A Case of Identity - chapter twenty-two (22/23)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 part one Chapter 15 part two Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23
John had been confined to the sofa by Sherlock the moment they returned home two days ago. At first, Sherlock had wanted to put him in his own room, because he didn't want him to climb the stairs to John's room. When John had insisted on climbing up the seventeen stairs to their flat, he had to lean on Sherlock and hop on one leg. He had insisted vehemently that this wouldn't be a problem before Sherlock came up with the idea of carrying him. He had already been angry because he wasn't allowed to accompany Sherlock to Scotland Yard, since the detective insisted on him following the doctor's instructions to rest. After having had a heated argument on the matter, they agreed on John resting in the living room. That way he had at least been able to watch some television.
This evening John scowled at the bustling activity of his flat mate, whom he was watching from the sofa and who bustled between his bedroom and the living room, indecisively, worrying over the choice of his clothing. Since John, who usually looked after the financial aspects of Sherlock's business, was indisposed, Sherlock had to transact business himself this evening, making a call on Victor Trevor - and John was driven insane by that fact itself. Added to that, Sherlock's constant concern got on his nerves, although he knew that it was well-meant and somehow even thought of it as sweet.
Unfortunately, the previous two days did not contribute to improving his mood. On the one hand Sherlock insisted that John stick to their bargain and to make things worse, he even monitored John's activities. That inevitably resulted in John spending the nights on the sofa, ending their intimate togetherness at night abruptly. Sherlock seemed to be afraid to sleep in John's room without him and proceeded to sleep in his own bed again, if he slept at all and didn't spend the night somewhere else, probably at St. Bart's laboratory. This development threw John into a state of slight panic because he didn't know how things were going to develop when his leg recovered. They had not had the clarifying conversation yet and since their return home, they had exchanged no more endearments.
It was enough to make you crazy!
If John had his gun to hand, he would have been sorely tempted to adorn the opposite wall with a piece of art done in bullet-pocks himself.
"Are you absolutely sure that the sofa serves the purpose?" Sherlock broached the subject for what felt like the hundredth time, when he came back into the living room, eyeballing John's sitting position incredulously.
mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Apparently he had decided to put one of his perfectly tailored suits together with a petrol blue shirt; a combination in which he looked extremely attractive as John noticed once more, cursing inwardly.
He had to inhale deeply three times, before he assured himself that he was able to maintain his self-control more or less. "Sherlock …"
"John, I'm not so sure about that …"
"SHERLOCK! Give it a rest …," John flared up, exasperated, "… Good God, you're behaving like an overprotective mother hen."
Sherlock looked at him dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"
John disregarded Sherlock's expression, which illustrated the detective's disapproval of the comparison he had made. "You'll only be gone for a few hours and I promise faithfully that I will be good as gold and stay put," he added. He didn't manage to banish the sarcasm from his voice entirely.
Before Sherlock could offer any witty backchat in reply to John, his phone rang. When he read the name that was lighting up on the display, he frowned. "Mycroft," was all he said, when he answered it. He tensed while listening to his brother's voice. The seconds ticked away and the dark look on Sherlock's face deepened.
Unfortunately John wasn't able to make out what it was all about since he could only hear Mycroft's voice faintly. Based on Sherlock's facial expression, the detective wasn't too happy with the things he heard.
Then Sherlock huffed scornfully. "How wonderful," he finally replied, making a face. He listened intently for another moment, took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, Mycroft. That won't be necessary. Thanks anyway!" With that said, he concluded the call.
John looked at his friend expectantly.
Sherlock however shook his head, indicating to John with a wave of his hand he would have to wait just a moment, and strode out of the room, downstairs to Mrs Turner, who was in Mrs Hudson's flat, checking whether everything was in order, as John could tell from the thuds which reached upstairs.
A moment later he heard a soft knock, followed by Sherlock's voice.
However, after a few seconds John realized with disappointment that they were talking too quietly for him to hear a word of what was said. He inwardly cursed his injured leg; the wound was burning and made it hard for John to move.
Then, he heard a loud groan, undoubtedly from his friend, who came upstairs a little while later, looking as miserable as sin.
"What happened?" John asked, worried.
"We might have a problem," the detective answered evasively.
John watched him closely and his concern mounted up. Only now he noticed that Sherlock carried the evening newspaper in his hand. "Sherlock, please tell me what happened."
Wordlessly Sherlock held out the front page to John.
John only needed to have one quick look at the paper to know exactly what was wrong, suddenly understanding Sherlock's behaviour. There was a picture of them both embedded into the title story: "Sherlock Holmes unravels mystery of Aldershot murders - Scotland Yard was clueless."
