solvescases: (interesting that)
[From a meme here. I still get chills reading this.]


Perhaps Watson should have heeded the warnings of Scotland Yard and stayed away from Sherlock.

Because while he's been solving cases...he's been causing others. Sherlock didn't count on Watson coming home early from his date because she was sick. He walks in just as Sherlock is cleaning a bloody knife in the sink.

Sherlock stops. Calmly. "You're home early."

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Like the first time when John walked in on Sherlock with something bad like this he does his best not to jump to conclusions. He stops in the doorway.

"Er...yeah. She got ill and I took her home." He eyes the knife. "What's that?"

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Drat. If she hadn't been sick, Watson would have missed this entirely.

Sherlock is calm, cool, and collected, knowing full well he's got a body hidden in a closet somewhere in the flat. "You have eyes, what does it look like?" he says with a hint of annoyance. The knife is cleaned under the water and wiped dry before being put back in with the set in a wooden block.

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"Uh...I mean more like what's that for." His eyes stay on the sharp object until it's slotted neatly back into it's place. "Sorry to crash your evening though..."

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Sherlock smoothly moves into putting the kettle on....he never puts the kettle on for tea. "No need to apologize. An unforseen wrinkle is all." He could handle this easily.

"You didn't stop for milk, did you?"

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John eyes the kettle. "Er...No. Sorry...again." Sherlock is acting very odd.

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It's him being four steps ahead of everyone. Though in this case, he was working with two steps ahead thanks to that little setback, but he could manage.

"We need it, you'll only just make it if you leave now." Sherlock picks up Watson's coat, putting it back on him to help him to the door.

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"Oh." John stumbles a bit but manages to get his footing and put his coat on. "-Okay..." He frowns and starts heading down the steps to leave for milk.

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"2%...and biscuits," Sherlock calls after him.

He gives him a few minutes to go hail a cab and then returns to the closet to pull the body out and wrap it in a rug covered with plastic.

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"Alright! Alright!" He calls out. He reaches out to hail a cab. It being so late it's easy to get to and from the market. He gets back about five minutes quicker then the normal run. "Sherlock, I've got-"

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He had thought the biscuits would have bought him at least a few more minutes. At that point, he has the rolled up rug on the stairs, starting to pull it down.

Now he's only one step ahead, time to improvise. "Sorry, I thought you would be gone longer." Giving the rug another pull so it's halfway down. "I'm taking this to the trash bins outside." Because it's just a rug.

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This is becoming the weirdest night John's ever had with Sherlock. That's saying something. "Er...what happened to it?"

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"Wine stain, completely ruined. Here, help me." He nods at the other end. Sherlock is genuinely curious to see if he can get John to help him remove a body without his knowledge. "We will take it out the back."

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John goes to grab the other end. "When did you have wine, Sherlock?" He frowns as he lifts the rug. "Sherlock, why's it so-" His eyes go wide when he sees a bit of a foot.

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Sherlock gives the rug a shove from up the stairs, forcing Watson backwards with it in his hands. "Come, come, we don't have all night." Don't worry about that foot in the rug.

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"No, No. Stop!" John presses his feet into the wood, making sure that he wasn't go backwards. "What the hell is going on?!"

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"John..." There's a dangerous edge to his voice. "Keep. your. voice. down." Mrs. Hudson was a heavy sleeper but he couldn't take the risk.

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John shakes his head. "Tell me what this is or I will call Lestrade right now."

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Sherlock holds up a hand with John's cellphone in it. "No, you won't." He picked it out of his jacket pocket while he was putting it on Watson. "This is not what you think it is. Pick up your end."

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"If it's not what I think then tell me what it is." Despite himself he reaches out and picks the rug and body back up.

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Sherlock nods and the two of them start carrying the rug out the back. "This is no one you know." Vague explanation, but he's sticking with it. "A rather nasty client."

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"Client?!" He hisses as they move back.

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Sherlock is nonplussed, focused on the task in hand. "Don't let your end touch the ground, use your knees." They're almost to the dumpster out back.

"They had a feeble attempt to blackmail me." Idiot. They all were idiots and no one was going to miss one less idiot.

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"So you killed him?" John does as told. His moral compass is spinning and it's so confusing. Loyalty to Sherlock or loyalty to his morals. "That's what Mycroft is for!"

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Sherlock lets out a frustrated groan at his brother's name. "He would only complicate matters." One heave and into the bin the body and rug go. "This way is better."

With that, Sherlock strides back into the building as if they'd only just taken out the trash. Nothing more.

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"I'd rather have matters 'complicated' then this!" John runs to catch up with him.

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He's already inside the building, his voice floating back out at Watson, "No, you wouldn't." Not unlike Moriarty's no, you won't, but without the annoying falsetto.

