Categories > Books > Sherlock Holmes > One Word
Sherlock
Sherlock remembered the text John had sent him begging for just one word from him, the same words had been written in blood at a crime scene in London. It couldn't be a coincidence, there were no such things, but why would John resort to killing? Was he that desperate to know the truth about Sherlock's fate? Sherlock had thought that, perhaps, typing out a message and letting John see the evidence of it might be enough to satiate what he was feeling, but Sherlock had obviously been wrong about that.
He paced the floor of the small apartment in Colorado that Mycroft had secured for him, trying his hardest to make sense of what was happening. Not only did it pain him that John had done something so horrible, but it was irritating that he would have to go back to London before his work was done. Did John not understand how important his work here was? Of course not, he wouldn't know what Sherlock was doing right now, he's just desperate to get his friend back.
Sherlock had thought that he was the only one of the two of them that was desperate for a friend but, as it turned out, John was just as desperate. Sherlock knew exactly what he would have to do, not that he had much of a choice, Mycroft had summoned him after all. He had never imagined that his death would drive his best friend mad. It's funny how life surprises you. Sherlock took out his mobile and went to John's text thread.
Murder.
The word stood on its own. Sherlock felt sick looking at it all over again. He typed out a message and sent it.
What have you done, John?
SH
Sherlock didn't know what else to say. He stared at his screen, wondering if he would receive a reply. John might have been sleeping by now, he usually was, but obviously this wasn't the usual John. Sherlock waited an hour, but when he actually received a text, it wasn't from John.
Airport. Now.
The text was from Mycroft, Sherlock had been expecting it. He never really unpacked his things while he traveled, so he gathered the few things of his that were laying around the apartment and left immediately. Mycroft had given him a rental car for his time in America, and he wasted no time getting it to the nearest airport. Mycroft had someone waiting there for Sherlock, it was still a bit of a mystery to him as to how his brother was always so prepared for everything.
The man was tall and had an ebony complexion. He wore a tailored black suit and tie with a white shirt underneath. He nodded at Sherlock as he approached.
“Mr. Holmes, my name is Andre, your brother sent me. If you could please follow me.” Andre's deep voice bore an American accent, Mycroft really does have a lot of connections. Sherlock looked the man over and saw that he had an earpiece. He nodded and began to follow Andre.
“Are you communicating directly with my brother on that?” Sherlock asked gesturing to the earpiece.
“Yes, sir.” Andre answered.
“Could you ask him if he has any leads on the case he's calling me in for?” Andre whispered into his wrist watch as they walked, then listened for a reply.
“He says he'll tell you everything you need to know when you arrive in London, sir.”
“A simple yes or no will suffice.” Sherlock insisted. The man whispered into his watch again.
“No, sir. He doesn't know.” Andre replied.
“Thank you, Andre.” Sherlock replied. He was relieved that Mycroft hadn't put it together that John could possibly be the culprit. Maybe there was still a way to save his friend from prison, he wasn't sure how long John would last there. The rest of the walk to the plane was spent in silence. Andre didn't speak a word to Sherlock, and Sherlock thought about all the possible ways he could save John from himself while they walked. Sherlock was shown to a seat in first class, he was in for a long flight, and that meant even more thinking. Sometimes Sherlock hated that he couldn't stop himself from thinking. He decided to text Molly Hooper, the mousy little pathologist at Bart's that had helped him pull off his fall two years ago. He knew she would most likely be sleeping at this hour, but he decided to text her regardless, he would need to know the details of the autopsy on Lestrade as soon as possible.
Molly, please text me a detailed autopsy report, as well as pictures, of your newest cadaver as soon as possible. I'm coming back to London.
SH
Sherlock sent the text and settled into his seat, closing his eyes so that he could think more clearly when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket almost immediately.
You're coming back? Who's the cadaver?
Sherlock thought about telling Molly everything, he trusted her more than almost anyone else, but he decided he would wait to see her in person. Molly and John had grown close over the years that Sherlock had spent solving crimes with him, they'd developed a friendship of their own, it would hurt her to hear about what he had become. Even more, it would hurt her to know that Lestrade had been killed.
I'll tell you when I arrive.
SH
Sherlock thought about what he would do when he saw John again, what he would say, but he couldn't think of anything but 'I'm sorry'. Sherlock never made a habit of apologizing, but he felt the overwhelming need to do so now. He had turned his best and only friend into a monster, and he would never forgive himself for that.
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John
He'd actually done it, he took someone's life, an innocent man's life. John had taken lives before, but never the life of a perfectly innocent man, and one that he'd had a decent friendship with, at that. He supposed that it was worth it, if he got his best friend back though. There was a moment, after he'd killed Lestrade, where John couldn't believe what he'd done. This wasn't something that he would have done in any other circumstance, but he had to get Sherlock back to London. London would wither and die without Sherlock here to set it right, and it was John's mission to bring him back. He wasn't sure if it had worked or not, but when he received a text message from Sherlock, he at least knew that he was right about him being alive. That alone was enough to make him a little bit giddy. He'd wanted to rush to Bart's to show Molly the text that Sherlock had sent him, to prove to her that he was still alive, but that could possibly get him caught. He would have to be much more careful about what he did now. John knew that he was doing this for a good reason, but no one else would see it that way. He stared at the text he'd received from Sherlock and felt a little hurt at the words.
