants flinched, thinking back to the incident.

‘I was right about that, wasn’t I?’ Donovan asked. ‘He was behind it all. The facts don’t lie.’

‘No, he wasn’t. Your facts are wrong,’ John replied lowly, his face darkening with anger.

JOHN: Why would he do that?

DONOVAN: Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.

Mycroft chuckled dryly. ‘I believe my brother prefers the term ‘high-functioning sociopath,’ sergeant,’ he commented.

[…] He stops and looks at it for a few seconds but then looks down at his watch, shakes his head and continues down the road. The phone stops ringing.

‘What’s going on?’ Lestrade asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares at the screen.

John’s mouth pressed itself into a firm line. ‘This is where I meet Sherlock’s arch-nemesis,’ he replied.

‘What? Moriarty?’

John shook his head.

‘Of course not. Moriarty doesn’t even exist,’ Anderson pointed out.

‘Yes, he did, but this wasn’t Moriarty,’ John replied. ‘Just watch, and you’ll see.’

[…] John walks on down the road and shortly afterwards approaches another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Mystified by this, he pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone.

‘John, dear, what are you doing, answering random payphones in the street?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘It would stop ringing for everyone except me. I assumed that it was for me. Somehow,’ John replied.

JOHN: Hello?

A man’s voice speaks down the phone.

MAN’s VOICE: There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?

‘Oh!’ A collaborative sigh of realisation flooded the room.

‘It was Mycroft!’ Lestrade exclaimed.

[…] MAN’s VOICE: I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.

The phone goes dead. John puts it down and looks thoughtful for a long moment, then apparently decides that there’s not much else he can do and turns to leave the phone box.

‘Hey, Mycroft, why’d you have to do that in such a creepy way?’ Molly asked. ‘You could’ve just phoned John. You know, on his phone. It would’ve been easier to get his number than to contact him the way you did.’

Mycroft just smiled. ‘Sherlock isn’t the only one who gets bored,’ he answered.

‘Obviously, it was a power play,’ Lestrade said.

[…] WOMAN: Er … Anthea.

JOHN: Is that your real name?

WOMAN (smiling): No.

‘What is her real name?’ John asked, ‘We never found out.’

[…] JOHN: Any point in asking where I’m going?

NOT-ANTHEA: None at all …

She turns and smiles briefly at him, then looks back at her phone again.

NOT-ANTHEA: … John.

JOHN: Okay.

‘You were pretty cooperative,’ Lestrade observed.

‘Wouldn’t you be too if that happened to you?’ John asked.

Lestrade shrugged. ‘I guess, though I haven’t been…lucky enough to be on Mycroft’s radar. He never kidnapped me just to talk.’

‘Well, he is practically your boss already. You do whatever he tells you to do.’

‘What? No, I don’t!’ Lestrade protested.

John smiled a thin smile. ‘Remember Baskerville?’ he asked.

Lestrade shuddered. ‘I’d prefer to forget that place, if you don’t mind. No more genetically enhanced demon hounds for me.’

‘It wasn’t a demon hound, Lestrade. It was just a dog,’ John reminded him with a sigh.

The two other Yarders, Molly, and Mrs Hudson turned to the two men, confused.

John shrugged. ‘I put it on the blog. Haven’t you read ‘the Hound of Baskerville?’

Their eyes widened. ‘Right,’ was the collective response.

Finally, they turned their attention back to the television. It had stopped again. The screen was black, and there were new words: Finish up the last of your breakfast before I take it away. Then, we can continue.

They all looked down at their plates, most of which still had food on them, as they’d been too distracted by the video to eat. Quickly finishing their meals until each of them were full, six of the seven watched in amazement as the plates disappeared right before their eyes.

‘Has anyone figured out how he – or she – does that?’ Molly asked.

The Yarders, John, Mrs Hudson, and Molly turned to Mycroft, who was the most likely to have figured it out. He shook his head.

‘This has never happened before. It shouldn’t be possible. Whatever is happening is defying the laws of physics,’ he explained.

‘We must all be drugged,’ John said, though his tone made it clear that he was joking.

‘Could be,’ Lestrade said thoughtfully, no sense of humour in his voice.

‘You can’t be serious, Greg! You really think that we’ve all been drugged? It can’t be! We wouldn’t all be having the same dream!’ John replied.

Lestrade shrugged. ‘Do you have a better explanation?’ he asked.

John shook his head. ‘I guess not. I guess we should keep watching now, seeing as we’ve all finished. When do you think it will start?’

The screen flashed.

‘Now,’ Molly said, and they all returned their attention to the screen.

‘This is when I meet Mycroft. Unfortunately, I have no idea who he is,’ John said. ‘You could’ve at least told me you were his brother and not some psycho trying to kill him!’ The last bit was directed at the man in question.

Mycroft merely shrugged. ‘Where’s the fun in that, John?’ he asked.

John threw his hands up in the air. ‘Of course, you wanted it to be interesting! I should’ve known! You are Sherlock’s brother after all,’ he said, though overstressing his words in a sarcastic tone.

Some time later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the centre of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella as he watches the car stop and John get out.

‘Well, that’s not suspicious at all. No wonder John dear thought you were bad news, Mycroft,’ Mrs Hudson pointed out.

[…] JOHN: You know, I’ve got a phone.

‘Just like I pointed out,’ Molly said, her voice flat, though there was a slightly proud undertone.

[…] MAN: When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.

‘I guess that makes sense. Why, though, confuses me, because Sherlock doesn’t notice when I leave the house most times,’ John said.

[…] MAN: The leg must be hurting you. Sit down.

JOHN: I don’t wanna sit down.

‘Way to sound like a bratty kid, John,’ Lestrade teased.

[…] MAN: Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?

‘That’s kind of rude, don’t you think? Someone can be brave and smart,’ Anderson grumbled.

‘And as my brother would say, “you are neither”,’ Mycroft told the scientist.

[…] MAN: Mmm, and since yesterday you’ve moved in with him and now you’re solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?

John threw his hands up once more in frustration. ‘Why does everyone think that I’m dating Sherlock?’ he demanded, his voice rising with each word.

‘Aren’t you?’ Mycroft asked with a smirk. Obviously, he was teasing the shorter man.

‘I don’t think that you’re dating Sherlock,’ Molly said quietly.

‘That’s because you want to date him,’ Lestrade pointed out. The pathologist blushed profusely at his words.

‘Why, I don’t know,’ Donovan added with a sneer.

JOHN: Who are you?

‘You mean other than the guy who kidnapped you off the street?’ Anderson asked rhetorically.

Mycroft just glared at the forensic scientist.

[…] MAN: An enemy.

‘Dramatic much?’ Donovan asked.

[…] MAN: In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.

John looks pointedly around the warehouse.

JOHN (sarcastically): Well, thank God, you’re above all that.

‘He has a point, Mycroft,’ Lestrade whispered to him.

[…] Baker Street.

Come at once

if convenient.

SH

‘He said, “if convenient”? That’s a surprise. He usually tells people what to do, not asks,’ Lestrade said.

[…] JOHN: I could be wrong … but I think that’s none of your business.

MAN (a little ominously): It could be.

‘It still could,’ Mycroft reminded John.

John didn’t answer.

JOHN: It really couldn’t.

‘Loyal, aren’t you, John?’ Mrs Hudson asked with a cheerful smile on her face.

[…] MAN: If you do move into, um … two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.

‘John, I know now why you wouldn’t take the deal, but what about back then? He was willing to pay you a lot of money to spy on Sherlock, and you’d only just met the guy,’ Lestrade said.

John shrugged. ‘I guess my instincts just told me that I couldn’t trust him. He was rather shady when we first met.’

[…] JOHN: Why?

MAN: I worry about him. Constantly.

‘Aw!’ Molly cried, ‘Brotherly compassion! Finally. I thought that we’d never see that from either of you two!’

[…] If inconvenient,

come anyway.

SH

‘Oh, so Sherlock really doesn’t care if you’re doing something. I take back what I said earlier,’ Lestrade said with an unsurprised sigh.

[…] MAN (laughing briefly): You’re very loyal, very quickly.

‘That’s true. John, here, has a knack for finding the right people. He always sees the best in them. Even if it’s as deeply buried as Sherlock’s,’ Mrs Hudson said, wrapping her bony hand around John’s arm with a smile on her face.

The man regarded her with kind eyes as he recalled the happy memories with Mrs Hudson and Sherlock at their flat. The old woman, though sometimes a little strange, truly seemed to care for Sherlock and himself, and continued to mother them and clean around their flat though she countlessly reminded them that she ‘wasn’t their housekeeper’.

[…] MAN (still looking down at his book): Could it be that you’ve decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?

‘I’d say so,’ Lestrade said. ‘I mean, just look at what they’ve accomplished together. Just the two of them against the world. ’Til death do they part.’

John sighed in frustration, but as he spoke, there was a hint of sorrow in his voice. ‘For the last time, Greg, Sherlock and I weren’t a couple!’

JOHN: Who says I trust him?

MAN: You don’t seem the kind to make friends easily.

‘Would you expect anything different from a former soldier?’ Molly asked, turning her head slightly to look at Mycroft.

The elder Holmes just shook his head, making it clear to the pathologist that he’d only been making conversation, as he’d already known as much as he needed to know about John.

[…] MAN: I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that’s not going to happen.

‘Well, that’s one way to get his attention. Just say something that John would know that Sherlock would say,’ Anderson remarked, waving his hand at the screen.

[…] Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John’s hand. John instantly pulls his hand back a little.

‘Stubborn, but still compliant. Well, that wraps our John up in a nutshell, doesn’t it?’ Mrs Hudson said, her voice both teasing and affectionate.

[…] JOHN: What’s wrong with my hand?

MAN: You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.

‘Really?’ Lestrade asked, ‘I’ve never seen it.’

[…] MAN: Fire her. She’s got it the wrong way around. You’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.

‘Wait. What?’ Anderson and Donovan stared at the screen, both equally shocked.

[…] MAN: You’re not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson … you miss it.

‘John’s a freak too!’ Donovan screamed. ‘What kind of person misses being in a war?’

[…] MAN (in a whisper): Welcome back.

‘Well, that’s not creepy at all; is it, Mycroft?’ Molly asked, turning to the elder Holmes.

[…] Could be dangerous.

SH

‘Of course Sherlock would say that to lure John into another one of his schemes. He can see the same thing in John that Mycroft just described,’ Molly said with a sigh. She’d known Sherlock for a long time, and even though she didn’t know him well, she knew his habits.

[…] NOT-ANTHEA: Address?

JOHN (turning and walking towards her): Er, Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first.

#

Later, John opens the door into his bedsit and switches on the light. Walking inside and closing the door behind him, he goes across to the desk and opens the drawer, taking out his pistol. Checking the clip, he tucks the gun into the back of the waistband of his jeans and turns to leave again.

‘Why did you go back to grab your gun?’ Anderson asked, raising his eyebrow suspiciously at the army doctor.

[…] JOHN: Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?

‘You really think that she wouldn’t tell Mycroft something like that?’ Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow at the doctor.

John shrugged.

NOT-ANTHEA (nonchalantly): Sure.

‘Well, obviously she’s already told him,’ Molly pointed out, gesturing at the screen.

[…] John nods in resignation and turns to get out of the car but just as he has opened the door, he turns back to her.

JOHN: Hey, um … do you ever get any free time?

‘Are you flirting with her?’ Anderson asked incredulously, staring at John with a mixture of disgust, shock, and confusion.

‘Well, wouldn’t you?’ John asked.

‘Not after the part she played in kidnapping me! You don’t even know who Mycroft was at that point. She could’ve been the secretary to a mob boss or something!’

‘Good thing it didn’t work out, then,’ John said nonchalantly.

[…] John gets out and closes the door, then watches the car pull away before turning and walking across the pavement to the front door of 221B. He knocks on the door.

The screen paused again. It was right in the moment after John closed the door, but right before the next scene started, giving its viewers no hints as to what would happen next.

‘Well, what now?’ Donovan asked. What does our captor expect us to do?’

‘Talk about it, I guess,’ John replied to the sergeant’s general question.

‘Talk about what? The freak? I’ve seen nothing so far that can prove he’s not what I think he is. Maybe he can see weird stuff when examining a body, but there was no way he could’ve solved that case without the pink suitcase, which we still don’t know how he got!’

Lestrade nodded slightly with his sergeant’s words, though he didn’t look as if he believed what she was saying. ‘Well, judging by the timeline of this, I’d expect that Sherlock was back at the flat when John got there.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Molly asked the DI.

‘When we were there, John and Sherlock came in together. Seeing as John is going in alone, we know that they must’ve gone out again. Also, when they came back during our drugs bust, it was dark outside,’ Lestrade explained.

‘At least now we know why you’re a detective,’ Mycroft said softly.

‘What was that?’ the detective in question asked.

‘According to my brother, you’re one of the idiots, but judging by how you pieced together a timeline without all the answers, at least we know that you have some skills in the field.’ His tone wasn’t outrightly harsh, though his words gave everyone in the room obvious hints as to what he meant.

‘Well, thanks,’ Lestrade said, his tone sarcastic. He then shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around how the Holmes brothers could give such backhanded compliments and be completely okay with themselves doing such a thing.

Suddenly, a new message appeared on the screen. Very well done. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy as our story unfolds. And Watson, enjoy your date.

As soon as he finished reading the message, John was confused. His eyebrows furrowed.

‘Date? What date?’ Anderson asked, also confused by the words on the screen.

Just then, John let out a heavy breath. His eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. ‘Oh, come on!’ he shouted.

‘What? What is it, John?’ Molly asked, suddenly very concerned.

John slouched in his seat, elbow on his knee and head propped up on his hand. His forehead rubbed over his palm, as if he was trying to erase a thought from his mind. ‘Just keep watching,’ he said. ‘This is only our first case, and already…argh! Why does it keep happening?’

The others gave him varying looks of concern – all but Mycroft. Of course, the elder Holmes brother knew exactly what was going on. The clues were so easy for him to read, he knew exactly what was going to happen. Though, he’d watched it all happen before. Keeping tabs on his little brother was something that he’d begun to do before John had even come into the picture.

Chapter Text

‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to listen,’ Mycroft said, leaning back in his seat.

‘Listen to what?’ Anderson asked.

‘The person responsible for this. They said to sit back and watch as it unfolds. The breaks in between are just for us to discuss what we have seen, but then we are expected to return to watching,’ Lestrade explained.

‘Well, then we’d better get a move on!’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘It’s starting again.’ She pointed to the screen.

[…] John comes through the door, then stops and stares as Sherlock repeatedly clenches and unclenches his left fist.

‘Is he doing what I think he’s doing?’ Molly asked, concern edging in her voice.

JOHN: What are you doing?

SHERLOCK (calmly): Nicotine patch. Helps me think.

‘Well at least he’s not stinking up the place with a cigarette.’ Mrs Hudson sniffs.

He lifts his right hand to show that he has three round nicotine patches stuck to his arm and it was these which he was pressing against his skin to release the substances more quickly.

‘Wait. Are there three of them?’ Anderson asked, nearly jumping out of his seat.

SHERLOCK: Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.

He loudly clicks the ‘k’ on the last word.

JOHN (walking further into the room): It’s good news for breathing.

‘You don’t know Sherlock at all if you think that’s going to matter to him,’ Lestrade said with a slight chuckle, though there was an undertone of annoyance in his words.

SHERLOCK (dismissively): Oh, breathing. Breathing’s boring.

Nearly everyone was shocked. There were no words to respond to that.

John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock’s arm.

JOHN: Is that three patches?

‘The bloody bastard only showed me one!’ Lestrade cried in outrage.

SHERLOCK (pressing his hands together in the prayer position under his chin): It’s a three-patch problem.

Molly looked worried. ‘God. How many do you think he used when facing Moriarty?’

[…] JOHN: You asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important.

‘Now that I know the man better, I know that his priorities are all messed up. This is nothing,’ John said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?

‘His phone? All he needed was his phone? Really?’ Anderson asked.

Everyone turned to John, questioning looks on their faces. He just shrugged.

[…] JOHN: Mrs Hudson’s got a phone.

SHERLOCK: Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn’t hear.

‘Well, he should’ve shouted louder. I would’ve happily let him borrow my phone if it meant that he wasn’t sending poor John around all of London like his dogsbody,’ Mrs Hudson said with a huff.

[…] Sherlock slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again, this time with the phone in between his palms. John turns and walks a few paces away before turning around again.

‘What’s the freak doing?’

No one answered the police sergeant’s question, though they did glower at her for her use of the word ‘freak’ once more. It did nothing.

JOHN: So, what’s this about – the case?

SHERLOCK (softly): Her case.

‘The pink case? He found it?’ Anderson asked.

‘Of course he found it, it was at his loft when we searched it, wasn’t it? He must’ve figured out where the murderer stashed it and that’s why he ran off,’ Lestrade replied.

‘Or he had it the whole time because he was the murderer,’ Donovan grumbled. She was still set in her ways despite the hateful looks sent at her.

[…] SHERLOCK: On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.

John half-smiles in angry disbelief.

JOHN (tightly): You brought me here … to send a text.

‘What do you expect, though? It’s Sherlock Homes,’ John said, his eyes downcast and his shoulders sagging a little in his grief.

[…] JOHN: Just met a friend of yours.

Sherlock frowns in confusion.

SHERLOCK: A friend?

‘Of course he’d be confused. Who would want to be friends with a freak?’

JOHN: An enemy.

Sherlock immediately relaxes.

SHERLOCK (calmly): Oh. Which one?

‘If this were anyone else, I’d be worried, but by now, I’ve gotten used to Sherlock’s unique quirks,’ John stated.

JOHN: Your arch-enemy, according to him. (He turns towards Sherlock.) Do people have arch-enemies?

Sherlock looks towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

‘I bet he knows exactly who talked to John. You can see it in his eyes,’ Lestrade said with a slight chuckle.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft agreed. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

SHERLOCK: Did he offer you money to spy on me?

JOHN: Yes.

‘Why else would he take time out of his busy day to bring John to a scary, remote location at night by means of a public telephone and the manipulation of street cameras?’ Molly asked sarcastically.

A few chuckles were heard throughout the room in response to her question.

SHERLOCK: Did you take it?

JOHN: No.

SHERLOCK: Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time.

JOHN: Who is he?

‘No one, just the older brother of a known psychopath. Nope. No one at all,’ Donovan grumbled.

‘Actually, he’s the older brother of a known sociopath. Get it right,’ John argued.

[…] JOHN: Jennifer Wilson. That was … Hang on. Wasn’t that the dead woman?

SHERLOCK: Yes. That’s not important. Just enter the number.

‘Does anyone else miss how Sherlock could make John do anything he wanted, all the while leaving John very confused yet still compliant?’ Lestrade asked. There was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke.

‘What do you mean?’ John asked.

‘It’s all over the screen, mate,’ Lestrade replied. ‘You have no idea what is going on but you’re still doing what Sherlock is asking you to do.’

‘Whipped,’ Donovan muttered.

[…] John has got as far as:

*

What happened at

Lauriston Gdns?

I must have b

*

Now he looks across to Sherlock again, frowning.

JOHN: You blacked out?

‘Of course not. You’re obviously texting him under the guise of the late Jennifer Wilson. She is the one you want the murderer to think blacked out,’ Mycroft pointed out.

‘Well, I know that now!’ John replied. ‘By then, I still wasn’t used to whatever Sherlock thought was normal!’

[…] JOHN: What’s the address?

SHERLOCK (impatiently): Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!

‘But he just said there was no rush! Now that he has to actually stand up he’s in a hurry. That’s just like Sherlock.’

[…] JOHN: That’s … that’s the pink lady’s case. That’s Jennifer Wilson’s case.

‘How did he get it, though?’ Anderson asked.

‘I’d say he knew where to look,’ Lestrade answered.

[…] JOHN: Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?

‘Why not? We have enough reason to,’ Donovan muttered.

[…] SHERLOCK: […] I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens …

Cutaway shot of Sherlock standing on the edge of a rooftop looking down into the streets below as he searches for a glimpse of anywhere the case might have been hidden.

Everyone in the room flinched at the familiarity of the scene. It was just too soon.

SHERLOCK: … and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed.

Cutaway shot of Sherlock back on the ground and rooting through a large skip in an alley before unearthing the case buried under some black plastic, then checking the luggage label attached to the handle.

‘Of course. Now, it’s so obvious that the cabbie was the murderer. He has a car, and it would be unusual for sure for a man – a cabbie especially – to have a bright pink suitcase if he were to pick up anyone else. Why didn’t we see it?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Because, in the famous words of Sherlock Holmes, “you see, but you do not observe”,’ John replied.

[…] SHERLOCK: Because you’re an idiot.

John looks across to him, startled. Sherlock makes a placatory gesture with one hand.

SHERLOCK: No, no, no, don’t look like that. Practically everyone is.

‘Well sorry that we can’t all be freaks like you!’ Donovan yelled at the screen.

At this point, no one even glared. She wouldn’t change unless she got proof that turned her whole world on its head.

[…] JOHN: Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?

As if on cue, his phone begins to ring. He picks it up and looks at the screen for the Caller I.D. It reads:

*

(withheld)

calling

*

He looks across to Sherlock as the phone continues to ring.

‘Oh,’ Lestrade said, ‘I get it.’

‘What?’ Anderson asked, turning to his boss.

‘He had John text the murderer with a phone that wouldn’t be recognised so that the murderer would get the message, thinking that the woman he’d just killed was still alive. That would make anyone panic. A perfect way to flush him out,’ Lestrade explained.

SHERLOCK: A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they’d ignore a text like that, but the murderer …

He pauses dramatically for a moment until the phone stops ringing.

SHERLOCK: … would panic.

Lestrade had a proud smile on his face as he realised he’d just figured out what Sherlock had planned. It took him a while, but he got there, showing off how he’d gotten to be a police detective in the first place.

[…] SHERLOCK: Mrs Hudson took my skull.

JOHN: So, I’m basically filling in for your skull?

SHERLOCK (putting on his coat): Relax, you’re doing fine.

‘It’s funny how Sherlock thinks that John is worried about his acting as a replacement for a skull, instead of being concerned about how he’d gotten in that position in the first place,’ Molly pointed out.

[…] JOHN: Yeah, Sergeant Donovan.

SHERLOCK (looking away in exasperation): What about her?

JOHN: She said … You get off on this. You enjoy it.

‘It kind of looks that way, doesn’t it?’ Donovan asked, trying to prove her point.

‘At least he’s not like Moriarty. Sherlock enjoys solving the case. Moriarty was the one dropping the bodies,’ John replied harshly.

‘For the last time, Moriarty never existed!’ Donovan yelled.

SHERLOCK (nonchalantly): And I said ‘dangerous,’ and here you are.

Instantly he turns and walks out of the door. John sits there thoughtfully for a few seconds, then almost angrily leans onto his cane to push himself to his feet and head for the door.

JOHN: Damn it!

‘Your only answer because you know he’s right,’ Lestrade whispered to John.

‘Of course, I am. And of course, he’s right!’ John replied, whispering furiously. ‘He’s almost always right.’

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, John: it needs an audience.

‘Obviously, he’s speaking from experience,’ Anderson said, though his tone was light-hearted rather than scornful.

[…] SHERLOCK: Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?

‘All he’s missing is one final clue,’ Lestrade said. ‘I have to say, I’m enjoying being the one who knows the answers for once and looking back to watch how Sherlock actually figures things out on his cases.’

‘I guess that’s why we’re here. To learn that Sherlock isn’t a fraud? He figures things out just like everyone else, just faster?’ John replied.

JOHN: Dunno. Who?

SHERLOCK (shrugging): Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?

Lowering his hands, he leads John onwards and into a small restaurant. The waiter near the door clearly knows him and gestures to a reserved table at the front window.

‘Oh! That is why the mysterious person said enjoy your date! Because almost everyone thinks that you two are dating!’ Anderson said.

‘Exactly!’ John shouted back, ‘But we aren’t!’

[…] As Billy takes the ‘Reserved’ sign off the table, John sits down on the other bench seat with his back to the window and takes off his jacket.

‘If that table was reserved, did Sherlock plan to take you out to dinner?’ Anderson asked, turning away from the screen to stare at John.

John shrugged. ‘He probably just planned to go to that restaurant as a cover to watch the address that he sent to the murderer,’ he replied.

[…] JOHN: He isn’t just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He’d need to be mad.

SHERLOCK: He has killed four people.

‘He does have a good point,’ Molly said.

[…] ANGELO: Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free.

‘Huh? Why does the freak get free food at this place?’ Donovan asked. Her eyebrow was raised questioningly.

[…] ANGELO: On the house, for you and for your date.

‘Has anyone kept count on how many people have thought that Sherlock and John are dating? Because I think it’s almost everyone that they’ve met so far except for Mike and Molly,’ Lestrade said.

[…] ANGELO (to John): He cleared my name.

‘Technically he just cleared Angelo’s name for a crime, using a lesser crime as an alibi,’ Lestrade pointed out.

[…] ANGELO (to John): I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.

JOHN (indignantly, as Angelo walks away): I’m not his date!

‘Why is everyone so adamant that Sherlock and I were together? We weren’t! I was just a guy that helped him pay rent and that he dragged along on his adventures!’

‘You’re still in denial, John, but it’s understandable, so soon after Sherlock…fell,’ Mrs Hudson soothed him.

[…] JOHN (a little tetchily): Thanks!

#

[…] JOHN: In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.

SHERLOCK (disinterestedly, looking out of the window again): Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.

At the words that were just so Sherlock, everyone watching took in sharp intakes of breath.

[…] JOHN: Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like … Girlfriends, boyfriends …

‘Oh, God,’ John groaned, knowing what was coming next.

[…] SHERLOCK (still looking out of the window): Girlfriend? No, not really my area.

‘Of course not, but when he says it like that, it almost implies something else,’ Anderson pointed out.

[…] JOHN: Oh, right. D’you have a boyfriend?

‘See?’ Anderson asked, pointing to the screen. ‘John gets it!’

‘Unfortunately, Sherlock thinks he’s asking something else,’ Molly said with a small smile as she hid her mouth behind her hand, struggling to hold in a laugh at the boys’ predicament.

[…] Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment but then turns his attention out of the window again. However, he then appears to replay John’s statement in his head and looks a little startled. Turning his head towards John again, he starts speaking rather awkwardly but rapidly speeds up and is almost babbling by the time John interrupts him.

SHERLOCK: John, um … I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any …

‘Good going, John, now even the freak thinks you’re coming onto him!’ Donovan said.

John scowled.

JOHN (interrupting): No. (He turns his head briefly to clear his throat.) No, I’m not asking. No.

He fixes his gaze onto Sherlock’s, apparently trying to convey his sincerity.

JOHN: I’m just saying, it’s all fine.

Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then nods.

SHERLOCK: Good. Thank you.

‘That was an awkward conversation if I ever saw any,’ Lestrade said with a chuckle. ‘Goes to show you that Sherlock is capable of having normal human interaction, the good and the bad.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Don’t stare.

JOHN (looking round at him): You’re staring.

SHERLOCK: We can’t both stare.

Getting to his feet, he grabs his coat and scarf and heads for the door. John picks up his own jacket and follows … completely forgetting to take his walking cane with him.

‘What?’ Anderson cried out.

‘Is that when you realised how to get rid of the psychosomatic limp?’ Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. ‘Sort of, yeah. Sherlock seemed to have had the whole thing planned. He never really waited for me whenever I did walk, so it seems that he cured me more than that therapist ever did.’

‘I told you she was rotten at her job,’ Mycroft pointed out softly.

Looking back to the screen, the group noticed that it had abruptly turned off once again. More words glowed on the black background, I hope you enjoyed your date, John.

‘For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t a date!’

‘Sure, it wasn’t, John,’ Lestrade said sarcastically, though in a teasing manner. ‘It was just two men going out for dinner, with romantic lighting, talking about boyfriends, and then they both run out of the restaurant to chase a murderer. How isn’t that a date?’

John gave him a sideways look. ‘I see that we’ll have to give you a refresher about what a date is supposed to look like.’

Lestrade gave him the same look right back. ‘It seems we’ll have to give you a refresher on what it’s like to hang out with Sherlock. For him, that was practically a date. Too bad you didn’t catch the guy.’

‘Yeah,’ John said, ‘it is too bad that we didn’t catch the cabbie right away, but at least something else comes from it.’

‘Really?’ Molly asked, ‘And what was that?’ She seemed generally interested in what could’ve come from chasing a cabbie all around London and not even catching their murderer. It was quite impractical, in her opinion.

[…] Sherlock immediately heads towards it without bothering to check the road that he’s running into and is almost run over by a car coming from his left. The driver slams on the brakes and stops the car but Sherlock, always keen to take the quickest route, allows his forward impetus to carry him onto the top of the bonnet. He rolls over the bonnet, lands on his feet on the other side and then runs after the taxi. As the driver of the car angrily sounds his horn, John puts one hand on the bonnet and vaults over the front of the car, apologising to the driver as he goes.

JOHN: Sorry.

‘Oh, John, apologising to those idiots as you chase a murderer,’ Mrs Hudson muttered.

[…] JOHN: I’ve got the cab number.

SHERLOCK: Good for you.

‘Give him a break, Sherlock; he’s just trying to be helpful,’ Lestrade grumbled under his breath, eyes fixated on the screen as he saw the late detective and his partner in stopping crime run through the streets of London.

He brings his hands up to either side of his head and concentrates, calling up a mental map of the local area and overlaying it with images of the streets along the route which he calculates that the taxi must take.

‘The freak can do that, too?’ Donovan asked, her eyes wide.

‘His memory is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, I think that’s how he can memorise the routes of London like that,’ John explained, not even bothering to correct Donovan’s vulgar description of his friend for the umpteenth time.

[…] John hurries after Sherlock, raising an apologetic hand to the man as he goes.

JOHN: Sorry.

‘Oh, John, still apologising,’ Mrs Hudson said.

The two of them race up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape staircase leading to the roof. Sherlock takes the steps two or even three at a time and John struggles to keep up with him as he scurries up behind him.

‘Does anyone else love how cute John’s run is compared to Sherlock’s lanky strides?’ Lestrade asked as he let out a laugh.

A few chuckles arose from the audience, though John grumbled and crossed his arms.

[…] Sherlock turns the corner and races down the last part of the alley, only to see the taxi drive past the end, heading to the left.

‘Well, that had some significance to it. If you hurry, you can still catch him, John,’ Molly observed.

[…] They head down more alleyways and side streets towards the interception point in Wardour Street and finally, at the precise point which his mental map predicted, Sherlock races out of a side street and hurls himself into the path of the approaching cab, which screeches to a halt as he crashes hard into the bonnet. Scrabbling in his left coat pocket, Sherlock pulls out an I.D. badge and flashes it at the driver as he runs to the right-hand side of the cab.

‘Wait,’ Donovan said, ‘Where did the freak get an I.D. badge? He doesn’t even work for the force!’

She and Anderson turned to Lestrade, who shrugged. Then, the three Yarders turned to John, who said, ‘It’ll be explained in the video. I asked Sherlock the same things shortly after the cab drove away.’

SHERLOCK: Police! Open her up!

Panting heavily, he tugs open the rear door and stares in at the passenger, who looks back at him anxiously. Instantly Sherlock straightens up in exasperation just as John joins him.

SHERLOCK: No.

‘Huh? What’s he doing?’ Anderson asked.

He leans down again to look at the passenger a second time.

‘He’s doing the weird thing again, isn’t he?’ Donovan spoke up, raising an eyebrow at the screen. ‘The thing where he sees helpful words floating in the air?’

‘You mean when he is observing something or someone and his brain figures out almost everything about them?’ John replied in question-form.

Donovan scowled.

[…] SHERLOCK (to the passenger): It’s probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?

‘If I was that man, I’d be a lot more perturbed by a policeman chasing after my cabbie like that,’ Molly commented.

‘I dunno,’ John said, ‘he seemed perturbed enough for me.’

PASSENGER: Sorry – are you guys the police?

SHERLOCK: Yeah. (He flashes the I.D. badge briefly at the man.) Everything all right?

PASSENGER (smiling): Yeah.

‘He’s going to leave there thinking poorly of London’s policemen for the rest of his life. Good going, Sherlock,’ Lestrade grumbled.

[…] JOHN: Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.

SHERLOCK: Basically.

JOHN: Not the murderer.

‘Actually, it was the murderer, boys, but you didn’t look hard enough,’ Mrs Hudson said disapprovingly.

John shrugged. ‘We didn’t know that at the time. Like Sherlock told me after it happened, “everyone overlooks the cabbie”.’

‘I bet he never overlooked anyone like that ever again,’ Lestrade remarked.

‘You’d have that right.’

[…] JOHN: Right. (He looks at the name on the card.) Detective Inspector Lestrade?

SHERLOCK: Yeah. I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty at the flat.

‘So that’s where my cards keep going! I thought I was just forgetful!’ Lestrade cried out suddenly. ‘I should’ve known!’

The two other Yarders just stare at their boss with incredulity in their eyes. How could he not have thought of that? If it were either of them, Sherlock Holmes would’ve been the first person on the suspect list.

John nods, then looks down at the card again before lifting his head and giggling silently.

The present John also laughed, hiding it very poorly beneath his hands.

‘You think that’s funny, do you?’ Lestrade asked, eyeing John out of the corner of his eye.

‘A little, yeah. It reminds me of Sherlock’s antics.’

SHERLOCK: What?

JOHN: Nothing, just: ‘Welcome to London.’

Sherlock chuckles, then looks down the road to where a police officer has apparently gone to investigate why the cab has stopped in the middle of the road. The passenger has got out and is pointing down the road towards the boys.

‘You got the freak to laugh?’ Donovan shouted. ‘How is that even possible?’

‘You mean he doesn’t laugh normally? He does all the time with me and Mrs Hudson. That was just the first of many,’ John replied, though his tone was slightly sarcastic during his first sentence.

SHERLOCK (to John): Got your breath back?

JOHN: Ready when you are.

They turn and run off down the road.

#

221B. The boys have arrived back and walk along the hallway, breathing heavily. John hangs his jacket on a hook on the wall while Sherlock drapes his coat over the bottom of the bannisters.

‘I assume this is when you came back, and we were inside?’ Lestrade asked.

John nodded.

[…] JOHN: That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.

SHERLOCK: And you invaded Afghanistan.

John giggles and after a moment Sherlock also begins to laugh.

‘I’m impressed, Watson. You got my brother to laugh twice in a…what? Twenty-minute span? I knew I picked the right person the moment I saw you, and this video footage is just adding more and more proof to that,’ Mycroft said.

‘How do we even know any of this even happened? I mean, how could this mysterious person have all this footage in the first place?’ Donovan asked, eyeing the screen suspiciously. On it, John and Sherlock were still laughing.

JOHN: That wasn’t just me.

Sherlock chuckles.

‘Well, seeing as one of us six is always in the shot throughout, we can testify that it’s true. The extra stuff, like Sherlock’s imaginary words, well, I think we can safely assume that it’s just there to help us understand more of what is going on. I mean, the whole point of this is to prove Sherlock innocent of creating that villain Moriarty, right?’ John inquired, turning to the three Yarders in question, as they were the ones he was sure needed the convincing. Though…he, Molly, Mycroft, and Mrs Hudson all knew that Sherlock was innocent, so why were they all there, too, if that was the point?

As if reading his thoughts, Mycroft said, ‘John, I believe that whomever our captor is, there is a lot more than just proving my brother’s innocence that they want us to learn. I speak for myself when I say I know how my brother thinks, but for the rest of you, I cannot say the same. Maybe this person thinks that should be changed.’

‘But why us, though? I mean, the six of us were chosen for a reason, so what could that be?’

Mycroft’s face held a smile that John had seen many times before. ‘I don’t know, but I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out.’

John wasn’t buying it; the tone that Mycroft used was a familiar one. It was one that he used when he knew something that no one else did, and as often as that was, this time, John knew that it was about exactly what they were talking about.

JOHN: Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?

SHERLOCK (becoming more serious and waving his hand dismissively): Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.

JOHN: So, what were we doing there?

‘Sherlock was taking you out on a date, obviously,’ Molly grumbled. Not according to her, of course – because she’d never allow herself to think of Sherlock with another person – but at least, that was what almost everyone else in the room was thinking, including the mystery person who brought them here.

Sherlock clears his throat.

SHERLOCK: Oh, just passing the time.

He looks at John.

SHERLOCK: And proving a point.

‘What point?’ Lestrade asked.

JOHN: What point?

‘Ha!’ Anderson said in a burst of laughter, clearly amused by the coincidence that had just happened. Mycroft smiled thinly; what a simple man. No wonder his brother often spoke poorly of him.

[…] JOHN: Says who?

SHERLOCK (looking towards the front door): Says the man at the door.

‘Seriously? How does he do that?’ Donovan asked.

‘Hopefully by the end of this, we’ll understand. I mean, it’s only our first case together,’ John replied.

‘Does anyone else realise how much Sherlock has to assume for his theories to work? He has a lot of evidence, for sure, and a lot of knowledge about things that helps him put those clues together, but just like how he knew John had a sibling, but not a sister, he assumed that ‘Harry’ was his brother based on the name, and not just a woman with a wife and a nickname that could also be a man’s name,’ Molly pointed out.

‘I guess that’s true…’ John said slowly, his voice trailing off towards the end.

[…] ANGELO: Sherlock texted me.

Smiling, he holds up John’s walking cane.

‘Oh, right! John just ran halfway across London without his cane because he was following Sherlock!’ Anderson bellowed loudly.

‘And he was proving his point that John’s limp was psychosomatic because, when he wasn’t thinking about it, it wasn’t there,’ Lestrade finished.

[…] SHERLOCK: Well, what do you call this then?

LESTRADE (looking round at his officers before looking back to Sherlock innocently): It’s a Drugs Bust.

JOHN: Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!

‘Oh, sweet, innocent John. What else could he be? With a brain like that, he’d get bored so easily. The cases just help him, but the rest of the time, he turns to drugs for an escape from the world,’ Lestrade said sadly.

‘I know that now, but back then, I thought the cases would be enough, especially after what Donovan said to me about him ‘getting off’ on the crimes,’ John replied. ‘Just be lucky that he doesn’t turn to murder, like some people,’ he said, hinting heavily towards one person who was not with them in the theatre room.

[…] JOHN: You?

SHERLOCK (angrily): Shut up!

He turns back to Lestrade.

SHERLOCK: I’m not your sniffer dog.

‘Technically, he is. He does sniff the bodies after all, and then he runs off and finds the murderer. Isn’t that what a sniffer dog does?’ Donovan questioned sarcastically.

[…] SHERLOCK (angrily): Anderson, what are you doing here on a Drugs Bust?

‘That’s true. A Drugs Bust would be below your paygrade, usually,’ Molly said.

[…] Donovan comes into view from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it.

DONOVAN: Are these human eyes?

Mrs Hudson sighed, shaking her head. It wasn’t even surprising at this point.

SHERLOCK: Put those back!

DONOVAN: They were in the microwave!

Molly seemed terrified for a moment, though she wasn’t surprised either. Did Sherlock do that with all the specimens she sent to him?

[…] SHERLOCK (pacing angrily): This is childish.

LESTRADE: Well, I’m dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?

‘Touché,’ John said, ‘Sherlock is basically a huge child in an adult body when you think about it. A clever child, but still a child.’

SHERLOCK (stopping and glaring at him): Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend Drugs Bust to bully me?

LESTRADE: It stops being pretend if they find anything.

SHERLOCK (loudly): I am clean!

‘If he’s clean, why is he getting so worked up? He knows what Lestrade has to do for his job, so what’s the problem?’ Donovan asked.

[…] ANDERSON: Never mind that. We found the case. (He points to the pink suitcase in the living room.) According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.

‘Correction, it was with the murderer, until said sociopath found it and brought it back to his flat as evidence to help him solve the murder, as was your job,’ John said venomously.

[…] SHERLOCK: You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.

LESTRADE: She’s dead.

SHERLOCK: Excellent!

John looks startled.

‘Obviously. Who is thrilled to hear that someone is dead?’ Donovan grumbled.

[…] JOHN: You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he … I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.

SHERLOCK (stopping and turning to him): Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?

‘He did warn you that he was a sociopath. How can you now be confused as to the fact that he doesn’t understand feelings the way you do?’ Molly asked, raising an eyebrow at the three Yarders in the room.

John stares at him. Sherlock hesitates as he realises that everyone in the flat has stopped what they’re doing and has fallen silent. He glances around the room and then looks awkwardly at John.

SHERLOCK: Not good?

‘Isn’t it sweet that Sherlock asks John? He seems so worried,’ Mrs Hudson gushed. ‘See, this is what I’m talking about: true love.’

‘I don’t know what Mrs Hudson is saying, but she’s right about one thing: I’m surprised that Sherlock was able to read the mood of the room enough to realise that what he said was wrong on some level,’ Lestrade commented.

[…] SHERLOCK: Yeah, but if you were dying … if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?

JOHN: ‘Please, God, let me live.’

SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, use your imagination!

JOHN: I don’t have to.

Sherlock seems to recognise the look of pain in John’s face. He pauses momentarily and blinks a couple of times, shifting his feet apologetically before continuing.

‘Oh, I get it now,’ Anderson said. ‘In the moment, I didn’t know what you meant by that, but you really did, didn’t you? As a soldier and everything?’

John remained silent, but the expression on his face gave the forensic scientist his answer.

[…] Mrs Hudson comes to the door of the living room.

MRS HUDSON: Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.

Every eye in the room widened as they remembered what had happened next. Why hadn’t they seen it earlier?

[…] LESTRADE: Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.

‘I bet he just loved that,’ Molly muttered to Mrs Hudson.

[…] Sherlock stops and looks around as he finally realises something.

SHERLOCK: Oh.

‘Does anyone else still find it unsettling when he does – did – that?’ John asked.

[…] LESTRADE: But how?

SHERLOCK (stopping and staring at him): Wha…? What do you mean, how?

‘When I say “how”, I mean “how”. He thinks that just because he’s figured it out that everyone else can just follow along,’ the inspector said.

‘Well, we’re following along now, but this time, we’re the ones that are one step ahead,’ Anderson remarked.

‘It’s just because we know how it ends. It’s not as interesting that way, but I admit that finding out every detail to it in time with Sherlock is intriguing to say the least,’ Molly piped up.

There were a few nods of agreement to her statement from the soldier, the inspector, the landlady, and the scientist.

Lestrade shrugs.

SHERLOCK: Rachel!

‘When he does that, I can really believe that he’s a raving lunatic, but it’s just him not understanding how we can’t piece things together like him,’ Lestrade said.

[…] LESTRADE: Unless he got rid of it.

JOHN: We know he didn’t.

Sherlock looks at the screen impatiently.

SHERLOCK: Come on, come on. Quickly!

‘Too bad technology doesn’t work as fast as his brain,’ Anderson grumbled.

Mrs Hudson trots up the stairs and comes to the door again.

MRS HUDSON: Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver …

‘Now I’m feeling antsy,’ John said, gripping at his receding hair. ‘How come we didn’t just notice it! All the clues were there!’

[…] On the computer, a map has appeared and is now zooming in on the location of the phone.

JOHN: Sherlock …

‘The suspense is nearly killing me! Hurry it up already!’ Donovan shouted at the TV.

[…] JOHN: It’s here. It’s in 221 Baker Street.

SHERLOCK (straightening up): How can it be here? How?

LESTRADE: Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.

‘Inspector that is the worst thing to say to my brother,’ Mycroft said with an unsympathetic chuckle.

[…] Sherlock tunes him out as he begins to remember questions he asked to John earlier.

SHERLOCK (voiceover): ‘Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?’

‘And, finally, he’s realising it. Everything is falling into place in his head, just like in one of those mystery novels you’d read,’ Molly said, nodding and gesturing with her arms at the screen.

[…] SHERLOCK (voiceover): ‘Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?’

Sherlock stands lost in thought in the flat.

Lestrade sighed. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t notice that look on his face. Now, it’s obvious that he’s figured it out, but back then, we were so focused on finding the phone in the flat that we didn’t follow him outside and we let him walk right into a trap.’

[…] JOHN: Sherlock, you okay?

SHERLOCK (vaguely, watching the man go): What? Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine.

JOHN: So, how can the phone be here?

SHERLOCK (still watching the taxi driver): Dunno.

‘How?’ John shouted, thoroughly disappointed in himself. ‘How did I not see that?’

‘It’s alright, John. It isn’t your fault,’ Molly said. She put a hand on John’s arm to calm him. ‘You didn’t know him well enough at that point to realise that something was wrong.’

[…] JOHN: You sure you’re all right?

SHERLOCK (hurrying down the stairs): I’m fine.

‘I should have followed him. No one does that and is actually fine,’ John groaned, beating himself up about his past self’s idiotic actions that almost led to the death of his now best friend. Well, deceased best friend. His heart clenched at the thought of the sleek black gravestone that he and Mrs Hudson had just been to. Hopefully, these videos would also help him reminisce and give him some closure about Sherlock’s death.

‘Well, it seems like the video is paused again. There should be about…what? One or two more after this, if my memory serves me. Each session has been about the same amount of time, so two more would be enough for us to see what the murder does with Sherlock that got him to almost take that pill,’ John said. He remembered vividly seeing Sherlock through the window of that building, holding the pill to his mouth as he prepared to ingest it and most likely die, like the four people before him. He shuddered in his seat.

‘Yeah, I really want to know, too,’ Lestrade commented.

Looking back at the screen, they saw that it was black, and there was a message. Don’t worry, all your questions will be answered momentarily. For now, relax, and enjoy a bit of a break from the chaos. After this first case, we’ll go on to the next one.

‘What’s the next one, according to you?’ John asked, raising his eyes to the ceiling, looking once again for cameras, as it felt better than talking directly to the television.

The words on the screen changed, You’ll see. Let’s continue, shall we?

And then, the words disappeared, and once again, they were watching.

Chapter Text

‘I can’t wait to see what the next case will be. And…I guess I’d also like to find out who was the one that shot the cabbie in the first place. I wonder if we’ll find out,’ Lestrade said.

‘Shh!’ Anderson suddenly said. ‘It’s starting again!’

[…] SHERLOCK: I didn’t order a taxi.

