Sherlock - fic - Shameless Souls, PG-13, 3/4
Title - Shameless Souls
Author - laurab1
Characters - Sherlock, John, Lestrade, OFC, Mycroft
Rating - PG-13 aka 12
Warning - war trauma, 1914 to the present day
Length - approx 1200 words
Spoilers - S1 of Sherlock
Summary - “John suspects extremely foul play.”
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
A/N Some more of the story I’ve expanded from Down From The Ledge.
Shameless Souls Part 1
Shameless Souls Part 2
Shameless Souls
by Laura
Part 3
Taking with him the page from her notebook containing the picture of their suspect, Lestrade leaves Sara Fitzgerald, and has a word with his men now keeping watch on her flat. Climbing into his car, he pulls out his phone, and rings Sherlock. He’d thought Sara would tell him something new, something he could use, but she really hadn’t. And he isn’t disappointed, either.
Sherlock answers the call, and Lestrade says, “An excellent doctor, a well-respected officer, and one of the best men she’s ever known.”
“Yes, I’m quite aware of all that, Inspector.” It might be a little sharp, but Lestrade can hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice.
He smiles, too. “Yeah, I suppose you are.”
“As are you.”
“Got anything for me, yet?”
“Yes. And you have officers in an unmarked car observing Sergeant Fitzgerald’s flat.”
“Of course I do. Right, I’m on my way.”
***
John had told him once, but Lestrade couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He takes a sip from his mug of tea, and asks, “Could you repeat that, please?”
John takes a deep breath, and says, again: “I think these are copycat murders. The MoD, with accomplices at MI6 and possibly CO19, seem to have decided to apply First World War thinking to today’s shell-shocked soldiers. And, as far as they’re concerned, they’ve successfully done so five times.”
Lestrade drains his mug, and sets it on the coffee table. “John. I need you to be completely sure, mate. That’s a bloody serious accusation you’re making there.”
John looks away, briefly, then sets his jaw when he turns back to face him. “Yes, I know. I’m as sure I can possibly be.”
The look in both John’s and Sherlock’s eyes tells him that’s true. Oh, bloody hell. This case is turning worse by the minute.
If the killer is quite so determined in their choice of victims, then the balance of probability is that they will come back to try and finish this job.
“We know this Swinburn guy’s going to make another attempt on Sara Fitzgerald’s life. He’s going to go straight back.”
“Of course he is,” Sherlock says.
“So we’ve got until Sunday morning, then?”
“Yes, and that’s when you’ll arrest him, Inspector.”
“Because someone else isn’t dying,” John adds, and, not for the first time, Lestrade sees the soldier in him. “Not if we can help it.”
“That’s more or less what I said to her. Why are they doing this, then? I certainly can’t think of a reason.”
“Neither can we, yet,” Sherlock says.
Worse by the minute. “OK, unless there’s anything else you need to tell me, right now, I’d better get back.”
Because he needs to work out what the hell he’s going to do with this one, even though they all know that the instant Lestrade leaves, Sherlock’s going to ring Mycroft. And then there’ll be those men in the expensive black suits swarming all over his crime scene, yet again. He’s hardly going to complain, though, as their presence, while only occasional, does tend to mean that everything gets done just that little quicker.
“We’ve told you everything we currently can,” John says.
That’s debatable, but he’ll let it go, for now. “I’ll be bringing you two in on this, though.”
“Of course,” Sherlock replies.
Lestrade rises from the sofa. “See you later, then.”
“Yes, goodbye,” Sherlock says.
***
As soon as Lestrade’s gone, John watches Sherlock pull out his phone.
“Switching on Mycroft’s radar?”
“You did say we needed to talk to him as well, John. A fact Lestrade just made perfectly clear. The sooner we do, the sooner we may have a reason for the choice of victims. He is either genuinely unaware, or he’s turning a blind eye. And as I don’t believe he would turn a blind eye to these particular events, then he really must not know who we suspect.”
“Or he does know, and he’s playing a long game, Sherlock. This is your brother, after all.”
“Equally possible, John,” Sherlock says, speed-dialling Mycroft. He holds the phone to his ear, and John can see, from the way his expression suddenly falls, exactly when Mycroft answers.
***
“I’m putting you on loudspeaker,” he greets his brother, and sets the phone on the coffee table. “This is about the dead soldiers. John suspects --"
“I assure you, Sherlock, I am in no way responsible for those tragic deaths,” Mycroft interrupts.
“John suspects extremely foul play.”
“You have learned to trust the doctor’s instincts, so I gather you agree with him?”