What have you done, John?
SH
He couldn't help but feel that Sherlock was disappointed in him, but what did he really expect? Sherlock took down murderers for a living, why would John think that Sherlock would be anything less than disgusted by the fact that he'd just killed someone. Surely once he was able to explain what had happened Sherlock would understand. He had to understand, John only did this to get his best friend back. Then again, Sherlock didn't really understand friendship, so why would he understand that John had done this so they could be together again.
“I shouldn't have given him so many clues this time. Surely he won't turn me in, he has more love for me than that, doesn't he?” John said to himself, still staring at the text message that Sherlock had sent him. He decided to stop thinking about it so much and made himself a cup of tea, he had better things to think about now. One of them being the man in the black Jaguar that had witnessed John stringing Lestrade up on the London Eye.
John knew exactly what he would have to do, it wasn't part of his original plan, but he had to get rid of witnesses. He had only planned to kill people close to Sherlock. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, anyone that Sherlock cared enough about to investigate their death, but this man had thrown a wrench in all of that. He had intended for his next victim to be Molly, but he would have to hold off on that for now. John walked over to the window and peered out carefully, trying not to disturb the curtains too much. If someone was watching him, he didn't want them to know that he might be onto them. Sure enough, a black Jaguar sat outside across the street from 221B. A man sat in the driver's seat wearing a gray suit and black sunglasses, his dark hair was cut short. John moved away from the window just before the man turned his head to look, and he knew that he'd found his man. Now the only problem was getting rid of him. He finished his tea and donned his coat and black gloves, then locked up the flat and headed down the stairs quickly. He left the building and hailed a cab just outside, it seemed like a lovely day for a stroll around the park.
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The Pet
Aldon had been sitting outside of 221B Baker Street since John Watson had returned there last night after killing Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. When Mycroft Holmes put him on this job he never imagined that he would watch John murder someone, and someone that he had a friendship with. It had come as a shock to Aldon, and Mycroft as well. Mycroft had only wanted Aldon to tail John, to make sure that he was moving on with his life after Sherlock jumped from the roof of Bart's, and for the first two years they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. However, last night he had witnessed John Watson kidnap and murder an innocent man, and one that he and Sherlock had worked closely with while Sherlock was in London. He had phoned Mycroft immediately after he escaped the crime scene. John had seen him and he had no other choice but to drive away as quickly as he could. Mycroft had told Aldon that John usually carried a gun, and Aldon didn't carry a gun of his own, if truth be told Aldon didn't even know how to properly work a gun, perhaps that was something he should look into.
John emerged from the flat around midday, wearing the same coat and gloves he had worn the night before, not a drop of blood had gotten on them through his whole endeavor. John hailed a cab and climbed in, and that was Aldon's cue to start following again. They drove through the city of London and to a small park on the outskirts where John exited the cab and paid the cabby. Aldon pulled his car over quickly and began following on foot. Could he be going to find another victim? This time Aldon wouldn't sit idly by, this time he would stop John from killing in whatever way he could. He kept a good distance, never getting close enough for John to realize that someone was following.
The path that John took seemed to be a long one, it was beginning to look like he was just taking a nice stroll around the park. Maybe he hadn't come here to claim another victim, maybe he just wanted to enjoy the day. Aldon couldn't bring himself to believe that killers could want a pleasant stroll around the park. John was a different creature entirely, though. Up until last night he hadn't shown the slightest homicidal tendency, but he had to have a reason for doing it. He followed John for a while longer before the path he was taking curved to the left and went under a bridge. Aldon had to keep John in sight at all times, he didn't want to lose him, not now that he knew what John was capable of. He quickened his pace as John rounded the bend and disappeared from his sight, he had to keep a line of sight with him. He fast walked around the bend and was suddenly caught from behind, a wire wrapped around his throat and tightened with a sickening zipping sound.
“W-what?!” Aldon choked out, trying to get a look at his attacker. His fingers raked at his neck, trying to get under the thin wire that was choking the life from his lungs.
“You shouldn't have followed me.” A dark voice said from behind him as the wire tightened further around Aldon's neck. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, but he could feel the wire cutting into his skin, the blood running down his neck, and the whole time one name stuck in his mind as the world grew darker around him. John Watson.
