On the eighth day of Sherlockmas: In Closets, Hidden (2/3), for xenadragon_xoxo

[sherlockmasmod]

Author: pippnfrodo
Title: In Closets, Hidden
A gift for: xenadragon_xoxo
Characters/Pairing: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Harry Watson, OCs
Category: Gen
Rating: PG13
Warnings: violence, mention of drugs (overdose), coarse language
Summary: When the past you've tried years to forget about decides to come back to haunt you, and comes after you, your sister, and your friends, it's always nice to have a consulting detective as a friend/flat mate. And a Detective Inspector and British Government doesn't hurt either.
Author's Notes: Thanks goes to my friend KP for letting me babble and rant about this, and for brainstorming with me. Thanks to xenadragon for the wonderful prompts! I hope you enjoy this and its a good gift. Happy holidays!

4.

In the end Sherlock didn't have much time to research John's ‘old friend,' or to try to convince John.

And even more frustrating, despite Sherlock being excellent at research (he could usually find every piece of information he needed) there seemed to be several points of data missing that would help him to understand. There were no records or archives with information about what had happened to John and his sister, or even about the criminals they'd helped put away. Sherlock wasn't able to find another copy of the news article or any of the photographs. And John was no longer allowing him any access to his room, or wherever he had hidden the box again.

Sherlock had hoped this mystery and the resulting research would be even more interesting than any case Lestrade or a client could offer. Yet two days later he had no cases on and was no further along with his research into John's past. There was absolutely nothing to distract him from his lack of progress, and nothing new to help him protect John.

Sherlock was well on his way to pulling his hair out in exasperation, or to start shooting the walls since he knew perfectly well where John had hidden the gun. His ever watchful flatmate had been sneaking worried glances at him from over his book or laptop screen… when he wasn't shouting at Sherlock to just sit down and be still for one second. John showed he was worried in the strangest ways.

On the morning two days after the call John refused to talk about, Sherlock was laying on the sofa using John's laptop still attempting to find anything new. He'd gotten into John's blog and social media site, but hadn't found anything he didn't already know or hadn't wanted to know.

It was all useless.

"Sherlock if you don't stop that I will take my laptop away and you'll never see it again," John threatened, or tried to threaten. Really neither of them wanted to get up and search for wherever Sherlock's laptop had gone to this time, or to see if it was even still useable.

Sherlock continued typing, ignoring John's warning. He went on to his next idea for a potential source of information. Sherlock was quickly coming to the bottom of that list; there was surprisingly little information on John on the internet. Or information that didn't involve their websites or their cases together.

"What could you possibly be doing that you have to use my laptop all the time? We don't have any cases on." John said, sounding confused the way he did when he was trying to keep up with Sherlock's thought process. "You'd better not be looking at anything illegal. Or at porn."

"I'm not," Sherlock reassured, not looking away from the screen.

John sighed. "Yes well, just don't… do anything to it." He rustled the newspaper he was reading and held it closer to his face. "It's not like I can stop you from borrowing it."

Sherlock huffed and resumed typing, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

They sat in comfortable silence, reading and researching respectively, as the sun shone dimly in through the window doing its best to offer warmth. It was a wonderful quiet, peaceful morning in Baker Street.

And Sherlock's mind just wouldn't leave him alone; it wouldn't let him focus on what he needed to. He was just about to get up and try working on his experiment again when John began rustling the newspaper noisily; not just to settle it, but in distress.

Sherlock pushed the laptop down to his knees. He looked over at John, frowning when he noticed John's hands were shaking slightly where they gripped the sides of the paper. "John?"

John started cursing not so quietly, interspersed with phrases John must be reading from whatever article had caught his attention. "Shit, shit! Suicide? Why the hell would he-? ‘found in his own flat late last night lying on the floor...' ‘police have found that there were'… drugs? He never did drugs, how could he overdose?"

Sherlock rapidly sat up, draping his legs over the side of the sofa. He could clearly hear the rising panic in John's voice, especially as John folded the paper into half and let it drop into his lap.

John leaned over, clutching his head in his hands. His eyes darted over the text on the page, moving faster as he grew more upset. Sherlock wasn't sure if John realized he was reading parts of the article aloud still.

"Damn it, damn it!" John cursed loudly, brokenly; he tossed the paper aside without his usual care and rose to his feet with surprising energy. "They were right!"

Sherlock watched as John stormed over to the desk and started rustling through the papers and journals they'd been storing there. "Phone, where did I put my phone? It's impossible to find anything in this place anymore. Everything's a mess…"

Sherlock reached across over to the table. He pulled the paper towards him and started scanning the headlines. "In your jacket, by the door. You left it in there."

John exhaled noisily and let the papers he'd been holding fall back down amongst the rest of the chaos. "Right, thanks," John said, crossing back across to the door.

John pulled out his jacket and reached down into the front pocket on the left. "John," Sherlock called, "What's wrong, what did you see?"

Going through each article in the paper would take too long seeing as John was upset now. And reading the article when he finally found it would be too late. John wasn't always very open with information, especially about himself, but Sherlock found it easy to read John by now (most of the time). If John would just turn around and talk to him Sherlock was certain he could fix this.

"Not now, Sherlock," John snapped shortly. He pulled his mobile from the right pocket of his jacket and seconds later it started buzzing in his hand.

John looked dubiously down at the mobile as it continued making noise and vibrating. "Blocked number, that's odd."

"Are you going to answer it?" Sherlock asked standing up and following John's footsteps over to where he was standing. "It's not a number in your contacts, or a friend or acquaintance, and its not likely a client would use a blocked number to contact a detective for advice. Therefore-"

John glanced up at him for just a second before looking back at his mobile. "I'm going to answer it Sherlock. And I don't want you to listen in."

"John-"

John pressed the button to answer the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "John Watson," he answered primly.