In spite of himself he reached for the newspaper Sherlock was handing to him, and flipped through the article, which highlighted the details of the case as well as Sherlock's brilliance in detail. When he was halfway through the article, he realized that Victor Trevor had given an exclusive interview in which he vented his displeasure concerning the police's way of thinking and acting and expressed his admiration for Sherlock at the same time The name of the infernal ex alone wasn't exactly helping to raise his spirits, but his morale absolutely plummeted when he realized that the gentleman in question had given away private details of John and Sherlock's relationship.
John swallowed hard. His eyes paused over and over again at the same sentence, which stated that Sherlock Holmes had recently gotten engaged to his personal assistant and blogger.
He breathed a sigh. If indeed there had been anybody left in London, or rather Great Britain, who hadn't heard of the blessed event yet, then even that person would be well-briefed by now. John didn't yet know what to make of this new and unexpected development, but when he looked surreptitiously at Sherlock, the look of misery on his friend's face pierced him right to the heart. Sherlock knew that John hated publicity as much as he did - especially when the press tried to lift the lid on the nature of their relationship.
In next to no time John forgot about his own discomfort. Now was the time to exercise prudence. He really hated this kind of media circus, but he didn't want Sherlock to draw the wrong conclusions from his own reaction. Thinking about it, John had to admit that as far as Victor Trevor was concerned, it didn't come amiss that their engagement was being shouted from the rooftops. "Sherlock…"
"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said low-voiced, his voice was no more than a feeble whisper by now.
John plucked up his courage and took the plunge. "The article is fine with me," he said, wary in the choice of words. "There's nothing absolutely false in it for a change, and you undoubtedly deserve the praise."
Sherlock raised his head. He looked intently at John, a touch of surprise visible on his face.
"With the great gifts you have, fame is inevitable, Sherlock. It's good for business to be in the papers now and then. Let's just try not to make it a Reichenbach media thing again," John continued and smiled encouragingly at him. Then he cleared his throat and looked squarely into his eyes. "This has been one of your masterpieces. I know you're going to be the greatest detective of all time and it is a great honour to be your partner and witness that process."
John's words had a visible effect on Sherlock, who was moved and smiled almost timidly. "You've been very helpful to me, as always."
The doctor returned his smile. "You're the master of deduction. I'm just keeping your options open and backing you up."
"Two make this pair," Sherlock replied softly.
For a while, the two looked at each other and the air around them electrified. There was definitely something between them. That was not to be denied, even if nothing was really going on between him and the detective at this moment. In addition, John had noticed that Sherlock, like himself, had not removed his engagement ring. Of course, that could well be due to the fact that he planned to visit Victor that evening. Nevertheless, the fact spurred a hope to which he clung like a straw, and, aware of this, he told himself again to be patient.
"Well, I better dash off," Sherlock said after another intense look, which gave John goose bumps. "I'll probably have to use Mrs Hudson's backyard. The vultures are already besieging sidewalk."
Before he could suit the action to the word, they heard loud voices outside the house coming from the street, followed by the angry voice of Greg Lestrade, who shouted alternately towards the reporters "No comment" and "For Heaven's sake, let me through!"
A moment later, he apparently had actually managed to find a way through the crowd for the doorbell rang, and the door was opened cautiously for him by Mrs Turner and immediately closed behind him.
"Disgusting people," the policeman cried out, sighing. After some pleasantries he ran up the stairs. When he entered, the anger was still written on his face. "Sherlock, John," he greeted them, out of breath.
"Do you have a new case?" Sherlock asked curiously, and, as John could tell, hopefully.
Greg smiled at the detective. "You've just solved one."
Sherlock shrugged.
"I'm actually here about the Aldershot case," Greg said and took a seat in John's chair.
Sherlock sat down across from him. "How can I help you?"
"Um ... well actually I'm here to speak on behalf of the Yard to thank you and to congratulate you on this masterpiece," Greg said.
Sherlock and John looked at him surprised. This situation was unusual for all of them.
A long moment they sat in silence together.
"Well," Greg started. "I've already seen you solving many cases in amazing ways, but this was something special. You know, at Scotland Yard, we are not jealous of you. We are actually very proud of you."
"Um ... thanks," was all that Sherlock said.
John, who had known him for some time now, could see that he was not indifferent to the detective's praise, but rather enjoyed the kind and honest words.
"You're welcome," Greg said. "That simply had to be said ... So, then, I will not keep you any longer. Unfortunately, there's a terrible amount of paperwork waiting for me."
"That can wait. Why not just stay for a while with John?" Sherlock asked. "I have to go out, but I'm sure John would appreciate the company."
John knew that Sherlock made the suggestion first and foremost to keep him busy and have him under supervision, but company really was better than getting bored at home alone and worrying about Victor Trevor. "Why not stay for tea?" John asked in turn. Normally, they would meet for a beer, but the DI was still on duty, and they would have to make do with something non-alcoholic.
"I wouldn't say no to that," Greg said. "Do you really want to confront the pack?" he then asked, turning to Sherlock, who was already halfway out of the door.