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Sherlock
The plane ride to London was obnoxiously long and Sherlock was suffering from jet lag as he took a cab from the airport to Bart's Hospital. He needed to see the body of Lestrade, but he also needed to see Molly. She would be curious about why he had returned, and he had already decided that he would tell Molly the details in person, he knew she wouldn't take it well. Molly had performed autopsies on co-workers before, so that part wouldn't phase her all that much, but the fact that John Watson was the person who put the cadaver in front of her might be a bit shocking, it had been to Sherlock. He exited the cab and strode into Bart's like he owned the place, he practically did, after all. No one seemed to notice that Sherlock Holmes had just walked into the hospital two years after he jumped off the roof of the building, but he supposed that was for the best. He made his way to the morgue and made a double door entrance, Molly smiled when she saw him.
“Welcome back.” She said, walking over to greet him. He thought for a moment that she might hug him, but she stopped herself before she got that far.
“I wish I could say I was glad to be back, but under the circumstances I believe it would be inappropriate to be glad.” Sherlock trailed off, his eyes wondering around the room until they fell on an occupied autopsy table. There was a body laid out with a sheet covering it, there was no doubt in his mind as to whose body it was. Sherlock walked slowly to the table and pulled the sheet down, folding it over on the deceased Detective Inspector's chest. There was only a single cut to the throat, made with surgical precision, if Sherlock hadn't known who committed the crime already that would have told him that someone with intimate knowledge of medical procedures had done it. It still baffled him that John Watson had put this body here, and he would find out why in time.
“So, why did you come back to investigate Greg's death?” Molly asked, padding softly over to stand beside Sherlock. She looked down at the body, her hands in the pockets of her lab coat.
“Because I don't need to investigate it, I already know who did this to him. I only need to find out why.” Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes locked on the wound on Lestrade's neck.
“Who did it?”
Sherlock glanced up at Molly, her big brown eyes full of curiosity. If Sherlock could trust Molly with the secret that he was still alive for two years, he could trust her not to tell anyone that John had killed someone.
“John Watson.” Sherlock said quietly. Molly's eyes went wide with disbelief.
“What?” She gasped. “You must be mistaken.”
“No.” Sherlock pulled his mobile from the pocket of his bell staff coat and showed Molly the text messages that John had been sending him for the past two years. When she got to the end her mouth was hanging open.
“I don't believe it.” Molly seemed to whisper. “Why would he do this?”
“That's what I need to find out. You've seen the messages he's sent me, he's obviously not well. I believe he's driven himself mad believing that I was still alive for the past two years. Admittedly, it is partially my fault, I did give him clues to lead him to that fact.” Sherlock explained, tucking his mobile away when Molly handed it back.
“The day that you fell John came here.” Molly started, she briefly made eye contact with Sherlock, but then continued to stare at Lestrade.
“I know, I could hear everything he was saying. He came here so quickly I didn't even have time to leave. I was still in your office while you talked to him.”
“He was so adamant about you being alive.” Molly said, wringing her hands the way she did when she got nervous about something.
“He wanted my attention. Have you seen the pictures of the crime scene?”
“No.” Molly answered. Sherlock took his mobile from his pocket again and brought up the pictures that Mycroft had sent him. “He sent you that phrase in a text.”
“Yes, and he knew that I was the only one that would know what it meant. He sent me a one word text message after he had committed his crime. The text said 'murder' as you saw a moment ago. As far as I know, Mycroft doesn't know that John is the one that did this. I haven't talked to him directly, but the man he sent to guide me to my plane in America told me that they had no leads here.” Sherlock paused for a moment and turned to face Molly, her eyes flitted from his to random areas around the room, like she was unable to look at them for too long. “Molly, I want you to promise me something.”
“What's that?” Molly asked sheepishly.
“Don't tell anyone that John did this. I'm going to set things right, I just need time to think of a plan.”
“Sherlock, what if he kills someone else?”
“I don't think he will. If I'm right, his motive for killing Lestrade was to get me back to London. I'll let him know that I'm here, and if he wants to, I'll meet him somewhere. I know John Watson, and he wouldn't kill someone in cold blood. Something has gone wrong, but I'm going to fix it. I'm going to fix John.”
“I don't know that you can.” Molly said sadly.
“I can. John Watson is not a murderer, he just needs help remembering that.” Sherlock stated with certainty just as he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out to find John's name displayed on his screen. Molly moved closer to read the text as Sherlock opened it. Only one word was displayed on the screen.
Rat
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John
John had just finished moving the body of the tail that Mycroft had placed on him into a spot where Scotland Yard was sure to find it, then sent a one word text to Sherlock. This is what he would always do when he killed someone. He hadn't planned on this man being a part of his scheme, but he decided to work him in regardless. What was the point in killing someone without a reason? Sherlock would most likely be called to the scene soon, so John would have to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. Mrs. Hudson still didn't know that Sherlock was still alive, so he wouldn't be paying any visits to John in their old flat if he wanted to keep that little secret. John had to complete his plan, and that meant not being caught by Sherlock, or anyone else, until he was finished. He had to show Sherlock exactly how desperate he was to get him back in his life. Surely Sherlock would appreciate that.
