The Nobility of Bachelors Part 2

[hisdearblogger]

Who: John & Sherlock
When: The day after Lord St. Simon comes to Sherlock about recovering his missing bride. Things prove more complex - and sinister - than originally thought

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[hisdearblogger]

Bernard Lanham was easy to meet with; John had called ahead and the reporter agreed to talk to him as long as John didn't mind coming to his desk. Which, when John saw it, felt it could hardly be called that. He wondered how on earth this man got anything done with the stacks of paper and drafts, random post-it notes, components of his computer splayed out all over the desk and stacks of books on the floor around it.

He was on the phone when John arrived but directed the blond to take a seat and wait a minute. John moved the stack of magazines in the only chair near the desk and sat with them in his lap, not really sure where else to put them. Looking around the rest of the room, he could see the other journalists at their desks busy with their own stories and tasks. Everyone was busy and moving or talking or typing furiously. John's attention was snapped back to the man he had come to see when he felt the magazines in his lap being taken. "Sorry 'bout that." He nearly threw the stack to the floor under his desk. Going back to his computer and typing fast while he spoke, "There's always something going on in the world. Always something to write about."

John remained silent, not really knowing if he was meant to respond to that or if the other man had just been thinking out loud. "But you're here for a particular story. The St. Simon affair?" He looked at John and smirked, "I've read your blog, Doctor. If I help aid you in this case I want to be mentioned in the next entry, okay? That's the only "fee" I'll charge you for the information I divulge." John blinked but then nodded, "If you are any help, of course. I'll pretty much have to."

Smirking again Bernard began telling John about how he had covered the tragic murder of Lady Maud St. Simon just after the honeymoon with Lord Robert. The killer was never found and Lord Robert had had a solid alibi. He then covered the annulment proceedings of Lady Helena St. Simon and voiced how the "reasons" for it seemed flimsy at best and only someone with the kind of clout Lord Robert had could have such a thing go through with the courts. Lady Helena's whereabouts were never disclosed, either. No one saw her in court or afterward. it was as if she simply disappeared. The thing that had stood out to Bernard, though, was how the public never knew about St. Simon's marriages until after they had ended.

Running a hand through his messy dark red hair, cup of coffee in his other hand, "It was so bizarre how he kept them private like that. It just didn't make much sense the way it was done. It's not all that important compared to the other things at work here but it always irked me."

John shrugged, "Maybe he didn't want any publicity to interfere with them?"

"See, I thought that, too, but the thing that really makes me question that was how he kept word of those covered up but is pretty open that he's had lovers in the past. Now, I don't know about you, Dr. Watson, but typically if I were an esteemed Lord I'd be more discrete about the one night shags, not the marriages to well-to-do ladies that come from families with deep pockets. That kind of behavior is what makes me question his motives overall."

[hisdearblogger]

John nods, brow furrowed as he mulled over this. The way St. Simon had been so quick to move back to his present wife instead of elaborating on the past two did seem a bit odd. But then maybe such events had been too painful for him to want to dwell on them?

Bernard took another swallow of his coffee, "He's also a bit of a gambler. But of course I can't print that. Just like my "theories" on what happened to his two previous wives, I'd be slapped with a lawsuit faster than I can drain a pint on a Monday morn-- eh, on a Monday. Hate those sodding days." The good doctor didn't need to know about how he dealt with Mondays all around. He just needed to know about the St. Simon marriages.

"Are you sure there's anything to these "theories"?" John was trying to gauge exactly where Bernard was coming from in his accusations. He didn't seem bitter towards Lord Robert, just cynical of the man's dealings and motives. But Bernard wouldn't be the first writer to be hit with a lawsuit of libel and slander and John needed to know how justified that action was.

The Irishman knew exactly where John was coming from, and didn't really begrudge him that. Leaning forward on his desk and looking John squarely in the eyes, voice calm but a tad lower, "Doctor, I've done my diggin' and I've done it in virtually every place I could get to. I may be a ruddy Irish reporter in London but I'm damn good at what I do and I can tell you right now that any lawsuit that's flung at me by that St. Simon would be only because he doesn't want word to get out on what really happened. He doesn't want anyone to think about such things too much, you know I mean? Like, what's that saying about how it's unfortunate to lose one relative?"

John remembered, his mother had said it too him a few times in reference to other things. " 'To lose one parent may be considered unfortunate --' "

Bernard held up an index finger, as if to say 'And my point is...', "To lose one wife may be considered unfortunate but to lose three wives..."

" 'Begins to look like carelessness.' " And Bernard pointed and winked at John, doing his best faux British accent. "By Jove, I think you've got it!" John huffed out a laugh but then grew serious again; the implications of such a thing was very serious. St. Simon could be a murderer - whether he did it by himself or with help remained to be seen. But Sherlock was right: the Lord was lying about something. There still had to be proof, though. And Bernard, for all the sense he made, didn't have enough to get the man arrested. He was mainly going on his own personal hunch and common sense and a few facts that made St. Simon look not-so noble.

