Fanfiction: Don't be dead (7/11)

[anyrei]

Title: Don't be dead (7/11)
Length: 2413 words
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: none
Pairing: mild Sherlock/John, but can be read as friendship
Summary: Post "The Reichenbach Fall". John struggles with his life after Sherlocks 'death' and Sherlock wants his life back. But before they must face a new enemy.
Beta fififolle is just the best <3
All chapters: http://anyrei.livejournal.com/tag/don%27t%20be%20dead

Chapter 7: Nothing happens to me

John walked to the underground station and studied the list.

Athenian Grocery
16 Moscow Road (Bayswater)
The 4PP package

"What the hell is a 4PP package?" John thought angrily and was immediately afterwards annoyed by the fact that he had to go to Bayswater, an area of London which was, due to its central location, very popular with tourists and therefore usually very crowded.

He had to travel about ten stations on the Tube, and if he was lucky when changing lines at Notting Hill Gate, he only would need about fifteen minutes for the trip. John was lucky. He came through well, and even the streets of Bayswater weren't as full as he had anticipated today. That was probably due to the bad weather. There was a nasty cold wind outside and it was drizzling.

With sadness John thought about how happy he would be if he was at home now with a hot cup of tea and sitting doing something simple like listening to Sherlock playing the violin. John never had told Sherlock, but he loved it when his friend played the violin. Those were always the peaceful moments in Baker Street ... John sat in his favourite chair and reading a newspaper, and Sherlock stood at the window and played the violin. The world was fine.

At the underground station was a map of the area, and John discovered Moscow Road immediately. It wasn't very far away from the station.

"At least that's something," thought John grimly and pulled up the collar of his dark jacket to protect him from the cold wind. He ran down the road and found Moscow Road after a few minutes, on the left side of Queensway. On the corner was a Pizza Hut, and John's stomach growled at the sight of the logo. Actually, he wasn't a big fast food fan, but lunch was already a few hours ago, and unlike Sherlock he needed food to live. John tried to pull himself together and was heading down the street a little faster now. At the next corner he found the Athenian Grocery. It was a small store that was designed entirely in the Greek style. With a blue and white striped awning and fruit boxes, protected from the rain stacked underneath.

"Kalimera! What can I do for you?"

"Hi, I hope I'm right here. I want to pick up a package." John showed the Greek man the note.

"Ah, the four patch problem package! A moment, I will get it."

John rolled his eyes. 4PP stood for four patch problem! He hoped that there weren't only just nicotine patches in the package. The man shouted to his colleague something in Greek, and she laughed. Then she disappeared through a door to a back room and came back a little later with a package that was wrapped in bright paper. The young woman was very pretty and smiled openly at John. He put on the most charming smile he could manage in his mood as he took the package from her counter.

"Sherlock has a really good taste in terms of men, doesn't he, Dad?" smiled the young woman. The Greek laughed merrily, while he was weighing a few apples.

"Um, I'm not..." But the young woman was already gone to the back room before he could explain the situation. Why was it all people always assumed that he and Sherlock were a couple? The Greek man pressed  a bag of various fruits in John's hand.

"Bring them to Sherlock. He eats so little." John thanked him and asked how he knew Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock is an old friend of the family. He really helped my wife and me when the Mafia had kidnapped my daughter."

"Oh my goodness."

The Greek nodded. "Yes, it was a bad time for us. My daughter Elena a lot younger at the time. The police had no evidence and could not do anything. Sherlock found her within half an hour. We were lucky nothing had happened to her. We are forever in his debt."

John was aware that the Greek didn't speak in past tense of Sherlock. He probably didn't read the newspapers to know what had happened in the past week. John was kind of happy about that. He said goodbye to the friendly seller and hurried back towards the underground.

John put the green bag and the package on the bench when he arrived at St. Barts' lab. Molly was already gone, and Sherlock sat on the floor and let a rubber ball bounce at the opposing cabinet and caught it again, without looking up to John. John knelt beside him and grabbed the ball away from Sherlock to get his attention.