“He named, and identified as Adam Swinburn, an MI6 officer, the man who made an attempt on the life of a nurse who worked alongside him in Afghanistan. She has an alarm which is linked directly to the emergency services, as she currently has a condition which was once, in the First World War, known as Hysterical Mutism. We believe the historical name is a vital part of the case.”
“The war in Afghanistan frightened away her voice.”
“Yes, exactly. She would have had a bullet to her jaw, instead of, like the other soldiers, a bullet between her eyes.”
“Who is this woman, then?”
“Sara Fitzgerald, a sergeant in Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps.”
“And how well does Dr Watson know Sergeant Fitzgerald?”
Sherlock looks at John as he says, “He has a nickname for her, Fitz. He also knew she would have drawn the man who tried to kill her.”
“He identified the man from this drawing.”
“Yes. She’s exceptionally skilled.”
“Very well. Then tell me, what is the case, Sherlock?”
“The case, Mycroft, is that we suspect a section of the MoD, with associates at MI6 and CO19, of applying First World War thinking, and murdering their own. But we have yet to ascertain a reason for the killings. And there must be one, if such a specific period of history is apparently related to them.”
Mycroft takes a very deep breath, and Sherlock hears the sounds of a bottle and a glass being located. “That would certainly constitute extremely foul play. You do realise the severity of that accusation, I assume?”
“Yes, of course. And they managed to hide this from you, Mycroft.”
Mycroft laughs, awkwardly. “Sherlock, even I am unaware of everything that occurs in Whitehall.”
“Evidently. But you’re aware of enough. And had you known, I believe that you wouldn’t have let this matter get quite this far. So, if you didn’t know, who did?”
There’s the sound of a drink being poured. Brandy, probably. “Save the good doctor’s friend, first, Sherlock. I trust you have a plan for that?”
“Yes, we do,” he replies. It’s not quite a lie. John rolls his eyes at him, and takes the empty mugs to the kitchen.
“I shall send you and the Inspector help, anyway,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock knows from his tone that he’s smirking. He rolls his eyes, too. “If you must.” He reels off Sara Fitzgerald’s address. “We would need your people tomorrow morning. That’s when we expect to apprehend Mr Swinburn.”
“Provide me with a time, then. I will set the wheels in motion, here, for the rest.”
“Good. Thank you. I would hate to be in their shoes when we close in on them.”
“I promise you, if what you and John suspect is true, then these men will be made to severely regret their actions, for betraying their country in this manner.”
TBC
Author - laurab1
Characters - Sherlock, John, Lestrade, OFC, Mycroft
Rating - PG-13 aka 12
Warning - war trauma, 1914 to the present day
Length - approx 1200 words
Spoilers - S1 of Sherlock
Summary - “John suspects extremely foul play.”
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
A/N Some more of the story I’ve expanded from Down From The Ledge.
Shameless Souls Part 1
Shameless Souls Part 2
Shameless Souls
by Laura
Part 3
Taking with him the page from her notebook containing the picture of their suspect, Lestrade leaves Sara Fitzgerald, and has a word with his men now keeping watch on her flat. Climbing into his car, he pulls out his phone, and rings Sherlock. He’d thought Sara would tell him something new, something he could use, but she really hadn’t. And he isn’t disappointed, either.
Sherlock answers the call, and Lestrade says, “An excellent doctor, a well-respected officer, and one of the best men she’s ever known.”
“Yes, I’m quite aware of all that, Inspector.” It might be a little sharp, but Lestrade can hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice.
He smiles, too. “Yeah, I suppose you are.”
“As are you.”
“Got anything for me, yet?”
“Yes. And you have officers in an unmarked car observing Sergeant Fitzgerald’s flat.”
“Of course I do. Right, I’m on my way.”
***
John had told him once, but Lestrade couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He takes a sip from his mug of tea, and asks, “Could you repeat that, please?”
John takes a deep breath, and says, again: “I think these are copycat murders. The MoD, with accomplices at MI6 and possibly CO19, seem to have decided to apply First World War thinking to today’s shell-shocked soldiers. And, as far as they’re concerned, they’ve successfully done so five times.”
Lestrade drains his mug, and sets it on the coffee table. “John. I need you to be completely sure, mate. That’s a bloody serious accusation you’re making there.”
John looks away, briefly, then sets his jaw when he turns back to face him. “Yes, I know. I’m as sure I can possibly be.”
The look in both John’s and Sherlock’s eyes tells him that’s true. Oh, bloody hell. This case is turning worse by the minute.
If the killer is quite so determined in their choice of victims, then the balance of probability is that they will come back to try and finish this job.
“We know this Swinburn guy’s going to make another attempt on Sara Fitzgerald’s life. He’s going to go straight back.”