He raced back to a populated street and hailed a cab that took him back to Baker Street, then hurried up the stairs to his flat before Mrs. Hudson could even get her door open to greet him, that was for the best. John didn't feel like socializing with Mrs. Hudson. He had planned on Molly being his next victim, but everything had been thrown off. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would be a better choice. He wouldn't do it just yet, though. Sherlock would need time to investigate the newest crime scene that John had laid out for him. Mrs. Hudson's murder would have to be elaborate, and inside 221B. That would be the perfect way for John to get Sherlock back to the flat, and that was what he wanted, after all. He smiled to himself for a moment as he removed his coat and gloves and put them on the same hook behind the door that he always used. He felt an odd kind of joy now, knowing that his plan was working. Surely after a second murder Sherlock would be dragged back to London, whether he wanted to be or not. Mycroft always put Sherlock on the most dangerous cases, the ones that could cause the most strife for the government. John wasn't sure if that was because no one else could solve the crimes or because Mycroft thought that might be the best way to get rid of his pest of a brother. John had always been skeptical of what Mycroft's motives really were.
As pleased as John was with himself, he knew that if he dwelled too much on the fact that he was a murderer now it might get to him, and he couldn't stand to drive himself mad just now, he had too much more work to do, so he decided to turn on the news and see if anything had developed. Sure enough the news was covering his newest murder, perhaps watching the news wasn't the best way to take his mind off of what he'd been up to, but he was still curious.
“Scotland Yard is baffled after the second murder in 24 hours. Although the way that the victim was killed was slightly different from the first murder of Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, police believe that the two murders are connected. We've been assured that Scotland Yard is calling in a specialist, and we will be updated on new developments in the case as they come up.” The blond woman on the news recited the lines from the teleprompter with ease, not the slightest bit phased by the news. John supposed she was used to reporting on things like this by now. The woman had said that Scotland Yard was calling in a specialist for his handiwork, that had to be Sherlock. The consulting detective, and the only one that can solve the mystery. John was sure, though, that Sherlock wouldn't turn him in for his crimes. If Sherlock was going to turn John in, he would have done so already, and John was sure that Sherlock knew that he was the one committing the crimes. The first clues had been too obvious, at least for Sherlock. He would have known that John was the culprit as soon as he saw the writing on the pavement beside Lestrade's body, and John was sure that he'd seen that by now. Mycroft would have sent Sherlock the pictures as soon as he found out about the murder. John knew how they worked together, and he would use that to his advantage.
“It won't be long now.” John said to himself, taking another sip of the tea he had made for himself, it had grown cold now and he decided to set it aside. John's mobile suddenly buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out to see Sherlock's name on the screen. He opened the text more quickly than he had ever done anything in his life.
Why?
SH
One word, Sherlock was starting to play his game now. John hadn't expected that, but in hindsight he supposed he should have. He also thought that Sherlock would have figured out why he was doing this by now, a mind as clever as that doesn't let too many things get past. John thought for a moment, trying to find the perfect word to send back.
Nostalgia
Surely that would get Sherlock's attention, draw him to the conclusion that John so desperately wanted him to find. John had thought at first that he might have trouble coming up with the word that he would send to Sherlock every time he killed someone else, but it had been remarkably easy so far. The first one was the easiest 'murder' the word that would draw Sherlock in. He never could resist a good murder. The second one was just as simple 'rat' the perfect word to describe the man that had been following him, informing on his every move to Mycroft. Why would Mycroft be so interested in him, anyway? That part still bothered him, he would be sure to keep a closer eye on his surroundings now, just in case Mycroft decided to send another one of his pets to spy on him.
Would you like to meet somewhere?
SH
A response to John's one word text came in a few moments later, perhaps Sherlock wasn't in the mood to play that game just now. John wouldn't give up on it though. Now wasn't the right time to meet Sherlock in person, he would probably try to set up a trap, and that wasn't something John was willing to fall into just yet. He typed out yet another one word reply.
No.
That was all that John was going to give Sherlock at the moment. Sherlock was probably trying to think of a way to stop him now, but he couldn't be stopped until his whole plan came to fruition. He had to kill everyone. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were next on the list, he hadn't decided how he would dispose of them yet. He knew that Mrs. Hudson's body would be set up here, in 221B, as a way to bring Sherlock back to what he left behind. Of course, John wouldn't be there when Sherlock showed up to investigate, that would be far too dangerous. Sherlock always looked at Mrs. Hudson as a type of maternal figure, he'd once half killed a man for putting a few scratches on her, John couldn't imagine how he would react when he walked in to find her dead. That would be the last one, then Sherlock would have to agree to stay in London.
“This is what happens when you leave this city, Sherlock. It falls apart, you'll see that at the end of all this. You'll see how much pain you've caused me in faking your suicide, then you'll have no choice but to stay.” John said to himself, raking his fingers through his hair. The gnawing voice from before had been replaced with a sweeter one, the same words still repeating in the back of John's head. He's not dead.
