Fic: Hearts Under Fire (5/5)

Jun 10, 2012 09:46


Summary: Sherlock and John come under fire as Moriarty makes good on his threat to burn the heart out of Sherlock.


****

The first strike came via the Internet, of all places. John often found himself googling his and Sherlock's names, to see what the media were saying about them. Usually, all he found were the same old articles about recent cases, or sometimes the odd piece rehashing Kitty Riley's exposé, but nothing new or particularly meaningful. Just when he thought they might have been spared the worst of the media's two-faced interest, he found the blog entry that signalled the beginning of the end.

The truth about John Watson

John Watson has a certain look about him, a sort of rugged handsomeness that almost - almost - explains what a 29-year-old might see in him. He looks harmless enough, this former priest turned crime-fighter. He looks like a nice man, doesn't he? But does this view change when we learn that John Watson, Father Watson as he was then, met his current partner almost fourteen years ago. When Sherlock Holmes was only 15 years old. What about when we learn that Fr. Watson was the young boy's only confidante? Or that a 15-year-old spent the night alone with a 28-year-old man? Do we know the real John Watson at all? Is he really as harmless as he seems?

John was prepared to ignore the blog - after all, it was an anonymous writer and the rest of the blog was filled with entries revealing the 'truth' about this or that celebrity, all of it little more than thoughtless speculation or wild accusations. That was until he received a visit from Mycroft Holmes.

"Sherlock's not here," John announced as soon as he'd greeted Mycroft.

"I know," Mycroft said with a slight smile that disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm here to speak to you."

"To me?"

"Indeed," Mycroft said, holding out a file. John took it and opened it to find the first page containing a printout of the blog entry he had only just been reading. "You're familiar with this, I believe."

John felt a little sick and he met Mycroft's calm gaze with a slightly panicked look.

"Mycroft, I - I didn't abuse your brother."

"I know you didn't," Mycroft answered, instantly easing some of the tension in John's body. "You would have disappeared the very next day if you'd laid a single finger on him."

John wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort or scare him, but before he could decide, Mycroft continued. "Nevertheless, someone is obviously trying to suggest just that."

"It's just one stupid blogger," John said hesitantly.

"It's a very serious accusation," Mycroft said. "The police may have to get involved."

John sank into the nearest chair. "Who would accuse someone of something like that?"

"Who indeed?" Mycroft said meaningfully.

John looked up with a frown. "You think this is Moriarty's work?"

"I do. Which is exactly why I'm here."

"I don't follow."

"I've discussed this with Sherlock already. His objectivity could be called into question in this matter."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Try to find our anonymous blogger before things get too out of hand. We have the best computer technicians in the country tracing the IP address and trying to match it to a person. That should leave Sherlock free to continue his work stopping Moriarty."

"I... Thank you, Mycroft."

"You're welcome."

Mycroft moved to leave, but paused at the door, turning back towards John.

"I may never have made it plain, John, but I think you are the best thing that has ever happened to my brother."

John was stunned by such a statement coming from Mycroft and could only nod in thanks as the elder Holmes left.

****

Sherlock came home only a few hours later, angrier than John had ever seen him.

"Idiots!" he shouted almost as soon as he walked through the door.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked worriedly.

"I've just spoken to Lestrade. They've issued a warrant for your arrest."

"What?" John got out. "But...how?"

"Lestrade wouldn't say."

John ran a hand over his face. He could hardly believe this was happening.

"John," Sherlock said, taking hold of him by the arms. "I will stop him. And I will stop this ridiculous farce."

"I thought Mycroft was going to find the blogger," John murmured absently.

"It's gone beyond a simple blog now. Scotland Yard wouldn't be able to issue a warrant without more evidence than that."

"But what evidence?" John whispered desperately. "There is no evidence."

"John, I--" Sherlock cut himself off, glancing towards the window. "They're here."

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that maybe he'd just wake up to find this had all been a bad dream. Unfortunately, when he opened his eyes again, it was to the sight of Lestrade entering the room followed by two constables.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Hudson asked in a querulous tone. "Sherlock? John?"

"It's fine, Mrs. Hudson," John reassured her, glancing at Lestrade. "It's just a misunderstanding."

"John, I'm really sorry about this," Lestrade said. "It's just... procedure. We're going to have to take you to the station for questioning."

John nodded solemnly, and stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. One of the constables stepped forward with a pair of handcuffs and Sherlock let out an angry noise.

"Lestrade, that's hardly necessary, don't you think? He's not resisting."

The PC looked to Lestrade questioningly and Lestrade waved him away. Sherlock turned his attention back on John, looking lost and hurt.

"It'll be alright," John said with a weak smile. "I know you'll figure it out."

John could see Sherlock struggling with his emotions and he took a step forward as Sherlock turned his back on the room.

"I'm ready," John said, and Lestrade stepped up next to him, a hand hovering near his elbow as he was led out of the flat and down the seventeen steps, out into the street and into the waiting car.