The kettle is whistling whenever they're back in the flat, Sherlock ignoring it completely as he puts another letter under the knife on the mantelpiece. That was one less annoying person to deal with. Time to move on.

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John rushes in to take the kettle off. Of course Sherlock wouldn't be bothered with it even after he just killed someone.

"Look," He comes around into the sitting room. "You've got to tell me what happened, Sherlock." He looks up with pleading eyes. John needs this to be okay.

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John is going to be sorely disappointed. Sherlock is picking up his bow to coat it with rosin, not looking over at those puppy dog eyes. Not because it would make a difference, more because he really doesn't need to see the pathetic attempt. "No, I don't." Deny-ability is better, surely John can see that?

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"Yes, you do." John nearly shouts. "I could walk out of her right now and get Lestrade." He looks at the doorway. "Why won't you explain that to me?"

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"Your tea is getting cold," Sherlock says, running the bow over the strings experimentally. He does pause for a moment though, as if thinking perhaps he should say something about it. "It's not something you would understand."

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"I don't care about the bloody tea right now!" He grits his teeth. "There are a lot of things I don't understand about you but I accept them anyway. So tell."

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Yup, he knew this would happen. Watson was getting himself all worked up unnecessarily. "Really, Watson. Do I ever ask about what you do at work? You know my methods, apply them." Because he's not telling you anything. Knowing full well what would happen if anyone ever found out that Sherlock...the great consulting detective...is a serial killer.

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"Sherlock this isn't me coming home to find something odd in the fridge! This was a dead body!" John's panicked now. Why was Sherlock being so secretive about it all? Normally he'd just tell John something that made total sense and call him stupid.

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"...I see no difference. The head and the fingers you found weren't exactly alive at the time." Bet you're wondering where he got those now, John. Maybe he doesn't get them off of cadavers at all.

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John's eyes go wide. "...Was Sally right?" It's more to himself then to his flatmate. John starts backing up into the kitchen. He's thinking very carefully of running right now.

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He had hoped to avoid all of this unpleasantness. Keeping John in the dark for this long had been difficult but not impossible. "Sally is rarely right about anything, so I doubt it." He picks up his violin, bow poised over it as he looks back at his flatmate, who is looking a little panicky.

"It won't do you any good." The violin starting in on the Jeopardy theme...symbolizing John's brain at work. "You won't convince anyone. I have been at this much longer than you have."

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That last statement just proves it and John is hurrying out the front door. Instead of waiting for a cab he runs. It's stupid, how can this all be happening. Once he's a few blocks away he hails a cab and tells it to take him straight to Scotland Yard.

By the time he gets to the Yard he's frozen. He doesn't get out even with the cabbie shouting at him. Could he do this to Sherlock? Turn him in...? After a few moments he tells the drive to head back to Baker Street.

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The flat is exactly as he left it...except Sherlock is missing.

There is a note though, jotted on Watson's own blotter.

Thank you.
Enjoy the tea.

~SH

There's a hot cup of it sitting on the table. A last goodbye from his flatmate. Or so it seems...

-------------------------

John looks around the flat with a sign then he finds the cuppa. Something in his chest aches. He should trust Sherlock. He's always trusted Sherlock and he let damn Sally Donovan get the better of him. Fuck.

He takes up the cup and drinks from it.

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The cup of tea that happens to have a pretty strong sleeping draught in it. Sherlock looks through the crack in the closet door, watching Watson drink the tea. He'll wait till it takes effect, if all goes well, John won't even know what happens till it's all over...

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John takes another drink and another before he realizes something is wrong. Slowly he sits the cup down and tries to get into the sitting room but falls onto his knees and then to the ground. Passed out.

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The tall detective steps out of the closet, regarding his flatmate on the floor. It had to be done, he'd seen too much. Now he had to make sure Watson would still trust him after this.

Fifteen minutes later, he is handing John off to a "friend"...the actor he pays to be Moriarty with a list of instructions as to what to do. Including the parts for the bomb and laser pointers for his henchmen. Brooke says he's starting to enjoy this role but Sherlock takes a handful of his shirt front to pull him off his feet, his gaze steely cold. "You do not hurt him. Is that clear?" Brooke stammers out a yes before he's let go.

Watson will wake up, untied but strapped to explosives at the pool with a piece of paper explaining what is happening in front of him.

-------------------------

John comes through in a haze but manages to figure out all that's going on. Bomb, and pool. The instructions. He gives a groan as a headache comes on from the drugging. It takes him a moment to focus on the words.

Slowly he steps out into the pool area as he hears Sherlock shouting someone about something...It's still hazy.

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There's a sickly sweet voice in his ear, Moriarty talking to him through the earpiece. You know how this is played out...repeat what I say...

Sherlock is pretending to come in slowly through the doors at the far end of the pool. Calling James out of hiding.