Sherlock remembered the text John had sent him begging for just one word from him, the same words had been written in blood at a crime scene in London. It couldn't be a coincidence, there were no such things, but why would John resort to killing? Was he that desperate to know the truth about Sherlock's fate? Sherlock had thought that, perhaps, typing out a message and letting John see the evidence of it might be enough to satiate what he was feeling, but Sherlock had obviously been wrong about that.
He paced the floor of the small apartment in Colorado that Mycroft had secured for him, trying his hardest to make sense of what was happening. Not only did it pain him that John had done something so horrible, but it was irritating that he would have to go back to London before his work was done. Did John not understand how important his work here was? Of course not, he wouldn't know what Sherlock was doing right now, he's just desperate to get his friend back.
Sherlock had thought that he was the only one of the two of them that was desperate for a friend but, as it turned out, John was just as desperate. Sherlock knew exactly what he would have to do, not that he had much of a choice, Mycroft had summoned him after all. He had never imagined that his death would drive his best friend mad. It's funny how life surprises you. Sherlock took out his mobile and went to John's text thread.
Murder.
The word stood on its own. Sherlock felt sick looking at it all over again. He typed out a message and sent it.
What have you done, John?
SH
Sherlock didn't know what else to say. He stared at his screen, wondering if he would receive a reply. John might have been sleeping by now, he usually was, but obviously this wasn't the usual John. Sherlock waited an hour, but when he actually received a text, it wasn't from John.
Airport. Now.
The text was from Mycroft, Sherlock had been expecting it. He never really unpacked his things while he traveled, so he gathered the few things of his that were laying around the apartment and left immediately. Mycroft had given him a rental car for his time in America, and he wasted no time getting it to the nearest airport. Mycroft had someone waiting there for Sherlock, it was still a bit of a mystery to him as to how his brother was always so prepared for everything.
The man was tall and had an ebony complexion. He wore a tailored black suit and tie with a white shirt underneath. He nodded at Sherlock as he approached.
“Mr. Holmes, my name is Andre, your brother sent me. If you could please follow me.” Andre's deep voice bore an American accent, Mycroft really does have a lot of connections. Sherlock looked the man over and saw that he had an earpiece. He nodded and began to follow Andre.
“Are you communicating directly with my brother on that?” Sherlock asked gesturing to the earpiece.
“Yes, sir.” Andre answered.
“Could you ask him if he has any leads on the case he's calling me in for?” Andre whispered into his wrist watch as they walked, then listened for a reply.
“He says he'll tell you everything you need to know when you arrive in London, sir.”
“A simple yes or no will suffice.” Sherlock insisted. The man whispered into his watch again.
“No, sir. He doesn't know.” Andre replied.
“Thank you, Andre.” Sherlock replied. He was relieved that Mycroft hadn't put it together that John could possibly be the culprit. Maybe there was still a way to save his friend from prison, he wasn't sure how long John would last there. The rest of the walk to the plane was spent in silence. Andre didn't speak a word to Sherlock, and Sherlock thought about all the possible ways he could save John from himself while they walked. Sherlock was shown to a seat in first class, he was in for a long flight, and that meant even more thinking. Sometimes Sherlock hated that he couldn't stop himself from thinking. He decided to text Molly Hooper, the mousy little pathologist at Bart's that had helped him pull off his fall two years ago. He knew she would most likely be sleeping at this hour, but he decided to text her regardless, he would need to know the details of the autopsy on Lestrade as soon as possible.
Molly, please text me a detailed autopsy report, as well as pictures, of your newest cadaver as soon as possible. I'm coming back to London.
SH
Sherlock sent the text and settled into his seat, closing his eyes so that he could think more clearly when he felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket almost immediately.
You're coming back? Who's the cadaver?
Sherlock thought about telling Molly everything, he trusted her more than almost anyone else, but he decided he would wait to see her in person. Molly and John had grown close over the years that Sherlock had spent solving crimes with him, they'd developed a friendship of their own, it would hurt her to hear about what he had become. Even more, it would hurt her to know that Lestrade had been killed.
I'll tell you when I arrive.
SH
Sherlock thought about what he would do when he saw John again, what he would say, but he couldn't think of anything but 'I'm sorry'. Sherlock never made a habit of apologizing, but he felt the overwhelming need to do so now. He had turned his best and only friend into a monster, and he would never forgive himself for that.
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John
He'd actually done it, he took someone's life, an innocent man's life. John had taken lives before, but never the life of a perfectly innocent man, and one that he'd had a decent friendship with, at that. He supposed that it was worth it, if he got his best friend back though. There was a moment, after he'd killed Lestrade, where John couldn't believe what he'd done. This wasn't something that he would have done in any other circumstance, but he had to get Sherlock back to London. London would wither and die without Sherlock here to set it right, and it was John's mission to bring him back. He wasn't sure if it had worked or not, but when he received a text message from Sherlock, he at least knew that he was right about him being alive. That alone was enough to make him a little bit giddy. He'd wanted to rush to Bart's to show Molly the text that Sherlock had sent him, to prove to her that he was still alive, but that could possibly get him caught. He would have to be much more careful about what he did now. John knew that he was doing this for a good reason, but no one else would see it that way. He stared at the text he'd received from Sherlock and felt a little hurt at the words.