"Little Johnny Watson, all growed up," a deep, obviously electronically disguised voice spoke. No one in real life sounded like that, or not anyone who wasn't on television. "How good it is to hear your voice."

"Who is this?" John demanded in the best remnant of his captain's voice. He didn't scare easily, not anymore thanks both to his time in the military and Sherlock, but after his and Sherlock's encounter with Moriarty he wasn't taking chances. "What do you want with me?"

The deep electronically disguised voice laughed at him. "Have you read today's paper? There's one article you might be… personally invested in."

John glanced over at the paper still lying innocently on the table. "You mean the story about what happened to Mark? Did you have something to do with that? Is that why you're calling?"

"So many questions Johnny," the voice laughed strangely. "How'd you like the article? So sad the poor boy had to die." The voice hummed, reminding John of Moriarty for a moment- not a nice reminder. "He had years of freedom while we all rotted away in prison. I know he didn't expect me, scared him nearly to death. And then, when he did die… he begged me to spare him."

"You killed him didn't you, you killed Mark. Why would you-" Reason broke through the fog of anger clouding his thoughts about how Mark had been murdered and there was absolutely nothing he could do. But one thing the murderer had said nagged at him, he wasn't sure why but… oh. Oh shit.

"You're one of them, one of the ring we put away,"John breathed quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Dammit, you were all supposed to be put away for life. We were supposed to never have anything to do with you again. You were gone, we were all free."

"For a few years," the voice replied calmly. "Just long enough to make you all comfortable and think you were safe. Then, we worked the system."

"You're lying!" John protested desperately. His voice betrayed him as it shook slightly. "All of you were given a life sentence. There's no way you could ever get out."

"In a perfect world Johnny," the person laughed. "But this world isn't even close to perfect. I got out; and I'm just the first. We'll all get out soon and we'll come after you. All of you. Mark was just the first." There was a smile audible in the voice as it hissed, "Better watch your back Johnny."

Then the phone started beeping in his ear. The person had hung up.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," John cursed rapidly under his breath as he jammed his mobile back into his pocket. It hadn't just been him worrying too much or overthinking things. He and Harry were in actual danger, danger that Mark had already died because of. And maybe even Chris since John hadn't heard from him again.

But right now John needed to focus on protecting himself and his sister.

He turned and went as fast as he could out of the living room and up the stairs to his own room. There was no telling how long he and Harry had before the caller appeared and followed through on his threat. They needed to take advantage of the time they had before that happened. So he needed to leave Baker Street (and Sherlock) and get to Harry.

John pulled his duffel bag out from under the bed and placed it on top of the neatly made covers. He packed only the things he would need for a few days stay, John didn't anticipate this taking any longer.

Once he had everything he thought he'd need, except for the gun tucked handily into his waistband, John zipped the bag closed and slung it over his shoulder.

On his way back downstairs John made sure to close his door before he hurried down to stop on the landing. Not for the first time John thought about how grateful he was to Sherlock for helping him get rid of the limp he'd been afraid he would have for the rest of his life. There was nothing like being able to run and climb stairs and actually walk on both of his legs.

He owed it to Sherlock, the man who had changed his life, to protect him.

As if John's thoughts had summoned him, Sherlock appeared in the doorway just across from him. He was the picture of nonchalance, not quite leaning against the frame. But John saw how Sherlock tensed and his mouth twisted when he noticed the bag hanging off John's shoulder.

"You're leaving again," Sherlock observed, startling John because he never stated the obvious. And Sherlock so rarely looked.. conflicted like this. "Whoever called you as a blocked number made you feel unsafe enough that you're leaving Baker Street, the one place you feel the safest, to go somewhere else. Somewhere you think you're needed more."

Sherlock's pale eyes narrowed piercingly for several seconds before he sighed. "Your sisters John? That ended so well the last time you visited."

John adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder, his good shoulder, and cocked his head at Sherlock. "We're both in danger Sherlock, and I owe it to Harry to help keep her safe. I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself, and I can also protect my sister. So of course I'm going over to hers. And nothing," John pointed a finger at Sherlock, "you say is going to convince me to do otherwise."

Sherlock appeared to think this over, actually trying to come up with ideas to keep John at Baker Street. John stood and let him; and was surprised when Sherlock opened his mouth to proclaim confidently, "You're safer here. Baker Street is the safest place you can be. Obviously you should stay here. And," he trailed off then continued just a touch slower, "your sister can as well."

That was a difficult concession for Sherlock seeing how little Sherlock and Harry liked each other, despite them having never met. John appreciated Sherlock offering, he really did. But Sherlock would be safer here on his own and away from John while John and Harry holed up at her place. John refused to put anyone in needless danger. Especially Sherlock.

"Thanks Sherlock, really," John told him warmly, smiling a little. "But I'm going over to Harry's, and you need to stay here. It'll just be a few days then I'll be back. The days will fly by before you know it." He clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder for a moment then let his arm fall. "See you later."

Sherlock waited until John was on the second stair from the bottom then he called, "Look after yourself, John."

John turned back once he was on solid footing in the entryway. He raised a hand to Sherlock and promised, "See you in a few days." Then John turned again and walked to the front door, stepping out onto the pavement.

~~

As soon as the door closed behind John, Sherlock spun on his heel and raced back into the living room. The paper was still sitting abandoned on the table where they'd left it, so Sherlock went and picked it up.

He started scanning through the articles, finding page after page of nothing. Nothing relevant to what was happening with John.  Then finally, on the last page of the news section, a place he rarely looked, was the article he was looking for and that had so upset John.

It was under the local news on the page facing the obituaries and in its entirety was barely two paragraphs of text squeezed to fit into the space. Most people would have overlooked it, but John was very thorough in his daily routine of reading the paper.