"You have the package." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes. Here. Eat something first."

John held out an apple, which Sherlock took without question.

"What's in the package? I hope no nicotine patches."

Sherlock grinned briefly. "Open it."

John picked up the package and sat down next to Sherlock on the ground again. He opened the paper and finally the package. Sherlock watched John intensely. John's hair was ruffled through the rain and the wind. He hadn't cut it lately and therefore was a bit longer than usual. Sherlock wondered why John hadn't cut his hair. He usually put a lot of emphasis on it.

"What the... my goodness!" John panted, when he saw the contents of the box.

Sherlock grinned. "My emergency kit for situations like this."

Sherlock reached into the box and pulled out a pack of nicotine patches, which was sandwiched between an estimated one million pounds in cash.

"Where did you get so much money from?" John looked at Sherlock with big eyes. His friend cocked his head and gave John a serious stare.

"Irrelevant. The money is my ticket, to make the right contacts in the underworld and to spread rumors. Tonight I meet a contact man."

"I come with you."

"No."

"What? What is it Sherlock? You said you need someone to watch your back. You can bet on it that I'll come!"

"No, John. Not this time. Right now, it is important that you are going home and that Mycroft's men will see you. I can't risk that my brother is suspicious because you are no longer at home. He'll think you're going after William, and we currently can't use him on our trail."

"But…"

Sherlock shook his head. "I know what I said, but don't worry. I'll be fine. The meeting tonight will be a breeze."

John wasn't convinced. Sherlock could read it like an open book on his face.

"The contact man owes me…"

"How many people in this town don't, really," John muttered, but Sherlock continued undeterred.

"A couple of people from the homeless network will help me to improve my reputation in the underworld by spreading rumours that Moriarty is back again. But this alone will not suffice. I need a big coup to draw attention to myself. And my contact knows exactly the right people with whom I can do that."

"You're not really going to commit a crime?" John grinned uncertainly.

Sherlock looked at him seriously. "I know that this is against your moral values, but in order to be Moriarty, I have to behave as he did."

"I don't like this."

"Trust me, John. My plan will work. We'll meet here tomorrow night again."

"If something happens to you, I'll kill you," John grumbled, as he stood. Before he went to the door, he turned around again. "Sherlock?"

The detective looked up at John. The ex-soldier gave him the apple that Sherlock had placed carelessly on the table. "Eat something!"

Sherlock grinned at John as his friend left the lab.

~ ~

When John was finally home, he took off his clothes and went to bed without eating. His appetite had disappeared some time ago anyway. He had  felt empty and drained on his journey home.

When he had finally made it to bed, he couldn't fall asleep despite fatigue. Concerns about Sherlock kept him awake. He wondered with a pang in his chest if Sherlock really needed him, or whether he had been shaken off again.

John stared at the ceiling. He felt useless. Why had Sherlock wanted to protect him again? Was he only a millstone around his friend's neck? It probably would have been better for Sherlock if he had never met him.

Sherlock got along perfectly before him. John's thoughts turned increasingly to these questions, and he felt the pain in his heart getting stronger and at the same time a strange emptiness spread through him. His eyes fell on two boxes and a note on the bedside table. He was sure he hadn't placed them there. John picked up the paper and read it. It was a fact sheet about depression. The note had all the symptoms listed to recognise a depressive phase.

Fatigue, sleep disturbances, impaired appetite, pain, brooding, negative thought patterns, weariness of life, sense of emptiness / numbness, sadness, mood swings, worthlessness, self-doubt…

John dropped the paper to the floor. Then he picked up the two boxes. John wasn't a psychologist, but he still knew the effect of the drugs in his hand. "Mirtazepine" and "Lorazepam". One was an antidpressant, and the other one a sleeping tablet, which one could take only for a short time in order to avoid the risk of addiction.