JEFF: Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.

‘He’s already home and doesn’t have anywhere to go. Why would he need a taxi?’ John asked rhetorically.

SHERLOCK: You’re the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street.

‘And now, I guess we’re watching Sherlock finally put all the puzzle pieces together,’ Molly said. ‘You know, when we started this, I didn’t think it would be interesting, since we were all there anyway, but I’m starting to rethink my earlier conclusion.’

[…] SHERLOCK: It was you, not your passenger.

JEFF: See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ’ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.

‘What is wrong with this guy?’ Donovan demanded. ‘He’s even worse than the freak!’

[…] SHERLOCK: Is this a confession?

JEFF: Oh, yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.

‘What?’ The Yarders cried in shock.

‘He was right there, and Sherlock didn’t hand him in to us? Why?’ Lestrade demanded.

SHERLOCK: Why?

JEFF: ’Cause you’re not gonna do that.

‘He’s not?’ Anderson asked.

SHERLOCK: Am I not?

JEFF: I didn’t kill those four people, Mr ’olmes. I spoke to ’em … and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing.

He leans forward.

JEFF: I will never tell you what I said.

‘Well, bugger. The cabbie knows exactly what to say to get Sherlock to follow him and not hand him in to the police. He did that on purpose. No wonder he was so calm,’ John said as he threw his hands up into the air with a sigh of frustration.

Sherlock stares at him. After a moment, Jeff straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab.

SHERLOCK: No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.

‘Wow, even back then, Sherlock knew what result we were looking for,’ Lestrade said.

‘Too bad his curiosity got the better of him,’ John grumbled, now crossing his arms.

‘Well, dear, you can’t expect him to be a proper human all the time!’ Mrs Hudson scolded. John’s eyebrows shot up at Mrs Hudson’s claim until he just shook his head in resignation.

Jeff stops and turns back towards him.

JEFF: An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?

‘The one where he finds the truth. Always,’ Mycroft said.

[…] SHERLOCK: So, you can kill me too?

JEFF: I don’t wanna kill you, Mr ’olmes. I’m gonna talk to yer … and then you’re gonna kill yourself.

‘Is it strange that I sometimes wondered what it would have taken to say to Sherlock that would’ve gotten him to kill himself?’ Anderson asked. ‘Just…you know…hypothetically speaking?’

John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade glared at him. ‘Well, you found that out, didn’t you?’ Lestrade asked.

Anderson’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He means that we found out what it would take to get the freak to off himself. We told everyone the truth about him and he couldn’t live with his fraud being exposed,’ Donovan replied in a gruff tone.

Suddenly, John was out of his seat, tackling Sally out of her seat as well. He had her on the ground, hands at her throat as he attempted to strangle her. ‘You stop saying that about him right now! Sherlock wasn’t a fraud! How many times do we have to say it? How much more proof do you need?’ he demanded.

It took the combined strength of Lestrade, Mycroft, and Anderson to pull the short army doctor off the police sergeant, but not before he’d choked her long enough for bruises to begin forming. The sergeant was back in her seat in a matter of minutes, her breathing ragged and her heart racing, but otherwise unharmed. John, as well, was back in his seat, under the watchful eye of the DI and the forensic scientist. He was still seething, his face red with blood.

They all turned their attention back to the television, which had conveniently paused for the spat to take place.

[…] JOHN: He just got in a cab.

He turns to Lestrade.

JOHN: It’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab.

John groaned. ‘Now I know how Sherlock feels. No wonder he’s so angry at us when we don’t understand what’s going on as quickly as he does!’

[…] DONOVAN: Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he’s just a lunatic, and he’ll always let you down, and you’re wasting your time. All our time.

Lestrade stares at her for a long moment as she holds his gaze, then he sighs.

LESTRADE (loudly): Okay, everybody. Done ’ere.

‘And so, your trust in my brother begins to break,’ Mycroft said solemnly.

Lestrade forced himself not to wince at the words.

[…] SHERLOCK: Who warned you about me?

‘I bet it was Moriarty.’ John growled he words out past his clenched teeth.

[…] JEFF: You’ve got yourself a fan.

‘Yep,’ John said, ‘Definitely Moriarty. Only that psychopath would set this up. He’s been behind everything from the very start!’

‘If he has, do you think he set John up to meet Mike, knowing that Mike would suggest them as flatmates?’ Molly asked.

John’s eyes went wide. ‘What…? I don’t know… It just seems too perfect…but why would he want that? Why would he want me to solve crimes with Sherlock?’

Molly shrugged. ‘Who knows? He was a strange man.’

[…] Back at the flat, as the other police officers leave, Lestrade picks up his coat and turns to John.

‘And we’re still at the flat. I can’t believe that we didn’t realise it sooner!’ John shouted, mainly focussing his anger at the television version of himself.

[…] JOHN: So why do you put up with him?

LESTRADE: Because I’m desperate, that’s why.

‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Anderson questioned. He had his eyes closed and was nodding his head in a way that said he wasn’t even asking, merely stating a fact.

[…] SHERLOCK: Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?

JEFF: It’s open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.

‘What a sick-minded man!’ Mrs Hudson cried in indignation.

Molly placed a gentle hand on the landlady’s arm to calm her. Her grip was firm, and Mrs Hudson took the hand in her bony fingers, squeezing tightly as she muttered to herself.

[…] Jeff raises a pistol and points it at Sherlock. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away.

SHERLOCK: Oh, dull.

‘Of course that’s Sherlock’s reaction!’ Molly said, her voice wrought with worry. The scientist in her was saying that he didn’t die here, or even get hurt, but her heart argued greatly against her logic.

[…] He lowers the gun.

JEFF: Don’t need this with you, ’cause you’ll follow me.

He confidently walks away. Sherlock sits for a moment, then grimaces in exasperation at himself as he does just what Jeff predicted and gets out of the cab to follow the man.

‘Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded at the television, though she also sighed as she had expected said action from her tenant.

#

[…] John turns back as the computer beeps repeatedly. Going back to the table and propping his cane against it, he picks up the notebook and looks at the screen, then he turns and takes the notebook with him as he hurries out of the door and down the stairs, once again forgetting to take his cane.

‘Finally!’ John yelled at himself.

#

[…] JEFF: You call that a risk? Nah.

He reaches into the left pocket of his cardigan.

JEFF: This is a risk.

He takes out a small glass bottle with a screw top and puts it onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside. Sherlock looks at it but doesn’t react in any way.

‘There’s the pill,’ Anderson said.

‘The freak’s not actually going to take it, is he?’ Donovan asked.

‘Of course not. This already happened, and he didn’t die,’ Lestrade replied. ‘How could you forget that?’

[…] SHERLOCK: Okay, two bottles. Explain.

JEFF: There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.

‘The cabbie is ‘princess-bride’-ing Sherlock! And he probably didn’t even realise it because he doesn’t stay up to date with his pop culture!’ Anderson exclaimed, pointing at the television screen.

[…] JEFF: I ’aven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine.

Sherlock starts to grin. Now he’s interested.

‘Oh, dear boy,’ Mrs Hudson said with a sigh. ‘I know that look.’

JEFF: I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you don’t.

‘But that’s how he does it, isn’t it? He cheats. He manipulates the victim into choosing the bad bottle. If they choose the good one, he’ll make sure they change their mind,’ Lestrade pointed out.

[…] With his left hand he slides the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulls his hand back and leaves the bottle where it is.

JEFF: Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.

‘Does anyone else imagine Sherlock saying exactly what Vizzini said throughout that one scene in the Princess Bride?’ Anderson asked as the screen froze once again. The person who brought them to the room was obviously anticipating for them to have a conversation about it – or at least say something longer than an offhand comment.

‘Um…not really,’ John replied. ‘Though I haven’t seen the movie in quite some time. If he were to, though, I’m sure it would be hilarious,’ John said, though his tone was slightly flat at the thought of his best friend performing such a funny scene from an American film he most likely hadn’t ever seen.

‘Who are you even talking about?’ Mycroft asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion. Obviously, he hadn’t seen the movie either.

‘He’s a funny little man who is constantly saying “inconceivable!” throughout the entire movie until he dies because he ingested poison during a battle of wits. We could show it to you, if you want, after we get out of here,’ Molly stepped in to explain. Anderson and John nodded along with her description of the man.

‘Throughout that scene, he kept saying reasons as to why he couldn’t choose the wine in front of him, and then doubling back saying another explanation as to why he couldn’t choose the other glass either. In the end, he made his opponent turn his back, switched the glasses, and took the one in front of himself,’ Lestrade explained.

‘As it turned out, they were both poisoned, but Wesley, the other man, had built up a tolerance to that poison, so he didn’t die, but Vizzini did,’ Anderson finished.

After the explanation, the screen unfroze once more to continue.

JOHN (into phone): No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It’s important. It’s an emergency!

The map on the laptop shows the location of Jennifer’s phone again.

JOHN (to the cab driver): Er, left here, please. Left here.

‘Come on, John! Hurry up!’ Molly said to the television. Her heart was racing in her chest, almost as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

[…] JEFF: You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?

‘That’s almost as confusing as Vizzini,’ Anderson said, holding his head and groaning as if he was dizzy.

[…] JEFF: Or maybe God just loves me.

Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him on the table.

SHERLOCK: Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.

‘Of course that’s what he’d think: that the man is wasted as a cabbie. Maybe he’d be better as a cellmate? Huh?’ John asked.

Molly’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘Wait. Don’t you realise what Sherlock is doing? He’s stalling. Do you think he knows that John’s on his way?’

‘I never thought of that!’ Lestrade said. ‘But…John only arrived after we did.’

John has arrived at Roland-Kerr College. As the taxi pulls away, John tucks the notebook into his jacket and looks at the two identical buildings in front of him. Clearly the map isn’t precise enough to indicate exactly where the phone is. After a moment, he makes his choice and heads towards the buildings.

Lestrade stared at the screen, confused. ‘Huh? John, where did you go? When we got there, Sherlock was standing next to the cabbie’s body and you were nowhere to be found.’

John smiled sadly. ‘You’ll see soon enough.’

[…] Jeff nods down to the bottles.

JEFF: Time to play.

SHERLOCK (unfolding his fingers and adopting the prayer position in front of his mouth): Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There’s shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody’s pointed it out to you.

‘Oh! I see what he’s doing, now!’ Molly said. A brilliant smile lit up her face as she watched the screen. She left the others confused as she gave no further explanation.

[…] SHERLOCK: Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts.

‘He’s just having his fun at this point,’ Lestrade grumbled.

[…] SHERLOCK (softly): Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?

JEFF (flatly): Told me what?

Sherlock’s deduction seems to appear beside Jeff’s head:

*

DYING

*

‘And there’s that nonsense again!’ Donovan said.

[…] SHERLOCK (frowning again): And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people.

JEFF: I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave on an aneurism.

‘That’s twisted logic, that is,’ Mrs Hudson said, staring at the screen with worry in her gaze.

[…] SHERLOCK: Surprise me.

Jeff leans forward.

JEFF: I ’ave a sponsor.

‘Moriarty. He’s paying the cabbie to murder people. For what? To make a fun little game for Sherlock? That man really is crazy!’ Lestrade said.

‘You just figured that out?’ John asked incredulously.

[…] SHERLOCK (frowning): Who’d sponsor a serial killer?

JEFF (instantly): Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes?

‘He does have a point,’ Anderson said.

‘And they’re the same person!’ Donovan shouted. ‘Proves my point! The only man to be a fan of the freak would have to be a psychopath! Which, he is.’

‘Oh, what point was that, Sally?’ John asked coldly. ‘I thought you said that Moriarty didn’t actually exist?’

‘Well…he doesn’t. He’s just a character that the freak made up to give him cases. See? The freak’s having fun right now, and he planned it all.’

John threw his hands up once more. ‘So, everything that we’ve been watching – seeing Sherlock as he figures things out – that’s done nothing to convince you otherwise?’ he demanded to know.

Donovan shrugged.

[…] JEFF: Time to choose.

Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other.

‘Come on, Sherlock dear! Stall just a little bit longer! John’s on his way!’ Mrs Hudson cried out.

‘And if not, I’m on my way, too,’ Lestrade mumbled.

Elsewhere in the college, John is running through the corridors.

JOHN (calling out): Sherlock?

He runs from door to door, trying them and peering in through windows.

JOHN: Sherlock!

#

CLASSROOM.

SHERLOCK: What if I don’t choose either? I could just walk out of here.

‘He has a point, but didn’t the old man pull out a pistol earlier?’

Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff lifts the pistol and points it at Sherlock.

JEFF: You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the ’ead.

Sherlock smiles calmly.

JEFF: Funnily enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option.

SHERLOCK: I’ll have the gun, please.

‘What? Sherlock, what are you doing? Take the chance! If he shoots you, you definitely won’t live!’ Anderson said.

JEFF: Are you sure?

‘Now, he’s attempting to get my brother to change his mind. A horrible task if you ask me. Once Sherlock’s got an idea in his head, it’s nearly impossible to get him to say otherwise,’ Mycroft said with an almost unnoticeable groan. There was an exasperated tone in his voice.

[…] Sherlock smiles smugly.

SHERLOCK: I know a real gun when I see one.

‘At least there’s a pro to that,’ Lestrade vocalised.

[…] Jeff puts the gun onto the desk and calmly turns in his seat.

JEFF: Just before you go, did you figure it out …

Lestrade nodded at the screen, though he looked displeased. ‘Ah, here it is. The proper genius. The one who convinced Sherlock to nearly take the pill.’

[…] In the classroom, Jeff has opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely while Sherlock examines his own bottle.

JEFF: So what d’you think?

He looks up at Sherlock.

JEFF: Shall we?

‘See? He just got Sherlock to play the game, even though he had the power to just walk out. Damn his need for excitement!’ John bellowed, his anger apparent.

Everyone else watched in horror at the scene before them. Not moving, not speaking, just watching.

[…] John bursts through a door and stares ahead of him as he finally sees who he’s looking for. His eyes fill with horror. Inside the classroom, Sherlock lifts his gaze from the bottle he’s holding … and the camera zooms over his shoulder and out of the window behind him, soaring across the courtyard outside and in through another window to reveal John standing in an identical classroom in the other building, too far away to be of help. John cries out in horror.

JOHN: SHERLOCK!

‘Damnit, John! You’re in the wrong building!’ Lestrade cried out in frustration.

‘You can’t blame me for that! It was a fifty-fifty chance! Unlike Sherlock, I didn’t have a psychopath there to convince me to choose the wrong building!’ John replied.

[…] JEFF: … so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it?

Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely.

JEFF: Still the addict.

‘Obviously,’ Mycroft uttered.

‘Is it bad that I’d prefer he stick to cocaine?’ Molly asked. Her hand, still in Mrs Hudson’s, was trembling. The older woman held her tighter, and they drew support from one another.

[…] JEFF: You’d do anything … anything at all …

Sherlock’s fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation.

JEFF: … to stop being bored.

‘And there you have it! “How to Kill Sherlock Holmes” in a nutshell! Figure something out to stop him from being bored!’ John announced sarcastically.

[…] A gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts Jeff’s chest close to his heart, continuing through his body and smashing into the door behind him. As he falls to the floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. In the opposite building, John has his pistol still raised and aimed out of the window. He lowers the gun to his side. In the other building, Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. The window of the opposite room is open but there is nobody in sight.

‘Good shot, John!’ Mrs Hudson congratulated.

[…] SHERLOCK: Was I right?

‘I don’t think Sherlock appreciated the interruption as much as you do, Mrs H,’ Lestrade said with a small chuckle, though there was no humour in his words.

[…] SHERLOCK: You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give me a name.

Jeff shakes his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifts his foot and puts it onto Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff gasps in pain.

There were a few gasps in the room.

‘Sherlock is torturing that man for information!’ Molly cried out in shock.

[…] SHERLOCK (furiously): The NAME!

JEFF (agonised): MORIARTY!

His eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouths the word ‘Moriarty’ to himself.

Just then, the screen paused, and turned black. More words appeared on the screen. I’ll give you another little break. Heart-racing stuff, isn’t it? Just take some time to relax. Sherlock is fine, the serial killer’s dead, and the plot thickens!

‘I bet this person is a psychopath, too,’ John grumbled. ‘He or she is treating our lives like a damn tv drama!’

The break was a little longer than they anticipated. It was almost as if their mysterious captor had taken a washroom break because, by the time they were calmed down and ready to continue, the screen remained blank. The words fluttered slightly, making their heartrates spike, but remained on screen, eliciting groans of disappointment.

Finally, the screen turned white, then returned to the image where they left off.

LATER. Outside the college, Sherlock is sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic puts an orange blanket around his shoulders as Lestrade walks over. Sherlock gestures to the blanket.

‘I remember that bit!’ Lestrade said, grinning ear to ear. ‘What a sight! I think we got a framed photo of that in the office.’

[…] SHERLOCK (standing up): The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly, he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service …

While he’s talking, he turns his head to look around the area and sees John standing some distance away behind the police tape.

‘No wonder he stopped talking. Wouldn’t want his boyfriend sent to jail on a murder charge,’ Mrs Hudson said.

John groaned. ‘How many times have I said this? Sherlock was not my boyfriend.’

As per usual, everyone ignored him.

[…] SHERLOCK: Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.

LESTRADE: Sorry?

SHERLOCK: Ignore all of that. It’s just the, er, the shock talking.

He starts to walk towards John.

LESTRADE: Where’re you going?

SHERLOCK: I just need to talk about the-the rent.

‘Lestrade, how could you have been so blind?’ Donovan asked.

‘He could have been in shock!’ Lestrade defended. ‘You never know with him!’

Anderson shrugged. ‘That’s fair.’

[…] SHERLOCK (quietly): Good shot.

JOHN (trying and utterly failing to look innocent): Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.

SHERLOCK: Well, you’d know.

John gazes up at him, still unsuccessfully trying not to let his expression give him away.

‘You may be a dead-shot, John, but you’re a horrible poker face,’ Lestrade said.

‘You’re not going to arrest me, are you?’ he asked.

Lestrade shrugged. ‘Self-defence, I’m calling it.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Well, you have just killed a man.

JOHN: Yes, I …

He trails off. Sherlock looks at him closely.

JOHN: That’s true, innit?

He smiles. Sherlock continues to watch him carefully.

‘That makes you look like more of a psycho than Moriarty,’ Lestrade whispered to John.

John stopped himself from slapping the inspector.

[…] JOHN: Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it!

SHERLOCK: You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me.

‘You two are walking away from a crime scene, laughing because you just killed a man! What kind of sick bastards are you?’ Donovan demanded, turning to stare at John.

He raised his hands. ‘Shock.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Course I wasn’t. Biding my time. Knew you’d turn up.

JOHN: No, you didn’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.

SHERLOCK: Why would I do that?

JOHN: Because you’re an idiot.

Lestrade shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you got away with saying that to him.’

John looked at him. ‘Well, it’s true, innit? That’s exactly what he was doing.’ He scowled, remembering other times Sherlock had done the same.

Sherlock smiles, apparently delighted that he has finally found someone who understands him and – more to the point – doesn’t care about his behaviour. After a moment he forces the smile down.

SHERLOCK: Dinner?

JOHN: Starving.

‘See what I mean, John? If that’s not a romantic relationship, I don’t know what is,’ Mrs Hudson said furiously.

‘You were married to the owner of a drug cartel,’ John pointed out. ‘Sorry if I don’t look to you as an expert in romantic relationships.’

Mrs Hudson didn’t have an answer for that.

[…] SHERLOCK: What are you doing here?

MAN: As ever, I’m concerned about you.

SHERLOCK: Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern’.

MAN: Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?

SHERLOCK: Oddly enough, no!

‘If you understand the context, it’s horribly obvious that this is a sibling rivalry, but poor John is left there to wonder what is going on as usual,’ Lestrade said.

[…] SHERLOCK: It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.

JOHN: No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?

‘Apart from the strange fact that both of you still refer to your mother by ‘mummy’ despite being full-grown men, it should be quite obvious,’ Donovan said.

Mycroft sent a scowl her way for the comment.

[…] JOHN: So, he’s not …

SHERLOCK: Not what?

The brothers look at John as he shrugs in embarrassment.

JOHN: I dunno – criminal mastermind?

‘Whatever gave you that impression?’ Mycroft asked, feigning ignorance, which seemed to physically pain him.

[…] John turns back to not-Anthea, who has been standing nearby throughout the conversation with her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry.

‘There she is, again,’ John said with a sigh, ‘I never did learn her name…’

[…] SHERLOCK: The left one.

JOHN: Lucky guess.

SHERLOCK: I never guess.

JOHN (laughing): Yes, you do.

‘All he does is guess! They’re educated guesses, but they’re still guesses!’ Anderson claimed.

[…] NOT-ANTHEA: Sorry, sir. Whose status?

Mycroft intensely watches the departing men.

MYCROFT: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.

The screen turns black again and new words popped up. So, that’s the end of the first ‘episode’. Each important case is an episode, meaning every case where your overall villain is involved – they will be here. Enjoy some lunch before we start ‘The Blind Banker’!

Food materialised in front of each of them as the words disappeared off the screen. Each meal was perfectly tailored to each person, and they eagerly dug in.

Chapter Text

When they finished eating, it must’ve been half an hour at the very most, but…for some reason it felt longer. Far longer. Did time move faster while they were captive? Slower? Did it just stop moving altogether?

‘I think we’re ready to start episode two as our captive is calling it. Which case was this again?’ Lestrade asked, turning to John, who was placing his knife and fork down on the plate – all of which disappeared the second he let go.

‘The Blind Banker case,’ he replied. ‘Sherlock and I were investigating a secret Chinese smuggling ring. There was a circus and spray paint, and I had to go to court… Well, you’ll see,’ he said, stopping himself before he got too far into the memories of his and Sherlock’s second big case.

On that note, they all turned to the television and the screen changed, lighting to show the museum where the story must’ve started.

In the National Antiquities Museum, an ancient Chinese clay tea set has been arranged on a tray. Oriental flute music is playing gently. A young Chinese woman, Soo Lin Yao, takes a large pinch of tea leaves from a bowl and sprinkles them into a clay teapot before pouring water on top of them. A group of children and a few adults are watching her demonstration.

John stared, interested, at the screen. ‘I guess we’re seeing some exposition, because I’ve never known about this. I guess that makes sense, because we’re here to learn every detail, so we know exactly what happened, and it’s not just all in our heads.’

‘Hey, this is about us learning the inner workings of the freak’s mind, do you think he knew about this?’ Donovan asked.

‘I doubt it,’ Lestrade replied, ‘Not even he can know everything.’

[…] SOO LIN: For some pots, the clay has been burnished by tea made over four hundred years ago.

#

[…] ANDY (in a joking tone): Four hundred years old, and they’re lettin’ you use it to make yourself a brew!

SOO LIN (not turning around): Some things aren’t supposed to sit behind glass. They’re made to be touched; to be handled.

‘Well, she clearly doesn’t like him the way he seems to like her. Take the hint,’ Anderson said, trying to sound nonchalant, but at the end his eyes dropped, as if remembering how his own marriage turned out. Since he’d lost his job at the New Scotland Yard, everything had gone downhill for him.

[…] ANDY: I don’t suppose … um, I mean, I don’t suppose that you … you wanna have a drink? (He grimaces.) Not tea, obviously. Um, in a pub, with me, tonight … umm.

‘Well, he pushed himself to ask. Got to give him credit for that at least,’ Molly whispered, as if she wanted the tangible words in her mouth, but didn’t want anyone to hear. If they did, though, anyone could’ve inferred that she was thinking about how she’d rarely gotten herself to ask Sherlock out on a date in a way that made it obvious to the detective.

[…] SOO LIN: I can’t. I’m sorry. Please stop asking.

She closes the box.

#

[…] SOO LIN (calling out): Is that Security?

There’s no response, and after an anxious pause she walks out of the stacks and looks around.

‘Oh, that doesn’t look good,’ Mrs Hudson said.

[…] Whatever she sees underneath makes her face fill with horror and fear.

#

SUPERMARKET.

[…] AUTOMATED VOICE: Unexpected item in bagging area. Please try again.

Laughter echoed throughout the room. Of course, John’s struggling at the supermarket was an excellent source of comedy, especially since the group was still sad about seeing the deceased detective at work as he solved his mysteries.

#

221B BAKER STREET.

[…] As the man stumbles back across the room, Sherlock gets to his feet and takes an all-important moment to straighten his jacket before charging across the room towards the man.

#

[…] AUTOMATED VOICE: Item not scanned. Please try again.

John straightens up, staring at the device in exasperation.

JOHN: D’you think you could keep your voice down?

‘John, you’re talking to a robot like it can understand you,’ Molly pointed out with concern laced in her voice.

#

[…] The sword tip gouges a long slash across the top of the table.

#

[…] JOHN: Got nothing.

He points at the machine.

JOHN: Right, keep it. Keep that.

As the man behind him looks on in surprise, John angrily walks away, abandoning his shopping and quite possibly his card as well.

‘You couldn’t figure it out, so you just gave up? Seriously?’ Donovan asked in surprise.

John shrugged. He remembered that day quite clearly and vowed to never be humiliated by a robot again. After that, he made it a habit to go to the cashier checkouts, no matter how long the lines.

#

[…] The attacker takes another swing at Sherlock who ducks underneath the sword and then quickly straightens up, pointing directly over the man’s shoulder.

‘And to think that I thought Sherlock never got out of bed that morning! I believed he’d been lazing about!’ John declared, his eyebrows high up on his forehead.

SHERLOCK: Look!

‘That poor sod. How’d he fall for that old trick?’ Lestrade said, shaking his head.

[…] Sherlock straightens up and immediately checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs and then dusting himself down. He looks down at the man with disdain, as if indignant that he messed his suit up.

#

[…] JOHN (tetchily): Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine.

SHERLOCK (lowering his book a little): You … you had a row with a machine?

‘I think that’s one of the only things that dear Sherlock never understood,’ Mrs Hudson said, ‘John’s unhealthy relationship with the shopping.’

[…] JOHN: You could always go yourself, you know. You’ve been sitting there all morning. You’ve not even moved since I left.

‘I can’t believe I said that…,’ John mumbled.

[…] John has now found a card he can use but pauses to bend over to look more closely at the new long narrow gouge in the top of the table. He sighs and runs his finger along the cut, rubbing at it in case it’s just a mark that can be removed.

JOHN (in an exasperated whisper): Ugh, Holmes.

‘Just for argument’s sake… What’d you think that was?’ Anderson asked curiously.

John shrugged. ‘I dunno. An experiment?’

Sally scoffed. ‘Could’a been, yeah. With everything that the freak got up to.’

[…] John turns and leaves the room, trotting down the stairs as Sherlock smirks.

#

[…] JOHN: Is that my computer?

SHERLOCK (starting to type): Of course.

JOHN: What?!

SHERLOCK: Mine was in the bedroom.

‘Why did he say the bedroom? Couldn’t he just say my, as in his?’ Anderson asked, narrowing his eyes at the screen, then turning to look at John with similar suspicion.

‘I was his flatmate! I didn’t pick his brain!’ the latter protested.

[…] SHERLOCK (still typing): In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. (He glances up at John.) Not exactly Fort Knox.

JOHN (annoyed): Right, thank you.

‘Take the compliment, John. He said less than a minute, not two seconds! Besides, you two live together, of course he’ll know what to guess,’ Lestrade said.

[…] JOHN: Sherlock, are you listening?

SHERLOCK (without looking round): I need to go to the bank.

He gets up and heads towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he goes. John frowns, then jumps up and hurries to join him.

‘At least his coat was undamaged, what with that horrid man flashing his sword around willy-nilly,’ Mrs Hudson said, bemused.

#

TOWER 42, OLD BROAD STREET.

[…] SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Sebastian.

They shake hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock’s hand in both of his own.

‘Oh, I hate it when people shake your hand like that,’ Lestrade grumbled under his breath.

[…] SHERLOCK: This is my friend, John Watson.

SEBASTIAN (latching on to the emphasised word): Friend?

‘Aw, no wonder Sherlock doesn’t have friends if no one thinks he can,’ Molly cried, staring at her long-time crush with sorrow in her eyes.

JOHN: Colleague.

SEBASTIAN: Right.

They shake hands, Sebastian looking at John curiously.

SEBASTIAN: Right.

He throws a brief look at Sherlock as if saying, ‘Didn’t think you had a friend!’ Grinning unpleasantly, he momentarily scratches his neck and Sherlock’s gaze falls on his wristwatch. Sebastian turns away, John pursing his lips as if he has taken an instant dislike to the man; either that or he’s regretting correcting Sherlock.

‘How did he know that guy again? Doesn’t look like the freak’s usual crowd,’ Sally pointed out.

‘They went to uni together,’ John said quickly.

[…] SHERLOCK: So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.

SEBASTIAN: Well, some.

SHERLOCK: Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?

Lestrade pulled out his wallet. ‘Alright, fifty quid to anyone who can guess how he figured it out with this guy,’ he challenged.

John opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off.

‘Not you, John. You already know.’

John closed his mouth and refocused on the screen. Sally, Anderson, and Molly all looked closely at the images, hoping to figure it out. Lestrade did the same, hoping to figure it out so he wouldn’t have to eat his shoe and pay up. Figuratively, of course.

[…] SEBASTIAN: Put the wind up everybody. We hated him.

Sherlock turns his head away and looks down, his face momentarily filling with pain.

SEBASTIAN: You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.

‘That guy called him freak, too? How many horrid people are there?’ Molly asked, scandalised. Sally glared at her, but the former was focused on Mycroft, hoping for answers. The detective’s older brother didn’t look at her; he shook his head.

[…] Sherlock opens his mouth, but Sebastian continues speaking.

SEBASTIAN (smugly): You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan.

‘Well, that’s just stupid! How could you tell he’d gone around twice from that? Besides, he could’ve just gone to one place!’ Lestrade said, scoffing at the idea of the banker.

John smiles.

SHERLOCK: No, I …

SEBASTIAN (talking over him): Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!

‘That seems like a fair guess,’ Anderson said, ‘but it wouldn’t explain much, just like his ketchup theory.’

Sherlock simply looks back at him for a moment before speaking.

SHERLOCK: I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.

Groans echoed throughout the room.

‘Don’t worry,’ John’s voice interrupted. ‘He lied.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Sally asked.

‘Maybe,’ John replied sharply, ‘he didn’t want to seem like a freak for once. It hurt him, you know. He wasn’t as cold as everyone thought.’

Sally went silent.

[…] SEBASTIAN: So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute.

SHERLOCK: How many ways into that office?

SEBASTIAN: Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.

‘Why’d it change? I want to know what he was going to say!’ Anderson protested.

‘It really wasn’t all that interesting. He was overexaggerating,’ John replied blandly.

[…] He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out a cheque.

SEBASTIAN: This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there’s a bigger one on its way.

SHERLOCK: I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.

‘This just proves how much of a loon the freak was. Not taking the money!’ Sally cried, throwing her hands toward the screen.

[…] JOHN: Sh-shall I look after that for him?

Sebastian hands him the cheque.

Then, John groaned. ‘God, why’d I take the cheque? Why couldn’t I just give it to Sherlock immediately?’

JOHN: Thanks.

He looks at the figure on the cheque and shakes his head in disbelief that this is only the advance.

#

[…] Sherlock looks along the balcony and bites his lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.

#

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is dancing. On the trading floor he has ducked down behind a desk and now rises slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William’s office.

‘He looks like an imbecile,’ Sally said.

John made a sort of…growl in the back of his throat. This sound caused Sally to gulp.

[…] Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually goes to the door where two signs are attached to the outside, one showing that this is the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head, and the sign above it, giving the name of that person – Edward Van Coon. He slides the top sign out of its holder and heads off.

#

Not long afterwards, Sherlock is leading John back towards the escalators.

JOHN: Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him.

‘And you knew that because you were with him,’ Lestrade said with a sigh. ‘Well, we didn’t know if anything else happened while you were waiting to see Sebastian, but I guess that makes sense. I thought it was a bit too simple for Sherlock.’

John shrugged and smiled. ‘Any other guesses?’

The four players looked at him helplessly. ‘Not a clue,’ Anderson admitted, while the others remained quiet.

Sherlock smiles but doesn’t respond.

JOHN: How did you know?

The four of them leaned forward.

[…] SHERLOCK: That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and …

He deliberately trails off, allowing John to finish the sentence.

JOHN: … they’ll lead us to the person who sent it.

SHERLOCK: Obvious.

‘Is that when you started getting better, John? At solving cases, I mean?’ Lestrade asked, curious eyes on the screen.

‘Yeah, I guess so. And only our second case.’

[…] He holds up the name card to show John.

SHERLOCK: Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.

He spots what he immediately needs and calls out loudly.

SHERLOCK: Taxi!

The screen went black once more and all of the viewers sat back.

‘The wait was long, but I guess it was worth it in the end. We’ve started the second case,’ Molly said, heaving a sigh. ‘Who knew watching Sherlock work firsthand is so interesting? B-besides John, of course,’ she stuttered as an afterthought.

‘I guess now we’ll just have to wait for the next part to start. How long do you reckon we’ll sit here for this time?’ John asked. He looked around at the others.

New words appeared on the screen: Sorry for that last wait…but I was busy! This time you guys just talk about it, and we’ll keep going really soon! Let me know how you’re liking the inside scoop on your detective’s detective-ness! I do hope that all of my effort has not gone to waste.

‘Guess not. It’s pretty interesting,’ Anderson said, answering the television. It just didn’t seem that strange anymore. Especially after a few more words appeared under the first set, reading: Thanks, Anderson! At least someone appreciates me!

‘It’s not just him, you know,’ Lestrade said. ‘I have enjoyed seeing the old chap again, too. I just hope that after this is over, we’ll be able to put all this behind us. It’s great therapy, I must admit.’

Glad to hear it! the screen said.

Then the screen lightened to show the two investigators as they walked up to an apartment building after leaving the bank.

[…] There’s no response.

JOHN: So, what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?

‘Oh, you naïve, naïve little man, John. Sherlock’s already figured it out. You’ll have to go into his house, obviously. Another way,’ Molly said with a teasing smile.

[…] He comes back to the wall and looks at John triumphantly.

SHERLOCK: Just moved in.

JOHN: What?

‘You used that word a lot when you first met Sherlock,’ Anderson said with a snicker.

‘Shut it, we all did,’ Molly scolded the former forensic scientist.

Anderson obediently shut his mouth. He turned his fear filled gaze back to the television.

SHERLOCK: The floor above. New label.

He points to another buzzer which has a handwritten label saying, ‘Wintle’.

‘You boys were sure lucky that someone just moved in,’ Mrs Hudson commented.

‘Yeah, I guess we were.’

JOHN: Could have just replaced it.

‘Nobody does that, John,’ Lestrade said.

Sherlock presses that buzzer, then looks at John again.

SHERLOCK: No-one ever does that.

‘See?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Well if the freak says it, it’s gotta be true,’ Sally grumbled.

[…] SHERLOCK: Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.

‘You may not like the man,’ Lestrade said, casting his eyes sidelong at Sally, ‘But you have to admit, he’s a good actor when he wants to be.’

He grins prettily into the camera.

‘Wow, the freak actually looks human! Guess you’re right about his acting Lestrade,’ Sally observed. At this point, her comment didn’t earn her any glares. No one could stop her from calling Sherlock a freak, no matter how much they wanted to.

[…] SHERLOCK: Yeah. And can I use your balcony?

MS WINTLE: What?

‘That must’ve been so confusing for her,’ Molly said, deep sympathy in her voice.

#

[…] Luckily for him, he is on the top floor where the flats have balconies which only run halfway across the front of the flat, whereas the floor below has full-width balconies.

‘Good thing for that, or I’m not sure how this would’ve worked,’ John said.

He climbs over the side of Ms Wintle’s balcony and drops down onto the one outside Van Coon’s flat. Taking another look over the edge, he turns and reaches for the handle of the door and finds that it is unlocked, which is a jolly good thing, or he’d still be sitting there now waiting for Lestrade to turn up with many, many colleagues who would want to take photographs of him stranded out there.

‘Just think,’ Molly said. ‘What if the door was locked?’

‘Why would someone lock their balcony door? To keep out the pigeons?’ Sally scowled at the pathologist.

‘I dunno,’ Lestrade replied, ‘If someone was trying to kill me, I would definitely lock my balcony. Someone might try just what Sherlock did, especially if I had such naïve neighbours.’

[…] The front door to the flat buzzes.

JOHN (from the other side of the door): Sherlock.

Sherlock moves into the hall.

JOHN (from outside): Sherlock, are you okay?

Lestrade scoffed. ‘Yeah, he’s fine.’

[…] JOHN (from outside): Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in.

‘Oh, poor John!’ Mrs Hudson cried, though there was an amused smile on her face.

‘Yeah, yeah. Very funny, Mrs Hudson,’ John said with a sigh.

[…] There is a pistol on the floor, and the man has a small bullet hole in his right temple.

‘Oh, that’s definitely not good,’ remarked Lestrade, wincing.

#

[…] Sherlock has taken off his coat and is in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves. John stands beside him.

JOHN: D’you think he’d lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys.

‘Obviously not suicide, John. Then how would the graffiti tie into it?’ Lestrade asked.

SHERLOCK: We don’t know that it was suicide.

‘No, but he knows that it wasn’t,’ John grumbled.

[…] SHERLOCK: Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it.

JOHN: Thanks – I’ll take your word for it.

SHERLOCK: Problem?

JOHN: Yeah, I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear.

‘Well, it doesn’t seem like Sherlock minds,’ Anderson pointed out.

‘Anything to find his clues,’ Molly added wistfully. She’d always admired Sherlock’s dedication to his job, despite it becoming a little too much at times.

[…] SHERLOCK: Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?

‘I’m getting the feeling that an email wouldn’t quite get the message across for this one,’ Lestrade said, giving John a strange look.

JOHN: Well, maybe he wasn’t answering.

SHERLOCK: Oh good. You follow.

‘Well, I don’t,’ Anderson said.

‘When do you ever?” Sally snapped at him.

[…] SHERLOCK: What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?

‘Come on, John. You can figure this one out,’ Molly encouraged the little John on the television as he furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think.

[…] SHERLOCK: Yes. He was being threatened.

‘Well, that much is obvious,’ Anderson said. There was a smile on his face, like he was glad that he finally understood.

MAN’s VOICE (outside the bedroom): Bag this up, will you …

‘Well, who is that, now? Wouldn’t Lestrade be in charge?’ Molly asked. ‘He would be the one to say those things, right? Or Sally?’

‘Not necessarily. We have more than one DI, you know,’ Lestrade replied kindly.

‘Not one that matters at this point,’ Molly said.

Lestrade blushed slightly at the praise.

[…] Sherlock turns and walks towards him.

SHERLOCK: Ah, Sergeant. We haven’t met.

‘This was another guy that Sherlock got wrong,’ John said, snickering behind his hand.

The others turned to him in surprise, ‘What?’

‘Oh, you’ll see,’ John said.

He offers his hand to shake. The young man puts his hands on his hips.

MAN: Yeah, I know who you are; and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.

Lowering his hand, Sherlock gives the evidence bag to the officer and turns his best stroppy look on him.

SHERLOCK: I’ve phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?

MAN: He’s busy. I’m in charge. And it’s not Sergeant; it’s Detective Inspector. Dimmock.

‘Wow, he looks way too young to even be in the police force, let alone advance to DI so quickly,’ Lestrade pointed out.

Sherlock looks at him in, then turns and shares his surprised look with John. Dimmock walks out of the room. The boys follow him into the living room where he hands the bag to one of the forensics team.

DIMMOCK: We’re obviously looking at a suicide.

‘Obviously,’ John said, ‘not.’

JOHN: That does seem the only explanation of all the facts.

Sherlock takes off the latex gloves and turns back to him.

SHERLOCK: Wrong. It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts.

He turns to Dimmock.

SHERLOCK: You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.

‘That’s the problem with most people these days, I’m afraid,’ Mycroft said, looking pointedly at Anderson. ‘They come to a conclusion that seems to fit, and, despite other facts proving it wrong, they decide to ignore them.’

DIMMOCK: Like?

SHERLOCK: The wound was on the right side of his head.

DIMMOCK: And?

SHERLOCK: Van Coon was left-handed.

He goes into an elaborate mime as he demonstrates his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.

SHERLOCK: Requires quite a bit of contortion.

‘He has a point. When you look at the way things are positioned around the room, you can tell if someone is right- or left-handed. I wonder how Dimmock missed that,’ Lestrade pondered.

‘What things?’ Anderson asked.

‘You’ll see. I’m sure Sherlock will explain.’

‘He sure loves making others feel stupid, that’s for sure,’ Sally mumbled angrily.

[…] He turns to Dimmock with an impatient look on his face.

SHERLOCK: It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head.

‘John is left-handed, though he shoots with his right for some odd reason,’ Anderson pointed out.

‘That’s different,’ John told him. ‘I can shoot with both, depending on what’s needed.’

Anderson nodded.

[…] SHERLOCK (interrupting): He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.

He walks away and starts to put on his scarf, coat, and gloves.

‘And that’s it? He’s just going to leave?’ Anderson asked.

‘Of course, he always does that. Not even explains it all to me,’ Lestrade answered. There was a slight tone of annoyance under his words.

DIMMOCK: What?

JOHN: Today at the bank. Sort of a warning.

‘Now all he has to do is figure out the code.’

‘Yeah, no, that was a hard one for Sherlock. He didn’t figure it out himself, Molly,’ John said.

More surprised looks were sent his way. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Well, I mean, he figures out most of it, if you can remember what I put in my blog, but he never got to decoding it all because he lost the book. Soo Lin solved the rest of it for us.’

SHERLOCK: He fired a shot when his attacker came in.

DIMMOCK: And the bullet?

SHERLOCK: Went through the open window.

‘That’s convenient,’ Sally said.

DIMMOCK: Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!

SHERLOCK: Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun. I guarantee it.

‘Then it must be true. Good thing the freak was there to explain things again,’ Sally said sarcastically.

DIMMOCK: But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?

SHERLOCK (condescendingly, as he dramatically slams his hand into his glove): Good! You’re finally asking the right questions.

‘That’s one step in the right direction,’ Lestrade commented.

He turns and flounces out. John looks round at Dimmock and then points apologetically towards the departing drama queen before following him.

#

RESTAURANT.

[…] SHERLOCK: It was a threat. That’s what the graffiti meant.

SEBASTIAN: I’m kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?

‘I think that the murder of one of your employees is more important than any meeting,’ Mrs Hudson said with a sniff. She turned her nose up at the man on the screen.

[…] SEBASTIAN (shocked): Killed?

‘Yes, that’s what he just said. Do pay attention, Sebastian,’ Mycroft muttered.

SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o’clock at Scotland Yard suit?

‘Like he cares about their digestion,’ Sally grumbled.

Sebastian puts down his glass of water and nervously runs his finger inside his shirt collar.

#

[…] SEBASTIAN (drying his hands on a towel): Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had.

JOHN: Who’d wanna kill him?

‘Someone he had a disagreement with, obviously,’ Molly guessed.

‘That’s some disagreement.’ Anderson blanched.

[…] SEBASTIAN: It’s my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently, they’re telling him it was a suicide.

Lestrade hung his head. ‘Oh, Dimmock, why are you spreading false rumours? You heard what Sherlock was saying as you saw the clues! How could you rule out his explanation?’

Sally scoffed. ‘’Cause the freak’s a fraud, that’s how. He pointed out meaningless garbage to prove the Detective Inspector wrong.’

SHERLOCK: Well, they’ve got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered.

SEBASTIAN: Well, I’m afraid they don’t see it like that.

SHERLOCK (sternly): Seb.

SEBASTIAN: … and neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don’t get side-tracked.

He walks away. John waits until he has left the room, then turns to Sherlock.

JOHN: I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards!

#

EARL’S COURT. NIGHT TIME. An overweight bald man in his early forties is running frantically down the street, a hard-backed book clasped in one hand.

Anderson stared hard at the screen. ‘Who’s that, now?’

‘Our other victim,’ John answered.

‘Ah.’

[…] He scurries up the flight of stairs leading to the main flat, throwing his book onto a pile of other books strewn all the way up the stairs, and runs into his living room. He stops in the middle of the room and then turns around, his face covered with sweat and his face full of terror at the sight which greets him.

‘Did he hear the drum, or is it just our mysterious captor who’s adding in the dramatic music once again?’ Mycroft asked.

John frowned. ‘I think he actually hears it, but…I don’t understand how or why the killer would have a drum with him.’

#

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM.

[…] DIRECTOR: Two Ming vases up for auction – Chenghua. Will you appraise them?

‘I never noticed that,’ John said. ‘Those were the vases that the smugglers brought in. Huh.’

ANDY: Er, er, Soo Lin should go. She’s the expert.

DIRECTOR: Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need you.

She walks away. Andy turns and looks sadly at Soo Lin’s table behind him.

‘The poor dear,’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘All he wanted was to impress the girl.’

‘He probably thinks that it was his fault. That she left because he asked her to go out with him,’ Donovan said. ‘I would’ve left, at least, if someone like him had asked me out.’

‘That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?’ Anderson asked.

Sally just glared.

#

[…] Andy presses the doorbell, then steps back and looks up to the first-floor windows of the flat which is above a shop called The Lucky Cat. The shop and flat are clearly located in London’s Chinatown. When nobody answers his ring, he rummages in his pockets, takes out an envelope and pen and scribbles a note on the envelope before bending down to the letterbox and pushing it through. He walks away.

The screen went blank once more, and more words appeared. It was the typical That’s all for now! so that they could discuss what they’d discovered.

There wasn’t much that John didn’t remember, except it was quite interesting to see how Soo Lin fit into the case before they’d met her the night she died at her brother’s hand. He wasn’t going to say that, though. He could see the looks of concentration on the others’ faces. Well, not Mycroft’s, which was its usual stoic expression. He’d been quiet for most of their viewing sessions, but John couldn’t really complain. The man’s comments were almost always judging.

‘That poor boy, though,’ Mrs Hudson said sympathetically. ‘He got himself all tangled in a big mess and he doesn’t even know it.’

