Fic: Homeless (prompt fill) - 1/3
And another prompt fill, this time for morganstuart. I don't really have a title, so if you have any suggestions, let me know. :)
Title: Homeless
Words: 1633
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Pairings : Sherlock/John gen or pre-slash
Beta: none
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Summary: Fill for this Make Me A Monday prompt:
To help Sherlock get the information he needs to solve a case, John and Lestrade spend a long, cold, and unexpectedly dangerous weekend undercover on the streets posing as part of Sherlock's "homeless network." No pairing, any pairing, whatever.
Make it as dark, dangerous, and/or angsty as you like.
Wednesday
The newspapers were all over it.
The 'Homeless-Killer' was in all headlines since he killed his fifth victim on Monday. It was always a Monday.
Lestrade had already called them in after the third, but this time even Sherlock was at a loss.
All the bodies were found in rubbish skips, evidence was hard to find between all the rubbish and Anderson was close to a nervous breakdown.
They had gathered at the police station that afternoon to go over the case again: Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, Sherlock, John and three other police men.
Sherlock was irritated with himself and he and Anderson had already gotten into a shouting match three times. Everybody was on the edge.
"Ok, let's see. We have five dead people, three men and two women. What did they have in common except the fact that they were homeless?"
"Maybe they were they just picked at random?"
"Maybe it has something to do with the places where they were killed?"
"Yeah, sure. And the victims just walked in by accident?"
Lestrade, who had listened to his people brainstorming for a while, suddenly slammed his hands on the table, knocking over two cups of coffee in the process and making Anderson jump.
"That's it. We are getting nowhere here. Sherlock, have you heard anything from your homeless network?"
"No. They are afraid and not talking."
John cleared his throat. "We need someone on the inside."
All heads swung around and everybody was staring at him. Lestrade raised an eyebrow. Sherlock grinned.
"Excellent idea, John."
"Then why didn't you have it?"
"Shut up, Anderson."
"Not helping, both of you. John, explain, please."
"We need to know what connects these people except the fact that they were sleeping rough. But getting information out of them will be impossible for any of us. The homeless might trust Sherlock to some degree but as he said before they are not willing to talk to him in this case. Therefore we need someone on the inside, someone who is homeless but knows what kind of questions to ask without raising suspicion."
"You mean a mole?"
"Yes."
There was silence for a few seconds then everyone started talking at the same time until Lestrade slammed his hands on the table a second time and shouted that they all should shut the hell up.
"Thank you. Now, I really like the idea, I think it could work. The problem is that homeless people often can smell a police officer from ten feet away."
"The Freak should do it."
"Actually I can't do it. I run the homeless network, which means money, therefore I am well known to them. Despite the common believe that all homeless people are drunks or drug addicts, most of them have a very keen eye. Disguise can only do so much; they are used to looking out for more than my face, they look out for my silhouette, my way of moving. And even if I did disguise myself completely, so that even John would not recognize me, how would I maintain it for three or more days on the streets, with no facilities to freshen it up?”
"I will do it." John said quietly. Sherlock's head snapped around, but John ignored him.
Thursday
Sherlock had been pacing their living room for the last twenty minutes.
"John, I don't want you to do it. It could be dangerous."
John just smiled at him and Sherlock realized the stupidity of his last sentence.
“I meant...” he stopped. He couldn’t say what he actually meant: I hate for you to be in danger when I’m not there to protect you.
But of course John understood it anyway.
“I know.” His voice went soft. “I will be fine. And I won’t be in danger. Because you made Lestrade go with me. Remember?”
That would be one of John's favourite memories for a while: After everybody left, the three of them were going over some final details of the plan. First Sherlock just demanded that Lestrade would accompany John, then he tried to force him by threatening to expose all of Lestrade's darkest secrets and finally he just said "Please," in an almost broken voice.
Lestrade nearly dropped his cup over this, but he looked into Sherlock's eyes and whatever he saw there made him agree to go with John.
John marvelled at the friendship between those two, because he was pretty sure that either would try to deny it if asked.
Sherlock's huff brought him back to the present.