John sighed. He realised that he was in a depressive phase. It wasn't the first time that he had gone through that. But it was so incredibly hard to get up and to take the drugs. It was as if his body was chained to his bed. Another symptom he knew well. Fighting was so incredibly hard - to give up seemed so much easier.

John put the tablets back on the nightstand. He was too heavy to stand again and to get a glass. John wanted to give up - just staying in bed. At that moment there was a knock at the door. At first John couldn't answer.

He heard the knock again.

"John? Are you still awake? "

Mrs Hudson.

"Yes," his voice was rough. Mrs Hudson entered his room carefully, something that she usually never did.

"I've brought you a glass of water." She put the glass on the nightstand.

"Thank you. Did you place the pills here?"

She nodded. "Molly asked me. She's a good girl."

John nodded. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." Now that his landlady was there, it was easier to sit up and take the two tablets. Mrs Hudson gave him a motherly smile, stroked once over his hand and wished him a good night. John wondered how Molly knew that he had been prescribed medication. But he couldn't longer think about it. The tablets started to work very quickly. John felt lighter and the fatigue that overcame him now, carried him into a dreamless sleep.

~ ~

Pete Taylor was a strange guy. Full of strange ideas that had mostly only brought him trouble in his life so far. Only once he had been lucky. Well, lucky...

He met Sherlock when the detective had proved to the police that he wasn't guilty for blowing the soft drinks factory up. Pete had been trying to improve the mix of lemonade, without the business owner knowing anything about it. Secretly at night. They never wanted to listen to Pete. Always told him he was just a simple factory worker, who should stop bursting constantly into the meetings with crazy ideas. He could have helped improve the lemonade so much, but they just didn't want his help. So he had done it secretly, and the factory exploded. But it wasn't his fault. A gas leak had caused the explosion. Pete had just randomly been there too, and it was a miracle nothing had happened to him. Pete had lost his job anyway, even if he wasn't to blame for this accident, but he was still very grateful to Sherlock.

He didn't know though why the detective wanted to have a name in the world of criminals all of a sudden and instructed him to call him Moriarty. But it basically didn't matter for Pete, after all he got a little bit of money out of it.

Pete was stubbing out his cigarette on the garage wall which he was leaning against when he saw Sherlock. He admired the great detective. With his coat collar turned up, his high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes he really was a impressive man to look at.

"Good evening, Pete."

"Hi!"

"All set?"

Pete nodded. "They are waiting for you inside."

Sherlock followed Pete into the old warehouse. A few very expensive cars were parked in there. A tall young man with blond hair stood in front of a midnight blue Jaguar eyed Sherlock smirking. He was accompanied by a few men in dark leather clothes who were standing at some distance from their boss.

"Good evening," greeted Sherlock. "You must be Matt Smith."

"I am. And I heard, you have something of interest."

"You get right to the point. Good. "

Matt leaned against his Jaguar. "Time is money, Mr. Moriarty. But it is interesting that I've heard that you passed away not long ago. "

"A fairytale staging, to get rid of my enemy. One should never stand on the wrong side of me."

One of Smith's men cleared his throat, but Matt raised his hand.

"You shouldn't threaten me. My men are allergic to it."

"I have no time for such a skirmish. You said yourself 'time is money'. Let's come finally to business. You have a problem, to establish a new market for drugs in the United Kingdom. You want to smuggle your new designer drugs in these fancy cars from the Netherlands across the border. However, these drugs contain an ingredient the drug dogs at the border control can smell miles away."

Matt's face fell during the Sherlock's lecture into a more serious expression.

"And how do you know all this?" Smith's men came dangerously close.

"To know something is my job as a consultant for crime. I'm here to help."

"I have a better idea," said Matt, grinning cynically. He made a sign, and his men surrounded the detective.

"I would have been better bringing John," Sherlock thought grimly. Then he was struck down.