Lestrade sat in the back with John and as soon as they were underway, he turned to John with a pained expression.

"I just want you to know, John, that I don't believe a word of it."

"Thank you."

"But it's not my case. Conflict of interests and all that. I'm here because I want this to go as smoothly as possible so we can clear this up and get you home."

"I appreciate it," John said genuinely.

Lestrade sighed and rubbed at his tired face. "I don't know who Sherlock's pissed off now, but this isn't a game anymore."

They fell silent and John watched unblinkingly as London passed him by in a blur.

****

Despite Lestrade's attempts to throw his weight around, John was still left in a holding cell for over an hour before the DI in charge of the case was available to interview him. He spent the hour in silent prayer, hoping that Sherlock - or Mycroft, or anyone - would get to the bottom of this and get him back home. When he was finally led along to the interview room, he was relieved to see Lestrade sitting next to a larger, chubbier man who introduced himself as DI Simmons.

"DI Lestrade has asked to observe this interview," Simmons explained with a glance at his colleague. "Is that okay with you?"

John nodded silently and the DI started the tape, going through the usual spiel that John had seen on every cop show ever broadcast.

"Now, Mr. Watson, we'd like to talk to you about Richard Brook."

"Who?"

Simmons frowned and glanced at Lestrade before continuing. "Is it true that in 1999 you were a priest at a small church in East London?"

"Yes. Briefly, before I joined the Army."

"And during that time, you helped at one of the nearby schools," Simmons continued, consulting a file in front of him, "St. Hilda's Convent School, am I right?"

"Yes."

"During that time, did you have any contact with the children?"

"I taught a few R.E. classes."

"Did you ever spend time with a pupil alone?"

"No," John said. "Not that I can remember." He could feel desperation rising in his chest. "Detective Inspector, I am not a paedophile."

"When did you meet Sherlock Holmes?" Simmons asked suddenly, earning him a look from Lestrade.

"In... 1998."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And Mr. Holmes?"

"Fifteen."

"And did you ever spend time with Mr. Holmes alone?"

"Yes," John said reluctantly.

"Can you expand on that?"

"He... He came to my house one evening when he'd run away from home. It was snowing. I let him stay the night."

"Where did he sleep?"

"In the spare room," John answered, trying hard to remain calm.

"And did you have any inappropriate contact with him at any time?"

"No," John said shakily. "I told you, I'm not a paedophile. I was a priest, I would have helped anyone who turned up on my doorstep like that!"

"When did you first have sexual contact with Mr. Holmes?" Simmons asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.

"Last year."

Simmons gave a little hum, and Lestrade gave John what seemed to be an attempt at a reassuring look.

"And you claim not to know Richard Brook?"

"I don't know anyone by that name."

"He was a pupil at St. Hilda's."

"I don't remember any of their names. It was, Christ, it was over ten years ago."

Simmons hummed again, then leaned forward, resting elbows on the table.

"The problem in these cases, Mr. Watson, is that it's often one word against another. And I'm sure you're well aware that priests don't always have the best reputation when it comes to this sort of thing."

"That doesn't mean it's true," John said wearily.

"I realise that. But for the time being, I'm afraid we're going to have to hold you while we talk to Mr. Brook again. And probably Mr. Holmes as well."

John sighed, but let himself be led back to the cell again, the door banging shut behind him with a low thud.

****

The hours seemed to blur together, and John soon lost track of the time in that little cell. He was given a pathetic meal and, what felt like only a short while later, the lights were shut off, signalling that it was time to go to bed. He spent most of the night laying silently on the uncomfortable bed, praying with everything in him. He managed to get to sleep at some point, but he felt hardly rested at all when he woke in the morning.

He ate his breakfast in a daze and was starting to lose track of time once more when he heard footsteps on the hard floor outside, and the sudden thud which indicated that his door was being unlocked. The door opened and John scrambled to his feet, trying to prepare himself for another pointless interview like the last one.

Lestrade appeared in the doorway with a grim expression that instantly made John's heart sink.

"John."

"Lestrade," John said quietly, bracing himself for the bad news.

"You're free to go."

"I'm... what?" John got out in surprise, even as he stumbled towards the door.

"The charges have been dropped."

"I don't understand."

"It was a hoax, John," Lestrade explained. "Just like we all thought it was. Richard Brook was nothing but an idiot paid by James Moriarty to come up with false accusations about you."

"Moriarty..." John mumbled, shaking his head slightly.

"If it makes you feel any better, Brook's being charged with wasting police time and, well, anything we can throw at him, to be quite frank."

"So it's... over?"

"Yes, John. You can go home."

"That's- that's great news. But... you don't look very pleased," John commented, confused.

"John," Lestrade started, his tone filled with something awful, something that made John take an involuntary step back.

"What is it?" John asked breathlessly.

"John...Sherlock's dead."

THE END

****
Author's note: Erm, please don't kill me :-) This is not the end of this series. There will be more - I just have to go write it - so keep your eyes open.

sherlock/john, priest!au, hearts under fire, hearts at home series

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