Sherlock Holmes Fic: History, Repeating Itself (Chapter Seven, Holmes/Watson, R)

[gyzym]

Short chapter is short! But I thought it over and realized this part needed to end here. I'm going to try to have more up for you guys tonight :D

Title: History, Repeating Itself (Chapter Seven)
Rating: R
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Warnings: Alcohol and marijuana use, general debauchery, copious use of coarse language.
Spoilers: None, except for Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, and Chapter Six of this story.
Author's Notes: This is a fill for an AWESOME prompt at shkinkmeme; both the prompt and the fill thread can be found here. I will continue posting the chapters bit-by-bit there and then archiving them on my journal for the duration of this story.
Chapter Summary: John Watson discovers at least part of the truth, loses a cell phone and starts a fight.


Chapter Seven: On Ignorance Being Something Less Than Bliss

I didn't mean to fall asleep, I really didn't. I'd positioned myself specifically to avoid that eventuality, but somehow the stress and the sleep I, as it turned out, hadn't gotten the night before coalesced into the perfect storm. I woke up five minutes before class, with a crick in my neck and my legs splayed haphazardly across the couch. There was no sign of Holmes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I muttered, looking around. I assumed he'd crashed out at Irene's or found someone to go home with, but I was worried about him. Worried that he was out doing something self-destructive, or thinking that I hated him, or any number of other things.

I seriously considered skipping class, but I remembered that I'd ignored my academic responsibilities to hunt Holmes down the previous day. Cursing under my breath and not bothering to shower or change, I threw my laptop bag over my shoulder and hit the door. My body was screaming at me--too much walking the day before, I guess, and not enough stretching afterwards. I ignored it, grabbing a cup of coffee and then moving as fast as I could to try to minimize my lateness.

I don't know why I answered the phone when it rang. It was a number I didn't recognize, and normally, running late to class and caught up in my own thoughts, I would have ignored it. But something compelled me to answer it, and when I said hello the voice on the other end stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Are you in the apartment?" Holmes said. He sounded breathy and terrified, but I was so excited to hear from him that I didn't register that for a second. "John, tell me you're not in the fucking apartment--"

"Holmes," I interrupted, "Jesus Christ, I'm so glad it's you, I'm so sorry--"

"We don't have time for that," Holmes hissed. "Are. You. In. The. Apartment?"

"No," I told him, confused. "Why does that--"

"Thank fucking god," he breathed, and then I did pick up on the terror in his voice. "I need you to listen, okay? I don't know how long I've got before they realize I've tapped into the phone lines and I need you to get Miles. I need you to tell him that I let his dog out last night and now I can't find it."

"Holmes, Miles doesn't--"

"Shut up," he snapped. "Don't ask me any fucking questions, John, you can't, okay? Tell him about the dog and tell him I forgive him for breaking my arm when I was 13."

"What the hell--"

"They have me," he hissed. "They have me and I should have called him but I--" and his voice broke, then. "I wanted to hear your voice, I know it's stupid, I know you don't--"

"Holmes," I said, my heartbeat quickening. "Holmes, I made a mistake, I didn't mean--who has you, what do you--"

"The only thing getting me through this is knowing you're not gambling anymore," he said, his tone in shards. And that didn't even make sense--I'd just bought him Chinese food with poker winnings a week before. I was going to point this out when he continued: "Watson, please--it's life or death, you have to go tell Miles about the dog, they're going to--"

"Tell me who has you," I said, confused and terrified for him. "Holmes, please, I don't know what's going on but I'll--"

"Don't go back to the fucking apartment," he snapped. "Don't go back and smash your cell phone when I hang up, and make Miles take you with him, say I told him he had to take you--"

"Where am I going? Where are you? Holmes--"

"Oh god," he said, a sharp spike of fear in his voice, and then the line went dead.

I stared at my cell phone for a second. Then, ignoring the fact that I wasn't physically capable of it, I ran, six blocks up and two across to the Clearinghouse. The door was opened and I pushed my way inside, barely standing and breathing hard. He wasn't behind the bar.

"Miles," I called, and then "MILES?"

"Is that Watson I hear?" an amused voice called out. He appeared from around the corner, carrying a box of booze. "I thought you'd be busy screwing my brother by--"

Then he saw me. His face went slack for half a second and then--I'll never forget it--he dropped the box. The sound of bottles shattering nearly triggered me as he ran to me, grabbing me by the shoulders, but I pushed past it. This was too important--Holmes had sounded too desperate--

"What's happened?" Miles demanded, shaking me. "Where is he, what's happened?"

"Called--me," I gasped, trying to catch my breath from the run. "Said--life or death--let your dog out--what the hell--"

"Fuck," Miles snapped, shaking me again. "Fuck, fuck, what did he call you on? Your cell? Did he call your cell? Did you destroy it?"

"No," I managed, "he told me to but I--"

"Motherfuck," he growled. "Give it to me. Now."

"What--"

"Give me the fucking phone," he screamed, and I handed it over. He dropped it and jumped on it, once, twice, four times, until it was reduced to smithereens on the floor. Then he grabbed my arm.