What have you done, John?
SH
He couldn't help but feel that Sherlock was disappointed in him, but what did he really expect? Sherlock took down murderers for a living, why would John think that Sherlock would be anything less than disgusted by the fact that he'd just killed someone. Surely once he was able to explain what had happened Sherlock would understand. He had to understand, John only did this to get his best friend back. Then again, Sherlock didn't really understand friendship, so why would he understand that John had done this so they could be together again.
“I shouldn't have given him so many clues this time. Surely he won't turn me in, he has more love for me than that, doesn't he?” John said to himself, still staring at the text message that Sherlock had sent him. He decided to stop thinking about it so much and made himself a cup of tea, he had better things to think about now. One of them being the man in the black Jaguar that had witnessed John stringing Lestrade up on the London Eye.
John knew exactly what he would have to do, it wasn't part of his original plan, but he had to get rid of witnesses. He had only planned to kill people close to Sherlock. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, anyone that Sherlock cared enough about to investigate their death, but this man had thrown a wrench in all of that. He had intended for his next victim to be Molly, but he would have to hold off on that for now. John walked over to the window and peered out carefully, trying not to disturb the curtains too much. If someone was watching him, he didn't want them to know that he might be onto them. Sure enough, a black Jaguar sat outside across the street from 221B. A man sat in the driver's seat wearing a gray suit and black sunglasses, his dark hair was cut short. John moved away from the window just before the man turned his head to look, and he knew that he'd found his man. Now the only problem was getting rid of him. He finished his tea and donned his coat and black gloves, then locked up the flat and headed down the stairs quickly. He left the building and hailed a cab just outside, it seemed like a lovely day for a stroll around the park.
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The Pet
Aldon had been sitting outside of 221B Baker Street since John Watson had returned there last night after killing Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. When Mycroft Holmes put him on this job he never imagined that he would watch John murder someone, and someone that he had a friendship with. It had come as a shock to Aldon, and Mycroft as well. Mycroft had only wanted Aldon to tail John, to make sure that he was moving on with his life after Sherlock jumped from the roof of Bart's, and for the first two years they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. However, last night he had witnessed John Watson kidnap and murder an innocent man, and one that he and Sherlock had worked closely with while Sherlock was in London. He had phoned Mycroft immediately after he escaped the crime scene. John had seen him and he had no other choice but to drive away as quickly as he could. Mycroft had told Aldon that John usually carried a gun, and Aldon didn't carry a gun of his own, if truth be told Aldon didn't even know how to properly work a gun, perhaps that was something he should look into.
John emerged from the flat around midday, wearing the same coat and gloves he had worn the night before, not a drop of blood had gotten on them through his whole endeavor. John hailed a cab and climbed in, and that was Aldon's cue to start following again. They drove through the city of London and to a small park on the outskirts where John exited the cab and paid the cabby. Aldon pulled his car over quickly and began following on foot. Could he be going to find another victim? This time Aldon wouldn't sit idly by, this time he would stop John from killing in whatever way he could. He kept a good distance, never getting close enough for John to realize that someone was following.
The path that John took seemed to be a long one, it was beginning to look like he was just taking a nice stroll around the park. Maybe he hadn't come here to claim another victim, maybe he just wanted to enjoy the day. Aldon couldn't bring himself to believe that killers could want a pleasant stroll around the park. John was a different creature entirely, though. Up until last night he hadn't shown the slightest homicidal tendency, but he had to have a reason for doing it. He followed John for a while longer before the path he was taking curved to the left and went under a bridge. Aldon had to keep John in sight at all times, he didn't want to lose him, not now that he knew what John was capable of. He quickened his pace as John rounded the bend and disappeared from his sight, he had to keep a line of sight with him. He fast walked around the bend and was suddenly caught from behind, a wire wrapped around his throat and tightened with a sickening zipping sound.
“W-what?!” Aldon choked out, trying to get a look at his attacker. His fingers raked at his neck, trying to get under the thin wire that was choking the life from his lungs.
“You shouldn't have followed me.” A dark voice said from behind him as the wire tightened further around Aldon's neck. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, but he could feel the wire cutting into his skin, the blood running down his neck, and the whole time one name stuck in his mind as the world grew darker around him. John Watson.