It took Sherlock barely a minute to read through the article, reading about the death that had befallen one of John's old friends. According to the writer the police had ruled it as an accidental overdose. The man had been acting strangely, paranoid according to one close friend, and believed someone was after him. Among his friends it was a well-known secret he was a frequent drug user; therefore the conclusion was he had taken some to calm down but had accidentally taken too much. It was a sad and avoidable fate but it had been the man's own doing.

Sherlock ignored the last few lines about a memorial fund and date of the funeral. Still holding onto the paper he dropped down on the sofa and started to think everything over.

The name of the supposed suicide overdose victim was Mark, the same name of the person who had left the comment on John's blog. It was obvious now John had really known him seeing how familiarily they addressed each other and the way John had reacted so severely to news of his death.

John had also received a call from a ‘Chris,' another old friend evidence suggested, who had also mentioned danger and someone coming after them. He'd even warned John to be careful and watch himself. Yet afterwards John had pretended not to be alarmed but rung his sister right away.

So not only were John, ‘Chris', and ‘Mark' targets, but also Harry. And someone, or someones, was after the four of them. One of the four had already turned up dead by supposedly his own hand, but likely the police had missed something obvious as they often did. And if the murderer continued the same way, ‘Chris' would soon or possibly already be found dead as well.

Chris was only important because he was important to John and possibly the next victim. But Sherlock would do absolutely everything in his power to stop John befalling the same fate.

The article mentioned the findings of the police, and likely whoever had examined the body, but hadn't divulged the specific officer in charge of the case.

Sherlock opened his eyes and pulled his phone from his pocket. He'd been unable to find anything from his previous research, and he'd already learned everything he could from the article. The place to start investigating this time was with the police.

Unlocking his mobile Sherlock opened his contact list and scrolled down to Lestrade's name. He pressed ‘call' then held the phone to his ear.

As soon as the phone clicked over but before Lestrade could speak, Sherlock greeted, "Detective Inspector."

"Sherlock," Lestrade greeted with a quiet groan. He didn't sound very excited to hear from Sherlock, and there was a tired edge to his voice that always appeared when he went days without sleep. "Listen Sherlock, I don't have anything for you. I promise I'll contact you as soon as I need you. But right now we're busy with something else."

"I'm not calling for a case, Lestrade," Sherlock said dismissively. "I need you to look into something for me."

Sherlock waited patiently through the silence as Lestrade considered. "You, want me to do you a favor?" He finally asked, sounding astonished.

"I suppose it could be considered a favor," Sherlock said slowly. "After all I've done to help you solve cases, I think you owe me."

"Maybe," Lestrade agreed slowly. "But it really depends on what you're asking for. Nothing illegal. At all."

Of course Lestrade felt compelled to say that as a Detective Inspector. He needed to feel he was upholding the law. But Lestrade would still likely agree to help him. "I need you to send me details about a case the police are looking into. And give me the name of the officer in charge."

"Sherlock, I can't just hand over details about any one case that interests you. I'm not technically supposed to even let you help on the cases I do call you in for." Lestrade hissed over the speaker at him. As if his superiors were bothering to listen in on this conversation.

"Relax Lestrade, I'm not going to make you do anything illegal," Sherlock reassured calmly as he leaned over to see the paper better. "There's a two paragraph article on the last page of the paper today. An overdose staged as a suicide of a man by the name of Mark… Webber."

"Doesn't sound like one you'd be interested in," Lestrade said over the sound of the keys on his ancient keyboard clacking. "Too boring for you. What caught your eye?"

Sherlock hummed quietly to himself. "The man was a friend of John's; a rather close one considering how upset John became at the news."

"Christ; poor man. Tell him I'm sorry, no one should find out like that," Lestrade offered his condolences like the good man he was.

Sherlock didn't completely understand how it had happened, but Lestrade and John had become close. Well-acquainted enough to go out for drinks every week or so and talk about… whatever ‘mates' talked about over alcohol.

"Here we are," Lestrade announced after a few clicks of his mouse. "It was a local case, nothing to do with us. The forensics team found drugs stashed around his flat, and a used needle near his body. There were threatening notes on slips of paper on his coffee table, and it looked like he'd gone to extreme lengths to booby trap all the entrances to his flat. Seems like he was afraid of someone getting in."

"Obviously whoever sent him those notes was a serious threat," Sherlock mused, tapping his fingers together. "Or so the man believed. What else did the team find?"

"Mm, not much," Lestrade admitted, pausing as he read through the rest of the report. "No sign of any intruder or anyone else in the flat. The officer ruled it a suicide between that and the drugs."

"Idiot," Sherlock exhaled on a huff. "They even saw the notes but dismissed them over the more obvious presence of the drugs. The officer was a complete imbecile; he saw what he wanted to."

"So it wasn't a suicide then? What do you think really happened?" Lestrade asked with the same resigned eagerness he used just before Sherlock explained everything and tied up the case neatly for him. Sherlock could picture the drooped shoulders and him rubbing at his forehead.

"The writer of the notes found him and followed through on the threats. He killed the man but was smart and knew enough about his victim to stage it as an overdose. The police would see it as a desperate act of a desperate man, driven to suicide by his paranoia and looming death. They wouldn't look any closer." After his lengthy, rushed explanation Sherlock took a breath then admitted, "This one's smart Lestrade."

"Wonderful, that's just what I wanted to hear," the Detective Inspector said with a definite lack of enthusiasm. "Do you think this is just a one-off or is this the start of serial killings?"

Sherlock thought about it for several seconds but only came up lacking. Not enough evidence. "The only way to answer that question is to figure out if the person sent any other threatening notes. It's possible he has other victims planned. You need to find and secure any potential victims."

There was something nagging at him, a snatch of overheard conversation he needed to remember. An important point about threats, and victims…

Conversation; calls; phones… John.

"Lestrade, can you look up John's call history on his mobile?" Sherlock asked eagerly; he knew he was on to something.