"Backyard," Sherlock called out, dashing down the stairs.
XXX
When the doorbell rang an hour later again, John looked up in surprise. Greg had already returned to the Yard, and he could not imagine who would visit them at this late hour. It wasn't a client. Even John was able to deduce this from the style of ringing by now. Immediately afterwards he heard the voice of his brother-in-law-to-be, and he closed his eyes in disbelief for a moment. Bad luck seemed to follow him. He had never seen Mycroft so often as in the past few weeks. Only now he realized that he could no longer hear the reporters down on the street.
"Good evening, John," said Mycroft in greeting as he entered the living room. The handle of the umbrella, which was so characteristic of him, was draped over his arm. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in everything.
"Good evening, Mycroft," John said. Although Mycroft was so different from his younger brother, the sharp, grey-blue eyes of the elder reminded John distinctly of Sherlock himself. In these moments of realization that the two were unmistakably brothers, he found asking himself again and again what might have happened in the past that caused them to drift apart.
Mycroft sat down in Sherlock's chair, without being asked, and looked at John, who was sitting on the sofa with countless pillows in the back and under his propped-up leg, to allow him to sit comfortably. "My brother cares for you in an exemplary manner, I see," he remarked with an opaque smile.
"That's debatable," John murmured in a tone almost pouting, whereupon Mycroft's smile only intensified.
"Besides, he is not at home," John added, although he was sure that Mycroft knew that already.
"Excellent. I would like to talk with you, John," Mycroft replied. "In private, of course, and since you're ... indisposed, I thought, I'd better make a call instead of inviting you for a ride."
Which, in John's view, represented nothing more than a euphemism for his regular kidnapping episodes. "Very prudent of you," he replied. "How did you actually get past the vultures?"
"I had the road sealed off half an hour ago," Mycroft replied matter-of-factly.
The fact in itself by no means surprised John. He knew Mycroft had excellent connections. But that he took the trouble at all, surprised him nevertheless.
"You look exhausted, John. I'm sure this case has taken its toll."
John stiffened visibly. "You came here to talk to me about the case?" he asked, uncomfortably and instinctively held his breath. For a long moment he feared that Mycroft knew about the faked engagement.
"Well," Mycroft replied. "The case was remarkable, as we all read. Sherlock has outdone himself once again and I'm sure you played a not insignificant role, John ... but no, I did not come because of the case itself. I came because of a name, which I happened to read in connection with the case in the newspapers today," he said.
John looked at him expectantly.
"Victor Trevor," Mycroft said.
John breathed out as quietly as possible. He didn't want to show his relief over Mycroft's ignorance of the engagement. "Victor Trevor?" he asked instead, flabbergasted.
"I suppose you know about him and Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.
John involuntarily contorted his face. "Hmmm," he answered evasively. However, "know about" already clearly said too much, John thought.
"Will Mr Trevor become a problem?" Mycroft asked bluntly.
John frowned. "A problem?"
"You look worried, John, and if you're worried, I'm starting to worry myself," Mycroft replied gravely.
John hoped fervently that the elder Holmes wouldn't offer to fix the "problem" permanently for him next.
"You know, John ... Mr Trevor treated my brother really badly back then. I don't want to experience this situation a second time, if you know what I mean."
John felt as if he were in a bad movie. He hadn't even discussed the matter with his beloved, and now he sat here, with the British government in person, who was trying to discuss that very matter confidentially. On the other hand, John could understand Mycroft's concern, since things had gone downhill with Sherlock after Victor Trevor left him.
He looked intently at Sherlock's brother, with what he hoped was a determined look on his face. "Mycroft, I appreciate your concern, but I trust your brother with my life ..."
Which, on reflection, was almost a miracle in itself.
"... I guess I also have to trust him with my heart ..."
That's where the suicide mission came into play.
"... I'm afraid he has to sort this out on his own."
John was aware that a relationship with Sherlock would be different from all the relationships he'd had before. He knew it could only work if he trusted him in love just as he did in their friendship, and if the two of them could be themselves. It made no sense to demand things of Sherlock just because they were proper or because others expected them of him. John knew very well it was perfectly possible that he would get absolutely no non-case-related attention for days on end, when Sherlock was hot on the trail. And it would most certainly not be very conducive to their love, if he tried to keep the detective on a short leash ...
For a while they looked at each other in silence. Then Mycroft cleared his throat and looked intently at John with a straight face. "If the situation does not develop as desired, do not hesitate to contact me, John."
John replied with a silent nod. He would not turn to the MI6 or whoever in the event of relationship stress, and Mycroft Holmes wasn't at the top of his list of confidants with whom he would discuss his frustration. In fact, he was not on it at all. He would only deem such an action necessary in case a disaster beyond all expectations occurred…
"Well, I can only hope that my brother knows what's good for him for a change," Mycroft said.
Mentally John could only subscribe to his thinking …
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