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Sherlock
The plane ride to London was obnoxiously long and Sherlock was suffering from jet lag as he took a cab from the airport to Bart's Hospital. He needed to see the body of Lestrade, but he also needed to see Molly. She would be curious about why he had returned, and he had already decided that he would tell Molly the details in person, he knew she wouldn't take it well. Molly had performed autopsies on co-workers before, so that part wouldn't phase her all that much, but the fact that John Watson was the person who put the cadaver in front of her might be a bit shocking, it had been to Sherlock. He exited the cab and strode into Bart's like he owned the place, he practically did, after all. No one seemed to notice that Sherlock Holmes had just walked into the hospital two years after he jumped off the roof of the building, but he supposed that was for the best. He made his way to the morgue and made a double door entrance, Molly smiled when she saw him.
“Welcome back.” She said, walking over to greet him. He thought for a moment that she might hug him, but she stopped herself before she got that far.
“I wish I could say I was glad to be back, but under the circumstances I believe it would be inappropriate to be glad.” Sherlock trailed off, his eyes wondering around the room until they fell on an occupied autopsy table. There was a body laid out with a sheet covering it, there was no doubt in his mind as to whose body it was. Sherlock walked slowly to the table and pulled the sheet down, folding it over on the deceased Detective Inspector's chest. There was only a single cut to the throat, made with surgical precision, if Sherlock hadn't known who committed the crime already that would have told him that someone with intimate knowledge of medical procedures had done it. It still baffled him that John Watson had put this body here, and he would find out why in time.
“So, why did you come back to investigate Greg's death?” Molly asked, padding softly over to stand beside Sherlock. She looked down at the body, her hands in the pockets of her lab coat.
“Because I don't need to investigate it, I already know who did this to him. I only need to find out why.” Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes locked on the wound on Lestrade's neck.
“Who did it?”
Sherlock glanced up at Molly, her big brown eyes full of curiosity. If Sherlock could trust Molly with the secret that he was still alive for two years, he could trust her not to tell anyone that John had killed someone.
“John Watson.” Sherlock said quietly. Molly's eyes went wide with disbelief.
“What?” She gasped. “You must be mistaken.”
“No.” Sherlock pulled his mobile from the pocket of his bell staff coat and showed Molly the text messages that John had been sending him for the past two years. When she got to the end her mouth was hanging open.
“I don't believe it.” Molly seemed to whisper. “Why would he do this?”
“That's what I need to find out. You've seen the messages he's sent me, he's obviously not well. I believe he's driven himself mad believing that I was still alive for the past two years. Admittedly, it is partially my fault, I did give him clues to lead him to that fact.” Sherlock explained, tucking his mobile away when Molly handed it back.
“The day that you fell John came here.” Molly started, she briefly made eye contact with Sherlock, but then continued to stare at Lestrade.
“I know, I could hear everything he was saying. He came here so quickly I didn't even have time to leave. I was still in your office while you talked to him.”
“He was so adamant about you being alive.” Molly said, wringing her hands the way she did when she got nervous about something.
“He wanted my attention. Have you seen the pictures of the crime scene?”
“No.” Molly answered. Sherlock took his mobile from his pocket again and brought up the pictures that Mycroft had sent him. “He sent you that phrase in a text.”
“Yes, and he knew that I was the only one that would know what it meant. He sent me a one word text message after he had committed his crime. The text said 'murder' as you saw a moment ago. As far as I know, Mycroft doesn't know that John is the one that did this. I haven't talked to him directly, but the man he sent to guide me to my plane in America told me that they had no leads here.” Sherlock paused for a moment and turned to face Molly, her eyes flitted from his to random areas around the room, like she was unable to look at them for too long. “Molly, I want you to promise me something.”
“What's that?” Molly asked sheepishly.
“Don't tell anyone that John did this. I'm going to set things right, I just need time to think of a plan.”
“Sherlock, what if he kills someone else?”
“I don't think he will. If I'm right, his motive for killing Lestrade was to get me back to London. I'll let him know that I'm here, and if he wants to, I'll meet him somewhere. I know John Watson, and he wouldn't kill someone in cold blood. Something has gone wrong, but I'm going to fix it. I'm going to fix John.”
“I don't know that you can.” Molly said sadly.
“I can. John Watson is not a murderer, he just needs help remembering that.” Sherlock stated with certainty just as he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out to find John's name displayed on his screen. Molly moved closer to read the text as Sherlock opened it. Only one word was displayed on the screen.
Rat
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John
John had just finished moving the body of the tail that Mycroft had placed on him into a spot where Scotland Yard was sure to find it, then sent a one word text to Sherlock. This is what he would always do when he killed someone. He hadn't planned on this man being a part of his scheme, but he decided to work him in regardless. What was the point in killing someone without a reason? Sherlock would most likely be called to the scene soon, so John would have to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. Mrs. Hudson still didn't know that Sherlock was still alive, so he wouldn't be paying any visits to John in their old flat if he wanted to keep that little secret. John had to complete his plan, and that meant not being caught by Sherlock, or anyone else, until he was finished. He had to show Sherlock exactly how desperate he was to get him back in his life. Surely Sherlock would appreciate that.