"Can't you look for yourself? You've borrowed John's mobile enough times. Get it and look at it on your own," Lestrade said crossly, making Sherlock wonder what other tall tales John had been telling the Detective Inspector.

"John's left for his sisters," Sherlock said not at all sulkily. "He thought it better if he was with her."

"Right, so it wasn't because you two had a fight," Lestrade commented rather sarcastically, and needlessly, Sherlock thought.

"Will you look it up or not?" Sherlock snapped.

"Sorry, no," Lestrade answered firmly. "I can't just look at someone's phone records that easily, Sherlock. And I also don't want to invade John's privacy like that. But, I will let you ask for something else."

"But Lestrade-" Sherlock started to protest, sure he could make the man see things his way, see how important this was.

"No Sherlock," Lestrade said firmly again. "What else can I do for you?"

There was one other thing Sherlock could think of where Lestrade's access to police records would be helpful. "Search in your records for these two names together: John Watson and Mark Webber. You may have to extend your search back a decade or two ago."

"Decade?" Lestrade protested over the clacking sound of his keyboard. "I'm not sure we have records for most cases from that long ago."

"Just look, Lestrade," Sherlock insisted impatiently. "You need to find something that links the two men together. There might also be record of a ‘Chris' something as well. Seeing how aggressive the threats were, and now you have a confirmed death, its likely they were involved in a police case together. Something violent or important."

That forgotten tidbit of information was nagging at him again. He had read something about John, a Mark, and a Chris, being involved in something. Not anything recently, but when they were young… as children.

"Oh," Sherlock breathed as he finally made the connection between the threats, murder, and police case with the old articles and photographs he'd found in the box in John's room. It really shouldn't have taken him so long, but he had only remembered the mention of John's name in the article not the two other boys. "The criminal ring."

Lestrade spoke in his ear again, "This might be something. They didn't keep the best records decades ago, most of its still on paper, but something did come up with the three names. Looks like back when they were kids they were playing around and happened on a crime ring in the middle of a deal. They helped the police arrest most of the ring and identified them so the police could sentence them. The boys were hailed as local heroes." Several more clicks of his mouse, "that's about it, there's not much more here."

"There's your link between the three boys, Detective Inspector," Sherlock advised, standing up and walking across the room. "They were all part of taking down the criminals. And now two decades later someone involved is coming after the three of tem, bent on revenge. They're not having much trouble finding and hunting down their intended victims. They've waited this long, so they're patient and very determined. The person we're looking for is personally invested in all of this; likely related to one of the criminals who was put away."

"Or actually one of the criminals," Lestrade broke in abruptly, voice low and hurried. "I just looked up the names of the criminals put away. They were all given a double sentence for criminal activity plus more for possession and intent to sell. The ring leader had an even heavier sentence, so its definitely not him. But one of the others just recently appealed his sentence, and he was given time off for good behavior. It doesn't say here, but its possible he was let out for his appeal."

"And allowed to roam the streets with the rest of the public unaware," Sherlock commented disgustedly. "The brilliance of our justice system. A criminal is free to threaten good citizens just because he knows enough to question and be a model prisoner."

"I don't like it either, Sherlock," Lestrade told him, his chair squeaking as he leaned back. "I'm just telling you what the report says. And apparently one of the criminals from the ring John and his friends locked away is out free in public. And while he's out, he's going after John and the other two boys. Well, the other one now."

John had been right then, he was definitely in danger and from a very real threat; yet the idiot had decided to go to his sisters unprotected flat rather than holing up safely at Baker Street. Well now they knew just what the threat actually was, Sherlock could call John and tell him exactly what was happening and how he was in danger. And John would see that he needed to come back to Baker Street where Sherlock could help keep him safe; and maybe, if he had to, John could bring his sister along.

"See if you can find where this criminal is now, and where he's gone recently. I'm going to call John," Sherlock instructed then he hung up on the Detective Inspector before he wasted any more time.

He returned to the contacts list in his mobile and selected John's name this time. The call connected and began to ring as Sherlock brought the phone to his ear. Sherlock waited for John to pick up, listening to it ring again and again.

Doubt crept into his mind for a very brief second, making him wonder if John would even answer. John had left Baker Street on good terms, even joking with him. But what if John was too preoccupied with his sister to answer. Or if he was too late and something had happened to John?

Then someone picked up and John answered, his voice dripping with exhaustion, "Hello? Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"You need to come back to Baker Street." Sherlock commanded as evenly as he could.

"What? No," John argued over a laugh. "I know you're worried about me, but I'm fine Sherlock. I'm happy you called me, I really am. But I'm not coming back to Baker Street."

Sherlock sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. John could be so stubborn sometimes. "You're at your sisters already; How is that going?"

"Wonderful," John said too quickly then sighed. "At least she's not drinking anymore like she promised. But we don't get on very well usually, and right now we're both too worked up. Over whatever this threat is."

"It is real and very dangerous, John," Sherlock told him in his most convincing way. "Lestrade did some research when I called him. He found the case linking you and the dead man in the Yards old archive files. We both think that is why the three of you are being threatened and hunted. Someone connected with what happened is the one after you and your sister. They're seeking revenge on the people who put them in prison."

"What? That's not possible, Sherlock. I-" John abruptly stopped his protests and was silent for several long seconds. When he spoke again John was whispering loudly. "You know I don't like talking about this Sherlock. I've done my best to forget it all. But I do know that all of them are still in prison and will be for a very long time."

"I regret to have to tell you this, John, but not all the criminals are still locked away," Sherlock said regretful and honest. He didn't like putting John in danger or him being in danger. But John was practical and didn't like not knowing things. And with the two of them working on this together they could protect each other and finish this themselves. Preferably with no more bodies. "Lestrade found out one was released early on appeal and for good behavior. He has an officer shadowing him but he's free to roam the city."

"That's ridiculous!" John hissed angrily through the phone. "They should never be released at all. The police said they had a completely solid case!"