"Look, Sherlock, I'll be fine. I promise. Lestrade will be there and you will watch over me with the help of Mycroft's CCTV system. We will find the killer and from Monday on we will work on cases together again."
Sherlock somehow managed to look like a pouting 7-year-old. John grinned to himself and went back to preparing his undercover experience.
He looked at the stack of things Sherlock got from a shelter by trading old sleeping bags, blankets and coats for new ones. The people there shook their heads at him, but they were used to him and his strange behaviour and - above all - they wanted the new things.
John felt not really comfortable because he had not shaved or showered since yesterday and he knew it would not get better once he changed into the worn-off and dirty clothes and shoes. He tried to ignore the fact that it would only get worse over the next few days.
But he had been dirty and worn out and cold and miserable before, he knew he could do it again.
He knelt down and started to pack his things into the old army bag pack Sherlock found for him. Mrs Hudson came up the stairs and watched them both for a while: John packing and Sherlock staring at him intently from the sofa.
Her chatter and Sherlock's occasional answer washed over John who suddenly felt that he would miss his home and the other two occupants fiercely while he was away, even if it was only for a few days.
Sherlock abruptly raised his head and said, "It is time."
A second later the doorbell rang.
~°~
The unmarked police car brought John, Sherlock, Lestrade and Sally Donovan to a little train station outside of London. Here John and Lestrade changed into their new outfits and waited for a cargo train that would take them back into London - while they were dodging the fare, of course.
Sherlock was unusually quiet, so John listened to Sally and Lestrade.
"I feel strangely naked without my warrant card…"
"I wish you could take a gun."
"Have you ever seen a homeless with a gun?"
"You could hide it."
John took a step forward and interrupted them.
"I won't let any harm come to him."
Sally snorted at that, but before John could react, Sherlock swirled in and snarled at her.
"John is well trained in unarmed combat. And he has a knife tied to his left leg, shortly above the ankle. Lestrade is as safe as he could be."
"Of course you noticed the knife." John grinned.
"Of course I did." Finally a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. John had to suppress a sudden urge to hug him.
Sally cleared her throat and straightened up, getting herself back into police mode.
"The train will be here soon. Remember: You cannot have contact with any of us; you are on your own. Freak, this applies to you as well. No contact to the homeless network for the time being."
Everybody nodded, Sherlock rather reluctant, but this was more due to the fact that he hated agreeing with Donovan. She made eye contact with the two fake homeless and went on.
"If you need to get a message to us, go to the St. Mungo's emergency shelter on 48 Rushworth Street in Southwark. The doctor there will get it to me. But it would be better to avoid the shelter altogether, because none of the victims had been to any shelter in the last few weeks as far as we know."
They all knew this of course, but it was always good to go over the facts one last time.
"And last: Stay together. No stupid risks. Be careful. Be safe."
Sally Donovan gave a sharp nod to both of the men and walked over to the police car.
"She is not good at farewells. Neither am I. See you soon, Sherlock." Lestrade grabbed his bag and started walking towards the tracks.
"I am not good at farewells either. Please be careful. Don't forget to eat or sleep. Look after Mrs Hudson, she worries too much. And no drugs, I need you to stay clear-headed to watch over me."
Sherlock's eyebrow showed that he clearly saw through John's manoeuvre, but he said nothing. He just looked at John for a moment, then turned around to follow Sally.
John felt a sharp pain somewhere in his chest; he had hoped for some, well to be honest any, words from Sherlock that he could take with him. He should have known better.
Then Sherlock suddenly turned around again, took off his scarf and stepped closer to tie it around John’s neck. His fingers grazed John’s skin and when he raised his gaze he found himself pinned down by Sherlock’s eyes.
“I want that back in exactly the same condition, so you better take care that it doesn’t get damaged in any way. Do you understand?”
Despite the harshness in his voice, Sherlock’s eyes were soft and vulnerable. John’s throat was suddenly very dry and he could only nod.
But something warm was unfurling in his chest while he watched Sherlock twirl around and walk away.
He picked up his bag and followed Lestrade.
Next chapter
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AN: This turned out to be longer than expected, so I am splitting it into three parts.
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