"Can you give me the names of some of your contacts? Or where you found your information?" John had some digging of his own to do. He needed to see what he could find of Lady Helena's whereabouts and the circumstances of Lady Maud's death. Such information could most likely shed some light on St. Simon's real intentions with his third bride.

[consulting_det]

John was finally coming into his own, not just tracking down sources, but asking the important questions. Sherlock, likely, would have been pleased and somewhat proud of him.

Instead, the man was flat on his back in John's bed (sharing it for two weeks did not make it 'their bed' just yet), Sherlock indulged in two patches and traced back the details of John he could remember. There was so much there. John had no idea just how much Sherlock remembered every smile, every furrowed brow, even frustrated sigh, every time he fell asleep waiting for Sherlock to speak or come up with an idea.

He came up with ideas as he waited for John to return. The time with Peter yesterday had given him quite a few. There was a whole list of things to tell John by the time he heard Gladstone rush to greet the man when he came home.

Sherlock waited.

Cases could wait longer.

[hisdearblogger]

With Bernard's sources John was able to look up all the coverage of Lady Maud's murder and look up the last known address of Lady Helena's only living relative, a Miss Agnes Northcote.

John had had to take a ride past Whitechapel and into a rather shady neighborhood but found the building. He managed to get buzzed into the building but when he knocked on what was suppose to be Miss Northcote's door, there wasn't any answer. He knocked again and listened, ear pressed up to the door to see if he could hear anyone moving inside. Silence.

He jotted out a note and slipped it under the door for her when she returned.

It wasn't until he went down the stairs and back out the front entrance that movement in the room occurred and his note picked up by a shaky hand.

He arrived back at the flat nearly five hours after he had left. He rolled his neck and shoulders as he went up the stairs to the flat.

[consulting_det]

John would want to get changed. He had certain patterns that he followed. So, when the feet on the stairs to his bedroom signaled his presence, Sherlock climbed out of his bed, rolled down his sleeves and stood at the foot of it, feeling a bit like he use to when his mother put him in time out until he could figure out just why he was being punished.

Many, many times it was harder to pinpoint than he'd thought it would or could be.

Now, however, he knew.

"Don't lock me away from you again," he said, voice effortlessly deep, eyes impassively cold. "I don't want to be kept from you, John."

[hisdearblogger]

Gladstone had given John his usual greeting as the blond hung up his jacket. After a good petting he went up the stairs to his room, his little notepad in one hand.

At seeing Sherlock there, and hearing his words, John paused for a moment before crossing his arms in front of his chest, frowning at Sherlock and his cold eyes, "It's my room, I'll do what I want." Yes, John was being obstinate and defiant and he wasn't sorry for it. "Did you solve the Ripper case, yet?"

It wasn't just that Sherlock was willing to have - even eager to see - more people mutilated in horrible ways, but also the fact that when he was informed that John would be killed if he didn't solve the case in time he seemed more put-out that his "fun" was being trampled on. That was just a bit insulting after everything they had been through together and even became lovers... Perhaps John had been aware that Sherlock couldn't love or care in the normal sense and perhaps he didn't love or care about John in an emotional way. That didn't change the fact that Sherlock's lack of concern for others disappointed John and his lack of concern for John's possible death hurt the doctor more than he was willing to admit.

[consulting_det]

Sherlock was crushed, the subtle lowering of his eyelids happened to prove it. As Mycroft had once noted, Sherlock was far more sensitive than the average person, no matter how blankly cold he could be. For someone to be able to make such observations and cling to steadfastly to certain individuals, he had to be.

And so, his heart poured out to John for what was quite possibly the first time (stating that it was painful for Sherlock not to have John was leaps and bounds above the 'I miss you' at Christmas dinner), Sherlock watched John decimate it with a smooth, casual, off hand remark. Had he known that John thought he showed a lack of concern for John's death, he might have laughed. Or maybe cried. It was Sherlock's sole motivation now.

But John would never understand.

Sherlock pressed his pale lips together, cleared his throat, and tugged down on his shirt. "I will by the week's end," Sherlock replied without looking up and left the room.

He wouldn't again go back to 'John's Bedroom' on his own.

[hisdearblogger]

John, while no expert of observation, did notice the change in Sherlock's demeanor. It wasn't overtly obvious, but it was there. It was almost like watching a flower wilt. John could also hear the change in the other man's voice, how he didn't look up at John when he said he'd solve the Ripper case by the end of the week.

He felt his chest tighten as the man went past and John lowered his head, arms still crossed in front of his chest, knowing he shouldn't back down on this but... "I won't lock you out again." He said it clearly enough for the other man to hear before moving into his room.

Sod it all, he did care about Sherlock and he should remember what he and Mycroft had talked about, how Sherlock is far more fragile than he appears and acts.

[consulting_det]

It didn't matter. Sherlock did not pause on the stairs to smile secretly that he'd won. The experiment hadn't exactly failed. It just turned out differently than Sherlock expected. John Watson was not affected so deeply that he wanted to stay with Sherlock, the opposite had happened.