"Obviously not. Or not for this criminal in particular," Sherlock replied darkly. "That's why you have to come back to Baker Street. You'll be safer here and you'll be protected."

"I already told you Sherlock-"

"Your sisters isn't safe John. There isn't any perfect way to secure her building, and I doubt there's enough security. We don't have enough eyes to watch for anyone suspicious and there's too many people around," Sherlock insisted all in a rush, trying to convince John to just see. "It's safe here, we can control everything we need to."

"Sherlock, I know you're worried about me and I appreciate that, I really do. But I'm perfectly safe here. I know what I'm doing," John insisted at a normal level. But Sherlock was glad to hear he didn't sound quite as convinced.

"I'm perfectly confident in your abilities, John. I know you know what you're doing," Sherlock reassured because he really did. He didn't have confidence in anyone more than in John. "But your sisters isn't the right place to do this, John. If we are going to protect you and your sister it's best to do it somewhere we're both familiar with. There's nowhere either of us know as well as Baker Street. We can control the situation here. Especially if we need to draw the person out."

"You think we'll need to draw the person out? I thought we were just staying safe and keeping our heads down." John inquired, sounding confused but intrigued.

"In theory yes," Sherlock said. "Lestrade told me he would try to locate him, find out where he's been and what he's been doing. And as police he can put out a search. But even if we do find where they are that doesn't necessarily mean the police can take them in. Technicalities and all. So we may need to have to draw the person out, force them to come after you."

"What? Sherlock-"

"That's why we need to do this here, John. Baker Street is safe and the perfect place to make this happen."  Sherlock said, trying to convince him. "Come back here and we can plan this all out. And, I suppose, your sister can come with us."

"Oh thanks," John replied with an easy laugh. "Harry will love to hear that."

Sherlock straightened quickly. "You're coming back then?"

John sighed noisily, the sound echoing over the speaker. "I agree that Baker Street would be safer than my sisters place. And you have the right idea about what we should do, but I'm not putting Mrs. Hudson in danger. She has nothing to do with this and I refuse to let her be hurt because of me."

Sherlock realized guiltily he hadn't even thought about Mrs. Hudson in all of this. He was just as adamant about not putting her in danger as John was. Which meant John was right, they couldn't do this in Baker Street. But Harry's place wasn't safe either. So what place could they possibly use that would work as well as Baker Street?

There was one obvious place that suited their needs, but Sherlock didn't want to use it unless they absolutely had to. But the longer he tried to think of anywhere else they could go, it seemed more like the only option available to them.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" John yelled and finally Sherlock snapped back to the present to answer, "What?"

"I said, do you have any other ideas?" John said with a tone that meant he'd had to repeat himself more than once.

"Possibly one, at least," Sherlock replied, a little distracted with planning how he could pull this off. "You're at your sisters still?"

"Yes, we're both inhabiting the same place at least. We haven't managed to stay in the same room for more than an hour yet." John said a little tiredly. He didn't like dealing with his sister more than he had to and this was probably why. Sherlock thought that both he and John weren't very good at relations with their siblings.

"Excellent, stay there. I'll be over as soon as I can," Sherlock said, standing up and walking over to where he'd left his coat by the door. "Make sure both you and your sister are ready. But don't bring anything you don't absolutely need, we don't need any excess baggage."

"So you've thought of somewhere?" John asked sounding hopeful. "Where did you think of?"

"Just be ready, John," Sherlock said then hung up on whatever John would say next. He pulled on his coat and opened a new text message to Lestrade.

John, his sister, and I are going to go stay somewhere. I'll text you the address later. SH.

As he slid his phone back into his pocket it chimed with what was obviously a confused reply from Lestrade. Sherlock ignored it, turning towards his room to collect only the essentials of what he'd need.

5.

Sherlock stepped out the front door of Baker Street and walked towards the road, raising his hand to flag down a cab.

The first one he saw coming slowed and pulled over to the curb right in front of him. Sherlock walked up to it and pulled open the back door. He slid in, gave the cabbie the address of John's sisters place, and sat back as the vehicle pulled into traffic.

It was a rather short journey to John's sisters. As soon as the cab slowed and came to a stop in front of John's sisters building, Sherlock pushed open the door.

He told the cabbie to wait as he climbed out of the cab; then crossed the pavement to the buildings front entrance. As he walked Sherlock glanced around for any suspicious characters, but there were only ordinary pedestrians going about daily routines. Perhaps the free-roaming criminal hadn't found John's sisters residence yet.

Sherlock leaned on the doorbell, pressing it three times in quick succession. He mentally counted as a minute went by and pressed it three times again.

Another minute passed and Sherlock was about to press the bell again when he heard the lock being undone on the other side of the door. He rocked on his heels and impatiently waited for the knob to turn and the door open wide.

John's sister stood on the other side, one hand still on the doorknob. She blinked at him then shifted her weight as she relaxed. "Oh, it's you."

"Hello Harriet," Sherlock greeted as pleasantly as he could manage without forcing a smile. "Where is John?"

"Upstairs, packing." She told him, starting a habit of speaking in as few words as possible. "He wouldn't tell me where you're taking us."

"He doesn't know," Sherlock said. He stood on the step waiting for her to invite him in, or for her to call John down.

But seconds passed and she did neither. So they were left standing in silence avoiding any conversation at all.

Finally, finally, John's voice called down from above, "Harry? I'm almost done. I haven't heard from Sherlock but he should be here soon."

"He's already here!" Harriet called over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of Sherlock.

"What?" John appeared at the top of the stairs holding an overnight bag in each hand. "Sherlock," he exclaimed looking surprised to see him. "You're here."

"Yes, I am," Sherlock replied dryly. He glanced at the bags in John's hands. "Are you ready? We should be going."

"You just got here," Harriet interjected, frowning at him. "What's the rush?"