Anderson sighed. ‘He should have quit in that chase while he could.’ He was obviously thinking about his own failed marriage. Soon after Sherlock’s death and he’d started fantasising ways that the detective could have lived, his wife had left him, taking their children in the divorce. It was swift, but, at the time, Anderson couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was too deep in his Sherlock investigation.

‘What else have we found out? Besides the fact that Dimmock hasn’t learned to listen to Sherlock yet? Despite you thinking he was a fraud, he helped solve so many cases, and, seeing this, we know at least that he didn’t plan these first two himself just for kicks,’ Lestrade said, looking pointedly at Anderson and Sally.

‘We should probably just wait until we’ve seen it all. I don’t really know what else to say,’ Anderson replied.

‘Alright. I guess that means we’re ready to move on to the next part.’

The words disappeared from the screen, and everyone waited in anticipation for the case to continue.

Chapter Text

The screen became lighter until it showed John, sitting in a doctor’s office. In front of him sat a beautiful young woman.

[…] SARAH: Well, we’ve got two away on holiday this week, and one’s just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you.

JOHN: Er, no; mundane is good sometimes. Mundane works.

‘Well, I guess if you’re going to get a job, mundane work will definitely even out your adventures with Sherlock,’ Molly observed. If all their cases were like the ones they’d already seen, then getting a job at a surgery was good for John and his stress levels.

SARAH (softly): It says here you were a soldier.

JOHN: And a doctor.

‘Why does everyone focus on the soldier part? You can be a doctor and be in the army; that’s kind of the point of an army doctor!’ John sighed in frustration.

He smiles at her again. Sarah looks down. She clearly fancies him.

‘Is this the first girl you set your eyes on that reciprocated, John?’ Lestrade asked.

John didn’t dignify the question with a response, but the slight nod of his head gave Lestrade everything he needed to know.

SARAH: Anything else you can do?

JOHN: I learned the clarinet at school.

SARAH: Oh! (She laughs.) Well, I look forward to it!

John laughs. She smiles flirtatiously at him.

#

[…] John walks in from the landing and drops his jacket onto his armchair.

SHERLOCK (without looking round): I said, ‘Could you pass me a pen?’

‘You’ll notice that he does this a lot,’ John told the rest of the audience.

‘What?’ Anderson questioned. ‘Does what?’

[…] JOHN: What? When?

SHERLOCK: ’Bout an hour ago.

John sighs.

JOHN: Didn’t notice I’d gone out, then.

‘Oh. That.’

[…] JOHN (absently): It’s great. She’s great.

SHERLOCK: Who?

JOHN (looking round to him): The job.

SHERLOCK: ‘She’?

‘Why does he notice this kind of stuff with you and Molly? Anyone else and he wouldn’t pick up on it at all,’ Anderson asked. He was clearly full of questions about his – now – idol.

JOHN: … It.

‘Nice slip up there, John. Now Sherlock is on to you,’ Lestrade said with a chuckle.

‘Shut up, Lestrade,’ John grumbled.

[…] SHERLOCK: Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon.

JOHN (straightening up and looking at his flatmate): God. You think …

SHERLOCK: He’s killed another one.

‘How Sherlock does it is truly amazing,’ Molly whispered breathily, watching the screen with intensive interest. ‘I mean, we’re watching everything – every detail that we need to figure it out, as well as watching it after knowing what happens – and I still can’t figure out what is going on.’

#

[…] SHERLOCK: … doors locked from the inside.

JOHN: You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.

‘Similar? They were killed by the same person! Of course it’s similar!’ Sally exclaimed.

‘Well, I had to give him a chance to decide for himself. If Sherlock has taught me anything, it’s that people love to discredit you when you say something, so you have to say it like they have a choice,’ John countered.

[…] SHERLOCK: Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?

‘Doesn’t seem so,’ Anderson said.

Dimmock squirms, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looks up, exasperated, and sighs pointedly.

SHERLOCK: You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?

‘That would explain his shiftiness, wouldn’t it?’ Mycroft asked rhetorically.

[…] SHERLOCK: No. So, this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.

‘That is true, but the problem with that is that people don’t believe it when they can’t see it. They need solid proof,’ Molly said sadly.

Lestrade nodded along with her comment. ‘Besides, Dimmock only just met Sherlock, and he needed to know just how good he was at his job.’

[…] SHERLOCK: I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. (Louder, nodding towards the picture of Lukis on the computer) Five minutes in his flat.

‘If he’s smart, he would let Sherlock have those five minutes,’ Anderson said.

#

LUKIS’ FLAT.

[…] SHERLOCK: Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.

‘Well, obviously he’s not using the front door! There are other ways to get into a building,’ Sally shouted in frustration.

‘What an awful way to go, though,’ Mrs Hudson remarked. ‘The poor dears thought they were safe, only to have the rug ripped out from under them.’

[…] SHERLOCK (going out onto the landing): You’re dealing with a killer who can climb.

‘That’s obvious enough.’

‘From where we’re standing, of course it is, Anderson,’ Lestrade said. ‘But to them…. How are they to know?’

[…] SHERLOCK: He clings to the walls like an insect.

John chuckled.

‘What?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Sherlock wasn’t too far off,’ he explained. ‘Too bad spiders aren’t insects, or he would’ve been spot on.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.

DIMMOCK: You’re not serious! Like Spider-Man?

‘Exactly like Spider-Man, but that would make for copyright issues,’ Anderson muttered.

‘There’s also the fact that this man is killing people,’ Molly added.

[…] SHERLOCK: And of course, that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.

‘And he’s figured it out. Now all he has to do is –’

‘Yeah,’ John said, interrupting Anderson ‘He’ll say that, too.’

[…] Jumping down a few stairs he picks up one particular book which has fallen open at its front page which shows that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he takes it with him as he heads off down the stairs.

#

[…] John, probably just for something to do, pulls out some books on a nearby shelf on the other side of the aisle and immediately gets lucky.

JOHN: Sherlock.

Sherlock turns and sees John staring into the gap left by the books he removed. Stepping over to him, he leans close to John—

‘Wait. Did he just kiss John’s ear?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Are you sure that’s what you saw?’ Molly looked at him.

‘Yeah, pretty sure. John?’

The man in question shook his head, not remembering that bit very well. Well, it had been over a year ago.

—and then reaches to the shelf and pulls out a bunch of books with one hand. Pulling out another huge handful of books with his other hand, he reveals that spray painted on the back of the shelf are the same two symbols that were sprayed across Sir William Shad’s office.

‘Who else thought that it was insane how many books he pulled out with each hand?’ Anderson asked. ‘Just how wide are they?’

#

[…] JOHN: The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it’ll be seen; Lukis goes home.

SHERLOCK: Late that night, he dies too.

‘You have to find out how they know each other, Sherlock,’ Molly whispered.

[…] SHERLOCK: Only the cipher can tell us.

He thoughtfully taps his finger against the photo as his expression sharpens. Apparently, he has had an idea.

#

TRAFALGAR SQUARE.

[…] SHERLOCK: The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment.

‘That’s true, but if it’s everywhere, how are you going to narrow it down?’ Molly wondered aloud, knowing that Sherlock couldn’t hear her – it was the past, after all. Her question would be answered soon enough.

JOHN: Yes, okay, but …

SHERLOCK: … but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.

‘Oh.’

JOHN: Where are we headed?

SHERLOCK: I need to ask some advice.

‘What?’ most of the audience cried, staring at the screen in shock.

JOHN: What?! Sorry?!

‘It seems that most of you think like John,’ Mycroft said with a hint of amusement in his voice. Only a hint, mind you.

[…] JOHN: You need advice?

SHERLOCK: On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert.

He leads John towards the entrance to the National Gallery …

‘So, you’re going to the gallery? That’s perfect! But…how did Sherlock know that Soo Lin was there and that she got the same warning?’ Molly asked, looking at John.

‘He didn’t.’ John didn’t say more.

#

[…] RAZ (still spraying): I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner.

‘How does he know that?’ Anderson asked.

‘Because he needs to know,’ John replied.

[…] SHERLOCK: Know the author?

RAZ: Recognise the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.

‘Is this how the freak knows so much about everything useful? Everything that he doesn’t file away, he knows who to ask?’ Sally asked incredulously.

‘Of course,’ John said, though his reply was rather clipped. Most likely due to his annoyance at the Sergeant’s stubbornly still-used nickname for his late friend.

[…] SHERLOCK: Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.

RAZ: What, and this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much, now, is it?

‘He has a point, but Sherlock has solved cases on less than that,’ John commented.

[…] VOICE (offscreen): Oi!

The three of them look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly grabs his phone from Raz and runs off in the opposite direction while Raz drops his spray can, kicks his bag towards John and also scarpers. John, the blithering idiot, meekly turns towards the officers.

‘Way to go, John! You’re supposed to run!’ Anderson scolded.

‘I wasn’t prepared for that!’ John protested.

‘He told you so, didn’t he? That the Community Support Officers would be in the alley in…what? Two minutes? You should’ve been ready,’ Lestrade said with slight disappointment in his tone.

[…] The officer kicks open the bag to reveal more spray cans inside, then looks at John pointedly.

COMMUNITY OFFICER: Bit of an enthusiast, are we?

‘He seriously thought that you were the one who did that?’ Anderson asked.

John shrugged.

John looks blankly at him and then stares at the graffiti on the door, apparently wondering how he’s going to explain his way out of this.

#

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM. Andy is pestering the museum’s Director about Soo Lin’s abrupt departure.

Sally smirked. ‘Well, here’s this kid again. Is he still asking about Soo Lin?’

[…] ANDY: Look, those teapots, those ceramics: they’ve become her obsession. She’s been working on restoring them for weeks. I-I can’t believe that she would just abandon them.

‘Even though it’s kind of creepy how much he knows about her, he does have a point,’ Molly pointed out. ‘If someone in my workplace suddenly dropped everything that they were working on and left, I would be concerned, too.’

‘You mean if Sherlock suddenly stopped coming, you’d be concerned,’ John teased.

Molly turned bright red. ‘No.’

John chuckled. ‘Yeah, okay.’

The Director looks at him pointedly.

DIRECTOR: Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention.

Lestrade sighed. ‘God, now even the director thinks that Andy was the one to chase her away.’

‘And it’s doing nothing for the poor boy self-esteem,’ Mrs Hudson said, watching the boy’s face fall on screen.

She walks away. Andy looks round awkwardly at other colleagues in the room who have been listening in but who now abruptly turn away.

#

221B.

[…] A slamming door announces John’s return to the flat but since John immediately walks into the living room, we can only assume that he slammed the kitchen door shut as he walked past it – presumably the only way he can think of to signify that not only is he home, but he is Mad as Hell.

‘God, John, what crawled into your cereal that morning?’ Lestrade asked, turning to the man in question.

‘Nothing,’ John replied. ‘If you recall, I was wrongfully arrested.’ He crossed his arms, glaring at the screen, like he was still peeved at Sherlock for what happened.

[…] JOHN (tightly): You wanna tell your little pal he’s welcome to go and own up any time.

SHERLOCK (slamming his book shut): This symbol: I still can’t place it.

‘And, of course, that’s all Sherlock cares about,’ John said with a sigh.

Turning and putting down the book, he walks over to John who has just started to take off his jacket and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders.

SHERLOCK: No, I need you to go to the police station …

JOHN (indignantly as Sherlock turns him around and steers him towards the door): Oi, oi, oi!

SHERLOCK: … ask about the journalist.

JOHN (exasperated): Oh, Jesus!

‘Poor John!’ Mrs Hudson cried, though she was laughing.

[…] SHERLOCK: Gonna go and see Van Coon’s P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they’ll coincide.

‘And so, he gives John the easy bit and they both end up in the same place anyway,’ Anderson predicted.

He walks off down the street. John sees a taxi coming around the corner and hails it. As it pulls over to the kerb he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and wearing dark sunglasses standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera is aimed in his direction. He bends to the taxi driver’s window.

‘Huh? Who was that?’ the forensic scientist questioned, staring at the woman for the few seconds that she was on screen.

John didn’t give him an answer.

[…] John gets into the back of the taxi and glances round to the other side of the road as he sits down. There is no sign of the woman.

#

SHAD SANDERSON BANK. Sherlock is in Van Coon’s office standing beside his personal assistant, Amanda, who is looking at an online calendar.

‘Well, this seems boring, but at least it will help with the investigation, right?’ Molly said.

‘I’m still impressed how this person got all this footage! I mean, there are bits where we’re on our own, or neither of us are there, and I know that most of you don’t know what happened firsthand, but some of this stuff not even I know!’ John exclaimed.

[…] The calendar shows no entries for Monday the 22nd. Sherlock looks away, frustrated. Amanda also realises something.

AMANDA: I have all his receipts.

‘And that will definitely be useful!’ Lestrade said happily.

#

[…] DIMMOCK: Your friend …

JOHN: Listen: whatever you say, I’m behind you one hundred percent.

‘John!’ Mrs Hudson scolded, smacking the short, blond man.

DIMMOCK: … he’s an arrogant sod.

JOHN: Well, that was mild! People say a lot worse than that.

At this, many of the audience members turned to glare at Sally, who ignored them. She stood by what she called the freak.

[…] John takes the diary and flicks through it, opening it at a page which has been bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC to London LHR on Zhuang Airlines.

#

SHAD SANDERSON BANK.

[…] SHERLOCK: Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn’t he?

Fiddling nervously with a pin in her hair, Amanda looks at him in surprise. Sherlock shuffles through the paperwork and picks up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt is for £18.50. He hands it up to Amanda.

‘And to think,’ John said with a sigh, ‘the pin was right there the whole time.’

His comment received a few glances, but mostly, they focused on the screen.

[…] AMANDA: So, he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?

SHERLOCK (still going through the receipts): Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn’t want to lug a package up the escalator.

‘How does he make connections like that?’ Anderson questioned, staring at his idol in wonder. ‘All he had was a man using a taxi, then the Tube, and he figured out that he had something heavy with him.’ He sighed, silently wishing he had the same ability.

[…] He finds another receipt and stands up as he looks at it. It’s from the Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano.

SHERLOCK: … stopped on his way. He got peckish.

#

LONDON STREETS.

[…] SHERLOCK (quick fire): Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information …

JOHN: Sherlock …

SHERLOCK: … credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here.

JOHN: Sherlock …

‘Maybe if you let him talk, Sherlock…,’ Molly said, trailing off. She didn’t even need to finish her sentence. Her point was made.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh.

He follows after his friend.

‘And thus concludes the only moment when John knew something that Sherlock didn’t,’ Anderson said.

John glared.

‘When it came to a case,’ Anderson lamented.

#

CHINATOWN.

[…] SHOP KEEPER: I think your wife, she will like!

‘If only,’ John said.

‘Yeah, you don’t have a wife! You can’t even keep a girlfriend for long,’ Lestrade said humorously.

‘Oh,’ Mrs Hudson said, ‘I thought you were going to say that Sherlock was there, and he didn’t seem too interested in them.’

‘Mrs Hudson!’ John whined, knowing exactly what she was implying. ‘We’ve been over this!’

[…] JOHN: Exactly the same as the cipher.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he puts the cup back. Sherlock lifts his head as it all starts to make sense to him.

#

[…] Sherlock turns and walks away. As John smiles and turns to follow him, he sees the same woman who was taking a photograph outside 221 standing nearby. Still wearing her dark sunglasses, she again has her camera raised and pointed towards him as she takes a picture. Someone walks across her, obscuring his view of her for a moment, and by the time the person has passed, she has vanished. John frowns, then follows after his friend.

‘I wonder who that was,’ Lestrade said, squinting at the screen before it went blank once again. ‘And I guess that’s the end of this segment.’

‘So, what did we learn this time round?’ Anderson asked, swivelling around in his seat to look at the others.

Molly twitched. She was sitting rather upright but didn’t look uncomfortable as she focused on the blank screen. It was as if she was willing the next part to start, like she didn’t want to have this chat, but nothing happened, and after a few moments, she gave up, sagged, and let out a sigh. ‘The killer can climb walls, right? He’s killed two people already, and will most likely go after this Soo Lin girl, too.’

‘And they’ve finally figured out the cipher, now all they have to do is translate what it means,’ Anderson said.

John groaned. ‘First we have to figure out why they’re using numbers, and which book will translate them, and how to use the book, and how it connects to two men, and uncover a whole smuggling ring conspiracy, but yeah, I’d say we’re almost done with this case,’ he said sarcastically.

‘So, what you’re saying…,’ Anderson began, ‘is that we’re not almost done?’ He’d nearly turned his whole body around to give John a look of absolute confusion. Was it because he wasn’t sure that the shorter man was being sarcastic, or what? Of course, they weren’t nearly done! Most of Sherlock’s major cases took a few days at least.

John snorted. ‘Not even close. Considering how many breaks we got last time, we’ll probably have the same this time, so… this is part two, I guess. Of four,’ he replied. They weren’t even halfway done the second case and already he was frustrated with the former forensic scientist’s inobservant remarks.

‘Oh,’ Anderson said, ‘but I don’t really like this one. Can’t we just speed through it?’

‘No,’ John replied, though he didn’t seem sure, ‘I don’t think so. We’ll have to leave it up to our mysterious captor if that’s what we’re still calling them – whoever they are.’

‘Now that that’s done, where were we?’ Molly asked. She’d forgotten due to the boys’ argument.

‘They went into the tourist shop and figured out that the cipher is numbers in an ancient Chinese dialect,’ came Sally’s clipped answer. She was frustrated as well, and not only because of the cold shoulders she kept getting because of her description of the late detective.

‘Okay, thanks.’

Just then, the screen lit up, as if it knew that they were ready – which it probably did because they were being watched – and the next part began.

[…] Sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant opposite the shop, Sherlock is writing the two Hangzhou numbers and their English equivalents onto a paper napkin. John sits opposite him, also writing notes.

‘Sherlock should’ve eaten something,’ Mrs Hudson fussed. She knew the man too well to think that he’d ordered something too. He was on a case, after all, and he didn’t eat on the job. That was his – poor – policy.

[…] JOHN: And you don’t mean duty free.

A waitress brings over a plate of food and puts it down in front of John.

‘You should have ordered something for Sherlock, John,’ Mrs Hudson scolded.

‘And did what?’ the man in question replied.

‘Made him eat! He was thin as a twig; always was!’

‘I couldn’t make him do anything if I tried, much less eat!’

Mrs Hudson was quiet again. A sadness settled over the room at the truth in their words. Sherlock wouldn’t eat regularly; everyone knew that.

[…] JOHN: Lost five million …

SHERLOCK: … made it back in a week.

JOHN: Mmm.

SHERLOCK: That’s how he made such easy money.

‘They were both smugglers!’ Anderson remembered suddenly. He hadn’t been around for that case, but he’d remembered reading about it on John’s blog.

[…] Cutaway flashback of Van Coon paying a taxi driver just outside the Lucky Cat and then carrying his suitcase towards the shop.

‘It’s nice how there are scenes to explain everything for us so nicely,’ Mrs Hudson commented with a small smile.

[…] SHERLOCK: … making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same …

Cutaway flashback of Lukis carrying his suitcase into the Lucky Cat and lifting it onto the counter.

‘Is Sherlock seeing this in his mind? Like…imagining it? Or is it only for us?’ Molly asked, tilting her head at the screen before turning her eyes to the others.

There was a brief break where the screen turned black and words popped up, Only for your viewing pleasure.

The screen went back to normal as Molly said, ‘Oh, thanks.’

[…] SHERLOCK: What if one of them was light-fingered?

JOHN: How d’you mean?

‘Stole something, John. Why else would they be targeted and killed?’ Mycroft said, his voice aloof.

[…] Sherlock looks out of the window towards the shop, then raises his eyes to the windows above it. Looking down to the ground floor level again, his gaze sharpens.

‘What d’you think he’s looking at?’ Anderson asked.

‘That girl, Soo Lin. She lived right next to The Lucky Cat. We saw it when that Andy fellow was at her door,’ Lestrade guessed, voicing his thoughts aloud. ‘Maybe that’s why we’ve seen them; they’re part of the story.’

[…] SHERLOCK: … when was the last time that it rained?

Without waiting for a reply, he stands up and leaves the restaurant. John, who has probably managed only two mouthfuls of his meal, sits back in exasperation but then dutifully gets up and follows.

‘Poor John. Never gets to finish his food,’ Mrs Hudson said sympathetically. Though, if one really knew her, they’d be able to pull out of her voice that she wasn’t being sympathetic at all, but actually sarcastic in her annoyed-old-lady – landlady-not-a-housekeeper – sort of way.

[…] Sherlock runs his fingers over the top of the wet exposed pages of the directory.

SHERLOCK: It’s been here since Monday.

‘That is pretty suspicious,’ Sally agreed begrudgingly.

[…] SHERLOCK: Someone else has been here.

Putting the vase back onto the table, he looks around, talking too quietly for John to hear even if he was still nearby.

‘Who is he talking to? This kind of makes it seem like he knew we would be watching this, but even Sherlock’s not that good,’ Lestrade commented.

‘Maybe now, you can finally accept that he’s just a freak like I’ve always said?’ Sally asked.

She was, of course, ignored.

[…] Downstairs, John rings on the doorbell. Sherlock puts the item back into the washing machine and pushes the door closed, then reaches for a tea towel hanging up nearby.

‘See what I mean? What kind of sane man would go through a woman’s dirty laundry?’ Sally exclaimed, throwing her hands at the screen as if it was the only proof she needed to argue her case.

‘It’s for the case,’ Molly protested, though her voice was small. ‘And at least he put it back.’

[…] JOHN: Can you not keep doing this, please?

‘What do you mean, this time?’ Anderson asked.

‘The freak did it at Van Coon’s flat, too. Don’t you remember?’ Sally asked.

[…] JOHN: What?

SHERLOCK (louder): Somebody’s been in here before me!

‘And of course, John can’t hear you,’ Molly said with a sigh.

[…] SHERLOCK (now talking more to himself than to John): Small, but … athletic.

‘Well, only an athlete could have killed those other people, but then again, we don’t know for sure that the same guy broke into here.’ Lestrade crossed his arms.

[…] SHERLOCK: Our acrobat.

He frowns, looking round.

SHERLOCK: But why didn’t he close the window when he left …?

‘Stupid little brother,’ Mycroft muttered. ‘He’s still there, obviously.’

The others stared at him incredulously, then returned to looking at the screen as the on-screen Sherlock realised the same thing.

He stops as he realises the truth and rolls his eyes at himself.

SHERLOCK: Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He’s still here.

‘What did I tell you?’

‘Yes, Mycroft Holmes, you could be a great detective, too, if you came up off your lazy bum once in a while!’ Mrs Hudson scolded him with a sharp glare.

Mycroft looked round at her, mildly offended. ‘I don’t do legwork,’ he reminded her.

[…] Sherlock grabs at the scarf, trying to relieve the pressure on his throat but the assailant – dressed all in black – continues to throttle him.

‘Oh no!’ Molly cried, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

Downstairs, John bends to the letterbox and flips it open again.

JOHN: Any time you want to include me.

Molly glared at him. ‘He can’t!’

John threw his hands into the air defensively. ‘How was I supposed to know what was going on in there?’

SHERLOCK (faintly, as he struggles against his attacker): John! John!

Downstairs, John has straightened up again and shakes his head in frustration.

JOHN (pacing in irritation): ‘No, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with …’

He storms back to the letterbox, flips it open and angrily shouts through it.

JOHN: ‘… my MASSIVE INTELLECT!’

‘You know, that is a perfect imitation of him!’ Lestrade said with a laugh.

‘Yeah.’ John sighed, rubbing his forehead. ‘I just wish I hadn’t done that.’

‘Why?’ Anderson questioned.

‘You’ll see later.’

[…] A few moments later he opens the front door downstairs. John makes an exasperated sound and glares at him. When Sherlock speaks, his voice is croaky.

SHERLOCK: The, uh, milk’s gone off and the washing’s starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago.

‘How did you not realise that something happened?’ Lestrade asked John.

‘I did, but it’s not like he’d tell me.’

[…] SHERLOCK (croakily): Maybe we could start with this.

He walks out, closing the door behind him, and heads off down the road, John following him.

JOHN: You’ve gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?

‘Seriously, John? A cold?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘Like I said,’ John reiterated, ‘how was I supposed to know what happened when he didn’t let me in?’

SHERLOCK (coughing): I’m fine.

#

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM.

[…] ANDY: Just left her work unfinished.

SHERLOCK (turning to him): What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?

#

[…] On a stand is a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman … and yellow paint has been spray painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line goes across the eyes, and over the body has been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. Andy and John turn and see what he has found.

‘Well, now you two know that she ties into everything, and Sherlock’ll figure out the cipher. He always does,’ Lestrade said. ‘It seems that you’re getting through this case pretty well. It’s just a matter of finding the right book or finding the girl who doesn’t want to be found.’

#

[…] JOHN: If she’s still alive.

RAZ: Sherlock!

‘I bet he found the paint,’ Anderson guessed with a grin.

[…] RAZ (to Sherlock): Found something you’ll like.

He trots off and Sherlock immediately follows. John heads off after them a little more slowly.

#

[…] They continue onwards, unaware that the Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses is watching them.

‘Hey, John?’ Anderson whispered.

‘Yeah?’

‘Who’s that?’ It was already the third time she appeared and the third time this same inquiry was made.

‘Do I even have to say it at this point?’ John seemed annoyed now. ‘It’ll all come together at the end. It’s like our lives were a cheesy mystery show or something!’

‘Sorry I asked.’ Anderson’s eyes were wide and his lips were turned down into a frown as he turned back to the television screen.

#

SOUTH BANK SKATE PARK.

[…] Amongst all the other paint there are slashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. Some of them are already partially painted over by other artists’ tags and pictures.

‘And of course, it has to be really hard to see. It’s barely even there!’ Sally complained. ‘Who would see that?’

‘That’s why Sherlock has his network of people on the streets who know London better than we do,’ John told her pointedly.

[…] SHERLOCK: John, if we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.

#

The two of them split up and begin searching. Sherlock walks along the end of a railway line and finds an abandoned spray can on the tracks. Squatting down to pick it up, he puts the end of his flashlight into his mouth and runs a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle, then sniffs the nozzle.

‘It seems like anything is a quick fix for that addict,’ Sally blurted before realising the reaction she would get.

Everyone stiffened, and while they knew that Sherlock had a problem, her comment went way too far.

‘How dare you?’ Molly whispered savagely.

‘Fine,’ Sally muttered in reply. ‘We all know you were head over heels in love with the freak. So, I didn’t like him. Get off my case!’

Molly went red, but whether it was out of embarrassment or anger wasn’t known, nor could it be deciphered by those in the room. At least, of those who were paying attention to the argument.

[…] John is now out on the railway lines. His flashlight picks out splashes of yellow paint on the sleepers and on the rails, then he raises his light to a brick wall, possibly the wall of a maintenance shed, which is about fifteen feet wide. He steps back, his mouth open in surprise as he begins to realise that the entire wall is covered with large yellow Chinese symbols.

#

[…] JOHN (trotting towards him): Answer your phone! I’ve been calling you! I’ve found it.

He turns around again and the two of them run off into the night side by side, Sherlock’s coat billowing behind him.

#

[…] JOHN: I don’t understand. It-it was here … (he stumbles backwards) … ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!

SHERLOCK: Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.

‘Yeah, just you! Not anyone else that might be snooping in the area!’ Sally shouted at the screen in annoyance.

[…] JOHN: What are you doing?!

Sherlock starts to spin them slowly around on the spot, staring intensely into John’s eyes.

‘What in the world are you two doing?’

‘Don’t ask me! Sherlock was the one being weird!’ John protested.

[…] JOHN: Yes, definitely.

SHERLOCK: Can you remember the pattern?

‘Oh, Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded humorously. ‘He might not be very bright, but John wouldn’t just run off like that without snapping a picture.’

John looked over at her, offended.

[…] SHERLOCK (still spinning them): Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate.

‘And he’s above average, obviously,’ Sally muttered.

[…] JOHN: I took a photograph.

He takes out his phone and pulls up a flash photo he has taken of the wall which shows all the symbols clearly. He gives the phone to Sherlock, who takes it and looks embarrassed as John sighs and turns away.

‘But, if they painted over the symbols, wouldn’t they have seen John looking at it?’ Anderson asked.

‘Yeah, what’s your point?’ Sally replied, glaring at him. ‘They saw him looking at it, of course they’d want to cover the evidence.’

‘Yeah, but if they saw him looking, they obviously saw him take the photo, right? Then what would be the point in painting over it?’

‘Well, maybe they didn’t want anyone else to see it. No evidence, no cops? And, they could always off him later, before he came to us at Scotland Yard.’

‘Oh,’ Anderson finally said. ‘I guess that makes sense.’

‘Well, the screen has gone black again anyway, so let’s talk about part two as you called it, John,’ Sally said, turning her focus away from Anderson and his idiotic questions.

‘What’s there to talk about?’ Lestrade asked. ‘So they figured out that Soo Lin is part of the case and they found the long list of numbers to decipher, without any way to do that. Not much in this part, either.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ John said. ‘We might as well continue onto the next bit, then.’

Chapter Text

They were ready, but it seemed that their captor had vanished again, because the screen took a few minutes before it began with the next scene.

‘All right, finally,’ John said as an image of their living room was shown.

221B. The photograph has been blown up into small sections and then printed out and all the pictures are stuck on the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol has been written against it. Sherlock is standing at the fireplace looking at the pictures closely and has spotted a pattern.

‘Oh,’ Sally groaned, ‘I almost forgot how the freak literally has a detective wall!’

‘Well, it helps, doesn’t it?’ Anderson asked, sounding slightly miffed.

‘You’re one to talk! You don’t have a detective wall; you have a conspiracy theorist wall!’

‘I resent that comment!’

Their arguing continued, but the others in the room had stopped paying attention at that point, opting to keep watching as the scene unfolded on screen rather than off screen.

[…] SHERLOCK: Numbers come with partners.

JOHN (gazing around the flat blankly): God, I need to sleep.

‘Then why don’t you? Sherlock usually does whatever he wants; you didn’t have to stay awake for him,’ Molly said.

‘It’s not that easy, Molly,’ Lestrade cut in. ‘Have you ever looked after a baby?’

‘Huh?’ Molly raised an eyebrow at the detective inspector, as did a few others in the room. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ she asked.

‘Well, I’m just thinking of poor John, constantly tired, at the whim of a screaming baby all hours of the night. Must be exhausting and without end.’

Molly was confused for another second before her eyes widened in realisation and she let out a short laugh. ‘Oh, I get it!’ She smacked Lestrade’s arm, enough force to show him that she didn’t appreciate the comment, but soft enough for him to know that she was being playful.

[…] SHERLOCK: Thousands of people pass by there every day.

JOHN (propping his head in his hand again): Just twenty minutes.

‘I kind of like how John keeps talking about how he needs to sleep, and Sherlock is still just talking to himself about the case,’ Molly said, hiding a grin behind her hand.

‘Why is he talking to you anyway, John? Doesn’t he know you’re not listening?’ Anderson questioned.

‘He told me this before. It’s because Mrs Hudson took—’

‘Took his skull. Yeah, we know,’ Sally interrupted.

[…] SHERLOCK: Somewhere here in the code.

He pulls three photographs off the wall and turns towards the door.

SHERLOCK: We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.

‘How did he jump to that? I mean, he can solve it without her, but I think…she was able to give him the first hint, so he knows where to look. The problem is, where could she be hiding? He’d have to find her.’ Anderson muttered these words to himself.

JOHN: Oh, good!

Tiredly, he gets up to follow.

#

NATIONAL ANTIQUITIES MUSEUM.

[…] Sherlock bends down to look more closely at the shelf.

SHERLOCK: Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two.

‘Good catch,’ Anderson complimented.

‘Yeah, but that’s all he does. Catch things and makes outrageous claims because of them,’ Sally growled.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Fancy a biscuit with that?

Before he finishes the sentence, she gasps in fright and turns towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers. Sherlock reacts instantly and bends his knees to reach down and catch the teapot before it hits the floor. He looks up at her.

‘He did that on purpose! That’s the only way he was fast enough to catch it!’ Sally accused under her breath. Luckily, no one heard her. Mycroft may have sent her a stern look, but he said nothing.

SHERLOCK: Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.

‘Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on her and scare her, she wouldn’t have almost smashed it!’ Molly scolded the television version of Sherlock.

[…] He smiles slightly at her.

SHERLOCK: Hello.

#

[…] SOO LIN: You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me.

SHERLOCK: You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.

‘Yeah, how did she do that?’ Anderson asked. ‘Did you ever find out?’ he asked John.

The doctor shook his head. ‘I just guessed it was because she knew how he worked and could think a few steps ahead of him, but we never found out really how.’

Anderson nodded, looking slightly disappointed.

[…] JOHN: Zhi Zhu?

SHERLOCK: The Spider.

‘Well, that’s sure a friendly name,’ Sally said sarcastically.

[…] SOO LIN: You know this mark?

SHERLOCK: Yes. It’s the mark of a Tong.

‘The mark of the what?’ Anderson asked.

JOHN: Hmm?

SHERLOCK: Ancient crime syndicate based in China.

‘Oh. That’s not good.’

John nods his understanding and turns back to Soo Lin.

SOO LIN: Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them.

JOHN: ‘Hauls’?

‘A smuggler, John,’ Mrs Hudson explained.

‘Yes.’ John groaned. ‘I know that, now.’

She looks up at him. His eyes widen.

JOHN: Y-you mean you were a smuggler?

‘Of course! How else could she have been involved?’ Sally questioned. Her tone was cold.

[…] SOO LIN: They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.

SHERLOCK: Then he came looking for you.

‘Is it just me, or does he almost seem…comforting right now?’ Sally said with a raised eyebrow, staring at the usually stone-faced detective on the screen.

[…] SOO LIN: I refused to help.

JOHN (leaning forward): So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?

‘Very well, as it turns out, but not enough to save her,’ John said sadly.

She nods.

SOO LIN: Oh yes.

She looks up at Sherlock.

SOO LIN: He’s my brother.

‘Oh. I wasn’t expecting that!’ Anderson shouted in surprise.

‘It was obvious, wasn’t it?’ Mycroft inquired. He seemed almost bored.

‘Maybe to you!’ Anderson replied.

[…] SOO LIN: Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars.

‘That’s pretty sad,’ Molly said. Her eyes were filling with tears for the children.

[…] SHERLOCK: Can you decipher these?

Soo Lin leans forward and points to the mark beside Sir William’s portrait.

SOO LIN: These are numbers.

‘We already know that! Get on with it!’ Sally was growing impatient, if it wasn’t already obvious.

‘She didn’t know that we knew that already, Donovan! On top of that, her life was in danger! Give her a break!’

[…] Just then almost all the lights go out. Soo Lin looks up in dread. Sherlock straightens up and looks around sharply.

SOO LIN (softly, her face full of terror): He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.

‘They’re running out of time! Someone should tell her to hurry up!’ Sally screamed at the television, suddenly much more invested in the proceedings.

And Sherlock’s off, racing across the room. John calls to him softly but urgently.

JOHN: Sh-Sherlock. Sherlock, wait!

‘Too late, John. He’s gone,’ Molly said. ‘That was Sherlock. Either in a hurry or just sits on the couch for hours without moving.’ She sniffed, swiping at her nose with the back of one hand.

[…] He pelts into another display room and the gunman runs out of cover behind him and fires towards him again. Sherlock ducks behind a display cabinet displaying some ancient skulls as the figure fires again.

SHERLOCK (calling out): Careful!

‘Why would he say that?’ Lestrade asked, looking carefully at the screen.

The gunman fires again.

SHERLOCK (calling out): Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!

He pauses for a couple of seconds, breathing heavily. There are no more gunshots.

SHERLOCK: Thank you!

‘Seriously, Sherlock?’ Molly asked, giggling.

‘Well, he’s not wrong,’ John pointed out.

‘Who knew that the freak would be concerned about something like this?’ Sally asked, grumbling.

[…] SOO LIN: 大哥 [Big brother.]

She reaches out and cups his face with her hand.

SOO LIN: 请你 [Please…]

‘Oh, the poor dear…’ Mrs Hudson muttered, reaching into her pocket to pull out a tissue and blowing into it.

As John continues to search for his friend, a single gunshot rings out in the distance. He turns towards the sound, his face filling with appalled horror when he realises where the shot has come from.

JOHN: Oh my God.

John looked down, knowing that her death was his fault. Luckily, Mrs Hudson knew that look.

‘Oh, John dear. It wasn’t your fault that the poor girl died. If you’d have been there, I fear that he would’ve shot you, too,’ she said, trying to comfort him.

[…] Soo Lin lies dead on the table, her outstretched arm revealing a black origami lotus flower in her upturned hand.

#

NEW SCOTLAND YARD.

[…] JOHN: How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there?

‘At least Lestrade is smart enough to listen to Sherlock when he says something!’ John said with a sigh.

‘Well, thanks,’ Lestrade replied, though his voice was hesitant, as if he couldn’t tell whether it was a compliment or not.

Dimmock turns and walks in between them, heading for another desk. John turns around and follows him.

JOHN: A young girl was gunned down tonight. That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.

‘See? At least Sherlock is finding him! And doing a better job than that useless detective!’ Anderson shouted in defence of his idol.

[…] Dimmock finally looks round to him.

DIMMOCK: Can you prove that?

‘Did he seriously just ask that question?’ John asked.

A few others nodded.

‘Oh, he’s in for it, now,’ he said.

Sherlock straightens up thoughtfully.

‘What did I tell you?’ John asked after the screen went black again. ‘The next bit is going to show Sherlock when he tells Dimmock all about how and where and when and why.’

Suddenly, words appear on the black screen. It wasn’t a surprise to the viewers at this point, but the words were what threw everyone off. No, John. Actually, there is no footage of Sherlock ripping into Dimmock about proving this case. We just skip ahead to him actually showing it. That’s where Molly comes in.

‘Molly?’ Lestrade asked.

The others in the room all turned to the woman in question. She shrunk back into her seat on the couch. She abruptly stood.

‘I think I’ll go…freshen up a bit. Um…’ she was about to turn and leave, but then remembered that she couldn’t. No problem, though, because suddenly, a new door appeared at the wall. More words flashed onto the screen.

Just head through here. Take as much time as you need.

Molly nodded, though her eyes held suspicion, and she went through the door, closing it and locking it behind her. Now all they had to do was wait.

‘You know, I think I’ll go, too,’ John said. Another door appeared, and John stood to use the lavatory as well.

‘I’ll take it after you. If anything, to just stretch my legs a bit,’ Lestrade told John before he disappeared into the room.

As soon as everyone had taken a break in the restroom and returned to their seats, they were ready to continue. The next scene appeared.

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. In the canteen, mortician Molly Hooper is looking at the choices in the self-service display.

SHERLOCK: What are you thinking: pork or the pasta?

‘Seriously? He asked you a question like that?’

[…] SHERLOCK: Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis.

MOLLY (looking at the clipboard she’s holding): They’re on my list.

‘He already knows that,’ Sally pointed out.

Sherlock turns puppy-dog eyes on her.

SHERLOCK: Could you wheel them out again for me?

‘I knew it. He’s just using you. He knows how much you like him, and he uses it to manipulate you,’ Sally sneered.

MOLLY (apologetically): Well … the paperwork’s already gone through.

Sherlock lifts his eyes a little as if noticing something, and points at her hair.

SHERLOCK: You’ve … changed your hair.

MOLLY (nervously): What?

SHERLOCK: The-the style: it’s usually parted in the middle.

MOLLY: Yes, well …

SHERLOCK: Mmm, it’s good; it, um, suits you better this way.

‘And there is Sherlock’s emotional manipulation at its finest,’ Sally said with a glare at the man on screen.

‘Hard to believe that he was really bad at sensing everyone else’s emotions all the time, huh?’ Lestrade asked.

‘But do you notice how he can only tell how Molly is feeling?’ Mrs Hudson pointed out, ‘Besides, he’d never notice something like that with anyone else.’

‘He must have it stored in the ‘Molly’ wing of his Mind Palace,’ John grumbled.

Molly blushed at the insinuation.

Once again, he wheels out the smile. She returns it, looking both flattered and flustered, then turns away to the display, smiling nervously. Instantly Sherlock’s smile drops, and he looks impatiently at his watch.

‘Well, now it’s really obvious.’

#

MORGUE.

[…] DIMMOCK (sighing in resignation): What do you want?

SHERLOCK: I want every book from Lukis’ apartment and Van Coon’s.

DIMMOCK: Their books?

‘Why their books?’ Anderson asked.

‘Idiot,’ Sally grumbled. ‘Because they have the same book to decipher the code.’

‘Oh.’

#

221B.

[…] JOHN: Soo Lin said the name.

SHERLOCK: Yes, Shan; General Shan.

‘What ever happened to General Shan? The police never found her,’ Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. ‘I dunno, but seeing as we see more than just me and Sherlock in these videos, maybe we’ll find out.’

JOHN: We’re still no closer to finding them.

SHERLOCK: Wrong. We’ve got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces.

‘All he has to do now is put the puzzle together. Problem is, with this case, he has all the pieces, but he’s trying to fit them together in the dark,’ John said.

[…] JOHN: And the Black Lotus is selling them.

Sherlock tilts his head as he has an idea.

‘It’s a little hard to tell since it’s so subtle, but it seems that Sherlock is training John to be a detective just like him.’

‘Very subtle, but I think you’re right,’ Lestrade agreed with Molly.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: All of them from an anonymous source. They’re stealing them back in China and one by one they’re feeding them into Britain.

JOHN: Huh.

‘Ever the eloquent blogger, aren’t you, John?’ Mycroft asked, amused.

[…] MRS HUDSON: Sorry. Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?

SHERLOCK: What?

‘What?’ repeated most of the audience.

MRS HUDSON: A young man’s outside with crates of books.

‘Did you really think that, or were you just being sarcastic?’ John asked, turning to his – once – landlady.

‘Why wouldn’t she be serious?’ Molly interjected before the old woman could answer.

The others turned to her in exasperation. ‘Why would Sherlock of all people be collecting books for charity?’ John questioned the pathologist.

‘I mean, he could, theoretically…’ Molly trailed off, words dying in the back of her throat.

#

[…] John looks round despairingly at the many, many crates in the room, each either labelled ‘Van Coon’ or ‘Lukis.’

‘Well, that’s going to take a while. Sorry, old fellow!’ Lestrade clapped John on the back.

‘I should’ve been used to it at that point,’ John muttered.

‘Why do you keep helping the freak with his bloody work, anyway? You already have a job!’ Sally asked. To her, John seemed a lunatic, but to him, it appeared to not be so, or else he wouldn’t have given her a look that couldn’t have said anything but: ‘Are you crazy?’ as if she was the one digging through thousands of books for an eccentric flatmate instead of sleeping peacefully through the night. In the end, she just rolled her eyes and looked back at the screen, as if she’d never voiced her question in the first place, though her curiosity still stood, unquenched.

[…] DIMMOCK: We found these, at the museum.

He shows the bag to John. It contains the photographs of the cipher which Sherlock had been showing to Soo Lin.

DIMMOCK: Is this your writing?

‘I now realise that he probably saw the writing and if only I’d looked closer, we’d never have had this problem,’ John said, aggravated.

He received baffled expressions from the others but ignored them. They’d find out eventually, anyway; no point in ruining the surprise.

JOHN (taking the bag): Uh, we hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us. Ta.

Dimmock nods and turns back to Sherlock, who is still unloading his crate.

DIMMOCK: Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?

Lestrade sighed, pressing his forehead into his left hand, elbow resting on his knee.

Anderson put a hand on his shoulder, looking over at his former boss with concern but also slight amusement. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s still green. He’ll learn eventually.’

Lestrade nodded, but still did not move.

[…] SHERLOCK: ‘Cigarette.’

Slamming the book closed, he puts both versions on top of the pile on the desk.

John sighed. ‘I wish we could just skip this whole thing. It’s just unnecessary grunt work at this point, seeing as Soo Lin did the real work for us already without us realising it.’

‘Well, that’s just the worst feeling in the world, isn’t it?’ Molly asked with an airy, hesitant chuckle.

[…] As Sherlock runs his fingers through his hair and then looks around at the crates and sighs, an alarm goes off on John’s watch. He looks at it and then out of the window as if to confirm that it really is the morning. He sighs tiredly and buries his head in his hands.

#

DOCTORS’ SURGERY. The receptionist looks up apologetically at the first person in a queue of patients waiting to speak to her.

‘Hey, isn’t that the office you’d just applied for, John?’ Anderson asked.

‘Er, yeah.’

[…] SARAH (to the receptionist): Um, what’s going on?

RECEPTIONIST (quietly): That new doctor you hired – he hasn’t buzzed the intercom for ages.

‘John?’ Molly asked.

‘Hmm?’

‘Did you fall asleep on the job because you stayed up all night with Sherlock looking at books?’

‘Umm…’

‘Okay. I’ll take that as a yes. Why?’

John was at a loss for words.

[…] When there’s still no reply, she opens the door and looks inside. John is sitting behind the desk, his head propped up on one fist, and is fast asleep and snoring gently.

‘I was wondering why you got fired. Guess this explains it,’ Anderson mused.

John groaned.

#

[…] SARAH: So, um, what were you doing to keep you up so late?

JOHN (turning back to her): Uh, I was, er, attending a sort of book event.

‘Well, that’s one way to put it,’ Sally grumbled under her breath.

SARAH: Oh. Oh, she likes books, does she, your … your girlfriend?

Lestrade let out a laugh. ‘Don’t let Sherlock find out about this!’

She looks down fake-nonchalantly.

JOHN: Mmm? No, it wasn’t a date.

SARAH (too quickly): Good. (She rapidly tries to cover.) I mean, um …

JOHN: And I don’t have one tonight.

They smile at each other, John looking down almost in disbelief as if thinking, ‘Oh good grief, I’ve just pulled!’

‘Good for you, John! But what about Sherlock?’ Mrs Hudson asked.

‘For the last time, Mrs Hudson, Sherlock was not my boyfriend!’

#

221B.

[…] Putting that aside and flicking to page 15 of the Bible, partway through the Book of Genesis, the first word is ‘I’. As he closes the book, and John’s bedroom door slams shut, he props his elbows on the crate and runs his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up.