He raced back to a populated street and hailed a cab that took him back to Baker Street, then hurried up the stairs to his flat before Mrs. Hudson could even get her door open to greet him, that was for the best. John didn't feel like socializing with Mrs. Hudson. He had planned on Molly being his next victim, but everything had been thrown off. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would be a better choice. He wouldn't do it just yet, though. Sherlock would need time to investigate the newest crime scene that John had laid out for him. Mrs. Hudson's murder would have to be elaborate, and inside 221B. That would be the perfect way for John to get Sherlock back to the flat, and that was what he wanted, after all. He smiled to himself for a moment as he removed his coat and gloves and put them on the same hook behind the door that he always used. He felt an odd kind of joy now, knowing that his plan was working. Surely after a second murder Sherlock would be dragged back to London, whether he wanted to be or not. Mycroft always put Sherlock on the most dangerous cases, the ones that could cause the most strife for the government. John wasn't sure if that was because no one else could solve the crimes or because Mycroft thought that might be the best way to get rid of his pest of a brother. John had always been skeptical of what Mycroft's motives really were.
As pleased as John was with himself, he knew that if he dwelled too much on the fact that he was a murderer now it might get to him, and he couldn't stand to drive himself mad just now, he had too much more work to do, so he decided to turn on the news and see if anything had developed. Sure enough the news was covering his newest murder, perhaps watching the news wasn't the best way to take his mind off of what he'd been up to, but he was still curious.
“Scotland Yard is baffled after the second murder in 24 hours. Although the way that the victim was killed was slightly different from the first murder of Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, police believe that the two murders are connected. We've been assured that Scotland Yard is calling in a specialist, and we will be updated on new developments in the case as they come up.” The blond woman on the news recited the lines from the teleprompter with ease, not the slightest bit phased by the news. John supposed she was used to reporting on things like this by now. The woman had said that Scotland Yard was calling in a specialist for his handiwork, that had to be Sherlock. The consulting detective, and the only one that can solve the mystery. John was sure, though, that Sherlock wouldn't turn him in for his crimes. If Sherlock was going to turn John in, he would have done so already, and John was sure that Sherlock knew that he was the one committing the crimes. The first clues had been too obvious, at least for Sherlock. He would have known that John was the culprit as soon as he saw the writing on the pavement beside Lestrade's body, and John was sure that he'd seen that by now. Mycroft would have sent Sherlock the pictures as soon as he found out about the murder. John knew how they worked together, and he would use that to his advantage.
“It won't be long now.” John said to himself, taking another sip of the tea he had made for himself, it had grown cold now and he decided to set it aside. John's mobile suddenly buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out to see Sherlock's name on the screen. He opened the text more quickly than he had ever done anything in his life.
Why?
SH
One word, Sherlock was starting to play his game now. John hadn't expected that, but in hindsight he supposed he should have. He also thought that Sherlock would have figured out why he was doing this by now, a mind as clever as that doesn't let too many things get past. John thought for a moment, trying to find the perfect word to send back.
Nostalgia
Surely that would get Sherlock's attention, draw him to the conclusion that John so desperately wanted him to find. John had thought at first that he might have trouble coming up with the word that he would send to Sherlock every time he killed someone else, but it had been remarkably easy so far. The first one was the easiest 'murder' the word that would draw Sherlock in. He never could resist a good murder. The second one was just as simple 'rat' the perfect word to describe the man that had been following him, informing on his every move to Mycroft. Why would Mycroft be so interested in him, anyway? That part still bothered him, he would be sure to keep a closer eye on his surroundings now, just in case Mycroft decided to send another one of his pets to spy on him.
Would you like to meet somewhere?
SH
A response to John's one word text came in a few moments later, perhaps Sherlock wasn't in the mood to play that game just now. John wouldn't give up on it though. Now wasn't the right time to meet Sherlock in person, he would probably try to set up a trap, and that wasn't something John was willing to fall into just yet. He typed out yet another one word reply.
No.
That was all that John was going to give Sherlock at the moment. Sherlock was probably trying to think of a way to stop him now, but he couldn't be stopped until his whole plan came to fruition. He had to kill everyone. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were next on the list, he hadn't decided how he would dispose of them yet. He knew that Mrs. Hudson's body would be set up here, in 221B, as a way to bring Sherlock back to what he left behind. Of course, John wouldn't be there when Sherlock showed up to investigate, that would be far too dangerous. Sherlock always looked at Mrs. Hudson as a type of maternal figure, he'd once half killed a man for putting a few scratches on her, John couldn't imagine how he would react when he walked in to find her dead. That would be the last one, then Sherlock would have to agree to stay in London.
“This is what happens when you leave this city, Sherlock. It falls apart, you'll see that at the end of all this. You'll see how much pain you've caused me in faking your suicide, then you'll have no choice but to stay.” John said to himself, raking his fingers through his hair. The gnawing voice from before had been replaced with a sweeter one, the same words still repeating in the back of John's head. He's not dead.
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