Sherlock glanced briefly at her. "A severe lack of time afforded to us," he told her briskly before returning his gaze to John. "We need to leave."

"All right." John agreed. He started coming down the stairs, struggling a little carrying the bags.

Sherlock stepped over the threshold and met John halfway up the stairs. He took one of the bags, the one he judged to be John's, then walked with John back down to Harriet.

"You left the cab waiting?" Harriet asked, looking out at the cab sitting by the curb.

"Easier than waving down another one," John commented, setting the bag down by his feet with a soft thud. "At least for us common folk," he added with a small smile at Sherlock.

Sherlock met his smile with one of his own. "Indeed."

He adjusted his grip on the bag he was holding and stepped towards the door. "We'll be in the cab if you wish to lock up, Harriet."

"Oh, yeah. Sure," John's sister agreed, slipping a hand into one pocket.

Sherlock turned and walked to the door then back outside. With a quick sideways glance he saw John just a step behind him, carrying the other bag.

John followed him to the cab and pulled the back door open before Sherlock could. "Thanks for this, Sherlock. I mean it."

"Of course," Sherlock replied, keeping his voice even. John didn't really have to thank him for this, he would have done it anyway. But… the thanks was appreciated.

John took the bag from him and put it in the back of the cab. "But you could call her Harry, you know."

"Harriet is just as excellent a name as Harry," Sherlock rejoined. "It also has the added benefit of being a distinctly feminine name."

John laughed, obviously understanding Sherlock's allusion to when he'd mistaken John's sister for his brother. "True. And maybe also because it annoys her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock said as John put the second bag next to the first inside the cab.

Harriet came over to them, a purse slung over her shoulder and her keys jangling from her hand. "Right, we all ready?"

"I think so now, yes," Sherlock replied. He looked over at John who nodded at him.

"Great," Harriet said; then she walked between them and climbed into the cab first.

Sherlock and John shared a look then John smiled slightly at him and climbed inside after his sister.

As he did Sherlock cast a quick glance up and down the pavement. Seeing nothing, he followed them in and slammed the door shut.

He leaned forward, gave the address to the cabbie then sat back. Sherlock glanced over at John and his sister. John was watching him with a curious, expectant look on his face but Harriet was pressed against the side of the cab staring out the window.

Sherlock remained silent and waited for John to speak since it was inevitable John would give in to his curiosity and ask the question on his mind. It only took a few lights and turns before John finally cleared his throat and asked, "Well, where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere you'll be protected but where we can also defend ourselves if need be." Sherlock answered, being purposefully vague despite how he knew John didn't like it.

John was nodding slowly. "All right. But not Baker Street?"

"No, not Baker Street," Sherlock confirmed.

That appeared to be enough for John. He nodded once again then sat back in his seat, settling in for the ride.

They passed the rest of the time in silence, despite it not being an overly long drive. And the cabbie was actually taking a rather straightforward route to the address.

Before long they were pulling up outside a large multi-story brick house with an iron fence and good sized yard in front. As soon as the cab stopped Sherlock climbed out then moved aside so John and Harriet could get out to stand on the pavement next to him. While John pulled the two bags from where they'd been on the floor, Sherlock flipped the collar of his coat up and pulled out his wallet. He paid the cabbie, adding a little extra for getting them here so quickly, then pushed the back door closed.

The cabbie thanked him and sped off down the street. Sherlock dropped his wallet back into his pocket and turned to John and Harriet.

Harriet was staring at the house, eyes wide and her mouth gaping a little. John had the two bags sitting at his feet and was looking at the house with his head tilted to the side, thoughtful.

"Shall we go in?" Sherlock suggested, reaching over to pick up both bags. He carried them and walked over to the iron gate to the house, certain John and Harriet were following.

Sherlock had to set one of the bags down to get to the keys he'd put in his pocket before leaving Baker Street. He singled out the one for the front gate and slid it in, turning it in the lock. The gate unlocked with a rather loud metal ‘clunk.' Apparently no one had been here very recently.

He pulled the key out again and gently pushed the gate open. It swung easily on its hinges, revealing the short paved walk to the front door. The place was rather picturesque Sherlock admitted grudgingly. It had been well chosen.

Sherlock went to pick the bag up again, only to realize it was gone. He looked up and over to see John had the bag now slung over his shoulder.

John smiled what was probably supposed to be reassuringly then nodded his head at the house.

Sherlock nodded, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and started down the walk. He heard John and Harriet's footsteps following behind him and a metal clang as the gate was shut.

Their small procession continued to the front door then stopped in a small group on the step. Sherlock took the keys out again and selected the one for the front door. The system for this door was more complicated, with one key for the deadbolt and one for the lock itself.

He started with the key for the deadbolt, sliding it in and turning it until he heard the lock click. Then Sherlock picked the key for the lock and slid it in, gripping the knob with his other hand. As soon as he undid the lock Sherlock turned the knob and pushed open the door.

A loud electronic beeping echoed around them, high and extremely annoying.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Sherlock told John and Harriet over the noise. "I'll be right back." He set down the bag then went off to disable the alarm.

6.

John and Harry stood close together in the extravagant entryway, staring at the sprawling space around them.

Finally Harry spoke, whispering in the grandness of the room, "Seriously John? He has keys to a place like this and he's flatsharing with you?"

John wasn't quite comfortable admitting that he'd been thinking nearly the same thing. "This isn't his, Harry. He's never mentioned it and I've never been here."

Harry gave him a knowing look. "Doesn't mean it isn't his, John."

"He'd never live in a place like this," John hissed back in Sherlock's defense. He couldn't picture Sherlock in a place like this. It was too… extravagant, for all of Sherlock's entitlement.

"It's not Baker Street," Harry agreed, still staring around them.

The awful beeping finally stopped with one last long sound and John breathed a sigh of relief. A few seconds later Sherlock reappeared from one of the doorways further down the hall.