‘Tough luck,’ Anderson said with a sigh.

SHERLOCK: I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight.

JOHN: Actually, I’ve, er, got a date.

He smiles smugly.

SHERLOCK: What?

JOHN: It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun.

SHERLOCK: That’s what I was suggesting.

‘Does anyone else get the feeling that Sherlock actually knows what he’s saying and just wants to date John, but is suggesting it subtly?’ Anderson asked. His eyes flashed in the anticipation of one of his theories being true. If only someone else agreed with him.

John shook his head, as did Molly and Lestrade.

‘No,’ Lestrade said. ‘If that was the case, then why would he tell John right away that he was married to his work? And also, Sherlock’s, well…Sherlock, and he’s not good with emotional relationships.’

Anderson all but deflated. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled into his chest.

JOHN: No, it wasn’t … at least I hope not.

SHERLOCK (looking sulky): Where are you taking her?

JOHN: Er, cinema.

‘Sherlock’s not going to like that!’ Molly cried.

‘Why not?’ The others turned to her.

‘It’s such a cliché place to take a girl on the first date!’ she replied. ‘Of course he won’t like it. You know how he is.’

SHERLOCK: Oh, dull, boring, predictable.

John put his hands in the air, palms facing away from him. ‘Fine! I admit it! You know Sherlock best!’

He has taken a piece of paper from his trouser pocket as he walks across to John and lowers his head to hide a smug smile before handing it to him.

SHERLOCK: Why don’t you try this?

John takes it and looks at the piece of paper, which is the strip of poster that Sherlock tore off the wall during the search for the yellow paint. The poster advertises the Yellow Dragon Circus and gives the telephone number of the Box Office.

‘Didn’t that turn into a kidnapping?’ Lestrade asked as he turned to John, looking for confirmation from the shorter man. John just shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

SHERLOCK: In London for one night only.

John chuckles, then offers the paper back to Sherlock.

JOHN: Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice.

#

EVENING.

[…] SARAH: Ah. What are they, a touring company or something?

JOHN: I don’t know much about it.

‘You’re still trying to act cool in front of your girl by putting it off on Sherlock! I’ve seen that trick being used hundreds of times, and I’m sure Sarah has, too. It doesn’t really work,’ Donovan said.

[…] JOHN (taking his wallet from his jacket): Er, Holmes.

The manager rifles through the reservations, then turns back to him with an envelope.

MANAGER: Actually, I have three in that name.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Lestrade said, grinning at the screen. ‘Sherlock was being Sherlock again.’

John nodded.

[…] John looks up in disbelief and turns as Sherlock walks over to them, looking at Sarah. He offers her his hand.

SHERLOCK: I’m Sherlock.

Sarah glances at John momentarily, then turns back to the new arrival and shakes his hand a little nervously. John turns away in exasperation.

‘That must be awkward,’ Molly said, staring sympathetically at the girl on the screen. She was lucky. At least she could go on a date with John and Sherlock. Well, not with Sherlock directly, but that’s sort of how it ended up being.

SARAH: Er, hi.

SHERLOCK: Hello.

He gives her his fake smile, then instantly turns and walks away.

#

[…] JOHN: Fine. You do that; I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.

SHERLOCK (sternly): I need your help.

‘Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded gently.

JOHN: I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!

SHERLOCK: Like what?

‘Oh, dear God! I feel like he’s doing that on purpose!’ Donovan sneered. ‘Who would be so cruel?’

‘Ms Donovan, he is not. My brother may be a genius, but in some areas, he’s completely and utterly clueless.’ Mycroft’s voice rose softly above the sergeant’s.

John blinks, staring at him in disbelief.

JOHN: You are kidding.

SHERLOCK: What’s so important?

JOHN: Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. D’you want me to chase some killer while I’m trying to …

He breaks off.

SHERLOCK: What?

John groaned. ‘I sometimes think that he’s not clueless at all, and he’s just trying to rub me up the wrong way, but other times, it’s too infuriating for me to realise just how he is.’

JOHN (losing his patience and talking much louder): … while I’m trying to get off with Sarah!

And inevitably Sarah comes around the corner at that moment. John turns to her and smiles awkwardly.

JOHN: Heyyy.

Laughter broke out between the three Yarders.

‘Oh my God, John! You poor man!’ Anderson bellowed between bursts of laughter. By the end, the three were panting, holding their chests as they tried to regain their breath.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock turns and heads up the stairs.

JOHN (to Sarah): Ready?

SARAH: Yeah!

They follow Sherlock up the stairs.

‘Well, we still don’t know what’s going on, but one thing is clear,’ Anderson declared.

‘And what’s that, Anderson?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Sherlock Holmes may be the world’s greatest detective, but he’s also the world’s worst wingman!’ Anderson then dissolved into laughter once more at John’s expense.

The others shrugged; he wasn’t wrong.

‘So, what do we do until the next segment begins?’ Mycroft posed, raising a single eyebrow. He was still seated perfectly, posture stiff and umbrella poised in front of him, gripping it under thick fingers. The point must’ve already worn a dip in the thick, fuzzy carpet, but it would be impossible to tell until the umbrella was moved.

He didn’t have to wait for an answer, as the screen glowed again, smoothly sliding right into the next scene without too long of a break.

Chapter Text

It was bright white for a span of three seconds before softly transitioning into the next scene.

[…] JOHN: You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is … (he grimaces with distaste) … art.

‘What did you mean by that, John?’ Mrs Hudson asked the man.

He shrugged in return. ‘I guess it’s just because circuses are always so…full and lively? With lots of young children and snacks and such?’

The old woman nodded.

SHERLOCK (quietly over his shoulder): This is not their day job.

JOHN: No, sorry, I forgot. They’re not a circus; they’re a gang of international smugglers.

‘There you go, John. You were starting to get it at that point,’ Lestrade jested.

[…] Instrumental music begins, and the audience applauds as a new character enters the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. He holds his arms out to the sides and two men come over and start to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him and then backing him up against the board and starting to chain him to it.

‘Ooh!’ Molly cried. ‘This looks interesting!’

‘Yeah. Too bad the freak didn’t invite you!’ Donovan sneered at the younger girl.

Molly’s face fell, which elicited glares from the others, sent in Sally’s direction.

[…] SHERLOCK: The crossbow’s on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.

‘That’s obvious enough,’ Donovan muttered.

[…] The music begins building in intensity and cymbals crash unexpectedly. Sarah jumps, clutching at John’s arm.

SARAH: Oh, Gawd! I’m sorry!

‘I bet John didn’t mind!’ Lestrade said jovially.

The man in question sent him a glare, though it was obviously fake, as it treasonously broke into an amused grin.

[…] The weight touches the bowl and the arrow streaks across the room. With a split second to spare, the warrior pulls free of the chains and ducks down and the arrow thuds into the board. The warrior cries out triumphantly as the audience begins to applaud. Sarah gasps in relief.

‘Well.’ Anderson breathes out a sigh of relief. ‘That was dramatic.’

‘Indeed.’ Mycroft shifted his umbrella and readjusted his posture. They were all shaken, and it seemed even he had tensed in anticipation of the act.

SARAH: Thank God.

JOHN: My God!

‘Much better than the cinema! Don’t you agree?’ Lestrade declared.

‘Yes,’ John replied. Even now, he was slightly out of breath. ‘I’m sure glad Sherlock suggested it.’ The second part, however, was slightly sarcastic, so subtle that not many people caught onto it.

[…] Still clapping, John looks over his shoulder, but Sherlock has vanished. John looks around the hall but can’t see him anywhere.

‘And, of course, Sherlock is sneaking away during the show. His true intentions reveal themselves, as they always do: too late!’ John added with sarcasm.

[…] On the stage, Sherlock goes over to the curtains and parts them slightly to look out at the performance. He looks with interest at the acrobat as he floats around.

‘That’s probably the spider that we heard about earlier,’ Molly said.

‘Well, yeah. That’s what she said before it began,’ Anderson pointed out, giving Molly a strange look. He also looked kind of smug at pointing out her ‘mistake’.

‘No, I mean the girl’s brother. Who’s in control of the smuggling ring?’ Molly replied, exasperated.

‘Excellent deduction, Ms Hooper. He is, indeed, and was the killer of the three of them,’ Mycroft praised, if only to cause a snarl to rip from Anderson’s throat and a sneer to twist his features.

[…] Frowning, Sherlock turns around and realises that the costume is no longer on a stand and now has a man inside it. The man charges forward, lashing out at him repeatedly with a large knife. Sherlock ducks backwards to avoid the blows as the warrior presses forward.

‘Oh no! Sherlock!’ Molly cried.

‘Don’t worry. You already know he survives this,’ John assured her, almost mutely.

She nodded, though it didn’t help to ease the tension coursing through her body at the scene unfolding before them on the screen.

[…] John has finally managed to turn around, though he’s almost doubled over in pain and is still trying to catch his breath. As Sherlock scrambles to his feet John grabs Sarah’s hand and starts to pull her towards the exit.

‘Yay!’ Molly cheered.

‘A clue!’ Anderson exclaimed instead.

[…] DIMMOCK: Get what back?

Sherlock bites his lip, looking away angrily.

JOHN (hesitantly): We don’t know.

DIMMOCK: You don’t know.

‘Yeah, well obviously he doesn’t know, or he’d be rubbing it in your face by now! Like he always does with Lestrade. No offence, Detective Inspector,’ Anderson yelled, though near the end his voice dissolved in the awkward tension.

‘None taken. We all know it’s true,’ the man in question bemoaned dejectedly.

[…] DIMMOCK: I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime.

‘Sherlock doesn’t even get paid to do this… Which makes me wonder, how did you guys afford that apartment? Considering how many private cases Sherlock didn’t take, and how often you did free cases for the police, it couldn’t all be riding on John’s job at the clinic, right?’ Molly pondered.

John immediately shook his head, but it was Mycroft who answered. ‘Many of you may not know this, but in addition to my position in the British government, my brother and I come from a fairly wealthy family. His trust fund is significantly smaller than mine, due to his…ahem…unfortunate habit, but it still has a grand amount left to be spent on whatever tickles his fancy on any particular day.’

The others stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. That made sense.

#

[…] SARAH: Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it.

JOHN: No, no, you don’t have to go … (he looks round at Sherlock) … does she? (He turns back to Sarah.) You can stay.

SHERLOCK (simultaneously): Yes, it would be better to study if you left now.

Donovan snickered. ‘Wow. He really doesn’t like her…’

[…] SARAH: Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?

SHERLOCK (sighing and closing his eyes in exasperation): Ooh, God.

‘It seems like Sarah is the exact opposite of anyone that Sherlock would willingly associate with. Maybe worse than you guys,’ Lestrade observed, then cast his eyes to where Anderson and Donovan were sitting. The two in question shrugged. Sherlock did indeed like spending time with them, if only to insult them, but it seemed like with Sarah, Sherlock was just so bored with her that he didn’t even bother to try insulting her.

#

[…] SARAH: So, this is what you do, you and John. You solve puzzles for a living.

‘She’s trying to be interested…,’ Molly said. There was an uneasiness in her voice, as if she already knew how it would turn out.

[…] SARAH: What are these squiggles?

‘That was the wrong thing to do. Despite her interest, Sherlock hates it when people ask stupid questions,’ Molly declared.

[…] In the kitchen John has found a small bag of Wotsits and is emptying them into a bowl. Mrs Hudson comes to the door and speaks quietly.

‘All you had was a bag of Wotsits? That’s it?’ Anderson asked.

[…] MRS HUDSON (whispering): I’ve done punch, and a bowl of nibbles.

‘I don’t think I’ve said this enough, but, Mrs Hudson, you have always been a life saver for us.’

[…] Back in the living room, Sherlock looks about to commit murder as Sarah picks up the photograph of the brick wall which Dimmock had brought back sealed in an evidence bag. He glares at her in utter fury and then turns his head away, his teeth bared.

Sadness invaded Mycroft’s eyes – if that was even possible. ‘He was frustrated with the case.’

‘Yeah. He only got like that when a piece wouldn’t fit – so to speak,’ John said. ‘It didn’t happen often, but there were times….’

‘Ha! See? Even the freak can’t solve them all!’

SARAH (oblivious to his rage): So these numbers – it’s a cipher.

SHERLOCK (tightly): Exactly.

SARAH: And each pair of numbers is a word.

Sherlock’s head slowly lifts.

SHERLOCK: How did you know that?

John gave a grin and turned to the others. ‘I bet Sherlock was hoping that I’d picked a genius for a girlfriend. Then, he could have an assistant who was actually competent.’

‘You’re competent, John! Don’t sell yourself short,’ Molly assured him.

‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter because she only knows that because she saw the words.’

‘What?’

‘Just watch.’

For the first time he turns and meets her eyes.

SARAH: Well, two words have already been translated, here.

She puts the picture down on the desk and points. Sherlock takes the photo from her and stares at it.

‘He must’ve felt stupid right then,’ Donovan jeered. ‘It’s written all over his face.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it!

‘And here is the key turning point for the entire case,’ Anderson exclaimed. He was grinning at the screen now, eyes moving quickly. I was almost like he was hoping to see something else and possibly solve it before the master – however, he had no chance, logically.

[…] SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Nine million quid. For what?

‘The artifact that was stolen, I’d guess,’ Anderson said.

‘Not to channel my inner Sherlock, but, obviously,’ John growled.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, we must have been staring right at it!

‘Yeah. That wasn’t one of Sherlock’s better moments. I’m sure the other cases that are shown will be more entertaining for you all,’ John assured them.

[…] SHERLOCK: Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.

And he’s gone, hurrying out the door.

‘Too slow, John!’

‘I wasn’t going to follow him that time, anyway,’ John said. There was a small smile on his lips. Then, as he realised what was about to happen, the smile fell. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything; he wasn’t going to tell them anything, anyway.

#

[…] The man yells at him indignantly in German.

TOURIST: Hey, du! Siehst du nicht wo du hingehst? [Hey, you! Why don’t you look where you’re going?]

‘Why is he being so rude to Sherlock?’ Molly asked, looking worriedly at the screen for any possible injury on the detective.

‘Yeah, he didn’t even know what he was like by then!’ Lestrade added jokingly. That comment drew a few chuckles.

[…] TOURIST: Und dann sagen die, dass die Engländer höflich sind! [And they say the English are polite!]

‘Hey!’ Anderson protested. ‘That’s just Sherlock! The rest of us are pretty alright!’

[…] SHERLOCK (shouting): Please, wait! Bitte! [Please!]

‘I guess his German needs a bit of work, hey John?’ Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. ‘Too late for that now,’ he said sadly.

The others all looked down in despair except for Mycroft – and Donovan for obvious reasons.

[…] TOURIST (angrily): Gib mir doch mein Buch zurück! [Give me back my book!]

‘Oh, Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded again, softly. She chuckled at her former tenant’s antics.

[…] JOHN: Hmm. Um, shall we get a takeaway?

‘Good idea,’ Lestrade said.

‘Well, I couldn’t have just opened the fridge to reveal a human head, could I? That would’ve really scared her off!’ John said.

‘I guess that’s true.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Dead man. You were threatening to kill them.

‘No wonder it scared them all so much,’ Molly whispered.

[…] The appropriate entry on that page reads ‘Fore St EC2.’ Sherlock gets out a pen and writes ‘FOR’ over the relevant symbols on the photo.

SHERLOCK: Nine mill … for …

‘Finally! He’s figuring it out! I love this now!’ Anderson announced enthusiastically.

‘I thought you said that you hated it?’ Lestrade asked, raising as eyebrow at his previous co-worker.

‘Shhh…,’ Anderson replied.

#

[…] JOHN: Ooh, blimey, that was quick. I’ll just pop down.

‘Does anyone get the feeling that this should be foreboding?’ Molly asked the others. They just shrugged. ‘Oh. Okay.’

[…] JOHN: Sorry to keep you. (Rummaging in his trouser pocket) How much d’you want?

CHINESE MAN: Do you have it?

‘Oh no. I see where this is going…,’ Molly murmured, staring at the screen in mild horror.

[…] The man coshes John around the left side of his head with a pistol. John falls to the floor.

‘John!’ Mrs Hudson cries in alarm.

#

[…] Downstairs, the front door slams and Sherlock’s voice can be heard.

SHERLOCK: John! John! I’ve got it!

‘Yay! That means that this one is almost over!’ Anderson cried in delight. ‘I absolutely hate it!’ The merry tone never left his voice.

The others stared at him in alarm but decided to leave him be.

[…] There is no sign of John or Sarah. Sherlock stares at the paint in horror.

‘How in the world did the freak not see them get taken? He was right there!’ Donovan jumped to her feet as she all but shouted the questions to the heavens.

‘My brother,’ Mycroft emphasised, ‘tends to escape into a world all his own when he is concentrating. Surely you know that after working with him all these years, sergeant.’

‘Are you two not at all worried about John and his then-girlfriend?’ Molly asked, staring at the two in shock. ‘I mean, I know that they’ll be okay, but still…. That must’ve been traumatic, especially for her.’

‘No wonder she left you, John,’ Lestrade muttered. ‘No offence, of course.’

‘Of course,’ John replied. He then took a deep breath. ‘So…lunch?’ he asked.

Their captor seemed to agree that it had been a while since they’d last eaten, and so, when the screen went dark, food appeared in front of them once again.

The widespread feast included everything from beans and toast to gingernut cookies. Plates were quickly filled, then emptied, then filled again, until nothing but crumbs remained between the group of people in the small, dark room.

‘Despite the good food, we’ve still been kidnapped,’ Sally pointed out.

‘I don’t care,’ Anderson admitted. ‘This is the best food I’ve had since being married.’

‘You’re still married? I’m surprised your poor wife put up with you this long!’ Mrs Hudson said savagely. Anderson sent her an offended look, a miffed puff of breath escaping his mouth.

No one said anything more after that.

[…] OPERA SINGER: ‘A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sally asked. No one answered her. She didn’t deserve to be answered.

[…] OPERA SINGER: Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes.

‘Um…what’s going on?’ Molly asked, staring at the screen apprehensively. ‘John’s not Sherlock, he’s John.’

Mycroft let out an annoyed breath through his nose. ‘Thank you for the astute observation, Ms Hooper, but clearly, John’s kidnapper doesn’t know that.’

[…] SHERLOCK (in flashback): Take my card.

‘Here we go,’ John said, looking at the ground. He looked back at everything he’d done since the case began, from the groceries to the circus tickets, and, apart they seemed trivial, but together, each little thing was working against him and his life. Oh, he hated it when that happened.

[…] MANAGER (in flashback): What’s the name?

JOHN (in flashback): Uh, Holmes.

Molly couldn’t help it – she let out a snort of laughter. ‘Oh, you poor man, John!’ she cried. She knew he’d be alright, of course, since he was obviously sitting next to them, and, knowing that, it was incredibly funny. The situations he got himself into… ‘You sure have the worst luck, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ the man in question admitted, voice sounding defeated.

[…] JOHN (in flashback): ‘… because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!’

Molly was still laughing. She was trying to cover it by holding a delicate hand in front of her – as previously described by Sherlock – small mouth, though was failing desperately to hold in her giggles. ‘I’m just surprised that with all their noticing and spying, they didn’t realise everyone else calling Sherlock by his own name, and John by his. All they heard was what they wanted to hear, which, apparently, was that Sherlock is a short blond, ex-army soldier with an ex-psychosomatic limp and a crazy, tall friend.’

‘Oi!’ John protested. ‘I’m not that short!’

‘Yes, you are, John. Sorry to tell you,’ Lestrade put in.

[…] OPERA SINGER: I am Shan.

‘Aaaand, of course the villain has to be the last person you expect, because this real life of Sherlock’s is basically a television series!’ Anderson exclaimed angrily.

‘At least it’s not a show he’d be yelling at, because it’d just fill his already-massive ego,’ John mumbled jokingly, earning confused glances from everyone in the room.

[…] SHAN: It tells you that they’re not really trying.

‘Well, that’s…good?’ Lestrade said, though the lilt in his voice made it more of a question.

[…] SHERLOCK: Tramway.

‘Yes! He’s getting close!’ Anderson said. Though he was still having doubts about the dead man, he was finding a new understanding for his life and the different quirks, which, when not directed at him., were actually quite hilarious. Previously, the word ‘hilarious’ would never have been used by Anderson to describe the man known as Sherlock Holmes, but here he was, doing just that.

[…] Finally, he finds and pulls out a folding map of London. Turning back to the dining table, he unfolds the map and spreads it out, running his finger over it until he stabs it down.

SHERLOCK: There.

‘Good thing he’s memorised the whole of London, eh?’ Lestrade asked, bumping John’s arm with his own.

‘Yeah,’ the man replied distantly, ‘good thing.’

He turns and heads out of the door.

‘Yay! Go Sherlock!’ Molly cheered.

‘Ugh. Hopeless romantic. He’ll never love you back, y’know. Might as well give up and just move on,’ Sally muttered, just quiet enough for no one to hear her. Good thing, too, because she didn’t want anyone asking questions. It would be too awkward and too embarrassing to explain. She didn’t ever want to relive that day….

Little did she know, Mycroft was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. It was only for a moment, though, before he turned his attention back to the scene playing out before them.

#

TRAMWAY TUNNEL. Shan slides a clip into the pistol and then cocks it before pointing it at John’s head a second time. John cringes away from it.

SHAN: Not blank bullets now.

‘There were never any blank bullets, though. It was just an empty gun,’ Molly pointed out, slightly confused. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she stared at the lady on the screen, as if trying to read her mind to see what in the world she was thinking.

[…] JOHN: Do I have what?

SHAN: The treasure.

‘What treasure?’ Anderson asked, clueless. He stared at the screen blankly, though his eyes were unfocused as he racked his brain for any possible treasures that had been mentioned.

‘The jade pin, you idiot!’ Sally said with a snarl. Her eyes were narrowed at him, as if she couldn’t believe that she’d ever thought he was a good idea. What a moron.

[…] SHAN: Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life …

‘Um… I’m pretty sure Sarah isn’t as good at this trick as the professional,’ Anderson said awkwardly, earning himself a sharp look from John.

‘Better hope the freak gets there quickly,’ Sally said, not bothering to be quiet this time, as the others were far too fixated on the scene in front of them to even send her vengeful looks of hate anymore. At this point, she wasn’t worth it. They had to be professional, keep their cool, and not sink to her level.

Then again, John was thinking, it would’ve definitely put a smile on Sherlock’s face to see him punch Sally right in the teeth.

[…] Sarah cries out repeatedly through her gag as they carry her towards the crossbow.

JOHN (anguished, under his breath): Sorry. I’m sorry.

‘That’s all you can say at this point, John,’ Lestrade said, sympathising with the man. ‘You don’t have what they want, and without being able to do anything yourself, all you can do is wait for Sherlock or someone else to show up and save the day.’

‘Boy, that must be hard on yer pride,’ Sally ground out between secret snorts of laughter.

[…] SHAN: Where’s the hairpin?

‘Aww! I bet it was Van Coon who stole the pin, and he gave it to his secretary! It seemed that he really liked her!’ Molly said.

‘Of course not, Hooper! Who would do that? That’s entirely too cliché!’ Sally retorted.

Molly physically deflated, sinking back into her seat. Her cheeks had lit up rouge from her embarrassment, though she was fairly sure of reading about the pin in John’s blog. She wasn’t one to argue with Sally, though. It was beneath her dignity to argue like a petulant child.

John, on the other hand, merely hid a snort but didn’t comment.

[…] SHAN (loudly): I need a volunteer from the audience!

‘And of course, the psychopath in her must make a show about it,’ Molly mumbled, annoyed. ‘Why must all the people after Sherlock need to be psychopaths?’

‘Because he’s got a natural aura that just attracts psychopaths?’ Anderson suggested hesitantly. No one paid him any mind, so he was both distressed and relieved. Distressed that no one was listening to him, but relieved that they weren’t angry about his comment.

[…] Sarah continues to wail as John sighs out an appalled breath and stares up at the bag in horror.

‘That poor girl,’ Mrs Hudson said sympathetically, ‘but no wonder she never came back.’

John’s face flushed. ‘Mrs Hudson!’

#

[…] JOHN (frantically): I’m not Sherlock Holmes!

SHAN: I don’t believe you.

Almost everyone was leaning forward in their seats in anticipation.

John, who was caught up in the moment, felt like he’d been transported back to that night, and his heart raced in concern for Sarah. Looking back now, she had every right to leave after that; that kind of excitement was far too much for most people, and she must’ve been frightened for her life. And there hadn’t been a shortage of girls around to date, so he hadn’t thought much of it afterward.

The Yarders were concerned as well. Somewhat annoyed, though, by the overtly dramatic music that was playing in the background for some reason – because of course, it was made into some sort of television show!

SHERLOCK (offscreen): You should, you know.

‘Yay! And here’s Sherlock to save the day!’ Molly cried enthusiastically.

[…] SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness, as John sighs out a half-relieved, half-exasperated breath): How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?

‘Did he always click his ks?’ Anderson asked, turning to the others – those who knew Sherlock better than he did.

‘Yes,’ was the collective answer.

‘And he clicks his ts and pops the ps,’ Molly said.

‘You mean he did,’ Sally reminded her.

The pathologist’s face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Right. Sorry.’

‘Don’t look at me; I don’t care about the freak.’

Finally, Molly seemed to have had enough. ‘Yeah? Well…I do! So, you can just…! You can just bugger off!’ she shouted in the sergeant’s face. ‘And stop calling him a freak just because he was smarter than you!’ At this point, the television had paused, allowing her to say what she wanted to say. This also meant that everyone was focused on her.

Sally stood, towering over the smaller woman. ‘Did you just threaten me?’ she asked.

Molly faltered a little, but remained strong, standing as well. She was still shorter, but her eyes were steady as she levelled them with Sally. ‘No, I didn’t.’ And she hadn’t. Not really.

Suddenly, a new voice entered the mix: ‘But I will.’

It was Mycroft. He didn’t stand, but with his posture and the coolness about his figure, he was above everyone in the room. ‘I have sat idly by as you have insulted my brother these past years. I have let him fight his own battles, but now that he is no longer around to defend himself, I guess I shall step up.’ He stood then. ‘Remember this well: I, as a member of the British government, have the power to take your job from you in an instant. So, if I were you, I’d watch my mouth.’ With the last few words, he paused, emphasising them in a slow, harsh tone.

Sally backed down, her face pale and her eyes wide. She said nothing as she returned to her seat.

Mycroft sent Molly a soft, small smile – which she returned – and sat down once again. The screen resumed.

JOHN (tetchily): Late?

SHERLOCK’s VOICE (from the darkness): That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.

‘So, how’s he gonna keep her from just shooting at him?’ Anderson asked. ‘There aren’t many places to hide in that tunnel.’

[…] SHERLOCK’s VOICE (quick fire, from the darkness): … the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.

‘I’d say that’s pretty good incentive not to shoot someone,’ Lestrade commented.

Anderson pouted, though as a grown man, he would never admit it.

[…] Sherlock reappears just behind Sarah and squats down behind her, starting to untie her bonds. However, the other man – who turns out to be Liang, Soo Lin’s brother – runs over to him and loops a long red scarf around his throat a couple of times.

‘Oh, not again!’ Molly exclaimed, worry filling her voice.

‘Calm down, Molly,’ John said, though his heart was racing as well. ‘You know that he’ll be fine after this case.’

‘I know,’ she admitted, ‘but that doesn’t mean I’m any less worried for his wellbeing.’

[…] John manages to stumble forward a couple of paces, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair with him, before he loses his balance and falls onto his side.

‘Almost there, John,’ Mrs Hudson said encouragingly to the man on the screen, as if he could hear her.

[…] Sherlock unties Sarah’s gag and takes it from her mouth.

SHERLOCK (softly): You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over.

Sally opened her mouth to make a comment, but wisely refrained from doing so. The corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched imperceptibly.

[…] JOHN: Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this.

‘John! That was a terrible joke!’ Molly scolded as Mrs Hudson said, ‘That’s not something you joke about to a lady!’

She continues to sob as Sherlock straightens up and stands behind her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He looks down the tunnel wistfully.

‘What…?’ Anderson said, staring at the screen.

‘What is it?’ Sally asked him.

‘Sherlock didn’t go after Shan. He just stayed with John and his girlfriend…Sarah? Yeah. He just stayed with Sarah and…comforted her.’

‘Well, that’s not a very Sherlock thing to do,’ Sally replied.

‘Well, I think it was quite sweet of him,’ Molly interjected, putting an end to their conversation.

#

Later, the police have arrived to clear up the mess. Dimmock is waiting beside a police car just outside the tunnel as John puts his arm around Sarah’s shoulders and walks her away. Sherlock is just behind them and stops to talk to the inspector.

‘She’s going to be fine, John. A little traumatised, but fine,’ Anderson joked. John glared at him, though his heart wasn’t in it because he knew it was true. It was a terrible joke, however.

[…] DIMMOCK: I go where you point me.

SHERLOCK (walking away): Exactly.

Laughter filled the room. It was good, because the scenes had been too dark and gloomy until that point.

Dimmock turns and watches him leave. He smiles ruefully.

‘Whatever happened to him? I haven’t ever seen you work with him again,’ Lestrade commented.

‘That’s because we normally work with you if we’re with the police. Otherwise, of course you wouldn’t see us work with Dimmock, seeing as it’s either him or you,’ John said, getting a little bit sarcastic towards the end of his response.

‘Right,’ Lestrade said sharply. He seemed a little awkward and embarrassed, though it didn’t show on his face as much as in his tone of voice.

#

MORNING. 221B.

[…] JOHN: Million, yes; ‘Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway.’

SHERLOCK: An instruction to all their London operatives.

‘That’s how they all knew to look for it,’ John explained. ‘How much it was worth and what was stolen, specifically.’

‘You only know that now, though, after stumbling through the case being confused,’ Anderson told him smugly.

‘Like you’re any better, Anderson!’ Lestrade retorted.

The man in question went silent.

[…] JOHN: Why so much?

‘I think that’s what we’re all wondering, John,’ Lestrade muttered.

[…] SHERLOCK: Eddie Van Coon was the thief. He stole the treasure when he was in China.

Molly grinned smugly. She had been right in assuming that it was Van Coon who stole the pin. That left them to discover if the secretary had it.

[…] SHERLOCK (going through the revolving doors): Because of the soap.

‘What?’ Anderson said.

[…] SHERLOCK’s VOICE (over the phone): He bought you a present.

‘Yes!’ Molly cheered. ‘I was right!’ She turned to look at Sally with a smug smile – one that was juxtaposed against her usually sweet, mild-tempered nature. The sergeant just sunk deep in her seat, mumbling curses under her breath as John let out a burst of laughter.

[…] SHERLOCK (from behind her): You weren’t just his P.A., were you?

She turns in surprise as he walks around to the side of the desk, switching off his phone and putting it back into his pocket.

‘Why did he call her if he was right there?’ Anderson stared at the screen in utter confusion.

‘Dramatic effect?’ Sally suggested.

‘Obviously. My brother always has been one for the dramatic side of life.’

[…] SHERLOCK: I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the type of chap to buy himself hand soap – not unless he had a lady coming over. And it’s the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk.

‘Well, that makes a lot of sense, now doesn’t it?’ Lestrade said, impressed as ever. He still couldn’t get over how Sherlock did was he did, despite seeing how his mind worked all throughout the past two cases.

[…] In Sebastian’s office, Seb is signing a cheque for £20,000. He looks up at John who is standing at the other side of the desk.

‘He gave them £25,000? No wonder Sherlock never takes any money for the Yard if he has clients like that!’ Anderson exclaimed loudly.

‘No, Sherlock wouldn’t take money from the Yard because he didn’t want to be tied to them. That’s a commitment, and he still wanted the freedom to refuse cases he found too boring,’ John replied dryly.

‘I don’t think Sherlock even saw the use for that money, anyway, considering the size of his trust fund,’ Mycroft murmured. If any of the others heard him, they didn’t comment.

SEBASTIAN: He really climbed up onto the balcony?

‘And now John is explaining to Sebastian what actually happened, which I guess is the real test of being the crime-solver assistant of Sherlock Holmes,’ Molly said with amusement in her voice.

[…] Looking peeved, Sebastian holds out the envelope to John.

JOHN: Thanks.

‘You’d better give that directly to Sherlock, John!’ Mrs Hudson said in a warning tone, though there was an underlining humour to her voice.

‘Yes, Mrs Hudson,’ John replied with a sigh, ‘I’ve learned my lesson by now.’

#

[…] AMANDA: Oh? What’s it worth?

Sherlock smirks.

SHERLOCK (slowly): Nine … million … pounds.

Mrs Hudson let out a breath of laughter. ‘What a way to drop the news on the poor girl!’

[…] AMANDA (high-pitched and hysterical): Nine million!

‘I’m guessing she quit her job and lived out the rest of her days in lavish luxury?’ Sally asked sarcastically.

‘I dunno. I never found out what happened to her,’ John replied, equally as sarcastic.

[…] JOHN: Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night.

‘Oh,’ Sally said.

‘Yeah,’ John agreed, smirking at her.

[…] JOHN: Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat.

There was more laughter in the room, but it quickly died down.

[…] John watches while the ‘artist’ finishes the tag, picks up his bag and hurries away. As Sherlock, oblivious to this, continues to read his paper, John looks thoughtful, and a police car sped its way down the road, sirens ringing shrilly.

‘That’s not ominous at all….’ Sally sneered. ‘Besides, when is the freak ever oblivious to anything, except maybe other people’s emotions. He was almost a robot after all.’ She seemed to have learned a thing or two from the others, because this comment was said in a quiet tone, practically unnoticed by those around her. All but Mycroft, who barely spared her a glance, though his eyes carried a cold, hard look.

#

‘Now what’s happenin’?’ Lestrade demanded, leaning forward to see what the scene had changed to. He was indeed curious, as were the others.

Even John paid closer attention to the screen; he couldn’t recall this ever happening. Then again, there were bound to be things that happened that they would be shown that he didn’t know. Obviously, because he wasn’t there for everything – just most things.

In a room somewhere, Shan is sitting at a desk and talking to someone over a computer. Her live image is being transmitted to the other person but the space on the screen which should be showing the face of whoever she’s talking to is marked ‘No image available.’ There is also a text box on the screen which shows that the person to whom she’s talking is indicated simply as ‘M’. Shan sounds very humble as she speaks.

‘Who’s this, d’you thi—?’

Anderson was cut off as Molly jumped out of her seat, screaming, ‘Moriarty was behind this whole group? He was targeting Sherlock even back then?’

‘This was only shortly before what John so fondly called, The Great Game, began,’ Mycroft commented offhandedly, drawing the attentions of the others.

‘So, we’re about to witness Sherlock and Moriarty’s first meeting?’ Molly turned to the man she’d once hoped to be her brother in law – if Sherlock had ever noticed her, that is.

[…] M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS

M: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS

‘That sure sounds like the psychopath,’ John muttered, breathing low and filled with echoing aggression. He would never forget the role that man had played in his best friend’s death. If he was still alive today and he ever saw him again, John didn’t know if he would be able to control himself. He’d kill that man over and over again if he could.

[…] SHAN: And now your safety is compromised.

‘Oh, no, she’s in real trouble now,’ Anderson mumbled.

‘Good!’ Mrs Hudson said definitively. ‘She wasn’t very pleasant, was she?’

‘Mrs Hudson!’ John cried, staring at his landlady in alarm. She sure could be gruesome when she wanted to be. He knew that she was the widow of a powerful drug lord, but still.

[…] M: THEY CANNOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME

Eyes widened as a few of the viewers realised the situation that the general had gotten herself into. She was sure not to leave that room, especially since she was dealing with Moriarty. That was the only thing they knew. The rest was a game of chance with that man. As he once said, he was so changeable, John thought with contempt.

[…] M: I AM CERTAIN.

‘Oh, this doesn’t look good,’ Molly said, eyes fixated on the screen with horror written across her face. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing nervously.

[…] Our view of the scene fades to black, and then a single gunshot rings out as we hear the sound of the bullet smashing through the window opposite en route to its target.

The viewers jumped back in alarm, though none of them seemed surprised by the fate of the general. The screen blackened again. Before anyone could speak, new words appeared. That’s the end of the second case!

‘Finally! I absolutely hated this case!’ Anderson cried.

‘Yeah! We heard you the first time, Anderson!’ Sally sneered. ‘At least now we know what happened to her.’

‘Well, that’s insensitive, now isn’t it?’ he snapped back.

‘Let’s just focus on watching the next case, shouldn’t we? We know that it’s about Moriarty, so let’s just get on with it,’ John interrupted. His narrowed eyes settled on the arguing ex-lovers, bringing them to silence.

‘Wait. How do we know it’s about Moriarty?’ the clueless man questioned, staring at the short blond in confusion.

‘Who do you think that mysterious ‘M’ was?’ Molly asked.

‘I dunno,’ Anderson admitted. ‘I guess that makes sense.’

Perfect! read the new words on the screen, Now we can on with ‘The Great Game’! I’m so excited for this! And so, the screen lit up and continued to play, changing scenes to show them the next case.

Chapter Text

‘I wonder what they’ll show us of this case?’ Molly said as she leaned forwards, eyes fixated on the screen. It was still blank, so obviously whomever their captor was, he or she wanted them to discuss the possibilities of the new case.

‘That’s always the question, isn’t it, Ms Hooper?’ Mycroft responded, looking at her. ‘We already know most of what happens during each case. Of course, some of us lived it, and the others have read about it, but there are still some components that none of us in this room have seen or even thought of as a part of the case.’

‘Yeah, like that boy from the museum in the last case. What was his name? Andrew? Andy?’

‘Wow, Lestrade, how did you remember that guy? I completely forgot he existed until you said something,’ Sally drawled. Her comments seemed far tamer than earlier – though only those towards Sherlock. Obviously, it was the influence Mycroft held over her job and his very real threat of dismissing her from the position she’d worked so hard to get to.

MINSK, BELARUS. […] Sherlock sounds bored.

‘Who’s this?’ Lestrade asked John, ‘A client?’

John squinted at the man in the dim lighting of the room. ‘Not any that I remember. Maybe he’s a reject client,’ he said.

Lestrade barked out a laugh. ‘Well, we know that Sherlock sure has a lot of those.’

[…] BERWICK: We’d been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin’ with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren’t ’appy with that, so … when we get back to the ’otel, we end up havin’ a bit of a ding-dong, don’t we?

‘His grammar is atrocious!’ Molly cried. ‘What is he even saying?’

‘He was flirting with a waitress, so when he and his girlfriend got back to their hotel, they got into an argument,’ Lestrade translated for her, despite the fact that they were both British, as was the inmate talking to Sherlock on the screen.

[…] SHERLOCK: Wasn’t a real man.

‘Thank you, Sherlock!’ Molly cried, relieved that at least someone else was peeved by the grammar. He was even correcting the poor inmate, though, knowing Sherlock, it wasn’t a surprise.

[…] BERWICK: He learned us how to cut up a beast.

There was a slight sound of frustration from the small woman, but other than that, nothing was said.

[…] BERWICK: Yeah, well, then-then I done it.

‘Why is he even talking to Sherlock if he admits to doing it? To murdering his girlfriend over a petty argument? What’s Sherlock supposed to do for him if he’s already a guilty man and he knows it?’ Anderson asked.

‘I dunno,’ was John’s reply. ‘That’s probably why he didn’t take the case. What really surprises me is that he asked the inmate to repeat himself.’

‘Last time Sherlock asked me to repeat something was…,’ Lestrade paused, trying to recall a moment in the many years he’d known the younger detective, ‘…never. Honestly, never. Sherlock has never asked me or anyone else to repeat themselves to him as far as I’ve seen. He hears it once and sometimes doesn’t even hear the whole story the first time before deciding he doesn’t want it.’

[…] Sherlock, who had just turned his head back towards Barry, now turns it away again with an annoyed look.

BERWICK: … any more.

‘At least he’s learning,’ Lestrade assured the pathologist with an amused sigh.

‘Yeah,’ she replied with a groan, head resting against the back of her seat. Her eyes were hard with remnants of her frustration, but were filled with resignation instead, accepting the man’s insistence of speaking poorly.

[…] BERWICK: Everyone says you’re the best. Without you, I’ll get hung for this.

‘Oh, so close!’

‘He finally uses the correct past tense and it’s still wrong with the context…. Poor fellow,’ Lestrade commented, chuckling despite the situation.

[…] SHERLOCK: Hanged, yes.

‘Did Holmes just make a pun?’ Sally asked incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at the figure on the screen, unbelieving of what she was seeing.

‘I…I think so…?’ Anderson answered, also shocked, though his eyes were narrowed, eyebrows furrowed together in puzzlement.

[…] 221B BAKER STREET. Two gunshots ring out.

‘Ah! What?’ Anderson cried out in alarm. He’d nearly jumped out of his seat, instinctively covering his head as if he expected to be shot at.

‘For God’s sake, Anderson! Pull yourself together! It’s just on the telly!’ Sally snapped at him.

‘Sorry…’ he mumbled meekly.

[…] A close-up view reveals that there are already two bullet holes in the wall where the two eyes had been sprayed, and the two new bullets have impacted the curve of the smile.

‘Wow! I never knew Holmes was such a great shot!’ Sally begrudgingly complimented. Deep down, she still hated him for what happened when they first met, but where acknowledgement was due, she’d give it.

[…] SHERLOCK (loudly): Bored!

‘That’s what he does when he’s bored? Okay, job or not, you can’t tell me that that’s not psychotic!’ Sally protested.

John scowled at her. ‘At least he doesn’t murder people when he’s bored, like some people we know,’ he pointed out. His face pinched; even the thought of Moriarty sent a shiver down his spine and flood of rage through his veins.

‘Still! Who shoots up a perfectly good wall?’

‘Sherlock. When he’s bored.’

[…] SHERLOCK (sulkily): Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.

John looked pointed at Sally as Sherlock said this.

[…] JOHN: So, you take it out on the wall.

SHERLOCK (running his fingers along the painted smile): Ah, the wall had it coming.

‘What did it do, I wonder?’ Molly asked with a cheery grin. She seemed highly amused by the detective’s domestic life. This kidnapping sure gave them a wonderous inside scoop of how John and Sherlock solve cases, but also their interesting day-to-day activities. She’d never thought she’d be so amused at a man buying groceries, but it happened.

[…] SHERLOCK: Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.

‘Is that really how he judges his cases? Whether he can figure them out right away or not?’ Lestrade looked at John for clarification. The latter shrugged.

[…] JOHN: A severed head!

SHERLOCK: Just tea for me, thanks.

Everyone, despite their feelings of the man, burst into laughter, and could not stop for several seconds. The video had graciously paused to allow them to do so without missing anything.

[…] SHERLOCK: I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.

‘Couldn’t you do that, you know, at the morgue?’ Sally demanded of the on-screen detective.

‘Yeah,’ Anderson agreed, ‘I bet Molly would’ve liked that. Seeing him more often, I mean,’ He hastily added the last bit upon seeing the strange looks cast his way. Molly blushed.

[…] SHERLOCK: … or who’s sleeping with who …

‘You mean who’s sleeping with whom, brother,’ Mycroft softly corrected.

[…] JOHN: ‘Deleted it’?

SHERLOCK (swinging his legs around to the floor and sitting up to face John): Listen. (He points to his head with one finger.) This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful … really useful.

‘I bet this comes back later to bite him in the rump,’ Lestrade muttered.

John, unable to contain himself, snorted with laughter.

[…] SHERLOCK: So, we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear … (he flails his hands around beside his head while narrating the line from the children’s poem) … it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.

‘Oh, so that he remembers!’ Sally said.

‘Maybe it was important in one of his cases,’ Lestrade suggested. ‘Though not on any I needed him for.’

[…] Mrs Hudson carries a couple of shopping bags into the kitchen.

MRS HUDSON: Have you two had a little domestic?

‘Mrs Hudson!’ John sighed in aggravation.

‘Well, she wasn’t wrong,’ Lestrade said to the poor, embarrassed man.

[…] MRS HUDSON: Oh, I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that’ll cheer you up.

‘I never noticed this before, but Mrs Hudson, you’re rather vicious, aren’t you?’

Mrs Hudson just smiled at Anderson, causing his whole body to roll with terrified shivers.

She chuckles slightly as she carries her bags towards the living room door.

SHERLOCK (wistfully): Can’t come too soon.

MRS HUDSON (stopping when she spots the damaged wall): Hey. What’ve you done to my bloody wall?!

Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his handiwork.

A brief session of laughter rose from those watching. It was rather enjoyable, in fact, to watch the domesticity of the detective. For many in the room, they were seeing a new side to Sherlock that they’d never known about. As the footage showed him in all instances, they saw everything. For some, it was curious as to how the detective’s personality and demeanour changed depending on who he was in contact with.

With John and Mrs Hudson, he was generally the annoying man they all knew, though there were moments when emotion shone through his cold outward appearance. With Molly, it was much more noticeable. Obviously, he used his aggression and rudeness towards her as an attempt to hide his feelings, which were easily discerned by his general dislike for all others who showed an interest in her. The yarders relieved mostly his professionalism, nothing more than the brilliant detective, nor less than the quick-witted verbal sparring partner for the two knuckleheads. And, of course, whenever Sherlock was around his brother, they received a breath of fresh air as he butted heads against him, seeming human for a change in the presence of his elder sibling.

MRS HUDSON (angrily): I’m putting this on your rent, young man!

She storms off down the stairs. Sherlock grins over-dramatically at the bullet-riddled smiley face—

‘Wait. Wait. Wait! How did he move from the living room to the dining room so quickly?’ Donovan asked. Her eyebrows furrowed, and it was clear that she had gears turning within her head, trying to figure it out. However, the gears were stuck and seemed to clank loudly, as she was at a loss in being able to figure it out.

‘He walked over there while Mrs Hudson was fretting over the wall,’ John said.

‘Oh.’

—then sighs and turns his head to the front just as a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him. The windows blow in and the blast hurls him forwards and to the floor. As the scene fades to black, he groans…

‘Oh no! Sherlock!’ Molly cried out in alarm.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,’ Joh tried to reassure her, ‘You saw him afterwards, remember?’