Downstairs, Sherlock put on his own kettle and then thought better of it. He took note of John's coat, of the dirt on his boots, and the schedule he was working and smirked.

So John had gone out on his own.

Well, he didn't need Sherlock at all now to get the danger he craved. Sherlock felt...useless. It was the strangest feeling he'd ever had.

[hisdearblogger]

John changed into some new clothes and came downstairs after reviewing his notes. He unfolded the note he got last night from his pad and handed it to Sherlock. He then explained that those were the names of St. Simon's first wife.

He then went into all the other things he had discovered that day, reading from all the notes he had taken at Bernard's office and then while he went to do further research.

When he was done, he nodded to Sherlock, "You were right about him being a liar. But he might also be a murderer." John didn't have any exact proof yet but it was still a possibility, especially with the way things were looking for the Lord.

[consulting_det]

Sherlock kept his usual: 'Of course I was right" to himself. Instead, he glanced at the paper and turned his eyes back up to John, explaining about his visit to Flora Millar. "He is a murderer. He kills only when it suits him. His lovers were never harmed because they had nothing for him to take. What's your next move then?"

Sherlock was asking John to think.

He'd become the other man's Mycroft, that was half frightening. He had other things on his mind than this St. Simon case. Peter ought to be getting back to him soon in regards to he strangulation victim.

Hopefully before she ended up wth her throat slit.

[hisdearblogger]

"So he marries well-off women for their money and has them killed in order to inherit their money. Although there's a possibility Lady Helena might be alive..." John fiddled with the cover of his notepad.

John shrugged, shaking his head and licking his lips, "I don't really know. I keep hitting dead ends. He's covered up so much that he didn't leave a paper trail to follow and with his connections it's not that difficult to figure out how." He sighed, "I found where Lady Helena's sister should be living but I didn't get any answer when I went. I left a note, though I'm not sure what will come of it." He looked down again, brow furrowed, trying to think. While he had learned a lot from Sherlock it was almost painfully obvious he wasn't as good. He didn't know where to proceed next.

Looking back up at Sherlock as an idea hit him, "Do you think Miss Millar was trying to warn the bride?" It didn't seem very likely, the woman was probably just jealous and scorned and wanting to cause a scene. But John had learned on his cases with Sherlock that sometimes the least likely plausibility might just be key.

[consulting_det]

"No, I don't think she said anything to her at all," Sherlock said, folding his hands. "She mentioned, briefly, that she'd seen her stop on the way down the aisle, as if she recognized someone in the church. She grew pale after that. I've pulled the church register. You can go through it. It's... Oh, no. It's at the Yard. I was only excited about my throat and left it."

The St. Simon case was filler. Sherlock turned away from John and took a sip of his tea.

[hisdearblogger]

John wasn't looking forward to going through a church registry, but then watched Sherlock when he mentioned his throat, "So you figured out the time for the bruises?" He couldn't see why else Sherlock would be excited about it.

[consulting_det]

"Yes. Two days to get from the fresh bruises to ones that match the picture exactly. As I told Peter, the victim will show up tomorrow on the Thames, throat cut. His team is working on finding her."

But not Sherlock.

Because Sherlock had to come home to get his heart crushed. He paused at that. John was more important than a case. Oh, that would have to change, and quickly.

[hisdearblogger]

John nodded and, after what felt like a long moment, he left his notepad on the table and closed the distance between him and Sherlock. He tentatively reached up a hand to the other man's neck. The touch was gentle as his fingers ghosted over the bruises. John felt his chest tighten again, making it feel like it was difficult to breathe.

Ever since he remembered that conversation with Mycroft John had felt the need to apologize to Sherlock. He knew that when he lost his temper he could be a bit thoughtless. And perhaps the whole act of being threatened by Moriaty yet again had made him a bit shaky inside, more prone to lash out at the other man. He still had dreams of where he hadn't survived wearing that vest of semtex. But he should know by now that Sherlock wouldn't let anything happen to him. All the times he had been hurt and Sherlock was there, while awkwardly attentive and possibly not understanding the need to be attentive, he was there all the same. Trying to take care of John when he obviously didn't know how to.

Voice soft, sincere and remorseful, dark blue eyes reflecting that and so much more than he felt he could say, "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He could tell he hurt the other man earlier and John, while he couldn't explain it, could feel something between them now. He didn't realise until he felt it that he didn't want that. Bloody hell, he missed the man already and they were still in the same sodding room. This wasn't healthy but he didn't want to lose it.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I won't lock you out again. I'm sorry." He then moved forward and gently kissed at the other man's pale, beautiful neck. He did it once, twice, and would keep doing it as long as Sherlock would let him. John had always been affectionate when he cared about another person deeply. That was something the war had covered up, nearly eroded away at one point, but didn't stop it completely. Who knew it would be someone like Sherlock Holmes to bring it out in him again?