"A bit overly dramatic security measure, but effective," Sherlock commented as he walked towards them. "There also locks on every window, a separate system for the back door, cameras outside with no hidden areas, and the second storey is only accessible from the inside."

"Just a bit dramatic," John agreed, amused. Then he realized in a rush as it was suddenly obvious, "This is Mycroft's place, isn't it?"

Sherlock smiled at him, obviously proud that John had worked it out. "Yes. One of his safe houses. That's why I thought this place would work well for our requirements. For once Mycroft's paranoia and dramatic security measures will come in handy."

"Mycroft?" Harry asked, her attention refocused from gaping at the house around them. "Who's Mycroft?"

"My brother." Sherlock said shortly with all the scorn he usually added when talking about his brother. He quickly turned on his heel and started walking further into the house. "I may as well show you around seeing as its ridiculously easy to get lost in this place. I don't know how Mycroft stands it."

"Does he come here a lot then? Your brother?" Harry asked from next to John as they followed Sherlock down the hallway.

"Not very often, no. He prefers to stay at his primary residence," Sherlock answered, leading them into the kitchen in the back of the house.

"So this is usually empty?" John asked, looking around. "Seems like a shame."

"Mm," Sherlock said, not really answering. He stepped into the kitchen, shoes squeaking a little on the linoleum floor. "There should be a kettle somewhere if you want to make tea John."

"You're going to make John make tea?" Harry asked incredulously, eyes boring into the back of Sherlock's head.

Sherlock turned his head a little to look at her as he rounded the center island. "I'm not going to make your brother do anything. John finds the act of making tea relaxing, and also enjoys drinking it, so I thought I would point out the existence of a kettle in this kitchen."

John did his very best not to grin outright at Sherlock. It was such a Sherlock thing to say and showed just how well Sherlock knew him and thought about his well-being. Even with the added downside of annoying his sister. And Sherlock was right, he did find making tea relaxing.

"I'll find it for us. There's probably some tea somewhere too," John announced, walking forward. He went around the island the opposite way from Sherlock and started searching the cupboards near the stove.

Sherlock opened one of the upper cupboards and a triumphant sound escaped his lips. "I found the tea," he said, taking down two different boxes of tea.

"Great. I'm sure the kettle's somewhere," John replied and resumed his search of the cupboards for the elusive kettle. He glanced over at Harry who was leaning against the wall near the door, watching them with a frown.

He finally found the kettle down with the pots and pans. John pulled it out and walked over to the sink. He turned on the water and waited as the kettle filled.

"If you're all right with the tea, I have a call I need to make," Sherlock said, pulling his mobile from his pocket and flipped it in his hand.

John nodded his permission. "We'll be all right. The tea will be ready when you come back," he promised.

"Excellent," Sherlock replied with a smile. He turned and walked back around the island to the doorway where Harry was still hovering. Sherlock nodded at her then stepped out into the hallway.

~~

Sherlock went down the hallway until he was near the front door. He unlocked his mobile and scrolled down to his brothers number. After a quick glance back towards the kitchen he selected the number and raised it to his ear.

The phone rang twice before it clicked over and Mycroft answered, "Sherlock. How wonderful to hear from you."

"Mycroft," Sherlock greeted in the same tone. "How necessary to talk to you."

"I expect you're the reason I just received a call from my security about an alarm going off in one of my safe houses?" Mycroft asked sounding completely calm.

"Yes, John and Harriet needed somewhere to stay. I didn't think you would mind us using this place considering you're never here." Sherlock answered. "You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all. Not for Doctor Watson and his sister." Mycroft said. "Is Baker Street not safe? My cameras haven't caught any suspicious activity or anything out of the ordinary."

"Have you been in contact with the Detective Inspector?" Sherlock asked instead of answering his brothers question.

"Lestrade? No, not recently. Is there something I need to know about Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, his voice only just betraying his worry.

"John and his sister are in danger. There's a violent criminal coming after them. They've both already received threats." Sherlock explained. He didn't like bringing Mycroft in on this, but if he wanted to keep John, and his sister, safe then Mycroft could be of help.

"Do you know who it is exactly?" Mycroft asked, sounding like he was paying very close attention now. "I can review the footage from Baker Street, and send someone to watch in front of the safe house."

"That would be appreciated," Sherlock replied between gritted teeth. He didn't have to like admitting he needed Mycroft's help. "Lestrade can send you a picture of what the person looks like. See if you recognize him on any footage from Baker Street, or see any sign of anyone following John. I've reset the security system here, and everything is locked. We'll know if anyone gets in."

"All right, I'll let you know," Mycroft agreed and Sherlock heard him start typing. "But Sherlock, you know you can't stay there indefinitely. Doctor Watson and his sister can't hide forever."

"I know that Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. "I have a plan."

"Do you?" Mycroft asked curiously.

Sherlock let the silence reign for nearly a minute before he admitted grudgingly, "I'm working on one."

"Will Doctor Watson and his sister mind you're using them as bait for your trap?" Mycroft asked him knowingly. "I expect Doctor Watson won't be very happy."

"It's true though," Sherlock said, rubbing at his head in frustration. "They can't hide forever. Wouldn't it be better if we drew the person out now and get everything over with right away?"

"Probably, yes. But I would speak with Doctor Watson about it first," Mycroft suggested, and Sherlock decided it was good advice he should probably actually take.

"All right. Talk with Lestrade and ask him to have officers ready in case we need them." Sherlock requested. "It's possible they followed me from Baker Street and then all of us from Harriet's house. We might not have long."

"I think you might be right," Mycroft agreed, his voice taking on a worried note. "I've been looking through the footage from Baker Street; and unless I'm mistaken, the same car has been sitting outside of Two Hundred and Twenty One B for several days."