#

[…] SARAH: Well, maybe next time I’ll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know.

‘Thanks! But we really don’t need to see this!’ Anderson yelled at the ceiling, hoping that their captor could just skip over the part of John trying to get with girls. Like…maybe every time it happened, they could just skip it, was his thought. That didn’t seem to be the case for poor Anderson.

[…] SARAH (putting down the remote): So, d’you want some breakfast?

JOHN: Love some.

SARAH: Yeah, well you’d better make it yourself, ’cause I’m gonna have a shower!

Molly let out a snort of laughter, her hand quickly shooting up in an attempt to cover it. Mrs Hudson did the same. The only difference was that the old woman felt no shame in her amusement and so, let her dying-owl laugh – as Sherlock would’ve called it – ring loudly through the room.

[…] John looks at the TV screen and his face fills with shock as the picture changes to show live footage of a road where brickwork is scattered all over the pavement, and police cordons have been set up to keep people out. The headline at the bottom of the screen reads, ‘House destroyed on Baker St.’

‘I bet’cha he runs straight home to Sherlock,’ Donovan muttered to Lestrade.

He looked at her as if she were crazy. ‘No deal. We both know that’s what he’s goin’ ta do.’

[…] He heads towards the front door, not even waiting for Sarah to reply to him.

JOHN: Sorry – I’ve got to run.

‘And Sherlock’s possibly in danger, so he leaves his girlfriend’s house and rushes home to save his damsel in distress!’ Anderson said dramatically with a bright grin.

‘For the last time,’ John said, ‘Sherlock and I weren’t dating!’

#

BAKER STREET.

[…] JOHN: I live over there.

The officer steps aside and John unlocks the door and goes inside. He races up the stairs.

JOHN: Sherlock. Sherlock!

‘Just look at him! He’s so worried! The poor lad,’ Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

As he hurries into the living room, his eye is drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to his armchair, but his gaze quickly turns to Sherlock’s chair where Sherlock, now dressed and wearing a purple shirt under his jacket, is apparently uninjured and is intermittently plucking the strings of the violin he is holding on his chest while he glares petulantly towards John’s chair.

SHERLOCK (looking up at his flatmate): John.

‘And there he is! Just sittin’ there! Like nothin’s wrong! How does he just walk away from a bomb like its nothin’?’ Sally shouted, gesturing wildly to the screen. Luckily, she was no longer using any degrading terms to describe the detective, so no one had to say anything.

The reason for Sherlock’s annoyance – his brother Mycroft, who is sitting in John’s chair – glances round at John.

JOHN (to Sherlock): I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?

SHERLOCK: Hmm? What? (He looks around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he has forgotten it – which he probably has.) Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.

‘He doesn’t believe that for one second,’ Lestrade said, ‘and neither do I. Even if I didn’t know what happened, I doubt I would believe a lie that bad.’

‘Agreed,’ said the two other Yarders.

He turns his attention back to his brother, who stares at him pointedly while Sherlock plucks his violin strings again.

SHERLOCK: I can’t.

‘What is he talking about?’ Sally questioned, sneering at the screen. Things were just moving too fast for her.

‘Some case of Mycroft’s, I reckon,’ Lestrade answered her in a whisper.

MYCROFT: ‘Can’t’?

SHERLOCK: The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.

‘Wasn’t he just complaining earlier that he was so bored because he didn’t have a case?’ Anderson stage-whispered to everyone.

‘He wasn’t complaining,’ Mrs Hudson grumbled. ‘He was shooting up my bloody walls!’

‘In any case, he was, but he’s just too stubborn to admit it. He’d never willingly take a case from his brother,’ John said, sending an apologetic look to the elder Holmes.

[…] MYCROFT: I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.

‘What does that word even mean, Mycroft? I never asked.’ John turned to the elder Holmes.

He received only a side glance in return. ‘Perhaps I should have put it into starker terms, John,’ he said. ‘My brother was being stubborn, as you simpletons would say.’

‘Oh.’

[…] Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. He turns to John, who is absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

SHERLOCK: How’s Sarah, John? How was the Lilo?

‘And, of course, he knows that you slept on the Lilo,’ Molly said with a laugh at John’s expense.

‘Why wouldn’t he? It was all over your face,’ Lestrade asked, ‘and the rest of you for that matter.’

‘Really? How so?’ John turned to the detective inspector. He’d never known that Lestrade could tell. Then again, he’d gotten to the position of DI. It was just that, compared to Sherlock, Lestrade was always overlooked. Whenever he got a case of particular difficulty, as any regular human would, he was confused, until Sherlock stepped in and explained it all to him without hesitation or sugar lacing his tongue. The way Sherlock spoke made everyone around him seem so far inferior that it was easy to forget that Lestrade had earned his place in New Scotland Yard long before Sherlock became a detective.

Lestrade scoffed. ‘Well, first of all, your shirt is crumpled, but not in the way it would be if you’d been…y’know. Second, you’re walking with a slight hunch, indicating neck pain, as we saw from the earlier footage. That, paired with the bags under your eyes, means you didn’t have a very good night’s sleep. Ergo, not a proper bed; likely a Lilo,’ Lestrade listed the facts in a very Sherlockian way, leaving the others slightly astounded by the abilities he’d seemed to pick up from the strange man over the years of knowing him.

MYCROFT (consulting his pocket watch and not even looking at John): Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.

Sherlock briefly looks John up and down.

SHERLOCK: Oh yes, of course.

Molly leaned in. ‘I’m a bit intrigued by their relationship. If anyone else had corrected him he would’ve gone off at them, but not Mycroft.’

‘Let’s just say he was well trained in knowing which of us was the smarter brother,’ Mycroft said smugly.

JOHN (incredulously): How …? Oh, never mind.

He sits down on the coffee table. Mycroft smiles across at him.

Sally shivered. ‘Don’t smile like that! It’s creepy!’

‘At least he smiles. Sherlock never smiled. Unless it was forced, and you could really tell when it was forced,’ Anderson interjected.

‘Elder Holmes’ smile is forced, too. Can’t you tell?’

‘But it’s less so. He’s used to playing that part, whereas Sherlock really just never cared about society,’ John interrupted the argument between the two Yarders.

MYCROFT: Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you and he became … pals.

‘Even Mycroft thinks you guys are together romantically! And he’s the only one that Sherlock seems to understand what he’s referring to! How does that possibly make sense?’ Anderson pointing out, pushing his hands towards the television.

‘I think it’s selective hearing, young man,’ Mrs Hudson said.

Sherlock throws him a dark look.

MYCROFT (to John): What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.

JOHN: I’m never bored.

‘I’ll eat my hat if that isn’t the biggest understatement of all time!’ Anderson declared.

None commented.

[…] JOHN: Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.

Sherlock, who is now applying rosin to his bow with a small cloth, smirks noisily.

‘Is it just me, or does Sherlock react to John a lot and no one ever notices it? Because if not for the image cutting to Sherlock, I never would’ve heard that! Or seen his smirk!’ Sally exclaimed.

‘I guess so, yeah…,’ John agreed, though he seemed unsure.

[…] MYCROFT: But it is secret. And missing.

‘Oooh! That’s not good!’ Anderson snickered childishly, before being smacked by Sally. With a grunt of protest, he was cut off as she hissed, ‘That’s a bad thing, idiot!’

[…] MYCROFT: You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.

Breathing in sharply through his nose, Sherlock raises the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He looks calmly at his brother.

SHERLOCK: I’d like to see you try.

‘Would it be strange if I’d like to see how this would play out, too?’ Molly asked, just out of curiosity. No one spared her a second glance, so she assumed it wasn’t. And as such, she continued to ponder a scene where this very situation was happening.

[…] JOHN: Sibling rivalry. Now we’re getting somewhere.

‘That’s certainly deeper into his life than anyone has been before! And only a few months into knowing the bloke! Well done, John!’ Lestrade congratulated, though inside, he was slightly envious of the man. After knowing Sherlock for so many years, he didn’t know half of what was going on in the taller man’s head most of the time. And then John came waltzing in and took his place as Sherlock’s main acquaintance – even became his friend! – and was learning things left, right, and centre about the man!

At least they were all learning it together, now.

[…] SHERLOCK: Lestrade. I’ve been summoned. Coming?

Mycroft scoffed at the screen.

John smiled. ‘Poor Mycroft. When Lestrade calls, Sherlock’s up and wagging his tail like a dog to his master.’

‘I resent that description!’ Lestrade protested.

‘An accurate description,’ Sally muttered.

JOHN: If you want me to.

SHERLOCK: Of course. (Picking up his coat, he turns back to him.) I’d be lost without my blogger.

The blatant sarcasm of that last statement was not lost on the viewers, but neither was the underlining sincerity behind it. There was a deeper meaning there.

As the screen went black again, Sally sighed. ‘We’re only ten minutes in, I think,’ she said, ‘But it seems like longer. How many more of these is there going to be?’

‘No idea, but after this one – when we meet Moriarty – there were at least three more major cases before…,’ John trailed off.

‘Before what, John?’ Molly prompted.

‘Before the fall.’

A silence fell over the room. They all sat, thinking about what they’d been shown so far. Even after only two cases, sherlock was changing in the presence of John. Before, he’d been cold and calculating. He was still such but had also grown softer – no longer the unfeeling man of facts and figures. He was cracking jokes, now that they were able to catch. For some reason, they hadn’t noticed whenever he’d told a joke. Maybe because they weren’t expecting it, but Sherlock was, indeed, a very witty individual.

When the screen started up again, the viewers were unprepared, and looked up jerkily at the sound of a vehicle.

[…] LESTRADE: You’ll love this. That explosion …

SHERLOCK (briefly exchanging glares with Detective Sergeant Donovan as he walks past her desk): Gas leak, yes?

LESTRADE: No.

SHERLOCK: No?

‘Sherlock was fooled? It must be Moriarty’s work, then,’ Molly said confidently, though she shuddered upon uttering the name of her madman ex-boyfriend.

[…] LESTRADE: Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this.

‘Oh! I remember this! This was the beginning of Moriarty’s wild goose chase for Sherlock, wasn’t it?’ Anderson asked, turning to John. The man in question just sent Anderson a blank look, as if he couldn’t believe that the former – although known to be a little slow – was only just figuring it out.

[…] SHERLOCK (looking closely at the writing): She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib.

JOHN: ‘She’?

‘Wait…. Who was it again who wrote that. Did you ever find out? Or was it Moriarty pretending to be a girl?’ Sally asked John.

John shrugged. ‘Don’t remember. Maybe we’ll see,’ he replied.

[…] SHERLOCK: The Study in Pink? You read his blog?

‘Oh, so that was his reaction?’ Anderson asked. ‘Donovan, you liar! I paid fifty quid on that bet!’

Sally’s eyes were wide as she’d been caught in the act. She sighed. ‘I guess you got me. Sorry.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership.

‘For some people, that would be great, but not when you start receiving fan mail like this,’ Molly muttered under her breath. The annoyance running through her was immense, but it was pushed aside by a deep spike of dread, as she knew that the others would most likely see the time when Sherlock first met Moriarty, or as he was known at the time, Jim.

[…] JOHN (following him): H-hang on. What’s gonna happen again?

SHERLOCK (turning back and raising his hands dramatically): Boom!

Molly chuckled. ‘If you really think about it, Sherlock is a bit of a child. He likes to act all sophisticated, but with dramatic outbursts like that, his flare really shines through.’

[…] MRS HUDSON: I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls …

She trails to a halt as Lestrade closes the door behind him. She turns and heads back into her own flat.

MRS HUDSON (exasperated): Oh! Men!

Sally and Molly nodded in agreement, glaring at the men in the room. Lestrade had the decency to look down in shame, embarrassment flooding his cheeks a deep rouge.

#

[…] SHERLOCK (softly): Hello?

A female voice draws in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully.

WOMAN’s VOICE: H-hello … sexy.

‘Was Moriarty flirting with him, even then? Was it all some sort of sick joke?’ Sally questioned, disgusted by the psychopath’s antics.

‘So you do admit that Moriarty was real!’ Lestrade said triumphantly.

Sally looked like a deer in the headlights, but eventually sighed and grumbled quietly to herself.

[…] SHERLOCK (softly): The curtain rises.

‘How sick-minded could he get?’ Sally whispered to herself. Luckily, no one else heard her, or she would’ve received a few more dirty looks, despite being reasonably justified for her response, at least in her own mind.

[…] WOMAN: … or I’m going … to be … so naughty.

‘I’m not crazy, right?’ Anderson asked, ‘Moriarty is totally flirting with Sherlock here?’

‘You are crazy,’ Sally agreed, ‘But I think that this is flirting.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, she doesn’t matter. She’s just a hostage. No lead there.

‘Some people would be infuriated by Sherlock’s response, but I see his point, actually. Knowing who she was wouldn’t really help her any more than not knowing who she was, and it would only distract him from trying to save her,’ Lestrade admitted.

The others, who’d been angered by the detective’s unempathetic response sighed as they realised that, too, understanding the point given by the grey-haired man.

[…] SHERLOCK: Pass me my phone.

John looks around the room.

JOHN: Where is it?

SHERLOCK: Jacket.

‘Wow! That’s what I call laziness,’ Molly said quietly, with an amused expression.

[…] SHERLOCK: Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?

‘Delightfully interesting? Is that what Holmes thinks that psychopath is being? No wonder they make such a great pair,’ Sally said, mostly to herself.

[…] SHERLOCK: This hospital’s full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?

‘He does kind of have a point. What’s the point crying over someone if that keeps you from doing something that could actually help them? It’s kind of counterintuitive,’ Molly admitted.

[…] As Molly comes over to look at the screen, a man in his thirties, wearing slacks and a T-shirt, comes in the door and then stops apologetically.

‘And here it is! Sherlock’s very first meeting with Moriarty, and he couldn’t pick out the psychopath under that white shirt and those slacks! It was right in front of his nose the whole time!’ Sally felt a little triumphant, even though a tiny part of herself – buried in the deep recesses of her mind – was yelling at her that she wouldn’t have been able to tell either, from the boring-looking guy that had just walked in. Then again, he liked to make himself out to be a genius in every sense of the word, so she could tease him for missing that fact. If he was still around to tease, that is….

[…] John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly.

MOLLY (apologetically): And, uh … sorry.

JOHN: John Watson. Hi.

Molly blushed, just like her on-screen self. ‘I’m so sorry, John!’ she cried, guiltily, even though she now knew the name of Sherlock’s trustworthy and noble sidekick and blogger.

JIM: Hi.

His eyes are locked on Sherlock’s back as he gazes at him admiringly. He speaks in a casual London accent.

JIM: So, you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly’s told me all about you. You on one of your cases?

‘God!’ Sally cried. ‘He needs to stop that!’

‘What?’ Anderson whispered his question.

‘That! Being normal! This is the person who is currently threatening to blow up a woman and half a car-park for the sake of a little game of cat and mouse with Sherlock Holmes! And yet he’s so…so….’

‘Regular? Boring?’

‘Boring! That’s it!’

He walks closer to Sherlock, forcing John to step out of his way.

MOLLY: Jim works in IT upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.

‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Mrs Hudson said, reaching out with one hand to gently touch Molly’s shoulder.

She and Jim giggle. Sherlock glances briefly round at Jim before returning to look into the ’scope.

SHERLOCK: Gay.

‘I have one question, before we continue,’ Anderson interrupted. Luckily for him, their mysterious captor heard and just paused the video to allow the man to speak. ‘Was Moriarty actually gay, or was he just playing that part because he knew what Sherlock would pick up on? And if he was, did he actually have a crush on Sherlock and that’s why he sent all those cases to him, so he could watch him figure them out?’

He was met with a few blank looks and a few knowing smiles, but not much else.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ Sally said. ‘I bet he knows.’ She was subtle in her pointing, but it didn’t stop Mycroft from noticing the finger positioned in his direction.

He didn’t say anything as the screen reanimated and the scene continued.

[…] Molly stares at him for a moment, then turns and runs out of the room. Sherlock looks startled by her reaction.

JOHN: Charming. Well done.

SHERLOCK: Just saving her time. Isn’t that kinder?

‘He thinks that’s kindness? If he’s serious, then that man is ever more messed up than I originally thought, and none of you can disagree with me on that!’ Sally declared. ‘I can’t believe I ever –’ she cut off her own thoughts. Now was not the time to be opening that can of worms.

JOHN: ‘Kinder’? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn’t kind.

‘And we know that, but Sherlock sure doesn’t,’ Lestrade said, slightly annoyed by the detective. Of course, he was well used to Sherlock’s social cues.

Molly, however, was intently focused on the man. His motive was to keep her from being more hurt? In that moment, it was obviously not handled well, but his intentions were pure hearted and kind. If only the undertaking wasn’t so callous, she might’ve understood.

[…] SHERLOCK: Go on.

‘Here’s getting ready to insult you, isn’t he?’ Anderson asked John, already feeling sorry for the man.

[…] JOHN: I dunno – they’re just a pair of shoes. (He immediately corrects himself.) Trainers.

SHERLOCK: Good.

There was nothing but wide eyes in the room. Cries of ‘What?’ and ‘Impossible!’ arose, but John only sighed.

‘He’s actually being sarcastic, but I guess just hearing him say those words are incredible enough…. He keeps humouring me for a good while, too…,’ he muttered.

[…] SHERLOCK: I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know …

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ Molly said in an endearing tone. ‘Here he goes again, in his own little world, explaining how it all works.’

[…] JOHN (straightening up): Twenty years?

SHERLOCK: They’re not retro – they’re original.

‘Did not see that coming,’ Anderson breathed out in a low voice.

Sally gave him a light, quick smack on the shoulder. ‘You don’t see a lot of things coming.’

Anderson opened his mouth, looking like he was going to argue, but after a sharp look from the woman, he wisely shut up and focused his attention back on the screen.

[…] SHERLOCK (nodding towards the computer screen): Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me.

Two dots are flashing on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.

‘I’m still confused as to how this works. Is this what he sees, or is it just put in there for our benefit?’ Anderson asked.

‘I wouldn’t put it past Sherlock to have a map like that in his head, or for words to float around him as he looks at things. He’s crazy enough as it is, old sod,’ John said good naturedly, with a bright grin on his face.

[…] JOHN: So, what happened to him?

SHERLOCK: Something bad.

‘Obviously,’ Sally said, slightly annoyed by John’s obliviousness.

‘You’re starting to sound like Sherlock,’ John pointed out playfully, only to receive a combined look of horror and hatred flash in the sergeant’s eyes as she glared at him.

[…] SHERLOCK (softly): Carl Powers.

Lestrade nodded subtly, remembering the case, though his eyes squinted slightly as he tried to remember the details. It had been quite a few months since this stream of cases set up by the infamous man they knew as Moriarty. He hoped that it wasn’t true that the man was just a hired actor. Everything he knew about Sherlock told him that the man was telling the truth – that he’d been innocent – but that one sliver of doubt had clawed its way into his heart, and by the time he realised just how wrong he was, it was too late. Sherlock would forever be his biggest regret. He felt responsible, of course. They all did. Except maybe Donovan, but then again, she still believed that Moriarty was an innocent man by the name of Richard Brook.

[…] SHERLOCK: It’s where I began.

‘What does he mean by that?’ Anderson asked. In his mind, he was running through all sorts of scenarios, but none seemed to make sense, even to him,

‘I’m sure it’ll be explained, but in short, Sherlock told me that Carl Powers’ murder was his first case,’ John replied.

‘Wait…murder? But that boy just had a seizure in the pool, right?’

Everyone in the room sighed. ‘You were there when Sherlock solved the case, right? The one that Moriarty set up for him? Moriarty was the one who killed him.’

‘All those years ago? But he was just a kid, then!’

‘I guess that proves that some people are just born evil,’ Molly said sadly. Never before had she believed that to be true. Everyone had a backstory, but for Moriarty, it seemed impossible, no matter the childhood he had, that he could commit murder at such a young age. Maybe that was just how he was made.

She didn’t have any time to dwell on it, however, as the scene continued. It seemed to be going much quicker than ever, now, in this third ‘episode’ as she was going to call it. Their mysterious captor had yet to show himself or herself, but secretly, she hoped it was Sherlock, come out of hiding with some strange secret recordings, showing them everything that he’d done and then dramatically reveal how he faked his death.

She smiled. He did have a certain flare for the dramatics.

Chapter Text

As they were slowly making their way through the third ‘episode’ as it were, in the series of videos of their late detective, the guests, trapped in a small dark room, were growing slightly tired of watching. Sure, the content was indeed interesting, but the darkness and impeding stiffness in their joints were taking their toll.

‘Do you think we could just have a little break?’ John asked, looking up at the ceiling. Despite not having found one yet, he was still looking for a camera – something that indicated that they were being watched. As always, there was nothing.

The screen flickered. All right. I’ll let you out of here for a few hours. Enjoy rainy London, but when I feel the time is right, I’m bringing you back here to watch the rest.

The guests, though hesitant, agreed to the terms.

‘If I may ask, how would you bring us back here?’ Mycroft said, offhandedly.

Same way I did before.

‘And what might that be? I remember a bright light, but it remains fuzzy in my recollection –’

‘Same here. We saw a bright light and then we wound up here,’ Anderson interrupted.

Mycroft sent him a cold look for being cut off, but otherwise said nothing to the forensic scientist. Before anyone else could interrupt, there was another flash of light – just like the one that had brought them there in the first place – and suddenly everyone was back, exactly where they were before the whole thing started.

As promised, after a few hours in London – though it seemed like no time had passed, whatsoever, since they’d been kidnapped – the bright light returned for them. Back in the small room, the seven Londoners looked at one another in utter confusion.

‘How he or she – or whoever – does that, I’ll have no idea!’ Lestrade exclaimed, astonished.

‘Yeah! It’s like nothing even happened! No time passed! Our driver was waiting there like we’d never left!’ John said,

‘You think we were hypnotised?’ Anderson asked. His eyebrows furrowed at the possibility, and he began muttering to himself, trying to disprove his own theory. Could it be disproven? There was no way to tell.

‘Never mind that now,’ Sally interrupted. ‘We stopped at what seems like an interesting point, and it’s starting, so be quiet and just watch!’

Later, the boys are in the back of a taxi.

SHERLOCK: Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident.

He shows John the front page of a newspaper on his phone.

SHERLOCK: You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?

JOHN: But you remember.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

‘My question is, if he likes to just delete things out of that mind of his, why would he remember something like that?’ Sally exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the television.

‘Maybe if you’d shut your mouth for one moment and actually watched this video like a civilised person, you’d realise that they are about to explain it,’ Mycroft said cuttingly.

Sally shrunk back in her seat. She was no longer cussing at Sherlock just because of who he was, but aggressively criticizing him like any other show she’d watch on the telly. (Kind of like how they’d seen Sherlock yelling at the crap telly earlier in the videos.)

[…] SHERLOCK: They weren’t there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes …

‘Anyone else imagining a tiny little Sherlock kicking and screaming at the cops?’ Molly asked, a small smile of her face as she imagined him as a child.

‘Doesn’t he already do that?’ Lestrade asked, joking good-naturedly.

‘What did he even look like back then?’ Anderson said with a frown.

The all turned to look at Mycroft, as if he would answer the spoken question. He just scoffed and remained silent. The waited for a little bit longer, but when it seemed he was insistent on not talking, they returned to watching the screen.

[…] JOHN: Can I help?

‘He would’ve told you to shut up,’ Lestrade whispered to him, ‘If he felt like talking.’

[…] JOHN: How does he know my number?

‘I have my ways, John Watson,’ Mycroft said mysteriously.

‘Also, you shouldn’t be so confused. You’re in the phone book, mate,’ Lestrade whispered to the ex-army soldier.

SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Must be a root canal.

The turned to the man in question. ‘Was it a root canal? I never found out,’ John asked.

Mycroft, as usual, didn’t respond.

[…] SHERLOCK: I’m not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now.

JOHN: Right. Good.

He folds his arms and nods in satisfaction, then looks at Sherlock in puzzlement.

JOHN: Who’s that?

‘Oh, John,’ Mrs Hudson said sympathetically. ‘You poor thing.’

#

[…] JOHN: Thank you. (He sits.) Um, well, I was wanting to … um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans.

Mycroft looks over his shoulder and smiles at him.

‘Have I already mentioned that his smile is even creepier than Sherlock’s? Because it is,’ Anderson said.

[…] JOHN: He’s, er, investigating away.

‘What kind of lie was that?’ Lestrade asked incredulously.

‘Um…I never really got much practice lying. Never had to,’ John admitted.

Lowering his hand again, Mycroft smiles as if he doesn’t believe a word of it.

JOHN: Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.

MYCROFT: Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies …

Cut-away flashback to Andrew West sitting on a living room sofa with a young blonde woman. She snuggles into his shoulder, unaware that he is looking very worried.

‘Like I said, they’re just laying out all the facts for us to just eat up. Like they’re trying to make us feel smart or something when we figure it out!’ Sally said, slightly aggravated. Why she’d be upset about feeling smart, no one in the room knew, but it seemed that she did.

[…] JOHN: Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So, he got on the train.

‘Obviously not,’ Lestrade said.

MYCROFT: No.

‘How did you do that?’ They all turned to the detective, who shrugged with a sheepish grin on his face. ‘I guess hanging about with Sherlock rubs off on you, but it’s kind of clear, isn’t it?’

‘Not to me it isn’t. Still not, I’m afraid,’ John admitted.

[…] JOHN: He-he’s fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going … very well. It’s, um, you know – he’s completely focussed on it.

‘You really need some lying lessons, John,’ Sally said. ‘Why that freak of a man used to hang about with you I have no idea.’ In her nonchalant behaviours, she didn’t even realise her slip-up until Mycroft’s angry face was staring her down.

‘I warned you earlier what would happen if you called my little brother that word again, Sergeant. Say farewell to your job once this is all over. End of discussion.’

The look of shock on Sally’s face was priceless, and despite the slight unfairness of the situation, the others were only amused, not concerned. She had, in fact, been warned and had brought it upon herself, after all. No sympathies there for the woman still insisting upon insulting a dead man.

[…] Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table.

SHERLOCK: Clostridium botulinum!

‘Were those supposed to be words?’ Anderson asked.

‘I thought you were a scientist?’ Molly asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

[…] JOHN: Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?

A collective sigh rang throughout the room. ‘Oh, poor, naïve little John. How innocent and just plain stupid you were back then. At least you’re a bit better now,’ Lestrade joked. ‘A bit.’

[…] FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).

‘Interesting how he worked out that the fan reading John’s blog would also check his. I don’t know many people who would find them to be the same on interest levels,’ Lestrade said.

Mycroft scoffed. ‘I guess it’s a good thing you don’t know more people like James Moriarty then, isn’t it Detective Inspector?’

[…] JOHN: The killer kept the shoes all these years.

SHERLOCK: Yes. (He looks at John.) Meaning …

‘It’s kind of cute how Sherlock is helping John along while solving his cases. Like he’s training a new little detective,’ Molly cooed.

John blushed bright red at that statement.

[…] Some time later the woman stares anxiously out of the car window as members of a bomb disposal team, dressed in protective padded clothing, make their way towards the car.

Molly’s mood had instantly dropped upon seeing the woman. ‘That must’ve been awful for her. How did she recover from that?’ she asked.

‘Therapy,’ John stated with his arms crossed. ‘Lots and lots of therapy.’

#

MORNING. NEW SCOTLAND YARD.

[…] LESTRADE: But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?

SHERLOCK: Oh – I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.

‘But at least Sherlock never strapped anyone to a bomb just because it suited him!’ Molly said accusingly at Sally.

‘At least I never dated a psychopath!’ she shot back.

Lestrade, in defence of Molly, stood up. ‘But you wanted to.’

Everything stopped.

‘What?’ John asked, voicing everyone’s confusion in that moment. He was looking at Sally with furrowed eyebrows.

Lestrade kept his gaze hard on Sally Donovan. ‘I saw you that first time we brought Sherlock on a case. You were entranced by his abilities, but as soon as he expressed no interest in you whatsoever, you turned cold and started calling him a freak!’

‘That’s the reason?’ Molly shrieked in alarm. Her face was flushed red, though not with embarrassment, at it normally was. This time, pure anger brought the blood there. She all but growled at the other woman.

[…] DONOVAN: Freak, it’s for you.

Now knowing the reason behind the woman’s anger at Sherlock, Molly was more infuriated than ever when she heard him being called that name. Though she looked ready to tackle Donovan, she didn’t; Mrs Hudson was holding her in place with a surprisingly strong grip, mumbling in her ear that ‘it isn’t worth it.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Who is this? Is this you again?

YOUNG MAN: But don’t rely on them.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Anderson asked.

[…] YOUNG MAN: Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers.

We get a glimpse of the young man standing somewhere in a busy street, reading from a pager.

‘And there he is, the poor sod,’ Lestrade said sadly. ‘Watching this, we know exactly where he is from the beginning, but then he had to wait for hours until Sherlock solved the case to be freed from that madman.’

[…] SHERLOCK (into phone): And you’ve stolen another voice, I presume.

YOUNG MAN: This is about you and me.

‘It’s in moments like these that you can really tell that Moriarty is one sick bastard,’ Lestrade said, shaking his head.

[…] SHERLOCK: What’s that noise?

The man looks down at the pager, still struggling not to weep.

‘The poor dear,’ Mrs Hudson mumbled.

YOUNG MAN: The sounds of life, Sherlock.

Finally, we get a clear view of where the man is. He is standing on a large traffic island at Piccadilly Circus. Pedestrians are walking past him, taking no notice of a distressed tearful man.

‘I don’t know what’s sadder,’ Molly said. ‘That he has a bomb strapped to his chest and has to stand there reading off of Moriarty’s pager, or that no one is taking notice of him. I mean…it’s a good thing they’re not trying to help and get him killed, but still.’

[…] YOUNG MAN: You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight.

‘And here is Moriarty, counting down,’ Anderson said, leaning forwards. Knowing that it already happened, and they were saved, he could watch it for the enjoyment of watching Sherlock figure out puzzles without having to worry. He’d forgotten about puzzle three, and the others knew it.

[…] DONOVAN: You’re still hanging round him.

JOHN: Yeah, well …

DONOVAN: Opposites attract, I suppose.

‘Seriously? Even Sally thought you two were a thing?’ Anderson asked with an immensely humoured laugh.

‘Didn’t you ever?’ Sally asked in reply.

‘Sally was just trying to give herself an excuse as to why Sherlock didn’t like her, and Anderson’s too blind to see how they act to be in on the joke,’ Lestrade explained, sending both of his employees – former employees – a glare.

‘That’s not tru—!’ Both protested, only to be shut up by a glare from Mycroft.

[…] SHERLOCK: Mrs Monkford?

She turns to him tearfully.

‘Oh God, you really let him talk to her?’ Sally asked.

John turned to her in confusion. ‘You were there!’

‘She just needs an excuse to talk,’ Molly grumbled lowly.

[…] MRS MONKFORD: Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?

‘How did Sherlock not pick up on that?’ Anderson asked. ‘Usually he picks up on stuff like that.’

Lestrade glanced at him. ‘People like to prove you wrong; sometimes the best way to get answers is to give them something to refute.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!

MRS MONKFORD: No, it wasn’t.

‘Again, why does he keep getting things wrong? I may not like him, but this ruins my reputation even more if he keeps getting things wrong!’

Anderson got smacked over the head yet again by Sally. ‘He’s doing it on purpose, you numbskull!’

Instantly Sherlock’s fake persona drops, and he looks at her intensely.

SHERLOCK: Wasn’t it? Interesting.

‘She must’ve been so confused by that, but first of all, how could she believe his story if she’d never met him and he wouldn’t be allowed on the scene of the crime?’ Anderson asked.

‘He’s just that good of a liar, I suppose,’ John replied.

[…] SHERLOCK: Definitely not. That’s not a mistake a murderer would make.

JOHN: I see. No, I don’t. What am I seeing?

‘John, I feel like you are everyone trying to figure him out, and it’s hilarious!’ Molly said, laughing exuberantly alongside Mrs Hudson.

As they walk past Donovan, she turns and calls out to John.

DONOVAN: Fishing! Try fishing!

‘Why were you still giving him hobbies?’ Mrs Hudson asked in distaste. ‘If he hasn’t started one already, he surely won’t now that you’re trying to get him to. You’ve been nothing but mean to his friend since you two met.’

[…] SIX HOURS TO GO.

‘They spent three whole hours at that crime scene? What? How could you spend three hours at a crime scene if that was all you needed, and you were on a time crunch?’ Anderson asked, alarmed.

John shrugged. Anderson didn’t seem to understand that they didn’t spend the entire three hours there, considering travel time and such things, and he wasn’t going to be the one to point it out to him.

JANUS CARS.

[…] Ewert turns his head to look and Sherlock immediately looks closely at the side of the man’s neck.

‘Is that a…sunburn?’ Molly asked, squinting at the same spot where Sherlock was squinting.

[…] He starts scratching near the top of his left arm with his right hand. Sherlock looks at him for a moment, then turns away and heads around the room towards the other side of the desk.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird how this footage shows us all the clues we need to solve it just like Sherlock? They’re all there, but we don’t realise it until it’s laid out for us,’ John said, shaking his head in astonishment. ‘I sure didn’t think anything of most of what’s happening, and yet, now, seeing it strung together, it all makes perfect sense how Sherlock solved it.’

‘Pretty brilliant, seeing it all in a different perspective?’ Lestrade asked.

[…] EWERT: Oh, the-the … (He gestures towards his tanned face.) No, it’s, er, sunbeds, I’m afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun.

‘Good excuse, bad delivery,’ Mycroft muttered. ‘Only an idiot would believe that blatant lie.’

[…] SHERLOCK: I’m gasping.

‘No, he’s not. Isn’t it obvious?’ Molly asked.

‘Molly, only you could be able to tell if Sherlock was lying about needing a cigarette,’ John assured her humorously.

EWERT: Um, well … (He reaches into his trouser pocket and takes out his wallet.) Hmm.

He opens the wallet and looks inside.

‘What are those notes? Surely not pounds,’ Sally observed, staring strangely at the wad of bills in the man’s wallet.

[…] SHERLOCK: I needed to look inside his wallet.

JOHN: Why?

SHERLOCK: Mr Ewert’s a liar.

‘That’s obvious enough, isn’t it?’ Sally said. ‘He even seems like a sleaze, but can you prove it?’

‘Of course he can prove it, who do you think you’re talking about, sergeant?’ Mycroft said coldly.

Sally opened her mouth to snap back at him, but wisely shut it with an audible clack of her teeth, nearly biting her tongue in the process.

‘How far d’you reckon we’re in, now?’ Lestrade asked.

Mycroft was the one to answer. ‘If I were to wager a guess, we’re about half an hour in, and judging by how long the other two cases were, we’re about a third of the way in.’

‘Ah,’ John replied. ‘Good. And we’ll end it with the pool, most likely. But, of course, you already knew that, seeing as you have cameras on us all the time,’ he said, looking pointedly at Mycroft.

‘Wait. What pool?’ Anderson asked. He wasn’t given an answer, as per usual, but John at least took pity on him.

‘Don’t worry,’ John said. ‘It’s coming up soon. This series of cases has only…what? Three more? They were all pretty quick when you think about it. Especially if they only show the bigger discoveries and not the hours of legwork.’

#

ST BART’S LAB.

[…] YOUNG MAN (tearfully reading from the pager): The clue’s in the name. Janus Cars.

‘Moriarty’s giving him a clue? Why would he do that?’ Molly asked.

SHERLOCK: Why would you be giving me a clue?

Molly blushed, having asked the same question as Sherlock just did.

YOUNG MAN: Why does anyone do anything? Because I’m bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock.

‘There he goes again with the flirting, but he’s still threatening people with bombs. Is he or isn’t he in love with Holmes?’ Sally asked.

Lestrade scratched at his chin, deep in thought. ‘I think he’s in love with the idea of Sherlock, not with Sherlock himself,’ he said. ‘He’s just…confused.’

[…] POLICE CAR POUND. Sherlock, John and Lestrade are standing around Monkford’s car.

SHERLOCK: How much blood was on that seat, would you say?

‘He’s doing the thing again,’ Sally noted.

‘What thing?’ Anderson asked.

She glanced over at him. ‘The thing where he asks a question only to completely turn whatever you say around on you.’

Anderson nodded, his eyes growing wide. ‘Oh! That thing! I hated that thing!’

‘Why would you? He never asked your opinion on anything,’ she replied.

‘Nor did he ask you!’

[…] SHERLOCK: Janus Cars. The clue’s in the name.

‘Did he just repeat what Moriarty told him?’ Sally asked.

‘I think he did,’ Anderson piped up.

They looked at each other, then back at the screen.

[…] SHERLOCK: No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm.

‘What was with his arm?’ Anderson asked.

‘Sherlock said he went to Columbia. He must’ve gotten a booster jab,’ Molly said matter-of-factly.

[…] SHERLOCK: Why? Because he’d recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he’d just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars.

‘Good job, dear,’ Mrs Hudson whispered to her, seeing as no one else seemed to notice that molly was pretty good at guessing what Sherlock was about to say.

JOHN: M-Mrs Monkford?

SHERLOCK: Oh yes. She’s in on it too.

Lestrade lowers his head with a look of amazement on his face.

‘Even watching this, I still don’t know how he did it! I mean, I see all the clues laid out in front of us, and the way he does it – picking up on them – is just amazing!’ Lestrade complimented.

‘It’s not too much of a stretch once you see it,’ Mycroft said dismissively.

‘Well, I just have to say that you and your brother both do extraordinary things.’

Mycroft tried to play it off, but if one looked closely, they’d see that the corner of his mouth turned up into a fraction of a smile, although well hidden by the snobbish look he placed on his face.

[…] SHERLOCK: I am on fire!

‘Maybe he shouldn’t be saying that with bomb threats going on…’ Molly said quietly.

‘Never mind that, has he always acted this way?’ Sally said.

‘What way?’ John asked.

‘Like a child! He’s a petulant child at times, but then, like here, he’s practically dancing in celebration. And then there was that time when he jumped in the air like a little boy on Christmas morning!’

#

221B.

[…] YOUNG MAN (tearfully, over speaker): He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please.

Shortly afterwards, police officers are running towards the young man from all directions. In 221B, Sherlock looks up at John and smiles.

‘That’s two of five done,’ Anderson said, as if crossing off an imaginary check box.

#

MORNING.

[…] JOHN: Has it occurred to you …?

SHERLOCK: Probably.

‘In all honesty, anything that had occurred to you, John, it’s more than likely to have occurred to him as well. Unless it deals with human emotion, that is,’ Lestrade said.

[…] JOHN: Is it him, then? Moriarty?

SHERLOCK: Perhaps.

‘Why is he saying that? It’s clear that he knows it’s Moriarty!’ Anderson exclaimed.

[…] JOHN: Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I’ve been more than a little unemployed.

SHERLOCK: How d’you mean?

JOHN: Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly.

‘John, are you all right?’ Molly asked.

‘How do you mean?’ he replied.

‘You just said lucky for you twice in two sentences.’

‘Oh.’ John blushed. He stared at the screen with a blank look as if he couldn’t believe that he’d done it. ‘I guess I did.’

[…] The pink phone rings.

CONNIE: Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows’ ears …

Sherlock picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.

Mrs Hudson stared at the screen in discontent. ‘I missed that show. Now I’ll never know what she said.’

SHERLOCK: Hello?

An old woman speaks tremulously in a Yorkshire accent.

OLD WOMAN: This one … is a bit … defective. Sorry.

We see a close-up of the woman, who is wearing an earpiece.

‘She’s hearing his voice, isn’t she? That’s the lady that didn’t make it. And the eleven others, too, isn’t that right?’ Molly asked.

‘I don’t quite remember if there were twelve victims. How about you, Greg? Do you remember? How many…um…died…in that explosion?’ John asked. He was only given a shrug, so they all turned back to the television.

[…] OLD WOMAN: I like … to watch you … dance.

‘Okay, no one can disagree that Moriarty was a psychopath, whether he was hired by Holmes or not,’ Sally muttered. She still wasn’t quite convinced that Sherlock hadn’t hired Moriarty as an actor, but this experience was definitely trying it’s best to do so.

As she finishes speaking, she gasps and sobs in terror. Even though she cannot see it, there is still a laser point from a sniper’s rifle running over her body. Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.

‘Oh, the poor lady,’ Mrs Hudson said, staring at the screen in horror.

[…] LESTRADE: Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?

‘Why would you even ask that?’ John asked.

[…] SHERLOCK: Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna.

‘So, you watched a movie from 1932 but you never once saw Connie Prince on the telly? Even for a moment between channels?’ Anderson asked. He knew, of course, that Sherlock wasn’t there to answer, but talking to the television was an odd habit of most people, and he was one of those people.

‘How did you understand that reference?’ Sally questioned her colleague.

He mumbled something indistinguishable.

‘What was that?’

‘I may have watched it, too.’

JOHN: I suppose.

SHERLOCK: Something’s wrong with this picture.

LESTRADE: Eh?

SHERLOCK: Can’t be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn’t be directing us towards it. Something’s wrong.

‘Good catch. I mean, it looks obvious once he says it, because why would Moriarty want Sherlock to solve such an easy case in twelve whole hours, but if I hadn’t known the results of this case beforehand, I definitely wouldn’t have been able to connect those dots. There, I said it,’ Sally admitted.

He narrows his eyes as he looks down at the body, then bends closer to look along Connie’s right arm as he takes his magnifier from his pocket. There are several scratches on her upper arm which look like claw marks. He moves up to her face and notices some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. He looks at them through the magnifier.

‘What is he even looking at?’ Anderson asked, squinting at the television screen.

‘Needle marks from a Botox injection – a couple, actually,’ Molly replied. She’d seen all kinds while working in the morgue and had to have a great deal of general knowledge in her brain to catalogue everything about the bodies she worked with.

[…] SHERLOCK: How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?

JOHN: Eight, ten days.

Sherlock quirks a one-sided grin and turns to John, waiting for him to put it all together. It doesn’t take him long.

JOHN: The cut was made later.

‘Very good, John! You’ve made quite a bit of progress compared to your first case together,’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘And I do enjoy watching you boys as you solve your little mysteries together.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Connie Prince’s background – family history, everything. Give me data.

JOHN: Right.

‘I bet he loved having someone jump for him every time he said so,’ Anderson snarled.

‘Just because you wouldn’t do it, Anderson,’ Lestrade said.

[…] LESTRADE: Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?

Lestrade sighed. ‘He knew the answer the whole time and he didn’t tell me,’ he said, ‘Why not?’

‘You think he was embarrassed?’ Sally asked.

‘How so?’ Lestrade turned to her, as did a few of the others, in confusion.

‘Well, why would anyone admit that the whole reason for a bunch of bomb threats was because a crazed psycho fan of theirs just wanted them to dance around, solving all sorts of mysteries. He probably felt like one of those dancing bears you see at the circus.’

[…] LESTRADE: I’m – I’m serious, Sherlock. Listen: I’m cutting you slack here; I’m trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard’s covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?

‘Good job, Lestrade, you just called a blind old woman a bastard.’ Anderson said in a sarcastic voice.

‘Well, I didn’t know it was an old woman, now did I? Since Sherlock doesn’t tell me anything! That’s mostly what I’m getting from this.’

[…] EIGHT HOURS TO GO. The old woman sits quietly in her bed while the sniper – who must really love his job, considering that the woman can’t see what he’s doing – continues to keep his rifle’s laser trained on her.

As they see the old woman on the screen and hear the ticking of the clock in the background, the viewers note an eight come up on the screen. Eight hours left.

#

SEVERAL HOURS LATER. 221B.

[…] SHERLOCK: Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?

‘Does he even know how to get around the world? Britain isn’t the entire world,’ Sally said snidely.

‘It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, considering he doesn’t know the earth goes around the sun. Or…he didn’t, anyway.’ John looked down after speaking, almost regretting saying that aloud.

[…] OLD WOMAN: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Joining the … dots. (She sobs.) Three hours: boom … boom.

‘Three hours? He just shaved five hours off your time! Why would he do that?’ Sally shrieked.

‘He probably wanted to see Sherlock get flustered. Giving him a case is one thing, giving him a time limit really makes him jump. The more pressure he’s in the faster he solves things. That’s how it works, and Moriarty already seemed to know this,’ John explained.

[…] Looking a little uncomfortable, John sits down on the sofa beside the cat.

RAOUL: Can I get you anything, sir?

JOHN: Er, no. No, thanks.

Raoul looks across the room to Kenny, who smiles at him. Raoul returns the smile, then turns and leaves the room.

‘That expression makes it so obvious who did it! How could we not know it was him?’ Anderson demanded. He saw the expression and immediately registered it as the guilty face of anyone from a mystery movie.

KENNY: Raoul is my rock. I don’t think I could have managed.

‘Sad, since he’s the one who killed your sister.’

He looks down sadly.

KENNY: We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me.

The cat has climbed onto John’s lap and meows loudly in protest when he picks it up and puts it down beside him.

‘That’s a cuddly cat, isn’t it?’ Lestrade asked, laughing a little. ‘Why’re you so uncomfortable, John?’

John blushed and stuttered a little, but in the end gave up trying to give an answer.

JOHN: And – and to the public, Mr Prince.

KENNY: Oh, she was adored. I’ve seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses.

‘Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say,’ Mrs Hudson said.

‘Though it’s very accurate,” Sally remarked under her breath.

[…] 221B. Mrs Hudson has joined Sherlock and Lestrade and is standing between them as they face the paper-covered wall. Sherlock is talking into his own phone.

‘Does anyone find it strange that Mrs Hudson just walks into the boys’ apartment at random times? Do other landladies do that?’

‘No, but Mrs Hudson is allowed. It’s just a regular thing at this point,’ John said in response to Anderson’s question.

SHERLOCK: Great. … Thank you. Thanks again.

‘Who in the world is Sherlock talking on the phone with?’ Sally asked. ‘And why is he thanking whoever it is. They must be doing him a favour, but he’s never been one to say thank you to anyone.’

‘How would you know? You hardly ever work with him,’ John challenged.

Sally just grumbled, unable to even flounder for an answer.

[…] LESTRADE: Who was that?

SHERLOCK (staring at the wall): Home Office.