“Of course he is,” Sherlock says.
“So we’ve got until Sunday morning, then?”
“Yes, and that’s when you’ll arrest him, Inspector.”
“Because someone else isn’t dying,” John adds, and, not for the first time, Lestrade sees the soldier in him. “Not if we can help it.”
“That’s more or less what I said to her. Why are they doing this, then? I certainly can’t think of a reason.”
“Neither can we, yet,” Sherlock says.
Worse by the minute. “OK, unless there’s anything else you need to tell me, right now, I’d better get back.”
Because he needs to work out what the hell he’s going to do with this one, even though they all know that the instant Lestrade leaves, Sherlock’s going to ring Mycroft. And then there’ll be those men in the expensive black suits swarming all over his crime scene, yet again. He’s hardly going to complain, though, as their presence, while only occasional, does tend to mean that everything gets done just that little quicker.
“We’ve told you everything we currently can,” John says.
That’s debatable, but he’ll let it go, for now. “I’ll be bringing you two in on this, though.”
“Of course,” Sherlock replies.
Lestrade rises from the sofa. “See you later, then.”
“Yes, goodbye,” Sherlock says.
***
As soon as Lestrade’s gone, John watches Sherlock pull out his phone.
“Switching on Mycroft’s radar?”
“You did say we needed to talk to him as well, John. A fact Lestrade just made perfectly clear. The sooner we do, the sooner we may have a reason for the choice of victims. He is either genuinely unaware, or he’s turning a blind eye. And as I don’t believe he would turn a blind eye to these particular events, then he really must not know who we suspect.”
“Or he does know, and he’s playing a long game, Sherlock. This is your brother, after all.”
“Equally possible, John,” Sherlock says, speed-dialling Mycroft. He holds the phone to his ear, and John can see, from the way his expression suddenly falls, exactly when Mycroft answers.
***
“I’m putting you on loudspeaker,” he greets his brother, and sets the phone on the coffee table. “This is about the dead soldiers. John suspects --"
“I assure you, Sherlock, I am in no way responsible for those tragic deaths,” Mycroft interrupts.
“John suspects extremely foul play.”
“You have learned to trust the doctor’s instincts, so I gather you agree with him?”
“He named, and identified as Adam Swinburn, an MI6 officer, the man who made an attempt on the life of a nurse who worked alongside him in Afghanistan. She has an alarm which is linked directly to the emergency services, as she currently has a condition which was once, in the First World War, known as Hysterical Mutism. We believe the historical name is a vital part of the case.”
“The war in Afghanistan frightened away her voice.”
“Yes, exactly. She would have had a bullet to her jaw, instead of, like the other soldiers, a bullet between her eyes.”
“Who is this woman, then?”
“Sara Fitzgerald, a sergeant in Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps.”
“And how well does Dr Watson know Sergeant Fitzgerald?”
Sherlock looks at John as he says, “He has a nickname for her, Fitz. He also knew she would have drawn the man who tried to kill her.”
“He identified the man from this drawing.”
“Yes. She’s exceptionally skilled.”
“Very well. Then tell me, what is the case, Sherlock?”
“The case, Mycroft, is that we suspect a section of the MoD, with associates at MI6 and CO19, of applying First World War thinking, and murdering their own. But we have yet to ascertain a reason for the killings. And there must be one, if such a specific period of history is apparently related to them.”
Mycroft takes a very deep breath, and Sherlock hears the sounds of a bottle and a glass being located. “That would certainly constitute extremely foul play. You do realise the severity of that accusation, I assume?”
“Yes, of course. And they managed to hide this from you, Mycroft.”
Mycroft laughs, awkwardly. “Sherlock, even I am unaware of everything that occurs in Whitehall.”
“Evidently. But you’re aware of enough. And had you known, I believe that you wouldn’t have let this matter get quite this far. So, if you didn’t know, who did?”
There’s the sound of a drink being poured. Brandy, probably. “Save the good doctor’s friend, first, Sherlock. I trust you have a plan for that?”
“Yes, we do,” he replies. It’s not quite a lie. John rolls his eyes at him, and takes the empty mugs to the kitchen.
“I shall send you and the Inspector help, anyway,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock knows from his tone that he’s smirking. He rolls his eyes, too. “If you must.” He reels off Sara Fitzgerald’s address. “We would need your people tomorrow morning. That’s when we expect to apprehend Mr Swinburn.”
“Provide me with a time, then. I will set the wheels in motion, here, for the rest.”
“Good. Thank you. I would hate to be in their shoes when we close in on them.”
“I promise you, if what you and John suspect is true, then these men will be made to severely regret their actions, for betraying their country in this manner.”
TBC