"We have to get out of here right fucking now," he snapped. "We won't be any use to him dead. Come on."

"Dead?" I said, running out the back door after him. The Lamborghini was parked in the back spot and he hopped in, gesturing for me to follow. I climbed in and he sped off before I even had a chance to shut my door. I slammed it quickly and turned to him.

"Miles," I said, "what the fuck--"

"When's the last time you saw him?" Miles demanded. I stared.

"Well, uh--yesterday, I guess, before he came to see you--"

"You haven't seen him since YESTERDAY MORNING?" Miles shrieked. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"You told me he'd hide from me!" I cried back. "I didn't know there was any kind of life or death--"

"Stop talking," Miles snapped. "What was your cell number?"

"I think you should explain--"

"Your fucking cell number!" Miles snapped. I gave it to him, and he flipped open his phone, dialed something, and pressed it his ear.

"It's me," he said into the speaker. "I need you to pull transcripts from a cell number and get the team together; my brother let the dog out. Sometime yesterday, I'm not sure when, my intel is shitty."

He paused for a second, listening. Then he snapped "I don't give a fuck about chain of command, this is my brother we're talking about--"

He paused again. "No, you little fuck--well put him on the phone if you're going to be that way--no? You don't want to get him? Well then run the goddamn cell number and tell them I'll be there in 10."

He rattled off my phone number and hung up. Then, to my unending surprise, he reached underneath his seat and pulled out a bubble light, which he turned on and slapped onto the roof of his car.

"What--" I said, for what felt like the fifteenth time.

"Shut up," Miles snapped. "This is your fucking fault. If you hadn't fought with him I would have known he was gone faster and that would have given him a better fucking chance, so you're gonna sit there quietly and take what information I give you and like it. If you're good about I'll let you in on the briefing and if you're not I'll lock you in a goddamn padded cell and make you wait it out until we find him. Are we clear?"

"Yes," I snapped. I wanted to say a lot more, but I didn't want to be left in the dark any more then necessary. He shot me a cold glance as he sped through an intersection

"Good," he returned curtly. "Okay, first of all, when I said 'I work for the government' a few weeks back, I meant 'I work for the FBI.' Only I'm not allowed to tell you that since I only really consult anymore. There are a couple cases I've kept open and this is part of one of them, and it's all very illegal that I'm even involved, but I'm the best they've got and so they waive some stuff."

"I--"

"No talking," Miles snapped, turning a hard corner. "We are going to this particular case's headquarters. You will not remember where it is. You will not tell anyone you have been there. You will not repeat any names, information, or locations that you may hear discussed. When this is over, it will never have happened. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I snapped again. He was silent for a moment. Then:

"Do you love my brother?" he asked, turning another corner. I opened my mouth and then shut it, blinking at him.

"What?"

"Do you love," he repeated, speaking more clearly, "my fucking brother?"

"Yes," I growled. "Yes, of course I do, how can you even--"

"Right. Okay. Good. This is entirely your fault but I'm going to bring you along anyway, because he'd want that. Don't say anything or I'll change my mind."

"Where is--"

"I don't fucking know!" Miles cried. "I don't fucking know where he is and I happen to love him too, so you need to chill the fuck out. I'll be brief you with the rest of the team in attendance. Now shut up."

I shut up. We sat in furious silence for five more minutes, and then we pulled into a parking lot. I followed Miles into what looked like an abandoned warehouse.

It was, in fact, not an abandoned warehouse. Inside there were fifteen people, about thirty computers, and a massive selection of weapons. I stared, my mouth working in disbelief.

"Right," Miles said to the room at large, "Sherlock's been taken. We knew this was a possibility, but we need to work fast since we don't have a timestamp. Best guess is yesterday, sometime after eleven. This is his roommate; I'm granting him full clearance and I don't give a fuck if you object. Who has the cell transcript?"

"Uh," someone said. I turned to find a small man in thick black glasses next to me. "I'm trying, but there's some kind of encrypted--"

"Damn it," Miles hissed. "Hack it and hack it fast, they'll have it erased from the records soon if we're not careful. If you can't manage it get me, I'll do it my fucking self if I have to."

"I'll manage it," he said grimly. I glanced between them incredulously.

"How do you have transcripts of my cell phone conversations?" I asked. "Has my phone been tapped? What the hell--"

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Patriot Act," the little man said, giving me a disparaging look. I blinked at him.

"Today, Dante," Miles snapped, and the man scuttled off.

"Right," he said, turning to me. "I'm going to explain this as best I can. Don't ask questions. Don't blink at me like a beached whale. Don't yell until I'm done."

"Fine," I bit out. "I just want to know where he is."

"Can't tell you that," Miles sighed. "Wish I could. Here's what I know--the guy Sherlock's been working for is not a professor, and his name isn't Moriarty. It's Mihailov; he's the head of a powerful Russian drug cartel."

"What?" I cried. Miles glared at me.