LESTRADE (surprised): Home Office?

‘Well, his brother owns the government, basically. It’s not much of a stretch that Sherlock would have some fingers in that pie, too. And he tends to pick up a lot of favours anyway, what with all the cases he’s solved, both with the police and not.’

[…] MRS HUDSON: People can hardly move their faces. It’s silly, isn’t it?!

‘You should listen to Mrs Hudson more. She just told you a key piece of the puzzle,’ Molly said.

‘Which is?’ Anderson asked, not having picked it up.

‘Connie Prince used Botox, which include a needle literally being shoved into a body and introducing chemicals into the system.’

[…] SHERLOCK: So I gather. I’ve just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites – indispensable for gossip.

‘Never thought I’d see or hear anything about Sherlock being on a fan site, but I guess he’d have to for cases,’ Sally said,

CONNIE (gesturing to the clothes which her brother is wearing): There’s really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don’t you think, girls?

She stands up and claps her hands rhythmically as she begins to chant.

CONNIE: Off! Off! Off! Off!

Molly grimaced. ‘No one wants to see that.’

[…] He looks up in surprise when Kenny – who has walked across the room unnoticed – now plonks heavily down onto the sofa beside him and stares at him intensely.

‘That’s a bit weird…,’ Anderson whispered.

[…] JOHN (fidgeting as he tries to move further away from Kenny, but unable to do so): Th-that’s why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse’s mouth. You sure it’s not too soon?

‘So that’s how you got in, John? By pretending to be from a newspaper? Why wouldn’t you just go in and say that you’re a part of the investigative team with Sherlock Holmes to solve his sister’s murder? Surely, he would’ve also let you in; he seems lonely as it is,’ Anderson said.

‘They didn’t know it was a murder, did they?’ Molly pointed out. ‘They still thought it was the tetanus at this point.’

Anderson nodded. ‘Right.’

KENNY: No.

JOHN: Right.

KENNY (still staring intensely at him): You fire away.

‘He’s still looking at John and it’s making me uncomfortable. How is that possible?’ Anderson shivered.

‘Empathetic discomfort?’ Molly suggested.

The cat meows and trots across the carpet. Watching it, John reaches up to rub the side of his nose. As he pulls his hand away again, he suddenly realises something and quickly raises his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it while he quietly sniffs at his fingers and looks towards the cat again. He smiles round nervously at Kenny.

‘What did you find, John?’ Lestrade asked. He’d never actually learned why John had called Sherlock that day.

‘Never mind that. Sherlock debunked me as soon as I said it.’

#

221B.

[…] JOHN (over phone): Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I’m onto something. You’ll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?

SHERLOCK: I’ll remember.

‘He’ll remember, only if he doesn’t delete it first.’ John sighed.

‘By my calculations, we watch about ten minutes, then our captor pauses it,’ Mycroft said, his eyes focused on the screen as it went black once again. There were no words, but it certainly was like the other times the video was paused so they could discuss it.

‘So, what do you think he – or she – wants us to discuss this time?’ John asked.

‘Well, if I recall correctly, Sherlock already had it all figured out – with the Botox injection and such, I mean. This case was just for him to buy time to figure out the bigger question of who Moriarty really is,’ Lestrade said. ‘Isn’t that right, John?’

‘Yeah. I’m pretty sure. We’ll find out soon for sure, anyway, so….’

Chapter Text

‘So, he was just buying himself time? Smart git,’ Sally said begrudgingly.

‘I think that was already established, sergeant,’ Mycroft said coldly.

She raised both of her hands in defence. ‘I just meant that he was able to fool this Moriarty character!’ she protested. ‘If he’s as smart as you say he is, then Holmes was crafty to be able to bide his time.’

‘Let’s just keep watching,’ Molly suggested as the screen turned back on, right on time to break the tension between the two.

[…] SHERLOCK: Ah, Mr Prince, isn’t it?

KENNY: Yes.

SHERLOCK: Very good to meet you.

‘He’s a good actor when he wants to be, at least,’ Lestrade said.

[…] JOHN (quietly): You were right. The bacteria got into her another way.

‘Awe! So cute! You think you know the answer, John, and you’re trying to play with the big boys!’ Sally’s voice was derogatory.

John glared at her.

SHERLOCK (smirking): Oh yes?

‘What?’ she asked. ‘Even Holmes is thinking it! You can see it on his face!’

‘Like you knew better!’ Molly accused in John’s defence.

[…] As Kenny leans one arm on the mantelpiece and poses, Sherlock walks closer and starts taking photographs of him.

‘Photographers don’t usually go that close. What is he doing?’ Anderson asked.

KENNY: Not too close. I’m raw from crying.

The cat meows at Sherlock’s feet. He looks down.

SHERLOCK: Oh, who’s this?

KENNY: Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess.

SHERLOCK: How nice! Was she Connie’s?

‘That was sarcasm if I ever heard it,’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘I thought Sherlock was good at his role.’

KENNY: Yes.

John reaches down towards the cat, but Kenny beats him to it, bending down and picking it up.

KENNY: Little present from yours truly.

Frustrated, John straightens up, then looks at his flatmate.

JOHN: Sherlock? Uh, light reading?

‘What’s that supposed to mean, John?’ Lestrade asked.

John shrugged. ‘Um… I can’t remember, really?’ He gave a sheepish grin.

[…] KENNY: You’re like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What’s going on?

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that!’ Mrs Hudson said in protest to Kenny’s statement. ‘Not enough meat on their bones to play the part.’

[…] JOHN (grabbing the case from the sofa and heading for the door): We’ve got deadlines.

Sherlock follows after him.

KENNY: But you’ve not taken anything!

‘I wonder if, later, when he was reading all about Sherlock Holmes,’ Anderson began, ‘did he realise who he was talking to?’

‘He was informed afterwards, of the incident, actually,’ Lestrade said.

‘Oh.’

[…] John chuckles delightedly as they walk down the drive and head towards the main road.

JOHN: Yes! Ooh, yes!

‘John, you look so proud of yourself!’ Molly said with a bright grin on her face. The others also had smiles, though a few of them were more condescending than others.

‘You’re all making fun of me, but in that moment, I bet any of you would’ve thought the same!’ he replied with a glare.

SHERLOCK (smiling): You think it was the cat. It wasn’t the cat.

JOHN: What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It’s how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.

‘And even more, you’re trying to argue your point to Sherlock of all people. You know that he knows you’re wrong. And if you think you’re right, you’re the one with the problem,’ Molly continued.

‘No one can outwit a Holmes,’ Mycroft stated. It wasn’t even an egotistical statement. He said it as if saying the sky was blue or the earth went around the sun – though the second fact wasn’t as obvious to some people.

[…] SHERLOCK (interrupting): I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it’s too random and too clever for the brother.

‘Isn’t sad that Sherlock cast away that idea just because he thought Kenny wasn’t clever enough for it?’ Anderson asked.

John shrugged. ‘He was usually like that.’

John chuckles again.

JOHN: He murdered his sister for her money.

‘That’s a bit cliché,’ Lestrade said. ‘I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but…this definitely wasn’t one of those times.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn’t come into it.

‘So, it was just the cat walking along the floor?’ Anderson asked. ‘It picked up the smell from the cleaner?’

Mycroft turned up his nose. ‘Yes, wasn’t that obvious enough? I wasn’t there, but just looking at the state of it, I could smell the stench.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases. (He points to the folder.) He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months.

Nearby, John has continued to stare at Sherlock, and his expression is becoming angrier.

‘Are you still upset that he shut down your crazy theory?’ Anderson asked. He gave a laugh.

‘Not all of us are as used to it as you are,’ John shot back.

That shut him up.

SHERLOCK (oblivious to this): Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.

LESTRADE: You sure about this?

‘How long had you known him for by then?’ Molly asked.

‘I dunno. Four years?’ Lestrade replied.

‘And yet you still asked if he was sure?’

Lestrade shrugged. ‘Never hurts to double check.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.

He tries to walk towards Lestrade’s office but again John stops him.

JOHN: No, but Sherl… The hostage… the old woman. She’s been there all this time.

‘Is it bad that I can see it from both point of views?’ Molly asked. ‘I mean, it was cruel to let her wait there until time nearly ran out, wondering if she would live or die, but Sherlock was thinking big picture. He would save her eventually, and if he could use the extra time to make sure no one else got hurt, or had to be in the same position, that’s good, right?’

‘That’s perfectly okay, dear,’ Mrs Hudson told her. ‘It’s just that some people don’t think it’s worth the risk. They can’t stomach doing what Sherlock does.’ She sent a glare at Donovan.

[…] Sherlock types into the message box:

*

Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.

*

He sends the message and the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rings almost instantly. He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear.

‘Oh no,’ Molly said suddenly, her eyes wide as she stared at Sherlock, who’d just answered the phone.

SHERLOCK: Hello?

‘What is it, Molly?’ Lestrade asked.

She turned to him. ‘Sherlock didn’t manage to save this one, did he?’ There were tears in her eyes.

OLD WOMAN (in an anguished voice): Help me.

SHERLOCK (clearly): Tell us where you are. Address.

Sally scoffed. ‘Like he cares. He doesn’t have any feelings,’ she sneered.

Molly didn’t bother to rebut her. She knew that the video would speak for itself.

OLD WOMAN: He was so … His voice …

SHERLOCK (urgently): No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.

‘Why would he tell her that? That information would be useful,’ Anderson said. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

They all glared at him.

‘You remember what happened to that old woman, don’t you?’ Sally asked, her tone harsh.

[…] Slowly, staring ahead of himself, Sherlock lowers the phone from his ear. He bites his lip as Lestrade – realising that something bad must have happened – straightens up and sighs. John braces a hand on the back of Sherlock’s chair.

‘See? Told you! He doesn’t have feelings! All he could do was sit there and stare!’

Molly scowled. ‘Exactly! Just because he doesn’t sob at the thought of a dead woman, doesn’t mean he doesn’t care! If he cried over everyone’s death, he wouldn’t be much of a detective, would he? He’d never get anything done!’

Sally just glared right back at the pathologist. ‘I’m not saying that he should! I’m just saying that if he wasn’t such a robot, maybe he’d have actual friends! Maybe he wouldn’t have had reason to kill himself!’

As soon as she said it, she knew that she’d gone too far. Molly stood up, as did Mycroft. He couldn’t leave the room, as there were no doors nor windows, but it seemed like their kidnapper was watching with attention, because a door suddenly appeared. Molly ran through it, Mycroft close behind – to comfort her, it seemed. Mrs Hudson was the next one out the door. John and Lestrade were the last, but instead of following, they closed in on Sally.

Meanwhile, the door had led to a room with high windows. The sun peeked in where a glass balcony overlooked a lush green garden. Molly was currently bent over the railing, sobbing. Her tears watered the plants below, while Mrs Hudson’s hand rubbed gently, soothing circles on her back. Mycroft stood near the door, awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d given the two women a wide berth to sob together – about ten feet – and looked like he wanted to be even farther, but the size of the room wouldn’t allow it.

He walked to the railing as well, and looked down, hoping to find clues as to how they’d get out. The door intrigued him. How had it just appeared? Had it been there the entire time? Could they just not see it? And how had it revealed itself to them, suddenly? Besides, when they did get out, how would the outside world react? Had they just vanished, and were gone from reality until they were done with these videos? Or, inexplicably, had time stopped to allow for this to happen? They’d clearly left the room to return to London for those few hours, and nothing seemed amiss, nor that time had passed, but surely someone would notice the disappearances. He had so many questions, and, for once, had no answers to them. Nothing was logical about their kidnapping, nor did he have any clues as to who was responsible or why all of this was going on.

Soon, Molly had stopped sobbing and they’d re-entered the small theatre, taking the tissues offered by a robot arm that unfolded from the wall on their way through the door. Molly blew her nose as they sat back down.

Sally was sitting, as silent as ever, in the far corner, with a haunted look in her eyes. Obviously, John and Lestrade had talked to her. Molly had no clue what they’d said, but hopefully it wasn’t too bad, because she still wanted her turn. Whatever they said, though, Molly knew that she deserved it.

#

MORNING. 221B.

[…] SHERLOCK: Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case.

‘Why is he treating it like a game?’ Anderson asked, cautiously tiptoeing the line. He’d watched what happened to Sally and didn’t want anything like that to happen to him.

‘Because Moriarty is. If he’s to beat Moriarty, then he has to play the same way he does,’ John replied stiffly.

[…] SHERLOCK: I think he wants to be distracted.

John laughs humourlessly, gets out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen.

JOHN: I hope you’ll be very happy together.

‘Well, someone sounds jealous,’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘Don’t worry John, I’m sure that Sherlock won’t leave you for every new psychopath that comes ’round the corner. You’re too special to him for that.’ She patted him reassuringly on the arm.

[…] SHERLOCK: Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.

‘That’s kind of sad,’ Anderson said.

Lestrade looked at him. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because…because he’s doing all these things, and he’s helping people but…he doesn’t care. He’s doing it because he’s bored. To think, if he turned out like Moriarty….’ He shuddered. ‘I wonder what happened to turn Moriarty like that.’

‘I dunno,’ John replied. ‘Some people are just…bad eggs, I guess?’

‘Come on, John. You know that’s not true,’ Lestrade said.

[…] SHERLOCK: View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.

‘That’s impressive. He knows what part of the river it is just by looking at a picture,’ Sally’s voice was quieter than anyone had ever heard, but still carried the same sarcastic ring to it.

[…] JOHN: Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.

He puts that paper aside and looks at another one.

JOHN: Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West.

‘You’re doing that on purpose,’ Molly accused.

‘Doing what?’

‘Being unhelpful, even when you know the severity of the case not being solved – or if anything goes wrong. You know that he cares, even if he doesn’t admit it. You were just too stubborn to see it.’

‘Well, that was a while ago! I know better now!’ John replied.

[…] He steps back and takes a long look at the man’s body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.

LESTRADE: Any ideas?

SHERLOCK: Seven … so far.

LESTRADE: Seven?!

‘I’m still a bit confused as to why this is surprising to you after all this time of working with Sherlock. Surely, this isn’t anything new?’ Mrs Hudson said.

‘He’s always full of surprises, but even the old stuff is always interesting to watch. He never ceases to amaze.’

[…] Sherlock selects the ‘Most Wanted’ option, then looks up as he mentally flashes back to looking at the small round red marks beside the man’s mouth and near his hairline.

‘I’m confused. Did he not realise it until John said something?’ Anderson asked, intrigued as ever by the strange flashes that they could see through Sherlock’s eyes.

‘I guess that’s why he said he wanted an assistant. Maybe his brain just works too fast for his eyes that he needs four of them?’ Lestrade commented.

Molly, Anderson, and John took on thoughtful expressions.

[…] LESTRADE: But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don’t see …

SHERLOCK (exasperated): You do see – you just don’t observe.

‘And here are the immortalised words of Sherlock Holmes,’ John said with a sigh.

JOHN: All right, all right, girls, calm down. Sherlock? D’you wanna take us through it?

‘Did you just say what I think you said?’ Molly asked, turning to John with a single quirked eyebrow.

‘Um…,’ John was a deer in the headlights, ‘maybe.’

Taking a moment before he responds, Sherlock eventually steps back and points to the body.

‘You can tell that he really enjoys explaining it,’ Molly said with a smile.

‘Yes. I may deny it all I want, but you were good for my brother, John Watson. You brought out the best in him,’ Mycroft said.

‘Um…thanks.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture’s a fake.

JOHN (admiringly): Fantastic.

‘Even though you’re angry, you’re still impressed by him,’ Anderson said.

‘Aren’t you ever impressed?’ John shot back. ‘Even though you never liked him?’

‘I liked him, until he revealed my secrets to the world. But, yeah, I guess it was pretty impressive.’

‘And what about Donovan?’ John asked, a little quieter. ‘Why does she hate him so much?’

Anderson leaned in and whispered, ‘I shouldn’t tell you, but….’ He dropped his voice even lower as he spoke the words into John’s ear. By the end, John’s eyes had widened so much they threatened to come out of his head.

He turned his head to meet Anderson’s eyes. ‘Really?’

A nod.

‘I never would’ve guessed,’ he said, a little shocked. ‘Wow.’

SHERLOCK (shrugging, apparently still peeved about their earlier argument): Meretricious.

LESTRADE: And a Happy New Year!

‘What was that about?’ Anderson asked, confused.

John sighed. ‘Because it sounded like Sherlock said Merry Christmas,’ he said.

Anderson’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh! But what does it mean?’

‘Something that looks good but is worthless,’ Molly said quickly, before Mycroft could even open his mouth to make another degrading comment.

[…] LESTRADE: I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character.

SHERLOCK: Pointless. You’ll never find him. But I know a man who can.

LESTRADE: Who?

SHERLOCK (grinning): Me.

He turns and walks away. John sighs, his entire body radiating ‘Oh, here we go again,’ but he dutifully follows his friend.

‘It’s nice – what you two boys have,’ Mrs Hudson said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘No matter what Sherlock does, you’re always there, by his side,’ she replied with a bright smile on her face.

‘Of course,’ John replied. ‘He’s my best mate. And no, I’m not dating him, but if he needs me, I’ll always be there – even if he’s a total arse at times.’

‘You gotta admit, though, John,’ Lestrade was saying, ‘to anyone who doesn’t know you both – hell, even me – it looks like the two of you are dating.’

John scowled at the accusation. ‘You don’t go up to random people in the street and accuse them of dating, do you? Besides, what kind of detective are you if you can’t tell if two people are just friends.’ It was then that a sudden thought occurred to him. ‘You know Sherlock best, Greg, and you thought that idea of him having friends was ludicrous – all of you did – but then you can suddenly jump to him having a boyfriend on the side? Seriously?’

They all looked down, as if trying to grasp the question he’d just posed. Maybe it had never occurred to them, or maybe they just wanted to believe that the detective was human after all. John didn’t know, though he was leaning towards the former, and so a sigh passed his lips.

‘Okay, fine.’ He threw up his hands and they came back down to smack solidly on his knees. ‘Let’s just continue watching this. I’m sure, once you meet Moriarty for real, you’ll see reason.’

[…] JOHN: The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?

SHERLOCK: Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.

‘Strange, considering it always seems like he’s jumping to conclusions on all of his cases.’

He has taken his notebook from his pocket and now writes something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He puts the paper into his pocket, then a few seconds later calls out to the driver.

‘What’s he doing?’ Lestrade asked.

‘You, Lestrade, are about to learn where Sherlock gets all of his street information,’ John said vaguely.

Lestrade sent him a confused look but didn’t comment further and resigned himself to continue watching to find out what would happen.

[…] HOMELESS GIRL: Change? Any change?

SHERLOCK: What for?

HOMELESS GIRL: Cup of tea, of course.

‘Oh! You know that’s not true!’ Sally yelled at the screen. She had a few choice words she wanted to say but refrained from doing so as to keep the hardened gazes off of her.

[…] JOHN: What are you doing?

SHERLOCK: Investing.

‘How can he trust them to keep their word? It seems like anyone would just take the fifty and not bother with the note,’ Sally said.

‘Do you think he says a code to them? Why else would the girl say she wanted a cup of tea?’ Anderson said, staring intensely at the screen as if it would reveal all the answers to him.

[…] SHERLOCK: Have you got any cash?

‘He just gave a homeless girl a fifty and then asks you for cash? How do you deal with that?’ Sally asked. She was getting thoroughly annoyed, and while she wasn’t personally targeting Sherlock anymore – and her questions were valid – it was still aggravating to hear.

[…] John looks at the telescope on a tripod which has been revealed.

JOHN: Stargazer, was he?

‘That’s a hint,’ Anderson announced. ‘That’s gotta be a hint!’

[…] JULIE: He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.

‘I can tell,’ Sally said sarcastically to the woman on the screen.

[…] SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation.

Getting closer to her, he looks at her I.D. badge.

SHERLOCK: You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wencleslas?

‘Wait. Was that a lisp?’ Anderson asked.

‘What? What do you mean?’ John turned to him.

‘Just now. He said Miss WenCLESlas instead of WenCESlas. Didn’t you hear it? It was a lisp!’ Anderson was grinning ear to ear, quite proud for having noticed something about the detective. ‘All those years, and I never noticed he had a lisp.’

‘Well, you never bloody talked to him long enough to notice, have you?’ Lestrade snapped at him. ‘Besides, that little bit of trivia won’t help you any, now.’

[…] MISS WENCESLAS: It’s not a fake.

SHERLOCK: It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.

‘I don’t know if you others noticed this but…do you realise that the only reason he knows it’s a fake is because the bomber sent him to it?’ Anderson inquired, looking around at them all.

‘He likely would’ve figured it out anyway when Lestrade called him in for the security guard’s murder,’ John pointed out. ‘He may not have thought the case interesting at first, but seeing the indication of the Golem’s work, he wouldn’t have cast it aside.’

Anderson deflated. ‘Right.’

[…] SHERLOCK: The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.

Anderson scowled. ‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ he said. ‘I still want to know how he got in.’

[…] Taking off the jacket, he looks round at her as he deliberately drops it on the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoves one open, almost dancing out of the room.

John scoffed and laughed. ‘Drama queen,’ he mutters under his breath.

SHERLOCK: Have a nice day!

Miss Wenceslas walks closer to the painting and looks at it as the door slowly and squeakily swings closed.

‘She didn’t know it was a fake! Right?’ Anderson pointed out. ‘Why else would she be looking at it so closely?’

‘Or,’ Lestrade said, ‘she knew it was a fake but not why, and was trying to see if she could tell or not because she wanted to cover her own tail.’

#

WESTIE’S FLAT. John is sitting on the sofa beside Andrew West’s fiancée. He has been there long enough for her to have made them mugs of something which are on the coffee table in front of them. Lucy is upset throughout the ensuing conversation.

LUCY: He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.

JOHN (gently): Well, stranger things have happened.

‘Oh dear! John! How could you say such a thing to that poor girl!’ Mrs Hudson accused, smacking him lightly on the arm.

‘Umm…sorry?’

[…] JOE (looking John up and down): You with the police?

Anderson’s eyes lit up. ‘It was him!’ he exclaimed. ‘It must be! Why else would he ask that question? It’s usually only the guilty ones that ask.’

JOHN: Uh, sort of, yeah.

JOE: Well, tell ’em to get off their arses, will you? It’s bloody ridiculous.

Anderson then deflated, much to the amusement of the others. ‘I guess it wasn’t him….’

John let out a snort of laughter. Hadn’t they all known? Anderson did remember when they actually solved the case, right?

[…] LUCY: I knew Westie. He was a good man. (She starts to cry.) He was my good man.

She turns and goes back indoors. John walks away.

‘That poor dear…’ Mrs Hudson dabbed at her eyes, wiping away a few tears.

‘Does anyone else think that she sounds like Molly? Like…her voice…just a little bit?’ Anderson asked.

Everyone stared at him incredulously.

#

NIGHTTIME.

[…] HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change? Any spare change?

‘Isn’t that that same girl?’ Sally observed.

[…] SHERLOCK: Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?

‘Sherlock,’ Mrs Hudson chided with a fond smile. ‘If you don’t give the chance to talk, you won’t hear anything at all.’

[…] HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change, sir?

SHERLOCK: Don’t mind if I do.

‘That’s not what you usually say to a homeless person,’ Lestrade said, though he more so seemed peeved that he’d never guessed that Sherlock had a homeless network and didn’t tell him where he got his information from.

[…] SHERLOCK: Fortunately, I haven’t been idle.

Sally let out a cry of outrage. ‘He did nothing to get that information besides ask for it! What had he been doing that whole time?’ she demanded.

[…] JOHN: I thought you didn’t care about things like that.

SHERLOCK: Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.

Molly smiled at that statement, because that meant there must also be other things that he appreciated looking at and thought beautiful, even though he didn’t care about the reasoning behind it. However, she kept her inner thoughts to herself.

[…] JOHN: Nice! Nice part of town. Er, any time you wanna explain.

‘Nice!’ Sally said overdramatically, then paused. ‘Nice use of sarcasm.’ She said in the same way that John did, on screen, causing the man in question to blush scarlet.

[…] SHERLOCK: Yes, then I disinfect myself.

Anderson burst out into uncontrollable laughter. ‘Oh my God! That’s hilarious!’

A few of the others chuckled a little as well, but not nearly as much, nor as long, as Anderson.

[…] SHERLOCK (peering around the corner): Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much.

‘Sherlock said earlier that the police wouldn’t be able to find the Golem,’ Sally said distastefully.

‘He did,’ Lestrade agreed. ‘Right to my face. What’s your point?’

‘That homeless girl just found him!’

Lestrade just bit his lip in silence.

[…] JOHN: I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.

‘And, hurray for John!’ Lestrade cheered, a little flatly.

#

PLANETARIUM.

[…] NARRATOR (over the footage): Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times.

‘Hmm,’ Anderson mumbled, showing his intrigue.

[…] CAIRNS: Tom? Is that you?

Sally sighed. ‘If you’re involved in a thirty-million-pound conspiracy, don’t just assume that it’s Tom!’

[…] A tall figure steps up behind Cairns and clamps one hand over her mouth and nose, pulling her backwards.

‘Oh no!’ Mrs Hudson cried out in alarm.

[…] The Golem looks up, grunts in surprise, then snaps Cairns’ neck and drops her to the floor. Her fingers drag along the mixing desk and the footage goes into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducks down out of sight.

A few of the watchers let out alarmed exclamations, though they already knew how it would end for her.

[…] SHERLOCK (loudly): Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?

‘Why would Sherlock care enough to learn his real name?’ Anderson asked.

‘Manipulation purposes,’ Sally replied offhandedly.

Behind him, the Golem steps out of the fluctuating darkness and clamps one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose while gripping his neck with the other. Sherlock grabs at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he is slowly suffocated. John races over and stops in front of them, his pistol held in both hands.

‘Sherlock!’ Molly said with a horrified gasp.

[…] Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surges forwards and wrestles with John. As Sherlock gets to his feet, the Golem shoves John into him, sending both of the boys tumbling to the floor.

A sigh of relief flooded the room. Even Sally, who still very much hated the detective, relaxed a little when he was freed from the giant’s grasp.

[…] NARRATOR: … long dead, exploded into supernovas.

‘Has anyone else noticed that we’ve heard this very same line three times, now?’ Anderson questioned.

[…] The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switches on the speaker.

SHERLOCK: The painting is a fake.

‘For whoever is on the other side, that must’ve been a weird experience.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed.

‘All he cares about is solving it, doesn’t he?’ Sally said with a hint of disgust staining her voice.

[…] BOY’s VOICE: Seven …

SHERLOCK: No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out.

‘He’s a bit scary when he’s under pressure,’ Anderson said. ‘Usually he’s so calm and collected.’

[…] SHERLOCK (to himself, continuing to scan the painting): Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face.

‘He should be looking at the stars,’ Molly said. ‘It was two astronomers who knew it was a fake, so it must be something about the stars.’

[…] SHERLOCK: In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!

‘Sherlock!’ John said, exasperated. ‘Is this really the time for that?’

[…] There’s a short pause, then the boy’s plaintive voice comes from the speaker.

BOY’s VOICE: Please. Is somebody there?

There was a collective sigh of relief from everyone in the room. Even cold-hearted Mycroft relaxed, because the boy sounded so much like Sherlock from his younger years.

Sherlock sighs out a relieved breath.

Sally stared at Sherlock in confusion. Why was he relieved? Did he actually care about the boy, or was he just worried for his perfect record to be tarnished even more?

[…] JOHN: So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?

‘One star! That’s what was wrong with it? God, that bomber’s pushing harder and harder every time,’ Sally said.

[…] JOHN: Oh Sherl…

He switches off the phone and walks away. Miss Wenceslas stares at the painting in shock.

‘Well, that’s that, I guess!’ Anderson said happily as the screen turned black once again.

Mycroft sighed. ‘At least I know that I’m not being ignored, but I would appreciate some updates from time to time, Mr Watson,’ he said, turning to look at John pointedly.

John blushed. ‘Sorry about that. I just thought that a timed case would be a bit less lenient about these sorts of things. I mean, how close was that, hmm?’ he gave a nervous chuckle. ‘I did go talk to the fiancé, though, and Sherlock wasn’t with me to just spout off answers.’

‘Indeed,’ the elder Holmes replied. ‘If my brother was with you, he would have easily seen that the brother was the killer.’

Anderson gapped. ‘Really? I was right?’

‘Not so. You changed your opinion after the fact, and therefore were wrong. You may have guessed correctly, but with no way to prove it, it’s useless, as we were just shown a few moments ago.’

Anderson visibly deflated in his seat. ‘Fine.’

Chapter Text

‘Now that we’ve reconfirmed that Anderson isn’t very good at his job, let’s get on with the next part, shall we?’ John asked, a little exasperated at Mycroft’s attitude.

The screen turned black again, just so that more words could pop up. Awwww. I was liking the little beatdown he was giving Anderson. Very well. The screen lit up and they reappeared at Scotland Yard.

NEW SCOTLAND YARD.

[…] LESTRADE (thoughtfully): Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats …

John scoffed. ‘That’s one way to make her talk. Anyone, really.’

[…] MISS WENCESLAS: I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone.

‘When why didn’t he just make his own art and sell that?’ Molly asked, tilting her head slightly.

‘The real question is,’ Mycroft said, ‘if they were trying to fool people for a profit of more than double thirty million, why didn’t they make sure everything was in order?’

‘Yeah.’ Anderson let out a sigh. ‘One bloomin’ star and the whole thing went up in smoke.’

SHERLOCK (sarcastically): Hm!

MISS WENCESLAS (looking at him briefly): Well, nearly anyone. (She turns back to Lestrade.) But I didn’t know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame.

‘He?’ Anderson asked.

‘Moriarty, probably,’ Molly answered shortly. ‘He does like to make it all about him.’

[…] MISS WENCESLAS: Moriarty.

‘I’m surprised he’d give his name, but it seems like he’s trying to get Sherlock’s attention, and he’s probably already wiped himself from all records, so he’s not really in any danger of being discovered,’ Molly said.

‘Hm. Some people are just for the dramatics. My husband was the same way,’ Mrs Hudson said absentmindedly.

[…] TUBE GUARD: You with the police, then?

JOHN: Sort of.

TUBE GUARD: I hate ’em.

‘Well, excuse me—!’

JOHN: The police?

TUBE GUARD: No. Jumpers.

‘Oh,’ Anderson said, ducking his head. ‘Carry on.’

[…] TUBE GUARD: I mean it. It’s all right for them. It’s over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They’ve gotta live with it, haven’t they?

Anderson was pale. ‘I’m never eating strawberry jam ever again. At least, not without thinking about that.’ He groaned. ‘My toast will be plain!’

Sally stared at him. ‘Do you really not put anything but strawberry jam on your toast?’

‘Not anymore! Didn’t you hear what I just said?’

Sally didn’t deign to answer him. She sighed in exasperation.

[…] JOHN: You said his head was smashed in.

TUBE GUARD: Well, it was, but there wasn’t much blood.

‘Well, that doesn’t make much sense,’ Molly said. Her eyebrows were furrowed. Of course, she knew that it was a murder, and that the man had probably been killed somewhere else, and brought down to the train line, but how could anyone think that the man had jumped and got his head smashed in without a lot of blood? Wouldn’t the lack of blood at least be a cause for further inspection?

[…] JOHN: How long have you been following me?

SHERLOCK: Since the start. You don’t think I’d give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?

‘I can never tell with Sherlock,’ John admitted. ‘I honestly thought he did.’

He turns and starts walking away.

SHERLOCK: Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do.

‘Wait. What?’

#

[…] JOHN: Sherlock! What if there’s someone in?

SHERLOCK: There isn’t.

‘And how exactly does he know that?’ Anderson asked.

Everyone turned to Mycroft, but the elder Holmes didn’t even bother to answer that question, though he could see the obvious clues.

He picks the lock and goes inside.

JOHN (softly): Jesus!

‘He did say he was going to do some burglary, John,’ Molly said. ‘He most certainly knows who killed Andrew and is going to steal the memory stick back from them.’

He hurries inside and shuts the door. Sherlock trots up the short flight of stairs ahead of him and walks into the living room.

JOHN: Where are we?

SHERLOCK: Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? Joe Harrison’s flat.

‘Joe? As in the fiancée’s brother?’ Sally asked.

‘I did say so, didn’t I?’ Mycroft said airily.

‘Oh,’ came her flat, annoyed reply, ‘right.’

[…] SHERLOCK: He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law.

Dropping to his knees, he gets out his magnifier and uses it to slowly examine the edge of the windowsill. John walks across to him and peers over his shoulder as Sherlock finds some tiny blood-red spots on the white paint.

‘He was murdered in that house!’ Anderson declared.

‘Wot? How do you know that?’

‘There’s blood on the sill, and we know that Joe’s the murderer, so that must be it!’

JOHN: Then why’d he do it?

He straightens up and turns at the sound of someone unlocking the front door. Sherlock also stands.

SHERLOCK: Let’s ask him.

‘Did he seriously follow you around, figure out the case, and memorise the murderer’s daily schedule without you knowing about it? All the while he was solving another case and pretending that he didn’t care about this one at all?’

John shrugged. ‘Pretty much, Greg.’

[…] JOE: God. (He rubs his hand over his face.) What’s Lucy gonna say? Jesus.

Sally nearly blew up. ‘He murders his sister’s fiancé and that’s what he’s got to say for himself? She’s going to go bloody ballistic!’

[…] JOE: I mean, usually he’s so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought … well, I thought it could be worth a fortune.

In flashback, Joe helps a very drunk Westie into his jacket and slips the memory stick out of his shirt pocket while he’s doing so.

Mycroft scowled. ‘John, remind me to comb through our secret service and fire anyone who could be so careless.’

‘Why do I have to do it? God knows how many stooges you have back at…whatever shadowy government building you work at,’ he said, eyebrows furrowed, and head tilted in confusion.

Mycroft glared at him. ‘Because you’re here, John.’

John grumbled and crossed his arms.

JOE: It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.

In flashback, Joe is letting himself into his flat at nighttime when Westie hurries up the steps and grabs him.

‘It’s different seeing it than hearing it, right Watson?’ Anderson nudged the stout man.

[…] In the present, Joe looks up guiltily at John.

JOHN: What happened?

‘He must’ve fallen,’ Molly said. ‘And got a nasty abrasion to the back of his head. That amount of blood loss…would kill anyone in a matter of seconds.’

[…] JOE: I just didn’t have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in ’ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking.

‘Why wouldn’t he just call the ambulance anyway? And just say he fell? It’s not far off from the truth, and it’s better than dragging a dead body into your apartment,’ Sally commented.

‘Oh, is that what you would do, Sally?’ John accused.

‘That would’ve at least given his sister closure,’ Molly said. ‘He just let her believe that her fiancé killed himself. She believed that he wasn’t happy with his life – with her. That must’ve been awful!’

[…] In flashback, the train rockets through the area that John was recently investigating. The combination of the curve and the jolting of the train as it passes over the points throws Westie’s body off the roof and onto the trackside.

‘If not for the curve, no one would know that he was dead, or suspected that he’d jumped, because he’d probably be on the other side of England or in the deep countryside with no one around for ages,’ Anderson said slowly.

‘That’s what they just said, genius!’ Sally hissed at him.

[…] SHERLOCK: Five pips, remember, John? It’s a countdown. We’ve only had four.

‘Well, maybe that first bomb that went off in their house counted as the first one?’ Anderson suggested.

Sally rolled her eyes. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Five pips means five more. Not five in total.’

#

NIGHTTIME. 221B.

[…] JOHN: Knew it was dangerous.

‘Wait… what’s dangerous? What are you doing, John?’

SHERLOCK: Hmm?

JOHN: Getting you into crap telly.

‘Oh. Seriously?’

‘I don’t know,’ Molly said with a smile. ‘I kind of like watching the boys just being normal people for once.’

SHERLOCK: Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince.

JOHN: Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?

SHERLOCK: Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again.

‘Threatened?’ Molly looked amused.

‘Knighthood?’ Anderson was in awe.

‘Again?’ Lestrade asked incredulously. Unlike the others, he looked at John for an explanation, though he just shrugged.

‘I never asked.’

The DI then turned to Mycroft, who glared at the screen. ‘My little brother never actually brought those plans back to me. And I only threatened knighthood for him once, before he made such a fuss that I rescinded the offer.’

JOHN: You know, I’m still waiting.

SHERLOCK: Hmm?

JOHN: For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you’d have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.

‘I wonder if he’ll actually admit to it?’ Anderson whispered quietly to himself. He frowned. ‘Probably not.’

SHERLOCK: Didn’t do you any good, did it?

JOHN: No, but I’m not the world’s only consulting detective.

SHERLOCK (smiling): True.

‘Aww, you got him to smile.’ The corners of Mrs Hudson’s mouth turned upwards. ‘I love how you two can be so sweet for each other! So wonderful! If only my relationship turned out the same….’

[…] JOHN: Uh, milk. We need milk.

SHERLOCK: I’ll get some.

JOHN (turning back with a look of disbelief on his face): Really?!

SHERLOCK: Really.

JOHN: And some beans, then?

SHERLOCK (still not looking away from the TV): Mm.

‘Did you really believe him, dear? I’m not sure Sherlock ever did pick up those groceries like you asked.’ Mrs Hudson looked at John.

He sighed. ‘Of course I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t exactly get them myself, now could I? Especially after what happened when I left the flat.’

‘What happened after that, again?’ Anderson seemed very confused; he must’ve forgotten. Strange, for sure, but possible, knowing him.

[…] Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.

A few gasps rang throughout the room. Of course, it was well known that Sherlock met Moriarty for the first time – officially – at that pool, but it wasn’t known how he’d gotten the madman to show up. Bargaining the memory stick…that was a risky move.

[…] He sends the message, then closes the lid, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

‘What does that psychopath think he’s doing? He’s selling out his country to – what? Meet another psychopath? Be clever? How could any of you be okay with this?’ Sally actually did blow up this time, and it seemed like her ears were smoking. Her eyes were lit with a fire that hadn’t been seen for many episode sections already, not since Mycroft’s cold threat to her job and her life as she knew it quenched the flames. Now, however, it was back, and she was on a warpath.

‘Well, obviously he didn’t give the plans to Moriarty,’ Lestrade said in defence of his long-time friend. ‘He was probably just saying that to lure him in. To finally put them on even ground.’

Sally turned her glare to him, which surprisingly made him shrink in his seat. ‘Mycroft already said that he never got the plans back from Sherlock! How do we know that he didn’t sell us out? You said yourself that Moriarty is very crafty!’

‘If my brother would’ve given the plans to that vile man, we would’ve known about it. Besides, I said that Sherlock never gave them to me. Some of our men swept the pool and found the memory stick at the bottom, rendered completely useless.’

The screen – black once again, lit up with new words; I am pleased to inform you that this next session is to be the last part of this first ‘season’ as one may call it. This may confuse you, so let me explain: each season ends after Sherlock has a particularly excellent or gruelling case, usually one that wraps up the several cases shown beforehand. Such as, in this season, Moriarty was behind the Study in Pink, the Blind Banker, and the Great Game, therefore, once Sherlock and he meet face to face for the first time, the end is sure to follow. Similarly, the next season ends only when Sherlock defeats his enemy once and for all.

John read this message aloud, then pondered, ‘Why call it a season? You’re treating our lives like a show on the crap telly that we just saw Sherlock yelling at.’

‘Why can’t we just start it already?’ Anderson asked, quite impatient.

In actuality, everyone in the room was impatient, hoping to begin the end quickly. It was rather ironic, in retrospect, as most in the room knew the happenings of the very next scene, though not in detail. Perhaps they wanted to witness what had actually happened between their detective ally and his greatest opponent, or perhaps gain closure as to whether he’d truly been evil and acting all this time. Or, even further, perhaps they just wanted to witness the revelation appear on the detective’s face once he realised that he’d already met Moriarty, and how the man had played him for a fool – something he was not used to. Whichever reason those in the room had for their restlessness, they were all thoroughly relieved when the script on the screen vanished and the scene renewed.

SWIMMING POOL.

[…] SHERLOCK (loudly): Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this.

‘A moderate assumption, to be sure, as Sherlock doesn’t know Moriarty’s motives very well. Fortunately – or unfortunately – Moriarty’s explanations for his actions hold true, and he only wishes to see my brother dance.’

[…] And John Watson walks through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket with his hands tucked into the pockets. He turns and looks at Sherlock as the detective stares back at him in absolute shock.

‘Please! Pause it here! I need a picture of this!’ Anderson was desperate as he shouted. Surprisingly, the image froze, and Anderson pulled out his mobile phone to take a picture.

Sorry to tell you this, but once this is over, you will not be allowed to take anything with you when I send you back. Rest assured, you may keep your phone, but that picture will be gone. Cherish it while it lasts.

Anderson visibly deflated, though grinned as he cast his eyes to the picture again. ‘Fine.’

[…] From somewhere in the upper gallery, the point from a sniper’s laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb.

Molly gasped in horror, as did Mrs Hudson. ‘John!’ exclaimed the elderly woman. ‘How could you never tell me about this? You silly young man!’

‘Sorry, Mrs H. I didn’t want you to worry, y’know?’ He gave a half-hearted shrug.

[…] JOHN (obviously narrating words spoken into an earpiece): Gottle o’ geer … gottle o’ geer … gottle o’ geer.

His voice almost breaks on the last phrase.

‘That sick bastard!’ Lestrade shouted, tensing in his seat.

The words – a variation of ‘bottle of beer’ was well known to be a difficult phrase for most ventriloquists, and as such, was typically marred when said. This was Moriarty’s way of claiming John – of humiliating him. In Moriarty’s eyes, after all, John was just a ventriloquist dummy: speaking none of his own words and making none of his own actions.

SHERLOCK: Stop it.

JOHN (narrating): Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him. (He tries not to cringe as he listens to the next words.) I can stop John Watson too. (He looks down at the laser point on his chest.) Stop his heart.

‘God, John. That must’ve been so…so difficult to say,’ Molly said. ‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise it earlier.’ She looked down.

‘It’s okay, Molly. It’s not your fault; he had us all fooled, Sherlock included. Besides, good luck that you didn’t figure it out, or you probably would’ve been the one in that vest,’ the ex-army doctor assured her.

[…] VOICE: I gave you my number.

We get a brief glimpse of a man wearing a suit and tie, but currently he is mostly obscured by a column.

VOICE (plaintively): I thought you might call.

‘Can we just take a moment to imagine what would’ve happened if Sherlock had called him?’ Lestrade asked, looking at the others out of the corners of his eyes.

‘What do you think would’ve happened?’ John looked at the DI in return, meeting his eyes.

‘Honestly, I’m not sure, but if I were to guess, I’d say it would’ve been an excellent misunderstanding for all of us.’ He gave an uncertain bark of laughter before falling silent again.

‘At least it would finally get all of you off my back about Sherlock’s love life,’ John grumbled. ‘Though I can’t imagine Moriarty being a better choice for him.’

[…] JIM: Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket …

Sherlock reaches down to his trouser pocket and removes a pistol from it.

JIM: … or are you just pleased to see me?

‘Is he still…flirting…with Sherlock?’ Anderson asked hesitantly, his voice stuttering with confusion.

‘I think he is,’ Donovan replied, just as confused. Her brain was spinning in circles inside her head. It was all too confusing for words, but she managed to speak by some miracle – or curse.

SHERLOCK (raising the pistol and aiming it towards Jim): Both.

Anderson swore loudly, leaping out of his seat. ‘Is Sherlock flirting back?’ He shook his head, smacking himself as if to reset his brain. ‘Is anyone else finding this absolutely insane?’

They all stared at him blankly. It seemed that no one could comprehend it – other than Mycroft of course, who, well, no one could ever tell what he was thinking anyway.

[…] JIM (starting to walk again): Don’t be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.

Molly looked at John. ‘John, did you ever find out who was holding that rifle?’

‘Hired gun. I dunno. We never saw a face or heard a name.’

[…] SHERLOCK: ‘Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?’

Starting to walk forwards again, Jim grins, clearly recognising the TV show and catchphrase that Sherlock is quoting.

‘I feel like that’s a quote,’ Anderson said, ‘Is that a quote?’

‘Yes, Anderson, it’s a quote.’

‘What is it a quote from?’

‘Show from the telly. ‘Jim’ll Fix It’. Well known, too, before it was cancelled in 1994. Though it was mostly for children to write to the host, and he’ll fix things for them,’ Lestrade explained.

SHERLOCK: ‘Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?’

JIM (stopping again): Just so.

SHERLOCK: Consulting criminal. (softly) Brilliant.

Sally sighed, rolling her eyes. ‘How did I guess that Holmes still hasn’t sorted out his priorities?’

[…] JIM: Didn’t mean it as a compliment.

SHERLOCK: Yes, you did.

JIM (shrugging): Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting’s over, Sherlock … (His voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song.) Daddy’s had enough now!

‘So, it seems that Moriarty was actively flirting. The question is: why? And why was Sherlock doing it back?’ Lestrade said.

Anderson shivered. He stared at his commanding officer incredulously. ‘You’re asking that question, but you’re not going to talk about how creepy Moriarty’s voice is right now? That’s the stuff of nightmares right there!’

[…] SHERLOCK: People have died.

JIM: That’s what people DO!

Everyone, par Mycroft, jumped in their seats. Even John, who’d already been there, was caught off guard by the sudden volume of Moriarty’s voice. Then again, he hadn’t been that close to the man while this exchange was happening.

[…] Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick towards Jim.

SHERLOCK: Take it.

Anderson smiled demurely. ‘Aww! Sherlock’ll do anything to keep Johnny safe! Isn’t that sweet?’

Lestrade grinned as well. ‘You sure you two weren’t a thing?’

‘Yes! I’m sure!’

[…] JIM (sing-song): Boring! (He shakes his head.) I could have got them anywhere.

‘I don’t know what’s more alarming: the fact that Moriarty just tossed the item that caused so much hassle into a pool just because he could, or that he could’ve hacked the British government any time he wanted without breaking a sweat,’ Lestrade said. He turned to his boss for reassurance.

‘Extra precautions have been made, of course, about the security of the plans,’ Mycroft replied coolly. As usual, nothing in his countenance revealed his thoughts nor his feelings on the matter.