Sherlock quickly went into the front sitting room and glanced out at the street through the curtains on the window. "What kind of car?" He asked, glancing up and down the street at the few cars parked along the road.

"Black, the license plate is illegible from any angle I have." Mycroft described as he watched the footage. "It appears to be a car almost identical to the ones I frequently use."

"Ah yes, your black cars for all your necessary kidnapping purposes," Sherlock quipped. Then he fell quiet, looking carefully out the window at a black car a few houses down he could only see the front of.

"Sherlock?"

"Have you already sent someone to watch the house?" Sherlock asked quickly, worrying as his heart started beating faster.

"I've contacted someone yes, but they shouldn't have arrived yet. Why?" Mycroft asked, sounding slightly alarmed without giving into panic.

"There's a car several houses down on the other side of the road. It's too far away to tell if anyone's inside but I didn't see it when we arrived." Sherlock told his brother as he moved to the  next window to see if it offered a better view of the car.

A tinny chime came from the other end of the phone. "Ah, Lestrade's just sent me a picture of the suspect. Forwarding it to you now."

Sherlock removed the phone from his ear and held it out to where he could look at the screen. A slightly grainy picture of a not very nice looking man appeared. "That's the suspect, the criminal after John and Harriet? He doesn't look pleasant."

"According to Lestrade, yes. And be careful Sherlock, he has a rather violent history. Including assault and death threats." Mycroft warned, acting his part as an older brother. "Confront him with great caution."

"Don't worry Mycroft," Sherlock replied airily. "John has his gun. And we're both perfectly capable of defending ourselves."

"Despite what you might think, that doesn't alter my worry at all," Mycroft told him seriously. "Be careful Sherlock, promise."

"Yes, yes Mycroft. Don't forget to have Lestrade's and your men ready. I'll set the system so there's only way to enter," Sherlock reassured and reminded his brother. "We'll be fine. John and I know what we're doing."

"I'm sure you do," Mycroft agreed. "All the same."

Then, having the last word, Mycroft rung off.

Sherlocked sighed and ended the call. He dropped the phone back into his pocket and went off to reset Mycroft's high-end security system. After he fiddled with it and experimented a little, it ended up being rather simple to set the system so entrance was only allowed through the front door. All the other windows, and the back door, were permanently locked.

Satisfied, Sherlock returned to the sitting room in the front of the house. He glanced out of the window again, making sure he wouldn't be seen. The black car was still sitting there, and there was no sign of anyone nearby. In fact the street and pavement was strangely absent of people.

It seemed like they would find themselves in danger sooner rather than later then.

Sherlock pulled the curtain closed again and rushed out of the room and back along the hallway. He stepped into the kitchen just as John was pouring steaming water into three mugs.

Harriet looked up first, greeting him with a nod. Then she quickly frowned looking concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"John, do you have your gun on you?" Sherlock asked, not going any further inside than the doorway.

John turned and set the kettle back on top of the stove. "Of course, I always do." He looked Sherlock over carefully. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's probably nothing," Sherlock said trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "But there's a car out on the road that's only been there for as long as we've been inside. It's several houses down so I can't see very well, but Mycroft said there's been a similar car on Baker Street."

"So we could have been followed." John realized on a low breath. "You could have been followed when you came to pick us up. They saw you leaving Baker Street and knew you could lead them to us."

"You mean the person after us could be outside?" Harriet said, not quite yelling. "We're locked in here and they're outside just waiting to burst in and kill us?"

"No one's getting killed today Harry," John reassured his sister, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. It seemed to help since her breathing slowed. "I have my gun and Sherlock and I can both defend ourselves."

Harriet turned to look irritably at him. "So what am I supposed to do while you two brave men risk your lives to protect all of us?" She asked, sarcasm evident in her voice. A family trait then. "Hide in the closet and wait?"

"Unless you want to act as bait, likely yes." Sherlock said before John could answer.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, glaring at him. Obviously Sherlock had said the wrong thing again.

"No, Harry, of course you don't have to hide in the closet," John reassured his sister, turning to her. "Just don't get in the way though, all right? Stay back and let us handle things."

Harriet crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm not a damsel in distress," she grumbled.

John rolled his eyes. "You are anything but a damsel in distress, Harry. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

Harriet appeared to think this over for a few seconds before conceding, "Fine. I'll stay out of your way."

"Thanks," John said, sounding actually grateful.

There was a sound like thunder from the front of the house as the front door was slammed open, banging and recoiling against the wall of the entryway. Immediately the alarm system starting beeping rapidly, protesting the front door being open.

"We need to turn the alarm off!" John shouted over the noise, pressing one hand against his ear.

"No, it'll disorient the intruder and if we don't turn it off security will be notified and consequently Mycroft as well." Sherlock told him, raising his voice as well. "We just need to keep the intruder occupied and disarm them until Lestrade and Mycroft's men arrive to arrest them."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Harriet demanded, leaning forward so she could hear better even as she plugged her ears.

"Johnny!" A man's voice, surprisingly light but still unhinged sounding, called down the hall from near the front door. "Where are you?" He sing-songed.

Sherlock and John both looked towards the front door. John took several steps towards the doorway to the hall but didn't peek around it. He reached back and pulled his shirt up, revealing the gun he'd tucked into his waistband.

"What are you doing?" Harriet hissed at her brother, pressing herself against the cupboard.

He glanced over at her and held a finger to his lips to quiet her. Then John looked over at Sherlock, silently asking his permission and to check on him. It was something one or the other of them always did when they were on stakeouts like this and about to apprehend a suspect. Sherlock was constantly amazed by just how well the two of them worked together. Things went so much better when Sherlock didn't try to do things himself.

Sherlock nodded back at John and waved him forward. Unlike John he didn't have a weapon on him, but he could easily make a satisfactory weapon from several objects at hand in the kitchen. He specifically eyed the small drawer between the stove and the pantry cupboard.