"Did l or did I not," he said, his voice dangerous, "tell you not to fucking yell?" I closed my mouth and met him glare for glare. After a second he broke his gaze and continued.

"Mihailov was my biggest case when I was an agent. He's clean--suspiciously clean. We've got no idea how he's done it, but for everything he's had a hand in--and he's had a hand in a lot of shit--he's never gone down for anything. I landed my first big defense contract and left the Bureau three years ago, but they kept me on for this case and a few others."

"As best we can tell, Mihailov's sales have plummeted in the last few years. He needed a new angle, and so he started fishing around for promising pharmaceutical work. Basically, I think, he's looking to design the next big drug--like E or meth, you know. He might want to do worse, there are a lot of possibilities with what's being developed. In any case, when you've got the connections he does, they can lead you anywhere--even to some kid claiming to be the next hotshot in organic chemistry, looking for someone to take him on as a grad student with a thesis topic that's all but impossible to actually prove--"

"Oh, Holmes, goddamn your stupid ego," I breathed. Miles nodded grimly.

"He figured Moriarty wasn't Moriarty a few weeks in and came to me. I wanted to pull him out, put him into Witness Protection, but he fought me. Said no one else would fund him, that in a lot of ways it was the best we could hope for--he could develop drugs that would cure diseases and we could get Mihailov on something that would stick."

Miles coughed, then. It took me a second to realize he was covering a break in his voice. "I let him convince me it would be fine, and we trained him as best we could--illegal as shit, but we had fuck all to go on and he promised me he'd tell me if he was getting in over his head. And I knew it had been bad over the last few weeks, but I had no idea--"

"Wait just a goddamn minute," I said, glaring at him. "You're telling me that you, knowing how stupid Holmes can be, knowing how ridiculously invested he is in this project--you knowingly sent him to work for the head of a Russian drug cartel. Is this what you're telling me?"

"Yes," Miles snapped. "And I know how it sounds, but he's always been too smart for his own good and he did really well in the training--"

"You sent a fucking civilian into the line of fire," I growled at him, "and you think this is my fucking fault?"

"If you hadn't been such a bastard--" Miles started hotly.

"Fuck you," I managed, and then I punched him in the face.

Now, look. Miles is a lot bigger than me--a lot bigger than me--and both of his legs work. He had also, as it turned out, been trained by the goddamn FBI. So the fact that he reeled back for only a second and then hit me so hard I saw stars doesn't really dent my pride much. It was only to be expected.

I did leave him with wicked shiner, though. I'm pretty fucking proud of that.

When I'd recovered from the blow to my face I growled and made to launch at him, but a pair of arms was suddenly on me, holding me back. I struggled against them for a minute, then noticed that someone was holding Miles back as well. That slowed me, and I glanced up to see a large man standing between us. Everything about him screamed "officer," and some hardwired part of my brain immediately responded to that. I stood straighter and stopped fighting against the person restraining me entirely.

"You ladies wanna cool your jets?" the man asked. Miles, too, had straightened up, and was looking at this new person with something approaching remorse on his features.

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

I felt my as-yet unseen captor release me at the same moment I saw Miles' do the same. The man standing between us smiled ruefully, patting Miles on the shoulder.

"It's okay," he said. "Emotions running high, I know how it goes. Though I will point out that this is exactly why I wanted to pull you from this case."

"Yes, sir," Miles said, "I know, sir." The man sighed, removing his hand from Miles' shoulder and turning to me.

"And you must be John Watson," he said, smiling. I nodded once, still holding myself ramrod straight, and he laughed. "At ease, solider. I appreciate the gesture, but I've been out of the military for fifteen years."

"Respect is respect, sir," I said, but I let myself relax. He looked me over, nodding his approval.

"Alright, son," he said, "I'm not going to tell you my name, because this is operation is so far rogue at this point that it's disgusting, and security's my primary goal. But I like you, and I like what I've seen in your file, and you clearly mean a lot to my favorite civilian, so I'm not going to shut you out of this. You can call me Joseph."

"You know Holmes?" I asked. Joseph laughed again.

"I trained Holmes," he said, "what little training he had, anyway. Smart kid--a little off, but definitely brilliant. I'm a big fan."

"Me too," I said quietly. He gave me a small, sad little smile. Then he turned to Miles, his face serious.

"Right," he said, "do what you have to do. I'm giving you full control of this, but if you fuck it up it's my head that's gonna roll. So don't fuck it up, yeah?"

"Yes sir," Miles said, standing a little straighter. Joseph sighed, looking us over.

"I'll be on premises," he said, "because if I'm not and this case gets out, it'll be fifteen jobs instead of just mine. But I'm not getting any more involved than I need to be, because I just don't know the material. Let me know if you need clearance for anything."

"Sir," Miles said, "thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," he said. "Get to it."

He left. Miles and I stared daggers at each for a minute, and then he sighed and gestured at the table.

"Sit," he said. I did, and he followed suit, sliding into the chair next to mine.

"Alex," he barked. A woman skidded to a stop in front of him a second later. "Give me everything we've got."