[…] JIM: They’re so touchingly loyal. But, oops!

He grins briefly at John, then looks towards Sherlock.

JIM: You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson.

He chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock’s forehead. John stares in horror as Jim looks round at him expectantly. Sherlock, either seeing the edge of the laser beam shining from the gallery or realising what’s happening from John’s expression, shakes his head slightly.

‘Always has to be prepared, doesn’t he? The bloody bastard,’ Lestrade said.

Mrs Hudson gasped again. ‘Mind your language, Greg,’ she hushed him. ‘I’m trying to watch this.’

The DI gaped, as did the other New Scotland Yarders.

[…] Jim glances round at him, then turns back towards Sherlock while brushing his hands down his suit to straighten it. He gestures to it indignantly.

JIM: Westwood!

‘Of course, he’s worried about his expensive suit being ruined,’ Sally growled.

‘Do you even know what Westwood is?’ Mycroft asked the sergeant in a patronizing tone.

Sally’s face turned slightly red in indignation at his condescending remark, though she just barely managed to keep her head. ‘Of course, I do! We may not all be rich like you Holmes seem to be, but I can recognise a good suit when I see it.’

[…] JIM: I’ll burn the heart out of you.

His face is a snarl as he says the word ‘heart’ but at the end of the sentence he looks almost regretful.

SHERLOCK (softly): I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.

Unbeknownst to the others, Molly looked down, saddened that Sherlock thought that of himself. Why did people have to be so mean, just because he was different? Sure, she’d said some similar things to him, herself, disregarding Sherlock’s…condition…due to her own self-righteousness, but obviously, this wasn’t caused by an outburst. Sherlock’s sense of self-doubt when it came to his heart was caused by constant and repetitive acknowledgement to his lack of feelings, most likely an account given by Sally Donovan and the forensic scientist, Anderson.

Sally, now just beginning to see the extent of her effect on the detective, had the decency to look down in mild shame.

[…] SHERLOCK: What if I was to shoot you now – right now?

‘Please do it!’ Molly shouted, much to the surprise of the others. She looked at them. ‘What? I know he doesn’t but if he had, that man wouldn’t have become the problem he was, and Sherlock would still be alive. That man ruined everything! Why can’t I hope that he would’ve been shot?’

‘Well, for one, Sherlock would’ve been in jail for murder,’ Lestrade pointed out.

Molly crossed her arms.

‘Still better than dead, though,’ Sally pointed out.

JIM (completely unperturbed): Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face.

He opens his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking shock, then grins at Sherlock.

JIM: ’Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would.

Molly scowled. ‘Unfortunately, he knows just the right words to say to keep Sherlock from doing such a thing.’

[…] Sherlock comes back in, having apparently seen no sign of Moriarty outside. He starts to pace up and down near John, so hyper and distracted that he doesn’t even realise that he is scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol.

JOHN (breathlessly): Are you okay?

‘It is interesting.’

‘What’s interesting, Mycroft?’ John asked.

‘My brother, as you know, has had a difficult childhood, and there are few in his life that he truly cares for. It’s interesting that you, in such a short amount of time, have managed to gain this from him, John Watson.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Hmm?

JOHN (still not meeting his eyes): You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.

‘We weren’t before, but now that you’ve said that, it’s going to start,’ Lestrade teased the shorter man.

John let his head fall into his hands, face red, as he waited for the taunting to begin. It did not. He looked up in confusion.

‘Just not right now,’ the DI said. ‘Later, in the precinct, with everyone around us.’

John opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Anderson, who said, ‘You can’t say anything; you’re the one who said it in the first place.’

John closed his mouth, and just settled for glaring at the three Yarders.

[…] JIM: It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.

‘What an egotistical jerk,’ Molly snarled.

[…] Sherlock, who had looked away from John for a moment, now turns and looks down at him again, his face showing no emotion but his eyes screaming a silent request. John responds instantly with a tiny nod, giving him full permission to do whatever he deems necessary.

‘What are you guys saying? I don’t speak eyeball,’ Anderson asked.

[…] All three sets of eyes lock onto the jacket, John breathing heavily, Sherlock calm. Jim tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time. As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with his nemesis. Sherlock gazes back at him and Jim begins to smile. Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly.

The screen turned black once again, though this time, like the ends of the past two episodes, it faded out rather than a sudden stop. And that’s the end! the words on the screen read.

‘What?’ Anderson screeched. ‘How can that possibly be the end? That case wasn’t even over yet!’

Of course, it was! It’s called a cliff-hanger, Anderson. Can’t you tell?

‘You’re very sassy, you know that?’ he muttered back, crossing his arms like an indignant child.

This may come as a surprise to you, Mr High and Mighty, but I’m not actually the one who dictates where an episode ends, only when I want to turn it off each time. I pause it, I play it, but what goes on and when it ends it either up to you guys or the Higher Power.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ John questioned. He no longer felt awkward speaking to the television, as he had the past few times – replying to an empty room was strange, even if it answered back.

‘And what’s the next episode – if that’s what you want to call it?’ asked Anderson.

John, it means what it means. And Anderson, don’t be so pushy! We’ll start again soon! Just wait a moment while I set it up! It may take a little while, so…just enjoy listening to this hold music.

As promised, as soon as the words disappeared, the room filled with generic – slightly annoying – hold music.

Chapter Text

Though it only took a few minutes, by the time the hold music came to a stop, nearly everyone in the room was just about ready to claw their ears out. Even Mycroft, though he only showed it in the form of a twitching eyebrow.

The episode picks up precisely where ‘The Great Game’ left off, with Sherlock aiming the pistol down at the bomb jacket. As he and Jim Moriarty stare at each other, the introduction to The Bee Gees’ song ‘Stayin’ Alive’ begins to play tinnily.

‘What’s going on?’ Anderson asked.

Now knowing what it was and being out of the dangerous situation, John barely hid his laugh.

‘What?’ Anderson turned to him. John just shook his head.

Sherlock and John look around, confused. Jim briefly closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation.

JIM: D’you mind if I get that?

‘It’s his ringtone?’ Sally exclaimed.

‘Of course,’ John replied. ‘What else could it have been?’ The only thing that he kept to himself, though, was the question of who had been the one of the other end of the line. Who had called Moriarty in the middle of that pool and changed his mind about killing them? Perhaps they’d find out in watching these videos, like they had with every other unsolved mystery and unanswered question.

[…] He mouths ‘Sorry’ at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouths ‘Oh, fine’ back at him. Jim rolls his eyes as he listens to the phone, turning away from Sherlock for a moment, then he spins back around, his face full of fury.

‘Is it just me, or is this the most awkward bomb threat ever?’ Anderson asked.

JIM (loudly into phone): SAY THAT AGAIN!

Everyone jumped, including John, even though he’d been there before. It just seemed so much louder when it was on that screen.

Sherlock frowns.

JIM (venomously, into phone): Say that again, and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you.

He hisses out the ‘s’ of ‘skin.’ Sherlock briefly looks round at John.

‘If that isn’t already creepy enough to be heard, hearing Moriarty say it is the most terrifying thing ever.’ Molly shuddered.

JIM (into phone): Wait.

‘What did he say?’ Anderson asked, squinting at the screen as if it would help him decode the words better somehow.

‘He said ‘away,’ like, telling the other person to hang up,’ Sally said.

‘No,’ Molly countered. ‘He said “wait.” He was telling the person on the other end of the line to hold.’

Sally grumbled, not believing her, but also not in the mood to argue further. Maybe she was afraid Mycroft would do something, or maybe she just knew that Molly had the ability to outwit her in any argument (if she wanted to, that is).

[…] JIM: Sorry. Wrong day to die.

SHERLOCK (casually): Oh. Did you get a better offer?

‘Obviously, he did.’

Jim looks down at the phone, then turns and slowly starts to walk away.

JIM: You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.

He strolls back around the pool towards the door through which he originally came, lifting the phone to his ear again.

‘See? Molly was right,’ John said. ‘He was telling the other person to hold while he said goodbye to Sherlock.’

Lestrade gave a chuckle. ‘Yeah. It’s like you weren’t even there!’

‘He only has eyes for Sherlock,’ Anderson whispered. He was ready to plot another theory, just not right now. They had more videos to watch.

JIM (into phone): So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.

‘Let me rephrase,’ Molly said, ‘this is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.’

[…] John sighs out a relieved breath.

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the room, even from the people (person) who didn’t like Sherlock that much.

JOHN: What happened there?

SHERLOCK: Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?

Elsewhere, a woman’s hand lowers her phone and switches it off.

‘So, we are going to see who it was,’ Molly said. She seemed excited, but at the same time, a little bit worried. Who had the power to change Jim Moriarty’s mind?

John stared at the screen for a long moment. ‘Isn’t that…?’

‘Who?’ Lestrade turned to him.

[…] IRENE: Well now. Have you been wicked, Your Highness?

‘A Scandal in Belgravia!’ John suddenly announced. ‘That’s the case this is!’

[…] SULTRY FEMALE VOICE: Yes, Miss Adler.

‘Who is that?’

‘Obviously the member of the royal family that Sherlock was told to protect by his brother.’ John sent a pointed look at Mycroft, who gave one in return.

‘They’ve most likely kept it at this angle to protect the identity of this person. I suggest that you don’t delve into the matter further,’ he advised coldly.

Everyone looked down.

#

221B BAKER STREET. MAY 30.

[…] SHERLOCK: You mean me.

JOHN: Why?

SHERLOCK: Well, you’re typing a lot.

‘Sherlock!’ Mrs Hudson scolded. ‘That’s very rude! Even though it’s true.’

[…] WOMAN: I think my husband might be having an affair.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

‘Why am I not surprised by his bluntness?’ Lestrade asked with a sigh.

‘He has no tact,’ Anderson agreed, though he seemed quite unbothered by that fact.

#

[…] GEEKY YOUNG MAN: But then all the comic books started coming true.

Sherlock comes back.

SHERLOCK: Oh. Interesting.

‘Wait, they disappeared, and then reappeared. What happened? Is that really how he sees things that aren’t interesting to him? They’re just…not there?’ Anderson’s brain was working overtime, hoping to figure it out. Was it really how Sherlock saw things? Was it just a technique that was used in the making of the ‘episodes’ they were watching?

‘Also, if you guys only take cases that are interesting, how do you keep up with the rent?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’ John asked in return.

‘Like, you must not get paid often, then.’

‘Sherlock doesn’t usually charge for investigations. He only takes cases that are interesting and doesn’t care about the money. Why d’you think we’re always behind on rent?’

‘But…he always comes when Lestrade calls.’

‘Yeah,’ Lestrade cut in. ‘I only go to Sherlock when I’m really stumped, that way, he knows it’s going to be interesting. Standing next to Sherlock, you can’t see it, but I really am a good detective.’ He seemed mildly annoyed with his former forensic scientist.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Do people actually read your blog?

JOHN: Where d’you think our clients come from?

‘That’s true. There is no sign or anything out front, so how would people know where to find you and Sherlock? It can only be through the blog,’ Molly said, to which John nodded in confirmation.

[…] JOHN: Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.

He points at the tiny red marks on the woman’s body, but Sherlock has already turned and flounced out of the room.

‘You… you hurt his feelings,’ Molly said, somewhat saddened.

‘He’s the only one. To everyone else, he doesn’t have feelings,’ Sally said. At this, though it was rude, no one could say anything, because she wasn’t wrong. To other people, Sherlock tended to close himself off and not express his inner feelings. He would, instead, keep his emotions hidden and defend himself from attack with his intellect. Only a select few had ever seen him show his true self, especially as he was such a great actor in keeping it locked away.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: ‘The Speckled Blonde’?!

‘I kind of agree with him on this one, John. That was some surface-level stuff,’ Sally drawled.

[…] SHERLOCK: Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.

JOHN: You said, ‘Boring,’ and turned over.

‘Of course he did. Why would anything on the news interest Sherlock?’ Molly asked.

‘I don’t know. You seem to know him best, don’t you?’ Anderson replied cuttingly, though he wasn’t even being addressed. Why did he always have to answer questions even when they weren’t addressed to him?

[…] JOHN: Lucky escape!

LESTRADE (to Sherlock): Any ideas?

‘Yeah!’ Lestrade said. ‘Talk to Mycroft!’

Anderson and Sally looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

‘Do you not know?’

Mycroft leered at the screen. ‘How could one have gone missing?’

[…] SHERLOCK: Maybe two ideas.

‘Sherlock’s stumped. But you said talk to Mycroft. It must’ve been a setup!’ Anderson declared.

John nearly snorted. Of course. With all the clues handed out on a silver platter to him, of course he could piece it together. Anderson seemed so proud of himself – like he’d figured something out that had stumped Sherlock, but he didn’t really know what was going on. All in all, it was just another one of his crazy theories. ‘Everything’s a setup!’ and the like.

[…] JOHN: People want to know you’re human.

SHERLOCK: Why?

JOHN: ’Cause they’re interested.

SHERLOCK: No, they’re not. Why are they?

‘Is it just me, or do I detect a hint of interest in his voice?’ Molly asked with a grin. She liked seeing Sherlock alive and happy – or, as happy as Sherlock could be. Read: interested.

[…] SHERLOCK (sulkily): Two hundred and forty-three.

Firing up the blowtorch, he puts his safety glasses back on and heads back towards the kitchen.

Lestrade looked around at Sherlock as if that would help him see what was going on. ‘What was he doing with that, John? Do you remember?’

‘Just another one of his experiments. I don’t quite remember the details.’

‘Maybe he was expanding his horizons about tobacco ash?’ Molly suggested.

‘Yeah, maybe.’

#

THEATRE.

[…] JOHN: ‘The Navel Treatment’?

SHERLOCK: Eurgh!

Anderson smiled at the screen. It tickled his theorist and his detective heartstrings to see this new, domestic side of the detective whom he’d hated so much. Maybe, he wasn’t such a bad guy, after all. ‘That groan was just because John came up with a better title than him, but you can really tell that Sherlock is intrigued with the blog and is trying his best not to show it.’

They walk backstage and meet up with Lestrade as they head for the exit.

LESTRADE: There’s a lot of press outside, guys.

SHERLOCK: Well, they won’t be interested in us.

‘He’s kidding, right?’ Sally asked.

[…] He walks in and grabs a couple of items off the rack.

SHERLOCK: John.

He tosses a cap at him.

‘Oh no!’ Mrs Hudson said with a startling laugh. ‘That poor boy! To think it all started because he was trying to hide his face.’

[…] SHERLOCK: I’m a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image.

‘He’s not wrong. Being famous makes it hard to go undercover, even if he’s supposed to be a “master of disguise”,’ Sally had to admit.

[…] IRENE (into phone): Hello. I think it’s time, don’t you?

‘Does she have Moriarty on speed dial or something?’ Sally asked in exasperation.

‘Seems like it.’

#

221B BAKER STREET.

[…] Peering at the contents, she cringes when she realises what’s inside.

MRS HUDSON: Ooh dear! Thumbs!

‘John!’ Lestrade scolded. ‘Why didn’t you warn her about those!’

John turned to Mrs Hudson without answering Lestrade. ‘Why would you even go in there? You know that Sherlock doesn’t eat!’

‘My question is, why didn’t you ever just get a second fridge just for food?’

John sighed. ‘The cost of a second fridge is not worth it, especially if that just means Sherlock thinks he has more room to refrigerate limbs. He’s like a cat sometimes; he doesn’t know when he’s invading your personal space, or, he knows it, but he just doesn’t care.’

[…] MRS HUDSON: Boys! You’ve got another one!

‘It doesn’t even seem strange to you at this point, Mrs Hudson. How long has it taken for you to get used to it?’

The landlady shrugged.

She bends down to the unconscious man.

MRS HUDSON: Ooh!

‘Is he even okay?’ Sally asked.

‘Yeah,’ John replied, ‘he was fine. Just out of breath.’

The screen turned black again. It seemed like a shorter session than the last one, but everyone was hungry, and seeing as their captor had been busy earlier setting up the next ‘season’, they hadn’t been able to supply food earlier. Snacks appeared on tables in front of them, as new words lit up the screen.

Sorry about the wait earlier; I had to get everything up and running, you know? Now, we’ve got it, and everything seems good to go! Also, good job, John! You guess this one, and yes, this case started all the way back at the pool, you just didn’t know it until now.

‘How long is this one going to be?’

Another hour and twenty minutes, about, give or take.

Anderson groaned. ‘At this rate, we’ll never get through them. I mean, they’re interesting and all, but I really want to find out what happened before he…fell. Like, what really happened. And then we can all go back to our normal lives, right?’

Don’t be so impatient; we’ll get there. Besides, Sherlock’s death isn’t the end. You must see what happens after.

‘I don’t really want to relive myself mourning the best friend I’ve ever had. Besides, it’ll stop when Mrs Hudson and I are in the graveyard, anyway, isn’t that right? Because that’s where we were taken from.’

Wrong!

The viewers stared at the screen in confusion, and just a hint of sorrow at the familiarity of the short and confident counter.

We will go past even what you have lived. There is more to this story that meets the eye!

‘What do you mean by that?’ John asked. ‘How can there be more? Sherlock’s gone. It ends with him.’

‘Unless he’s not dead?’ Anderson cried out in alarm.

The next words on the screen revealed nothing, only said, Well, John Watson is still around, and the world keeps on spinning. You’ll find out what it’s about when we get there. For now, enjoy your snacks and we’ll get right back into it.

And just like that, they were back at 221B Baker Street with this new, mysterious client.

[…] SHERLOCK (sternly): Tell us from the start. Don’t be boring.

‘He hasn’t been boring so far, though, boys?’ Mrs Hudson asked. ‘Just came in and poof! On the ground.’

[…] Phil sighs, then looks across towards the river and realises that the man is now lying on the ground. He gets out of the car and stares.

‘That was strange,’ Anderson said. ‘This wasn’t our case, because I don’t remember it.’ He looked at Lestrade, who just shook his head.

‘No, I sent Sherlock to Carter for this one.’

[…] As yet unseen by Phil, the man has fallen onto his back. There is a lot of blood underneath the back of his head.

‘Wait! What just happened?’ Anderson asked. He was sitting straight up in his seat, now. ‘I don’t remember this case!’ As if Lestrade hadn’t just answered his question. Lestrade shook his head, sighing in exasperation.

#

[…] LESTRADE: Well, you’re about to meet him now. This is your case. It’s entirely up to you. This is just friendly advice but give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say. And as far as possible, try not to punch him.

‘That’s some sound advice. Good thing Sherlock wasn’t actually there, though,’ John said.

‘What do you mean, he wasn’t actually there?’ Anderson asked.

Lestrade was also confused. He’d been sitting right outside their apartment, how had he not seen Sherlock not actually get into the cab with John?

[…] JOHN (getting out of the car and shaking Carter’s hand): John Watson. Are you set up for Wi-Fi?

‘That must’ve been so confusing!’ Sally said with a snort and a chuckle. Despite herself, she was kind of starting to enjoy watching all their crimes and cases from a behind-the-scenes perspective, all-knowing and all-seeing. Here, they were on-par with Sherlock.

#

221B.

[…] JOHN (offscreen): You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?

‘For you or for him?’ Lestrade asked John. He was slightly amused.

‘For me. He didn’t seem to care.’

[…] JOHN (offscreen): I didn’t really mean for you.

‘You’re right, he really doesn’t seem to care,’ Molly said, agreeing with John’s earlier statement.

SHERLOCK: Look, this is a six.

‘What’s he on about now?’

He sits down at the table in the living room and puts the laptop onto the table. Just then the doorbell rings but he ignores it.

SHERLOCK (adjusting the screen so that his face can be seen by the laptop’s camera): There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass.

‘Why in the world would you agree to that, John?’ Lestrade asked.

‘I didn’t!’ he insisted. ‘Just watch!’

[…] JOHN: I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.

SHERLOCK: Well, it’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.

There was a collective sigh of exasperation.

[…] JOHN: D’you just carry on talking when I’m away?

Molly hid a laugh behind her hands. ‘I bet he does, all the time.’

SHERLOCK (shrugging as he turns back to the camera): I don’t know. How often are you away?—

‘Most of the time, actually. Unlike him, I have a regularly scheduled job and errands to run,’ John muttered.

‘You mean your life doesn’t revolve around him? I never knew,’ Lestrade whispered to him with a cheeky grin.

[…] JOHN (swinging the camera back around to look into it): Yeah. And if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That’s gotta be an eight at least.

‘You still don’t know Sherlock well enough at this point, John. He’s already got it all figured out; he’s just not telling you.’

‘Yeah, I found that out later.’

[…] SHERLOCK (waving his hand dismissively): Oh, forget him. He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?

‘He’s not wrong,’ Lestrade said. ‘The driver did absolutely nothing, even if he thinks he did.’

Carter catches up to John and leans over to look into the camera.

CARTER: I think he’s a suspect!

‘But –!’

‘That’s just because he wasn’t there. We know that the driver isn’t a suspect because we saw exactly what happened,’ Lestrade said, cutting off Anderson from speaking.

[…] SHERLOCK (sighing in exasperation): Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?!

He turns around to John’s chair where – unseen by us until now – Phil has been sitting all the time.

Despite herself, Sally burst out laughing. She couldn’t control herself for a near full ten seconds, gasping and snorting. Meanwhile, the scene continued to play out before them, her laughing mildly annoying to the others.

SHERLOCK: Don’t worry – this is just stupid.

PHIL (anxiously): What did you say? Heart what?

‘If he wasn’t such a jerk, he could actually make some difference, letting people know about problems like that,’ Molly said wistfully. Then again, if Sherlock was any different, she wouldn’t love him the way she does. It would just be too strange.

Ignoring him, Sherlock turns back to the camera.

SHERLOCK: Go to the stream.

CARTER: What’s in the stream?

John sighed. ‘He’s getting annoyed, now. You can see it. Obviously, he didn’t take your warning to heart.’ He looked at Lestrade.

[…] MRS HUDSON: Sherlock! You weren’t answering your doorbell!

Everyone froze. ‘Mrs Hudson, who was that?’ Lestrade asked. The man looked rather ominous, but Mrs Hudson didn’t look ruffled, so maybe it was okay.

[…] As his screen goes black, he pokes at the keyboard frantically.

JOHN: I’ve lost him. I don’t know what …

Anderson sighed. ‘You literally just saw someone come in and close the laptop, didn’t you?’ He raised an eyebrow at John. The man in question shrugged.

[…] POLICE OFFICER: Uh, no, sir. The helicopter.

They both turn and look at the helicopter which is just coming in to land at the edge of the river.

‘Oh, John. What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?’ Molly asked.

John just thrust his thumb in Mycroft’s direction. ‘Ask him.’

#

Back at 221B, Plummer’s colleague has collected a pile of clothes and a pair of shoes and puts them down onto the table in front of Sherlock, who raises his eyebrows and shrugs disinterestedly.

PLUMMER: Please, Mr Holmes. Where you’re going, you’ll want to be dressed.

Sherlock turns his head, gazes at the man and begins to deduce him:

*

Looking at his clothes: Suit £700

Glancing at his breast pocket and the area where a pistol would be if Plummer was carrying one: Unarmed

Thumbnail: Manicured

Forehead: Office worker

The way his hands are folded in front of him: Right handed

Looking down to his shoes: Indoor worker

Seeing some wiry hairs on the cuff of his trouser leg, and imagining a high-pitched yapping sound: Small dog

Seeing a mark higher up the same trouser leg and imagining two yapping sounds: Two small dogs

Seeing more hairs on the other trouser leg and imagining more yapping: Three small dogs

‘It’s so fascinating to see this! I really hope we get more!’ Anderson said.

‘I’m sure we will. I have to admit, seeing Holmes from this perspective – though it doesn’t make him any less annoying – I can see where he’s coming from.’ Sally was stubborn, and struggled through that sentence, but she still said it. That was progress, at least.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, I know exactly where I’m going.

Lestrade leaned back in his seat. ‘I mean, with those deductions, it’s quite clear where he’s going. Or maybe that’s just because I already know about this case.’

#

[…] John stops in the doorway. On a small round table in the middle of the room is the pile of clothes and shoes which had been put down in front of Sherlock earlier.

‘Did he seriously not get dressed before going to the Buckingham Palace? Is he mad?’ Sally asked. Then she paused, thinking to herself with a look of realisation, but didn’t say anything.

Anderson looked at her. ‘Yes.’

[…] He gazes in front of himself for a moment, chewing back a giggle, looks around the room again and then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet and particularly the section wrapped around his backside. He turns his head away again.

‘What are you doing, John?’ Sally asked, peering at him strangely.

JOHN: Are you wearing any pants?

SHERLOCK: No.

JOHN: Okay.

Molly was the only one to burst out laughing at this, though it was over pretty quickly.

He sighs quietly. A moment later Sherlock turns and looks at him just as John also turns to look. Their eyes meet and they promptly burst out laughing.

At that, everyone froze again, stunned. ‘You got him to laugh? You actually made Sherlock Bloody Holmes laugh?’ Lestrade cried out in alarm. He let a bark of laughter pass his lips, but it was over in a split second. Quickly afterward came an admirable breath. ‘Wow.’

‘I’m just surprised that he can laugh. I thought he had no emotions,’ Sally said.

Mycroft sent her a pointed look, mainly because of her misunderstanding of Sherlock’s self-diagnosed sociopathic status, though perhaps – maybe – it was in defence of his younger sibling. ‘Of course my brother has emotions, but obviously he cannot express them as you or I can.’

Lestrade sent the man a sceptical look, mainly for his mention of him expressing emotions as well. He averted his eyes when Mycroft glared at him.

[…] JOHN: Here to see the Queen?

At that moment Mycroft walks in from the next room.

SHERLOCK: Oh, apparently yes.

John cracks up again and Sherlock promptly joins in. The two of them continue to giggle as Mycroft looks at them in exasperation.

‘Where did this come from?’ Molly demanded, utterly confused, as were all of the others.

Anderson was on the edge of his seat. ‘He’s laughing – making jokes. Is this even the same guy?’

Lestrade leaned towards Mycroft with a sly grin on his face. ‘I take it that you didn’t find his joke amusing?’

[…] MYCROFT: What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?

SHERLOCK: Transparent.

‘Well, that was easy, then,’ Lestrade said.

John looks startled.

‘How are you still startled by this?’ Anderson whispered.

[…] SHERLOCK (standing up): And my client is?

‘Just be glad that he managed to keep the sheet around himself for so long,’ Lestrade muttered. ‘And that the sheet is so large in the first place.’

[…] EQUERRY: And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous.

‘You should know by now that he doesn’t do anonymous clients, Mycroft,’ Lestrade whispered.

[…] EQUERRY: Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch.

‘We never saw that one on here,’ Anderson said.

‘Yes, you’re right. I guess not all the cases would be in these videos,’ Sally mused with a shrug.

‘They seem to be limited to the ones involving Moriarty,’ Lestrade commented.

[…] SHERLOCK: I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.

A few people choked on their laughs at John’s expense.

[…] He starts to walk out of the room but Mycroft steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him. Sherlock’s impetus carries him forward while pulling the sheet off his body. He stops and grabs at it before he’s completely naked and tries to tug it back around himself, looking furious.

‘Mycroft, you realise that could’ve gone very wrong, don’t you?’ Lestrade asked, still startled by what had just happened.

‘Yes, of course, I do,’ Mycroft said, slightly aggravated by being treated like a child.

‘Then why did you do it?’ His question was only met with a sharp glare.

Meanwhile, Sally, who still – secretly – harboured feelings for the detective, and Molly stared at his naked chest in admiration.

[…] SHERLOCK: Or I’ll just walk away.

MYCROFT: I’ll let you.

JOHN: Boys, please. Not here.

‘Thank you! John!’ Anderson cried aloud.

[…] MYCROFT (exasperated): … put your clothes on!

Sherlock closes his eyes furiously, then pulls in a sharp breath.

‘Is he going to do it?’ Anderson asked.

‘Obviously,’ John replied. ‘Sherlock lost that little spat of theirs.’

#

Some time later, Sherlock has dressed and is sitting on the sofa beside John. Mycroft and the equerry sit on the opposite sofa. Mycroft is pouring tea from a teapot.

‘How is it that both of them have these gifts of deduction but they turned out so different? At least Mycroft can pretend to be human, though on the inside, I’m starting to think he’s less so.’ Anderson immediately ducked his head upon saying that, realising that the man in question could hear him.

MYCROFT: I’ll be mother.

‘Though it’s a common phrase, I don’t think I ever expected those words to come out of your mouth,’ Lestrade admitted quietly.

SHERLOCK (pointedly): And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.

‘Now I’m curious. What was your childhood like?’

‘No business of yours, for one thing,’ Mycroft replied pointedly to Anderson’s question.

Anderson looked down, chastised, but he was still immensely curious. Now that he was seeing past the detective’s tough, rude exterior, he wanted to know more about the man, he had his theories, sure, but if he actually saw how the man grew up, maybe then he could really begin to understand him. It was partially his fault that Sherlock died, and he’d never forgive himself for that, but maybe, just maybe, learning all he could about that man would make up for it. It felt like a duty that he would never be able to fulfil, it seemed, until they were taken to watch these videos.

[…] MYCROFT: This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust.

‘And you trust a retired army doctor and your little brother?’ Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.

JOHN: You don’t trust your own Secret Service?

‘Of course, he shouldn’t!’ Mrs Hudson said. ‘All those men do is spy on other people for money! They are very easily bought!’

MYCROFT: Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.

‘Wow. How did Mrs Hudson think the same thing as Mycroft?’

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ John asked as Mycroft glared at Anderson.

[…] As he continues to speak, we switch between the palace and footage of Irene who is being driven through London. Her phone trills a text alert and she looks at the message which reads ‘I’m sending you a treat’.

‘Was that from Moriarty, do you think?’

Sally looked at Anderson. ‘Pretty sure, but the real question is, whadd’you think he means by it?’

[…] Irene’s phone shows that it is downloading an image as she walks indoors.

‘Why do these videos have to do that?’ Anderson asked.

‘Do what?’ Sally replied.

‘Show us stuff, but also not show us stuff. Do you know what I mean?’

[…] SHERLOCK: Sex doesn’t alarm me.

MYCROFT (smiling snidely at him): How would you know?

‘Ooo!’ Anderson said. ‘That one must’ve stung!’

[…] At the same time, walking up the stairs at her house, Irene looks down at her phone and flicks through shots which someone has taken of Sherlock wrapped in his sheet as he left 221B and got into Plummer’s car.

‘Oh. So…they weren’t from Moriarty? Just a weird photographer?’

‘Maybe she gets her photos from him?’ Sally suggested.

SHERLOCK: And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.

‘You’d be right to assume that,’ John muttered to the screen.

[…] JOHN: You can’t tell us anything?

‘And you both immediately look to Mycroft because you know that he is the weak one in this duo. Wow,’ Lestrade said to John, who just shrugged.

MYCROFT: I can tell you it’s a young person.

John drinks from his teacup.

MYCROFT: A young female person.

John’s eyes widen. Sherlock smirks.

‘What?’ Anderson asked. ‘I don’t think I get the joke here. Is there a joke here? Should I be understanding something?’

SHERLOCK: How many photographs?

‘How would they know how many?’ Sally asked.

MYCROFT: A considerable number, apparently.

SHERLOCK: Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?

‘It seems that would be the most apparent answer, Sherlock.

MYCROFT: Yes, they do.

SHERLOCK: And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios.

‘What does he think they are, paparazzi shots? They didn’t go out to a hotdog stand!’ Sally all but shouted at the screen.

John sent her a look. ‘You can’t see what he’s doing? He’s just trying to ween information out of his brother because he can.’

[…] SHERLOCK: What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, ‘Know when you are beaten.’

‘He actually read it and cares enough to quote it?’ Molly seemed quite annoyed and had a feeling that she wouldn’t like this woman very much. She’d never met her, but the Christmas party scenario was odd enough. She wasn’t looking forward to watching Sherlock and her first meeting.

[…] SHERLOCK (finally interested for the first time): Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?

‘That’s kind of the wrong attitude to have for a sensitive case like this…,’ Anderson mumbled.

[…] EQUERRY: Do you really think you’ll have news by then?

SHERLOCK (turning back to him): No, I think I’ll have the photographs.

‘Unfortunately, not,’ John said. ‘His first time being beaten by someone.’

‘Poor Sherlock,’ Mrs Hudson said, shaking her head sadly. She’d seen the aftermath, but the cause – she was interested to watch.

[…] Sherlock’s eyes begin to rise up the man’s body again as his deductions continue.

*

Non-Smoker

Father

Half Welsh

Keen Reader

Tea Drinker

‘Those are all too fast, now!’

‘I’m assuming that’s the speed he usually sees things in. It’s just slowed down for some cases so that we can actually read what’s going on,’ John explained.

‘Well, then I guess there isn’t a chance to still catch up if that’s the real speed he sees things.’ Anderson looked downcast.

#

[…] SHERLOCK (interrupting): Can I have a box of matches?

‘What in the world would he need matches for?’

‘He’s just proving a point, I think,’ John replied to Anderson’s question.

[…] EQUERRY: We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes.

‘Wait. The queen does smoke? I knew it!’

Mycroft looked mildly annoyed by this sudden development. Not only did five other people know about the case, but they also knew about the smoking. How…aggravating.

SHERLOCK: I’m not the Commonwealth.

Taking the lighter and putting it into his trouser pocket, he turns away.

JOHN (to the equerry): And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.

‘You know him so well, John! Wow!’ Lestrade was being sarcastic at this point, though he also looked annoyed.

He follows after Sherlock as he strolls out of the room.

SHERLOCK (in an Estuary English accent, not sounding the ‘t’ in the word): Laters!

John throws an apologetic glance over his shoulder as they leave.

The screen turned black again, and Anderson, of course, took this as a sign to start talking. ‘Well, that was interesting!’ He let out a long breath. ‘There were so many shocking things in that segment!’

Chapter Text

‘Really,’ Lestrade said, turning to Anderson, ‘like what?’ He knew, of course, but he wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

‘Welll…. I – um…. I mean…,’ Anderson stuttered his reply. ‘Sherlock was laughing!’ he finally came up with.

A few amused grins appeared, Lestrade’s included. ‘Yes, I think we already mentioned that. I guess John just has this way about him. Makes people laugh.’

‘And…and….’ Anderson was struggling, ‘Mycroft works for the Queen, who hired Sherlock to solve a case! We weren’t supposed to know about that!’ he suddenly added, eyes wide as he looked over at Mycroft.

Lestrade sighed. The man looked as if the elder Holmes would just make him vanish right then and there. He wouldn’t do that. Maybe. Most he’d do would be to have them sign an NDA and be done with it. He’d probably have them sign one for this whole experience, seeing as most of the things they were witnessing were confidential.

[…] Sherlock reaches into his coat.

SHERLOCK: The ashtray.

‘He actually stole an ashtray?’ Molly asked in astonishment.

‘Well…I did say I wanted one, didn’t I? I was joking, of course, but I guess I should’ve known better than to joke around with Sherlock.’ John rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin on his lips.

[…] Some time later, the photos have been sent to Irene’s phone. Sitting on the side of her bed, she looks through them, smiling, then calls out.

‘That’s not creepy at all…,’ Sally muttered under her breath.

‘No kidding,’ Anderson agreed.

IRENE: Kate!

Kate, the woman who drove her earlier, comes into the room.

‘And who’s that, John? Her assistant?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Don’t know. I never found out.’

‘She was her driver from earlier!’ Molly butted in. ‘Makes sense that she’s an assistant.’

[…] Later, wearing a see-through negligee over her knickers and stockings, Irene opens the doors to her enormous walk-in wardrobe and walks inside, running her fingers along her outfits as she decides what to wear.

‘Whoa!’ The men – except Mycroft, who watched the screen distastefully – averted their eyes. Molly and Mrs Hudson were looking at her extensive closet, wondering which outfit she would wear, while Sally sneered.

She – unlike the others, wasn’t thinking about her looks or her clothes, but instead, about who their visitor was. Obviously, it was Sherlock, and she was planning to make him uncomfortable. A secret grin never made it to the surface as a brief notion passed through her mind about how appealing it would be to see the grandiose detective feeling uncomfortable for once.

#

[…] SHERLOCK: Going into battle, John. I need the right armour.

Laughter rippled through the room. ‘They’re both getting dressed at the same time! Isn’t that sweet?’ Sally asked sarcastically. Then, she cried dramatically, ‘Those two are meant for each other!’

John snorted. ‘If not for one thing…,’ but he left it at that, even when confused looks were thrown his way.

He walks into view, wearing a large yellow hi-vis jacket.

SHERLOCK: No.

He rips it off again.

‘Well, duh! What would that solve?’ Lestrade asked.

#

[…] Sherlock and John are on the move. Sherlock is wearing his usual coat and scarf.

‘And then he just goes in the same old clothes as usual!’ Sally said, aggravated. ‘What was the point of all that?’

[…] JOHN: You didn’t even change your clothes.

‘See? John knows what I’m talking about!’ Sally pointed out.

John glared. ‘I’m still upset at you for the few thousand comments you’ve made about Sherlock. Don’t rope me into anything you have to say – thank you very much.’

SHERLOCK: Then it’s time to add a splash of colour.

‘What colour?’ Mrs Hudson asked. ‘Sherlock didn’t take anything else with him? Oh, wait….’ She paused, thinking back to that day. ‘Oh, dear.’

#

[…] SHERLOCK (gesturing to his own left cheek): Punch me in the face.

‘Gladly,’ Sally joked quietly to herself.

Lestrade chuckled at the confused look on screen-John’s face, though instantly fell silent upon hearing her comment. From anyone else, it would’ve been funny, but from her, he wasn’t amused. ‘You’re lucky no one else heard that, Donovan,’ he growled lowly. ‘Your job has already been threatened twice.’

#

[…] JOHN: I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually sub-text.

This time, nearly everyone broke out into peals of laughter, and at least Donovan was wise enough not to question the difference between her statement and John’s.

SHERLOCK (exasperated): Oh, for God’s sake.

He punches John in the face. As John grunts in pain and reels from the blow, Sherlock shakes out his hand and then blows out a breath, bracing himself. John straightens up and immediately punches Sherlock.

‘John, I thought you were left-handed, dear?’ Mrs Hudson asked, tilting a single eyebrow up on her face.

John shrugged. ‘He wanted me to punch that cheek, so I punched that cheek.’

[…] Still fighting right-handed, John punches him in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.

‘Did you just tackle him to the ground?’ Molly asked, watching the screen with quick, worried eyes. Unfortunately, the scene changed just as quickly.

#

[…] John’s face is contorted with pent-up anger and frustration, and Sherlock is struggling to pull his hands off him.

‘Why are you so angry, John? He just asked you to punch him, and you did. What’s with the choking?’ Anderson looked at John, who rightfully went red with embarrassment.

‘Well…um….’

[…] SHERLOCK: You were a doctor!

JOHN: I had bad days!

Anderson sputtered again. ‘“Bad days”? John, seriously? “Bad days”?’

‘Yeah….’

#

Kate finishes painting Irene’s lips.

KATE: What are you gonna wear?

IRENE: My battle dress.

KATE: Ooh! Lucky boy!

‘Battle dress?’ Molly asked in confusion.

They all looked at John, who went a deeper shade of red suddenly.

‘What? Was it really revealing or something?’ Sally joked.

John choked on his spit but didn’t answer. Curiosity took hold, and several pairs of eyes focussed on the telly like never before.

[…] Sherlock stares into the camera wide-eyed and flustered. He talks in an anxious, tearful, posh voice and keeps looking around behind him as he speaks.

‘He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that. If I didn’t already know who he was, I would’ve been convinced,’ Sally grudgingly admitted. Anderson just nodded dumbly, though he was thoroughly entertained by Sherlock’s performance.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, would you … would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much.

‘Though…he is laying in on a little thick. He only has one bruise from John’s punch, and maybe marks from the chokehold, but it doesn’t look like he’s been attacked,’ Sally said.

Despite his anger, Lestrade had to agree with her. Still, Sherlock was playing a vicar, and a man of the cloth would likely be more emotionally stricken by an attack of any sort.

[…] JOHN (closing the door): I – I saw it all happen. It’s okay, I’m a doctor.

‘Where was John hiding in the intercom?’

‘I was just behind him,’ John answered.

[…] SHERLOCK (in his posh tremulous voice): I’m so sorry. I’m …

He turns and looks at Irene as she walks into view and stops at the doorway. His voice fails him when he realises that, with the exception of high-heeled shoes, she is stark naked. His jaw drops a little.

Eyes averted again, and this time, all faces turned blood red. Mycroft just seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the look on his brother’s face.

IRENE: Oh, it’s always hard to remember an alias when you’ve had a fright, isn’t it?

‘I guess that counts as a fright, doesn’t it?’ Sally asked.

The others were all in agreement. Some were thoroughly glad that the screen never showed an angle of her body, but it was glaringly obvious that she was, indeed, naked.

[…] IRENE: There now – we’re both defrocked …

‘What was that?’ Molly asked. She hadn’t even noticed it in Sherlock’s outfit.

‘I think it’s a white collar. He was playing the role of a mugged vicar.’ Lestrade had seen the collar earlier, and it was his best guess.

[…] IRENE (gazing down at his face): Look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face. Would you like me to try?

‘Ten pounds says that Sherlock has absolutely no idea what is going on or what she means by that,’ Sally whispered to Anderson.

Anderson frowned. ‘No, of course he knows. He read her whole website, didn’t he? To get to know her before going into battle?’

Narrowing her eyes, she lifts the dog collar to her mouth and bites down onto the edge of it. As Sherlock stares up at her in confusion, John walks into the room carrying a bowl of water and a fabric napkin. His eyes are lowered to the bowl to avoid spilling its contents.

‘There! See? He looks bloody confused!’ Sally declared. Anderson grumbled.

[…] JOHN: I’ve missed something, haven’t I?

‘Yes, John, you have. But so has Sherlock. Don’t you agree Anderson?’ Sally asked in triumph. ‘I’ll take that ten, now, if you’d please.’

A paper note switched hands.

Irene takes the collar from her teeth.

IRENE: Please, sit down.

She steps back from Sherlock, who fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa as she walks away.

‘Well, even if he did know what was going on, he seemed very uncomfortable about it,’ Molly pointed out.

‘As I said,’ Mycroft said, ‘sex alarms him.’

IRENE: Oh, if you’d like some tea, I can call the maid.

SHERLOCK: I had some at the Palace.

‘He’s now dropped his charade completely, because obviously she knows exactly what was going on the entire time,’ Lestrade said.

‘Yes.’ John still seemed a bit uncomfortable, despite having already lived in that moment.

[…] JOHN: I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone’s interested.

Sally chuckled. ‘No one wants to hear you talk right now, John,’ she told him softly.

‘No one wanted to hear any of the comments you had about Sherlock, either, but you still said them!’ Molly suddenly cut in angrily. She knew that John wasn’t going to say anything about it – he was too awkward – so she would just have to step out of her shell a little to defend him.

Sherlock’s eyes are still fixed on Irene while he attempts to make as many deductions about her as he can. His final analysis is as follows:

*

???????

‘What’s happening?’ Sally asked, very confused all of a sudden. Anderson, too, was staring, wondering what happened to their detective.

‘It looks like he doesn’t know what to make of her,’ Lestrade replied.

Now that she was folded in the chair, and everything was covered, it was less awkward to watch, but only slightly. (At least it was better than her being draped all over Sherlock’s body, Molly thought.)

‘How do you figure?’ Sally asked her boss.

*

Bewildered, he turns and looks at John and starts to analyse him:

*

Looking at his neckline: Two Day Shirt

Looking at his lower face: Electric not blade

Looking at the bottom of his jeans and his shoes: Date tonight

*

John frowns as Sherlock continues to gaze at him.

‘See? He’s checking himself with analysing John. Sherlock is just as confused about Irene as John is uncomfortable with her,’ Lestrade explained, highlighting once again exactly why he was a detective as well – just not as good as Sherlock.

[…] IRENE: However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.

SHERLOCK: You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?

‘So he was meant to be a vicar! Okay, that makes sense, now,’ Lestrade said. He was patting himself on the back for his deduction, even though he wasn’t fully confident in his answer earlier.

[…] IRENE: Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.

She glances across to John momentarily. John forces a laugh.

‘See, John? There is no denying it. Even she can see it,’ Anderson said.

John glared.

JOHN: Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all. (He looks down at what he’s holding.) A napkin.

IRENE: Why? Are you feeling exposed?

‘That is…admittedly…a useful tactic,’ Sally said slowly.

The others looked at her doubtfully.

‘Not that I’d ever do such a thing!’ she retracted.

SHERLOCK (standing up): I don’t think John knows where to look.

He picks up his coat, shakes it out and holds it out towards Irene. Ignoring him for the moment, she stands up and walks closer to John, who rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact with her and not to let his eyes wander lower.

‘Nice self-control, John,’ Lestrade said with a cheeky grin.

‘Easy for you to say! They’re not showing anything here, but I had a front row seat in that room!’

[…] SHERLOCK: If I wanted to look at naked women, I’d borrow John’s laptop.

JOHN: You do borrow my laptop.

SHERLOCK: I confiscate it.

Another peal of laughter escaped at John’s expense. That seemed to be happening a lot. Maybe, instead of a documentary on Sherlock’s life, they should be thinking of it as a series of John’s most humiliating moments.

[…] IRENE: How was it done?

‘How was what done?’ Anderson asked. He wracked his brain for anything – a hint, a clue - as to what she was talking about but came up with nothing. He stared at Sally blankly, and she returned the look, just as confused, and equally annoyed with herself for not knowing. It must’ve been so obvious.

SHERLOCK: What?

IRENE (taking off her shoes): The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?

The boys look confused.

‘Mark that down in the record books! This one woman has made Sherlock confused for the entirety of them conversing,’ Lestrade remarked. ‘Not only did she surprise him by knowing who he was, but she caught him off guard, disrupted his sleuthing, and now asks about a case that seems completely unrelated to what they are talking about!’

‘It’s just how his brain works,’ Molly interrupted. ‘He’s all about logic, isn’t he? He uses that to understand people, but she’s figured out that if you go against all logical explanation, he’s at a loss.’ She shrank down in her seat as the others – including Mycroft – all stared at her in surprise. ‘That’s my guess anyway.’ Though her voice was quiet, they all heard her.