Which is Moriarty's cue to get Watson to step out of hiding instead, laser trained on the bomb.

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John's shaking as he stepped out. He knows how this goes but also knows that in this there isn't an end game. Moriarty is crazed and is going to kill them both.

Maybe he can save Sherlock somehow...He takes the steps out into the pool area, waiting for Moriarty to tell him what to say.

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I'll bet you didn't expect to see me here. The voice in his ear goes on....

Sherlock has a pretty convincing look of shock himself as he stares at John.

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"I'll bet you didn't expect to see me here." John calls out with his voice shaking. Now he knows how all the civilians in Afghanistan felt that had been made to carry bombs for the 'bad guys'.

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Sherlock's more incredulous as if believing John was behind all of this.

Now open the jacket.....what do you want me to make him say next? There's a hint of amusement in the voice now, as if he's ready to start giggling.

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John slowly opens the jacket to show the bomb. "What do you want me to make him say next?" John bites his lip.

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Cue realization for Sherlock, as if he now knows what's going on.

Soon Moriarty is stepping from hiding, Sherlock pointing a gun at him, unafraid. Brooke was doing splendidly, Sherlock almost believed him himself.

"Catch you later..."

"No you won't!"

In an instant, Sherlock is pulling of the bomb vest as fast as he can off of John and hurling it far away. "Are you alright??"

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John jerks away and goes straight to lean up against a wall. He's breathing hard and he nods quickly at Sherlock. "Fine, fine. Are you alright?"

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"Fine, yes fine..." Sherlock is pacing a bit back and forth, running through his mind to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything. Nope, nope things should be alright.

....then the door opens again as the lasers are pointing at the two of them. Sherlock stills. This wasn't part of the plan. Brooke was going off script.

I'm so sorry! I'm just sooooo changeable!

Sherlock turns, aiming a glare in his direction, an imperceptible headshake of no. Don't do this Brooke, you'll regret it.

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John freezes up again, his back still to the wall as all his years in the Army taught him. He looks up at Sherlock as if asking 'what do I do?'

-------------------------

Sherlock doesn't look at John, he only has eyes for Moriarty. But it's not shock that's displayed on his face, it's disappointment. This was the best setup he had ever created and one overinflated actor's ego had ruined it.

Without giving him a chance to say another word, Sherlock whips the gun up and fires point blank. A blossom of red starting on the front of the man's shirt. Moriarty....or rather Brooke, is stunned, stumbling back to fall down. "...but...no....not the plan...you promi-"

And Sherlock proceeds to empty the entire gun into the man before he can finish his sentence.

Then it's quiet as the shots echo away around the room.

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John flinched back from the gunshots. He's in a bit of shock right now but when Moriarty drops to the ground John is up and running to him. His fingers going to his pulse and turning him over to see the damage.

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Sherlock puts away the gun, walking forward to pull John away by the arm from the corpse. "No..." The man will incriminate himself and possibly Sherlock by touching the scene. "Leave him. Let's go home."

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"Sherlock!" John fights him. "I have to help! He's still alive!" John pulls his arm away and goes back to Moriarty.

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Firmly, "No, John. You don't." The actor certainly was resilient to be still alive. Sherlock gives John a shove away before bending down to pick up the man's leg, dragging him to the pool to shove him into it.

Ironic in a way, since the first case involving Moriarty was about a swimmer, it seemed fitting to end it here.

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John couldn't believe that Sherlock did that. "Sherlock!" He jerks back, pulling at clothes to jump in. He's a doctor, he has to help. He can't just let someone die.

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"Are you completely out of your mind? He's a murderer and you're prepared to dive in to save him?" Sherlock pointing at the floating body in the water with his gun.

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"He's a human being, Sherlock!" John stumbles back a bit before realizing who he is talking about. But...he's saved 'bad guys' before...

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Sherlock's not nearly as beside himself about this as John is. He looks down his nose at the body of Moriarty. "He was not a human being, he was a spider." Spiders get crushed.

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John just looks at the body. Moriarty is starting to sink now. He's gone... "Sherlock..." He just leans against his friend's tall frame.

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Sherlock smiles quietly to himself. He's won Watson back to his side. Mission accomplished.

He puts a hand on his shoulder. "See? Nothing you could have done. Now, lets go back to the flat, the police will be here soon." No doubt from hearing the shots.

The henchmen with laser pointers have run off after seeing their leader shot to death.

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John's nodding a little. He couldn't have done anything...nothing he could have done. Eventually he turns around and sighs. "Sorry..." He finally finds his legs and starts walking out again.

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A pat on the back for that and Sherlock trods off next to him. "If anyone asks, we were home watching telly."

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He nods. "Of course..." John hangs his head as they leave.
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Sherlock Holmes

February 2015

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