[…] IRENE: I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.

SHERLOCK (incoherently): Positionofthecar …

John and Irene stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together.

‘What just happened?’ Lestrade cried in surprise.

John just grinned, knowing that, for once, it wouldn’t be him being laughed at. ‘She gets to him,’ was all he said. ‘He’s just trying to show off.’

[…] IRENE: Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?

SHERLOCK: He wasn’t.

‘He’s gaining ground because she’s wrong about the case. That’s good,’ Molly muttered, mostly to herself.

IRENE: You don’t think it was murder?

SHERLOCK: I know it wasn’t.

IRENE: How?

‘There he is,’ Mrs Hudson said proudly, smiling at the Sherlock on screen.

‘Probably ’cause now that she’s covered up, he can focus,’ Sally remarked, grinning wolfishly.

[…] SHERLOCK: So, they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in.

Lestrade chuckled, grinning at the man on the screen. That was the Sherlock he knew. The confidence; the cheekiness; it was all there, returned from wherever he’d stashed it in his surprise earlier.

‘But what would have happened if the photographs weren’t in the room?’ Anderson just had to ask and was met with several glares.

‘Miss Adler wouldn’t be the type of person to let Sherlock Holmes into her house, knowing he was there for the photographs, without putting him into the exact room they were in. It’s not in her nature,’ Mycroft pointed out with a supercilious air to his voice.

‘And what did he know about her nature at that point?’ Anderson asked in return, challenging him (which is not something one just does).

‘Everything he needed to know was on her website. Mostly every bit of information is available to us nowadays. Maybe if you’d pay attention to that, you’d be better at your job.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Two men, a car, and nobody else.

He squats down and suddenly it’s as if he is at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver’s door of Phil’s car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil’s face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.

‘Well, that’s a neat trick,’ Lestrade said. ‘He uses that…mind palace of his – to do that, doesn’t he?’

‘Yeah.’

[…] Now he’s down in the field, walking around the hiker who is also frozen in time.

‘That seems a lot more efficient than being there and actually walking around,’ Sally whispered.

‘Why was he watching the sky?’ Anderson asked, ‘More importantly, why is that important? I thought he was just enjoying the scenery – being a hiker an’ all.’

‘That’s why Sherlock has always been better at your job that you are,’ John muttered, letting out a huff.

[…] Nearby, Irene is sitting on her sofa which has mysteriously appeared in the field near the hiker.

‘Wait…can she see this too? How does it even work?’ Sally looked baffled. ‘I’m very confused by all this.’

‘Don’t worry,’ John said, sympathising with her for once. ‘It’s the first I’m seeing of this, too, and I’m on the same boat.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. (Sarcastically) It’s the new sexy.

‘That was harsh,’ Sally said, almost wincing at the insult. Secretly, she was glad that the insults he threw her way weren’t that bad. They were just repeated so many times they were ingrained into her.

‘But accurately true,’ Molly countered.

[…] In the sitting room, Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock turns his head and follows her gaze.

‘So, the photographs are behind the mirror,’ Molly said.

SHERLOCK: Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.

‘That’s what you were doing? Good idea, boys.’ Mrs Hudson grinned at John proudly.

[…] SHERLOCK: Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.

‘Did he just make a joke?’ Sally asked. ‘Did he seriously just make a joke?’

‘That’s not that unusual for him, even before John showed up,’ Lestrade said thoughtfully. ‘You’ve just never been around to see it, because he doesn’t like you.’

[…] JOHN: Give me a minute.

‘You seem to be struggling, John. It was just a magazine! Run it under the tap or something.’ Sally rolled her eyes at him.

[…] JOHN: Thank you.

‘Well, now you’re done for, mate.’ Lestrade winced.

[…] IRENE: I’d tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have.

‘Tables are shifting now. She’s pretty confident that he can’t figure it out.’ Lestrade shook his head at the screen.

[…] Sherlock looks across to Irene who lowers her gaze pointedly downwards.

‘What was that about?’ Molly asked suspiciously.

Before anyone could ask what she meant by that, the man spoke again:

[…] Irene smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes briefly. John sags lower on his knees and shuts his own eyes again.

‘How did he suddenly know that?’ Sally questioned.

Ignoring her, Lestrade turned to Molly, ‘What were you talking about earlier?’

Molly went a little red in frustration. ‘Well, I know now how he recognised her – or rather, not her – in the morgue, but I was just wondering why we were shown her looking down. It was quick, but I saw it.’

‘Looking down?’ he asked. He hadn’t been paying close enough attention; it had just all been so quick.

‘Yeah…. Maybe we’ll find out later. John?’ she asked – just to check.

He nodded. ‘She told me about it, so I expect it to be shown.’

[…] IRENE (to Sherlock, continuing to aim her pistol down at her guard): Thank you. You were very observant.

‘Observant?’ Anderson asked.

JOHN: Observant?

‘Even Watson’s confused. What just happened?’

‘You mean, other than them playing their little game and almost getting us all killed, I didn’t know.’ John grumbled under his breath.

‘Meaning you know now?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Of course, but you’ll find out soon enough, so no need to tell you.’

[…] JOHN: We should call the police.

SHERLOCK: Yes.

Pointing the pistol into the air, he fires it five times. Nearby, tires screech.

Lestrade frowned. ‘I guess that’s one way to call the police….’ It was very unconventional, but he had to admit that it worked.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, shut up. It’s quick.

‘That’s true, but it’s also dangerous,’ Sally said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Well, that’s the knighthood in the bag.

IRENE: Ah. And that’s mine.

‘Does she seriously think that he’s going to just give it to her? Does she even know him?’ Sally scoffed.

She holds out her hand. Ignoring her, Sherlock switches on the security lock on the phone he’s holding. It requires four letters or numbers to activate it and it has ‘I AM’ above the four spaces and ‘LOCKED’ below them.

Everyone – aside from Mycroft, of course – stared at the passcode in confusion. What could the code possibly be?

[…] IRENE: That camera phone is my life, Mr Holmes. I’d die before I let you take it. (She walks closer and holds her hand out again.) It’s my protection.

JOHN (calling out): Sherlock!

SHERLOCK (pulling the phone back and looking at Irene pointedly): It was.

‘Again, harsh.’

He turns and leaves the room. She chases after him.

The screen was black once again.

Anderson frowned. ‘Did that seem to cut off too soon for you guys? Like, it was very long, but the break didn’t seem natural.’

‘A little, but maybe this scene is just really long, and we had to take a break somewhere in the middle so it’s consistent?’ Sally replied.

‘Anyway, does anyone want to explain what just happened, because I’m still having a difficult time processing it all,’ Lestrade said.

‘Um…,’ Molly spoke up. ‘Well, both of them were getting ready for the encounter, but then, it, um…went south, and was a bit strange. I mean, who just walks around nude? They were kind of jumping around back and forth.’

‘Yeah, what did the hiker case have to do with anything, anyway?’ Sally questioned. ‘Even Holmes said it wasn’t even a seven!’

They continued debating back and forth, her, Molly and Anderson, about what went on while Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, and John just watched, confused, bored, or amused – depending on the person.

‘He did say it was a six, which I believe, since I couldn’t make heads or tails of it,’ Lestrade said. He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck – a nervous habit of his.

‘Shh! It’s starting again!’ Sally hushed him suddenly.

[…] JOHN: Must have come in this way.

‘No, John, they came in and specifically went in there to knock her out then opened the window, just because!’ Sally said sarcastically. It was meant to be playful banter, but she didn’t realise that – as she wasn’t one of John’s close friends – it was not seen that way.

‘I know that,’ John grumbled.

[…] JOHN: It’s all right. She’s just out cold.

IRENE: Well, God knows she’s used to that—

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Molly whispered suspiciously.

—there’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.

‘She’s obviously trying to get rid of him,’ Molly said.

‘What makes you say that?’ Lestrade turned to her with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Sherlock has come out of the bathroom and nods to him.

JOHN: Sure.

He leaves the room. Irene goes over to the dressing table, opens a drawer, and covertly takes a syringe out of it. Sherlock is looking at the camera phone and doesn’t notice.

‘Because of that,’ Molly replied to Lestrade’s earlier question. ‘She was looking at the table when she walked past him, and she didn’t even look mildly concerned about the back door.’

SHERLOCK: You’re very calm.

She looks round at him blankly.

SHERLOCK: Well, your booby trap did just kill a man.

IRENE: He would have killed me. It was self-defence in advance.

Molly glared as Irene got a little too close to Sherlock for her liking. She would tell herself that it was because she still didn’t trust The Woman, but deep down inside, she also knew that there was another reason – that reason being a small bug of jealousy that had dug its way into her heart.

Mrs Hudson noticed the look and chuckled, patting the girl’s arm.

Walking across to Sherlock, she strokes her hand down his left arm. As he looks down at her hand, she steps around behind him and stabs the syringe into his right arm before pulling it out again. He gasps and spins around, trying to grab at his arm.

Several gasps of shock and surprise echoed around the room – aside from John and Mycroft, no one had suspected it or know it was coming.

‘Did they seriously put sound effects on these episodes, just to make them seem more dramatic than they already are?’ Anderson asked.

‘Seems so,’ Lestrade commented. ‘Remember the music during the pool scene?’

SHERLOCK: What? What is that? What …?

As his face turns towards her again, she slaps him hard. He stumbles and falls to the floor. She holds out her hand to him.

Molly rose from her seat, almost ready to pounce of Irene through the screen. How could she have done that? To her Sherlock – wait. Not her Sherlock. Just Sherlock. How could she have done that to Sherlock?

‘Be calm, dear,’ Mrs Hudson said, somehow holding Molly in her seat.

IRENE: Give it to me. Now. Give it to me.

Sherlock’s vision is going fuzzy. Grunting, he tries to get back to his feet.

‘We’re seeing this from Sherlock’s perspective. That’s quite interesting, actually,’ Lestrade mused. He felt somewhat dizzy himself upon seeing the screen blur in and out, and had to briefly look away to remind himself that it wasn’t him.

SHERLOCK: No.

IRENE: Give it to me.

Starting to lose control of his muscles, Sherlock slumps to his hands and knees, still holding onto the phone.

SHERLOCK: No.

‘I’m surprised that he can still fight back against whatever that drug is,’ Sally said. She was staring intently at the screen, hoping to know what it could’ve possibly been, as it seemed to work quite quickly.

[…] She strikes him a third time, and he falls to the floor, unintentionally dropping the phone.

Each time she whipped him across the face, a small squeak left Molly’s lips. Worry blossomed in her chest for poor Sherlock, who – in her opinion – hadn’t done a thing to deserve the harsh treatment. Irene was the bad guy. Always the bad guy.

[…] IRENE: Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance.

Many of the viewers shivered at seeing Irene from Sherlock’s perspective. How could that have affected their prideful consulting detective? Not well, that was for sure.

[…] Grunting, Sherlock tries to get up. Irene presses him back down to the floor with one foot and the end of her crop.

‘Well, that was a pathetic squeak if I’ve ever heard one,’ Sally said.

[…] IRENE: This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.

‘In both senses of the word,’ Anderson mumbled, earning a snort from Sally.

[…] JOHN: Jesus. What are you doing?

‘Now you show up! Just a little late, John!’ Molly cried angrily.

‘It’s not like I knew what was going on,’ he said back, not raising his voice. He knew that she was in an emotional state at the moment, and he perfectly understood why. The girl was all but growling at Irene, and he didn’t doubt that she was silently counting the ways that she would make The Woman suffer for her actions against Sherlock.

[…] JOHN (picking up the syringe lying on the floor): What’s this? What have you given him? Sherlock!

‘He’ll be fine,’ Mycroft said. ‘It’s not like he hasn’t taken enough drugs to get him like this before.’ He seemed mildly annoyed by his own statement, as if reliving all the moments of his brother and his drug raves.

IRENE: He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.

Molly scoffed. ‘She has friends? I doubt it!’

[…] JOHN (standing up again and turning to her): For what? What are you talking about?

‘For once, I feel just as clueless as John. What does she even mean?’ Sally said, earning an indignant sound from the man.

‘When she was walking around earlier in the nude, she said that Sherlock didn’t know where to look. But now, what does she mean? How could she tell?’

IRENE: The key code to my safe.

‘That’s right! How did he suddenly know what it was?’

Molly was thinking really hard about it – at least by the look on her face, and suddenly, it was like a lightbulb had gone off in her head. She kept quiet, though, as her face slowly went red with both embarrassment and anger.

[…] IRENE: My measurements.

‘What? He could tell her measurements just by looking at her?’ Anderson asked. Then, quieter, he mumbled, ‘Lucky….’

Sally heard and she smacked him for it.

Meanwhile, Molly was growling even more as she realised that she had been right. She’d recalled the moment when they’d found Irene’s dead body, and though her face was completely torn apart, Sherlock had been able to recognise her – when Molly had unzipped the rest of the body bag. Obviously, this had been why, and he’d known her body better than anyone else’s.

[…] Irene is standing outside clinging onto the ledge of the rolled-down window and looking in at him urgently.

IRENE: Got it!

‘This is a hallucination, right?’ Anderson asked, staring at the screen in confusion.

‘Obviously,’ Mycroft grumbled.

Blinking and trying to clear his head, he turns as if to get out of the car, but she holds up a finger.

IRENE: Oh, shush now. Don’t get up. I’ll do the talking.

‘But…if it’s a hallucination, she’s not actually there, is she?’ Anderson continued.

‘That’s kind of how hallucinations work,’ John said. A few of the others laughed.

‘What I’m getting at is why is she in the hallucination? Is this just Sherlock figuring it out? I thought he already had everything figured out about this case.’

[…] She stands up again and suddenly she and Sherlock are standing near the hiker in the field while he stands frozen and staring upwards at a forty-five-degree angle.

‘Whoa, that’s convenient – being at the crime scene constructed entirely in your mind and not having to actually move around,’ Sally said.

‘Haven’t you already said that?’ Molly questioned.

Sally shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really care to be honest. It still looks useful.’

[…] Then he’s back at the crime scene and he and Irene look down at the hiker lying on the ground.

‘What was that?’ Anderson squinted, as if hoping to better remember what he’d seen.

‘It was brown – wooden, most likely. And it was pretty big, maybe a foot in length. A boomerang?’ Lestrade suggested.

John’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. He just kept the impressed look on his face.

[…] Floating at the edge of the stream is the most unlikely item you’d ever expect to see – a boomerang.

‘Ha! I was right!’ Lestrade actually looked very proud of himself. He hadn’t even been to the crime scene, but seeing it re-enacted right in front of him, almost too quickly for him to be able to tell, it was fairly easy to figure out – if you knew what to look for. He’d proved yet again that even with the help of Sherlock, he was an accomplished detective. In fact, it was mostly the cases from Moriarty that he had trouble with, because they tended to be tailored specifically for Sherlock. And then, of course, the rare few cases that sometimes even stumped the Great Detective himself.

IRENE: An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with … a boomerang. You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy.

She turns and smiles at Sherlock.

‘So, we’re all in agreement that this is happening all in his mind, correct?’ Anderson asked, looking around at everyone. ‘Then why is she acting this way? Is it Sherlock, or does he just know her well enough now to perfectly reconstruct her personality into a figment of his imagination?’

‘She’s probably just a figment, and he’s just making this figment act exactly like her,’ Sally said.

‘Why don’t I get a figment?’ he then whined.

‘You probably do, and he’s probably very annoying.’

Anderson pouted, crossing his arms like a child.

SHERLOCK (vaguely): I …

He blinks, looking around in confusion.

‘And he’s still on drugs, too! How is he even manifesting this dream?’ Anderson then pointed out, throwing his arms forward to gesture wildly at the screen.

[…] IRENE (softly): It’s okay. I’m only returning your coat.

Anderson was on a roll. ‘Was that a hallucination, too?’

‘Probably not, because he had his coat again later.’

[…] He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

SHERLOCK (louder): John!

‘He sounds like his tongue is too big for his mouth!’ Molly said, worriedly, though she was also hiding a laugh. She didn’t know how long after that encounter it was, but it didn’t seem short – or perhaps, the drug was just very strong.

‘At least it’s not his usual brain-too-big-for-is-head attitude,’ Sally muttered.

[…] John opens the bedroom door and comes in as he sits up.

‘See? His coat is on the back of the door! Don’t you see it?’ Molly pointed out quickly, before the on-screen John opened the bedroom door.

JOHN: You okay?

SHERLOCK: How did I get here?

‘That’s also what we were wondering. Probably John dragging his drugged-up butt around as usual,’ Lestrade said jokingly.

‘To be fair, I never dragged Sherlock around drugged, because he was hardly on drugs around me. I never even knew, remember?’

JOHN: Well, I don’t suppose you remember much. You weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.

Lestrade chuckled. ‘I did.’

‘As cool as that hallucination was, I really want to see what happened in real life. Lestrade, can I see that video?’ Anderson turned to his boss with hopeful eyes.

‘No.’

‘Aww! Come on! Please?’

Once again, Lestrade answered ‘no,’ but he had a small smile and was trying not to laugh as he thought of Sherlock stumbling around and babbling, making absolutely no sense.

[…] SHERLOCK (stumbling aimlessly around the room): The woman. The Woman-woman!

‘You can tell that the drugs are still affecting him,’ Molly pointed out. ‘Like, a lot.’

‘Maybe it’s just the woman,’ Sally countered, earning herself a sharp glare from Molly. ‘Hey! How would you know it’s not?’

‘I just know!’

[…] JOHN: What are you …? What …? No, no, no, no.

He hauls Sherlock up and drops him face-down onto the bed.

‘Good work, John,’ Lestrade said with a firm nod. There was a wide grin on his face.

[…] SHERLOCK (fuzzily): Why would I need you?

JOHN: No reason at all.

‘Of course, but just in case…,’ Anderson said in a teasing manner.

[…] Till the next time, Mr Holmes

*

Sherlock peers at it for a long moment and then looks around suspiciously, totally oblivious to the fact that the most suspicious thing in the room is the red kiss-shaped lipstick mark just to the left of his mouth.

Molly squinted once again at the screen, then jerked back in horror. An almost-hiss escaped her lips.

‘What?’ Lestrade asked. He, too, was extremely surprised, but not by anything on the screen, instead, he was shocked at the sudden transformation for their pathologist, who usually had a very sweet character about her.

#

NEXT MORNING.

[…] MYCROFT: In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.

‘You know, you’re quite rude, but she did deserve that,’ Molly grumbled in Mycroft’s direction.

[…] MYCROFT: How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.

SHERLOCK: She’d applaud your choice of words.

A few laughs were heard before they died quietly.

[…] Just then the sound of an orgasmic female sigh fills the room. John and Mycroft frown.

‘That must have been quite a shocking moment for you two,’ Lestrade said.

‘Why didn’t he change it back?’ Anderson asked.

Sally shrugged. ‘Too lazy? Didn’t know how? Sentimental reasons?’ she listed.

[…] SHERLOCK: Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.

‘Well, they’re gone now, so we don’t have to worry anymore, right?’

[…] MRS HUDSON (sternly): It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.

‘You said it, Mrs Hudson!’ Anderson cheered.

‘How come you never talk to Lestrade like that?’ Sally asked. ‘He also sends Sherlock into danger.’ Then, she turned to Anderson and hissed, ‘Who’s side are you on?’

Mrs Hudson smiled. ‘But Greg goes in with him, and he likes doing it for him. Mycroft is just too lazy to go out and do these things.’ She cast an unfriendly, un-Mrs-Hudson-ish sneer at Mycroft.

MYCROFT: Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson.

SHERLOCK (furiously): MYCROFT!

JOHN (simultaneously and equally furiously): OI!

Mycroft looks at the three angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looks contritely at Mrs Hudson.

There were several laughs at Mycroft’s expense.

MYCROFT: Apologies.

‘Oh, that looked dreadfully painful,’ Lestrade teased the elder Holmes.

Mycroft just sneered.

[…] MRS HUDSON: Ooh. It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?

Anderson sighed. ‘And yet, he doesn’t do anything.’

‘I told you, he probably doesn’t know how to change it, or is just too lazy to!’ Sally reiterated.

[…] SHERLOCK: Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is ‘TheWhipHand.’

MYCROFT: Yes. Most amusing.

‘That’s a fake smile and you know it, Mycroft,’ Lestrade pointed out.

[…] Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously. John looks at him.

‘Are you going to ask him?’ Anderson asked.

JOHN: Why does your phone make that noise?

‘Oh, you are.’

SHERLOCK: What noise?

JOHN: That noise – the one it just made.

SHERLOCK: It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.

‘Way to be obvious, Sherlock,’ John mumbled, somewhat annoyed, even after many, many months.

JOHN: Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.

SHERLOCK: Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise.

JOHN: Hmm. So, every time they text you …

Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs Hudson stared at both of them with mild horror on her face from the kitchen.

‘Wow. How did you do that, John? That was almost magical, the way as soon as you looked at it, the message came through,’ Anderson said.

‘I don’t think it was me,’ John replied, rolling his eyes.

SHERLOCK: It would seem so.

MRS HUDSON: Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s …

‘What are you doing, just ignoring poor Mrs Hudson like that?’ Lestrade asked sternly.

John just shrugged. ‘Wasn’t my phone making the noise.’

[…] Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face.

SHERLOCK: I’ll leave you to your deductions.

‘Aww! Is he embarrassed?’ Sally asked. ‘He should really just change it, or perhaps just turn the sound off.’

John smiles.

JOHN: I’m not stupid, you know.

‘Oh, really?’ Sally asked sarcastically.

SHERLOCK: Where do you get that idea?

Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on his phone.

MYCROFT: Bond Air is go; that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.

‘Bond Air? Since when are you caught up with pop culture?’ Lestrade whispered humorously.

‘Since never,’ Mycroft replied with a scowl. ‘I’m not the one who comes up with the names.’

He hangs up. Sherlock looks at him.

SHERLOCK: What else does she have?

‘Because, obviously, it’s not just pictures of that girl. Those Americans wouldn’t be that interested in those, and Mycroft wouldn’t be as worried as he is,’ Molly hypothesised.

[…] SHERLOCK: Something big’s coming, isn’t it?

‘That much is clear by how they draw attention to these scenes,’ Lestrade said, meeting Mycroft’s eyes with his own stony look. ‘The question is: what is it?’

[…] MYCROFT: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.

‘And which old friend would that be?’ Anderson asked.

‘No concern of yours,’ Mycroft answered with an upturned nose and a sneer.

SHERLOCK (picking up his violin): Do give her my love.

‘Her?’ Anderson asked. ‘How does he know it’s a her?’

‘“How does he know?” He’s Sherlock Holmes! He can probably guess who it is.’ Sally smacked him in the arm.

He begins to play the National Anthem, ‘God Save The Queen.’ Mycroft rolls his eyes, turns, and leaves the room, Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.

‘Oh! The Queen? That makes a lot of sense now!’ Anderson exclaimed. ‘Of course he’d have to make an apology to her, seeing as they didn’t get the photographs back!’

Mycroft cleared his throat quietly and uncomfortably. It was not heard by many, though Lestrade was just close enough to pick up on the familiar tell. It meant that Mycroft was particularly embarrassed, which he always played off as annoyance.

The screen was once again blank, and a new doorway appeared off to the side of the room. The bathrooms were open again for use. Only two stood, before the others realised that they should probably go just in case they didn’t get another chance later.

Once everyone was reseated, they began watching again.

Chapter Text

‘Wait! Before we start, shouldn’t we talk about what happened during the last thing?’ Anderson asked.

‘What is there to talk about? He met Miss Adler and then she got away with the phone. He failed his assignment,’ Sally responded.

‘But…we know that he’s not going to fail.’

‘And how exactly do you know that?’

‘Because it’s still going. Besides, don’t you remember when this was happening?’

‘No. I wasn’t there. He was working with a different Inspector, meaning a different division, wasn’t he?’

Anderson looked down. ‘Oh. I guess you’re right. Then I guess we can keep watching – if we’re not going to talk anymore.’

As he looked back up, the television went back to playing.

[…] Sherlock sketches a small bow to his audience. Mrs Hudson, apparently a little bit tipsy, giggles up at him.

‘Oh, goodness. I must’ve had a little bit too much of my wine,’ Mrs Hudson said quietly as she watched herself sway slightly on screen.

MRS HUDSON: I wish you could have worn the antlers!

Sally and Anderson burst into laughter. ‘Imagine it! Sherlock in a pair of antlers, playing the violin! Ha!’

[…] A dark-haired woman in her thirties brings over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake and offers it to Sherlock.

‘Who is that?’ Sally asked.

Her question was pointedly ignored.

[…] SHERLOCK: Jeanette! (He grins falsely at her.) Ah, process of elimination.

Mild laughter echoed through the room at John’s expense.

‘Why would you even bring her home to meet Sherlock? That’s, like, the worst thing that you could do!’ Anderson pointed out.

Sally smirked. ‘For once, you have more sense than John, Anderson.’ Anderson puffed out his chest a little. ‘But don’t let that go to your head!’

‘How did you even manage to date all those women in…what? A few months?’ Molly asked.

‘I think he was on one of those dating websites, weren’t you John?’ Mrs Hudson asked, much to the doctor’s chagrin.

[…] Molly Hooper walks in, smiling shyly and carrying two bags which appear to be full of presents.

‘And there’s Molly. I was wondering when you would show up. Seeing as everyone else is there,’ Anderson said. ‘But where’s Mycroft?’

‘You really think that he’d be the one to celebrate Christmas, especially with Sherlock?’ Lestrade asked the man in a bland voice.

‘I guess not.’

MOLLY: Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.

Molly looked down, blushing because she knew what was about to happen. She felt a spark of anger rise up in her chest along with the embarrassment, and just barely managed to push it down. This scene would do nothing but fan the flames of her horror, so supressing it early would be to her advantage.

[…] SHERLOCK: Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful!

‘What’s his problem?’ Sally asked, glaring at the screen.

‘He already doesn’t like Christmas, and get-togethers are also not his thing. You can only imagine how he would get – or not, seeing as it’s right in front of you,” John explained.

[…] Lestrade gawps in similar appreciation as Molly reveals that she’s wearing a very attractive black dress.

‘Now that is a dress that I never thought I’d see you in, Molly,’ Sally said. ‘Usually you’re more…lab coat.’

‘Well, it didn’t say what the dress code was, and well…I….’

‘You wanted to impress Sherlock, even without knowing that it wouldn’t do that? He’s not that kind of person, Molly,’ John said sympathetically.

She glared at him mildly. ‘Maybe I just wanted to feel good about myself! Maybe it had nothing to do with him!’

[…] Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John’s laptop. John brings a chair over for her.

‘Oh, you poor dear,’ Mrs Hudson said quietly to Molly. ‘One of these days he’ll realise just how much you mean to him.’

‘I hope so,’ Molly replied, so quietly that not even Mrs Hudson – who was sitting right next to her – could hear.

[…] SHERLOCK: The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.

‘That must be a sign!’ Anderson said. His inner conspiracy theorist was making an appearance once again.

JOHN (pulling a mock-angry face): Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!

Sherlock points to the side bar which has one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker.

SHERLOCK: And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!

‘It was your idea to wear the hat in the first place,’ Lestrade pointed out. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault for that picture being around, it’s yours.’

‘Lestrade,’ John whispered, ‘you’re talking to the telly again.’

[…] MOLLY: How’s the hip?

MRS HUDSON: Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.

‘So much for lightening the mood…,’ Sally muttered.

MOLLY: I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.

An awkward silence falls. Molly looks embarrassed.

Sally stifled a laugh – not at the joke, but at the silent reception to it. ‘Well, that just made it a whole lot worse.’

[…] Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine.

‘Red, not white, Molly?’

‘Yes, Sally,’ she replied, ‘I prefer red.’

[…] SHERLOCK (without looking up from the computer): No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.

Molly frowned. ‘Why does he always have to say things like that?’

John shrugged. ‘He’s out of sorts with social norms, but I think it’s all his own way of caring. Remember when he told you to break it off with Moriarty? He thought that he was just looking out for you, even though he didn’t handle it well.’

Molly looked at him, then back at the screen. ‘I guess….’

Lestrade’s smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself.

MOLLY: And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?

‘Nice save,’ Anderson whispered to Molly.

[…] Nearby, Lestrade has been running Sherlock’s comment through his mind, and his face slowly becomes a picture of exasperation when he seems to realise that it’s probably true.

‘Aww. Don’t worry, boss. It’ll all work out,’ Anderson said. ‘Eventually.’

JOHN: First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.

SHERLOCK: Nope.

JOHN: Shut up, Sherlock.

‘He just can’t help himself, can he?’ Sally asked. ‘Can’t people at least pretend that everything is all right, even for one night?’

‘That’s not how his brain works, though,’ Molly said softly. ‘He always has to be right, and always has to be the one to give the answers.’

SHERLOCK: I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.

‘Can’t he just stop with the deductions for one night?’ John asked rhetorically. He was slightly exasperated, even though it was just for his friend’s sake.

[…] He stands up and walks towards Molly, looking at the other presents which aren’t so carefully wrapped.

‘They’re still not that bad. You can tell that she was trying, or else she just would’ve thrown them all into gift bags,’ Anderson said.

‘That’s true,’ Sally mumbled, giving him a side-eye. ‘You always give up with wrapping – and that’s if you give anyone gifts at all.’

[…] John looks anxiously at Molly as she squirms in front of Sherlock.

‘Who is the gift even for?’ Anderson asked.

[…] SHERLOCK: Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts …

‘Oh! That’s just going too far!’ Sally snarled. ‘Why does that freak always have to say things like that?’ She’d been getting pretty good at not calling Sherlock a freak, mainly because of her job being on the line, but there were times – like this, when Sherlock was being particularly rude – that she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t even like Molly that much – they’d never become friends – but the need to defend her was strong.

[…] Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realises the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.

‘And yet now, he can actually realise what he’s done,’ Molly said through embarrassed almost-tears. ‘Before meeting you, John, he wouldn’t have been able to put together how what he says makes other people feel.’

‘A little too late, though,’ John growled, glaring at Sherlock on the screen.

MOLLY: You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.

As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away … but then stops and turns back to her.

‘It’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. What’s going on?’ Sally asked, frowning at the television.

SHERLOCK: I am sorry. Forgive me.

John looks up, startled and amazed at such a human reaction from his friend. Sherlock steps closer to Molly.

‘See, Molly? You’re the only one to receive a reaction like that,’ John said.

‘You know what?’ Anderson asked. ‘Sherlock was probably just jealous because he thought you had someone else, but he didn’t know what he was feeling. That’s why he was so mean.’

The others stilled; their eyes widened in (potential) realisation.

‘That actually makes a lot of sense,’ Lestrade said. ‘How would you react if you’ve never felt jealousy like that before?’

This time when Molly blushed, it wasn’t because of anger or horror.

[…] SHERLOCK: No, it was me.

LESTRADE: My God, really?!

‘Didn’t you tell him about the texts?’ Anderson asked John.

‘Even if he didn’t, we would’ve heard them, right?’ Sally said. ‘It’s been months.’

[…] JOHN: Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I’ve heard.

‘And yet, no one else has heard them in all those months,’ Sally mumbled.

[…] He picks up a small box wrapped in blood-red paper and tied with black rope-like string. Instantly he flashes back to the colour of Irene’s lipstick, which was identical to this paper.

‘Oh! So, her lipstick you remember!’ Sally screamed at the screen.

[…] JOHN (calling after him): D’you ever reply?

Then, they saw Molly on the screen. She looked worried – mainly because it seemed very much like Sherlock had a girlfriend already. If the colour of the gift and the sound of the ringtone was anything to go by, they seemed serious. Confusion could only take over from there, as John’s comment rang through her ears. If he never replied, then why wouldn’t he block her? Why wouldn’t he just change the ringtone back?

‘Molly, your hands were shaking,’ Sally pointed out. ‘What were you thinking?’

Molly swallowed thickly. ‘I don’t remember, but I have a pretty good idea.’

[…] In his own house – or possibly in an official government residence or even just a fancy office – Mycroft is sitting in an armchair by the fireside.

‘You were just sitting there? What were you doing, brooding?’ Anderson asked. ‘What a horrible way to spend Christmas,’ he mumbled to himself.

‘Shut up,’ Mycroft sneered at him.

[…] SHERLOCK: I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.

John has come to the door of the bedroom and stands there listening to the conversation.

‘John, why are you always eavesdropping?’ Anderson asked, even though he wasn’t expecting an answer. ‘It seems like something that you always just…do.’

[…] JOHN: You okay?

SHERLOCK: Yes.

He pushes the door closed, shutting John out.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock, but that’s not something that someone does when they are “okay”,’ Anderson pointed out.

[…] A body is lying on the table covered with a sheet.

‘See! That’s more…you!’ Sally said.

Molly gave her a look. ‘How would you know? I don’t think we’ve even spoken more than ten words before this.’

Sally shrugged.

MYCROFT (to Sherlock): The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.

‘That’s actually an adequate description of the hospital, which makes me realise just how sad Sherlock’s life was,’ Sally said, though she muttered the second half under her breath so no one would hear.

SHERLOCK: You didn’t need to come in, Molly.

‘Does he really care, or did he just not want you to see Irene?’ Sally asked, looking at Molly.

‘I think he does care, but he probably also didn’t want her to see Irene,’ Anderson answered matter-of-factly.

MOLLY: That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with … Christmas.

‘Yeah…not the place you want to be on Christmas…,’ Lestrade said, looking at the girl with sympathy in his gaze.

Looking awkward, she gestures to the body.

MOLLY: The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.

She pulls down the sheet to reveal the face.

MYCROFT: That’s her, isn’t it?

‘What did her face look like, Mycroft?’ John asked.

‘As Miss Hooper so sufficiently put it, she looked “bashed up”,’ he replied in his typical flat tone.

[…] SHERLOCK: That’s her.

‘You know how that looks, right?’ Sally asked, looking at John. ‘To Molly?’

John shrugged. ‘I wasn’t even there.’

MYCROFT: Thank you, Miss Hooper.

MOLLY: Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from … not her face?

The others gave her looks of sympathy, but Molly had an emotionless mask on – she now knew the answer to that question.

Mycroft smiles politely at her, then turns and follows his brother.

‘God, Mycroft. You’re still terrible at dealing with people – perhaps more so than your brother!’ John accused.

‘And you thought differently up until now?’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question.

‘Well, no, but it’s only proving me more right.’

[…] MYCROFT: Merry Christmas.

‘You do care,’ Mrs Hudson said sweetly. Then, she frowned. ‘But you mustn’t give him those darn things. Would ruin his poor young lungs.’

Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter.

SHERLOCK: Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those … one of those law things?

‘Since when did Sherlock care about the little laws?’ John asked rhetorically, giving a sigh.

Mycroft lights the cigarette for him.

MYCROFT: We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.

‘That’s kind of sad,’ Anderson muttered.

‘But true,’ Sally added.

Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows the smoke out again.

MYCROFT: How did you know she was dead?

SHERLOCK: She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.

‘Or, she just wanted to play a game,’ John muttered under his breath. ‘What’s with psychopaths and pulling Sherlock this way and that?’

Mrs Hudson placed a hand on his arm. ‘I don’t know, but I did not like it one bit.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?

John smiled sadly at the screen. ‘And just for saying that, he’s already better than you, Mycroft.’

The other man sneered at him.

MYCROFT: All lives end. All hearts are broken. (He looks at his brother.) Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.

‘That’s something a robot would say,’ Anderson whispered to Sally.

She rolled her eyes. ‘We don’t have time for conspiracy theories, Phillip.’

Sherlock blows out another lungful of smoke, then looks down at the cigarette in disgust.

SHERLOCK: This is low tar.

MYCROFT: Well, you barely knew her.

‘Way to change the subject, Mycroft!’ Lestrade said sarcastically.

[…] As his brother continues down the corridor, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, Mycroft gets out his phone and hits a speed dial.

‘If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.’

‘That’s not a very good thing to bet on Sally, considering your job,’ John commented.

MYCROFT (into phone): He’s on his way.

He’s talking to John who is still back at the flat.

‘Oh,’ Anderson said. ‘It’s just John.’

MYCROFT: Have you found anything?

JOHN: No. Did he take the cigarette?

‘So…it wasn’t a Christmas present?’ Anderson whispered; he sounded confused.

[…] MRS HUDSON: There’s nothing in the bedroom.

‘Oh, you guys are looking for drugs,’ Lestrade said, nodding. ‘Good. That’s good.’

JOHN (into phone): Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?

MYCROFT: No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, John.

‘You know, Mycroft, you don’t show it often, but you really do care about your brother,’ Mrs Hudson said.

JOHN: I’ve got plans.

MYCROFT: No.

‘Though sometimes, you care about him so much you disregard others, even if it’s for the best,’ Sally added on to Mrs Hudson’s earlier statement.

[…] JOHN: I am really sorry.

‘And you’re still going to ditch her anyway,’ Sally mumbled angrily.

JEANETTE: You know, my friends are so wrong about you.

JOHN: Hmm?

JEANETTE: You’re a great boyfriend.

‘Where is she going with this?’ Molly asked.

JOHN (looking a little startled): Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great.

JEANETTE: And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.

John groans.

‘This again?’ Anderson laughed. ‘See? Everyone sees it!’

JOHN: Jeanette, please.

JEANETTE (bitterly, putting on her shoes): No, I mean it. It’s heart-warming. You’ll do anything for him – and he can’t even tell your girlfriends apart.

Molly shrugged, as if trying to shake a heavy truth from her shoulders. ‘That’s only because John cares so much and Sherlock just…doesn’t. He’s not good with people, and John is.’ She gave John an appraising look. ‘Well,’ she amended, ‘he’s not good with his girlfriends. But other people, he’s good with them.’

John sighed, knowing she was right.

[…] JEANETTE: Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes.

Lestrade sighed. ‘No one wants to compete with Sherlock. It just can’t be done.’

JOHN: I’ll walk your dog for you. Hey, I’ve said it now. I’ll even walk your dog …

‘How’s that going to solve anything?’ Anderson asked.

JEANETTE: I don’t have a dog!

JOHN: No, because that was … the last one. Okay.

‘Despite how many you’ve dated, you’re really not good with women, John!’ Sally said with a scowl.

JEANETTE: Jesus!

‘Well, not only can Sherlock not tell them apart, but neither can you, John! I’m starting to think that you really don’t care,’ Sally continued.

[…] MRS HUDSON: That really wasn’t very good, was it?

Sally guffawed. ‘Way to state the obvious, Mrs H!’

#

[…] Sherlock stands there, his eyes roaming all around the living room.

‘Is it just the low light, or is he high?’ Lestrade asked, peering closely at Sherlock’s face, ‘because his pupils are very dilated.’

John shrugged. ‘He was acting normally…. Well, as close to normal as Sherlock gets.’

‘That means nothing.’

[…] SHERLOCK: Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.

‘Sock index?’ Sally asked.

‘Oh! I get it! He knew that they were looking for drugs!’ Anderson pointed out.

‘Was that what he was doing?’

‘I’m pretty sure.’

[…] Sherlock stops playing and picks up a pencil to make a notation on a piece of sheet music.

‘Is this his way of showing that he’s depressed?’ Sally whispered lowly. ‘He plays sad music on the saddest of all instruments?’

MRS HUDSON: Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.

JOHN: You composing?

‘I didn’t know he wrote the music, too!’ Anderson stared at the screen with an expression that was somewhere between awe and shock – maybe both.

SHERLOCK: Helps me to think.

‘You mean “helps him think” when he’s not on drugs?’ Sally asked.

The others gave her odd looks.

She just shrugged. ‘You’re all thinking it.’

He turns back to the window, lifts the violin and begins to play the same tune again.

JOHN: What are you thinking about?

‘Do you really want to know that, John?’ Lestrade asked. He looked deep in thought – probably thinking back to all those times he’d asked Sherlock the exact same question, only for the detective to spiral into some long, in-depth stream-of-consciousness that the poor DI couldn’t even hope to follow.

Sherlock suddenly spins around and puts down the violin. He points at John’s laptop.

SHERLOCK (rapidly): The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five.

‘For what? A few hours? A day? It’s probably just the website he used. Most blog sites can be glitchy,’ Anderson said.

[…] SHERLOCK: Just faulty.

Anderson whined. ‘I really thought he got it!’

[…] JOHN (quietly): Listen: has he ever had any kind of … (he sighs) … girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?

MRS HUDSON: I don’t know.

JOHN (sighing in frustration): How can we not know?

‘You should ask Mycroft if you want the answer to that question,’ Lestrade suggested. ‘He’s always spying on Sherlock anyway. He would be sure to know.’

Mycroft didn’t grace that statement with a reply.

MRS HUDSON: He’s Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?

‘Fair point, Mrs Hudson,’ Lestrade then said.

[…] JOHN: Yeah. (He stops and turns around to her as she looks at him flirtatiously.) Hello. (It takes him a moment but then he realises that she’s very pretty.) Hello!

‘You’re such a dog, John!’ Sally hissed. ‘I never actually realised it until now, either, but you’re so…!’

‘Like you’re any better, Sally?’ he shot back.

WOMAN (walking closer): So, any plans for New Year tonight?

Anderson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘It’s already New Years? Wow. No wonder Sherlock was suspicious about the counter.’

[…] John follows her gaze and sighs in exasperation when a black car pulls up and stops beside them.

‘And, of course, it’s Mycroft!’ Sally said, throwing her hands up.

‘Does he do that on purpose to you, John? Send pretty women to pick you up?’ Anderson asked.

John scowled. ‘Just ask him yourself.’

JOHN: You know, Mycroft could just phone me, if he didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.

Mycroft shrugged. ‘This time, it wasn’t me.’

The others looked at him, shocked – except for John, of course.

‘If it wasn’t you, then who was it?’ Anderson asked.

Mycroft pointedly ignored him.

[…] WOMAN: Through there.

‘Well, she’s mastered Mycroft’s assistant’s overall distain for life,’ Sally muttered. ‘What was her name again? Anthea?’

‘Not Anthea,’ Molly corrected.

Sally gave her a look. ‘Right.’

[…] JOHN: He’s writing sad music; doesn’t eat; barely talks – only to correct the television.

‘That sounds like stereotypical depression to me…,’ Anderson whispered softly to himself.

[…] JOHN (quietly, but with a note of pleading in his voice): Tell him you’re alive.

‘Jeanette was right,’ Sally said. ‘You are a good boyfriend for Sherlock if that’s the first thing you’re going to say to someone whom you thought was dead.’

John sighed, but, for once, didn’t correct her.

[…] IRENE: Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.

‘Of course you did,’ Molly scowled at the woman. ‘You got into your sick game too deep with poor Sherlock and…!’ she trailed off.

[…] IRENE: What do I say?

‘What kind of question is that?’ Anderson asked. ‘You’ve texted him like, fifty-seven times, if John’s counting is accurate.’

JOHN (furiously, turning back to her): What do you normally say? You’ve texted him a lot.

‘My point exactly,’ Anderson said.

[…] JOHN: You … flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!

Sally scowled. ‘Sure she has. She likes to take risks, can’t you see?’

‘You’re just jealous because he turned you down and he didn’t do the same to her,’ Anderson muttered to her.

‘Shut it!’

[…] IRENE: Are you jealous?

JOHN: We’re not a couple.

‘Are you sure? You seem pretty jealous to me,’ Anderson said.

[…] IRENE: ‘I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.’

‘At least she kept it consistent,’ Sally muttered.

She presses the ‘Send’ button. John turns away momentarily and then turns back to her.

JOHN (quietly): Who … who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.

IRENE: Well, I am.

‘Really? What?’ Sally, Lestrade, Anderson – even Molly – looked at the screen in complete and utter shock.

‘So…all that flirting was…what? Just for show?’ Anderson asked. ‘She was just playing a game?’

‘A sick game,’ Molly said with an uncharacteristic snarl.

[…] IRENE: I don’t think so, do you?

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Anderson asked.

‘Not sure. What did it all mean?’ Sally replied.

‘Why did she even fake her death? And why send the phone to Sherlock? For a power play? Not even the greatest detective can figure out the code? Or what?’ Molly was almost fuming at this point. First, she’d been humiliated at Christmas – once again – then Sherlock’s…whatever-she-was died (or not) and he went into a slump before following John one day on a whim to see that she was really alive – and didn’t even want to tell him about it! Why couldn’t she just mind her own business?

That being said – thought – Molly sat back and waited for the next scene, but the screen just stayed black, and they knew at this point that it would remain that way until their captor was ready to play the next scene.

Her motives are confusing, aren’t they? the screen read. I still haven’t figured her out completely.

After that, they sat in silence for a good long while.

‘Do you know when they’ll press play again?’ Anderson asked.

They’d been sitting on their couches for a long time, now, just talking or eating or doing otherwise, but it seemed like the screen would never turn on again. There was no semblance of time in the dark room they were in, and if their captor – who’d already forgone the laws of physics – hadn’t assured them that time didn’t pass while they were in the room, they’d all be extremely worried about missing their day-to-day lives.

‘You’ve asked that a hundred times already!’ Sally replied, her voice riddled with annoyance.

‘Well, maybe this time, they’ll hear it and start the bloody videos again! I’m interested, but also getting really bored right now!’ Anderson whined, almost like a small child. He wasn’t a man of patience – they all knew that – and since the detective’s recent death, he’d become far more spontaneous in life. It was like something inside of him snapped and would never be the same.

As if finally responding to his hundredth complaint, the screen exploded with light, continuing exactly where it left off – loud, dramatic music and all.

Sometime later, Sherlock is walking down Baker Street towards his flat, his gaze distant and lost. As he arrives at the front door of 221B and turns to put his key in the door, his expression sharpens when he realises that the door has been jemmied open.

‘What…?’ Lestrade asked. He seemed in deep concentration as he stared at the screen; he was trying to figure out what the date was for them on-screen – trying to recall what scenario this was.

[…] Slowly he looks upwards while he visualises her struggling as she was half-pulled and half-carried upstairs by a couple of men, a third man preceding them. In his mind, he hears her protests of, ‘Stop it!’ at her assailants before she raised her head and cried out an anguished ‘Sherlock!’