Keeping the Strength to Fight

Chapter 25- John

"I can't find anything!" Sherlock barked, slamming his tired hands down on the table, and causing all the test tubes to jump and chime together in a chaotic clatter - the first sound to permeate the flat, that wasn't Sherlock's incoherent mumblings, for hours.

"Wha- why? Surely there'd be something!" John countered lamely.

"Something! Yes! Why didn't I think to test for that!" Sherlock snapped back, laced with sarcasm, "Whatever it is, it's completely undetectable. Or else I would have found it."

"How can you be so sure?" John inquired, "It's possible for you to just not know of it yet."

"Because I'm a genius John." He stated, like it explained everything, "I would have found it..."

His bitter assertion sounded mildly arrogant to John, but then again, so did everything else he ever said.

Sherlock stared back into the microscope and John sighed, "What about the botulinum poison? That was undetec-"

"Checked."

John sighed again, his incomplete sentence still hanging on his tongue, and suddenly wondered why he ever missed Sherlock being around.

"He wouldn't be so stupid to use the same poison as his brother." Sherlock continued, oblivious to John's wayward thoughts, "He was probably the one who sourced it in the first place! No, no, no, this is something a lot smarter, something that he is sure we wont be able to stop..." He trailed off again as he set up his equipment differently for another experiment.

John gulped, this wasn't going well for them.

Sherlock had taken the courtesy to recount his conversation with Charles Moriarty in Turkey, but hadn't explained much about why he was there, or how he was caught. All he knew was that another psychopath, with powerful connections and a net that crossed the world, wanted them out of his way so he could rebuild the murder business that his brother created.

He felt that some major details were missing from the story, but he was happy to get whatever he could out of the undead pathological liar he now appeared to be living with again. And besides, the board Sherlock would inevitably make should present all the information that he refused to speak of.

The doorbell rang. A trill sound that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"That'll be Lestrade with the tape." Sherlock informed John. He remained in his chair glaring at test tubes and petri dishes.

John waited to see if he would get up.

The doorbell went again, for longer this time.

John squinted slightly in distaste; "Sherlock."

"Mmhm."

"Door." He deadpanned.

"Yes." Sherlock replied lazily.

"Answer it."

Sherlock looked at him confused for a second, and John wasn't sure if he really remembered that the doorbell had even gone.

After a couple of seconds, Sherlock realized the issue.

"Oh, oh yes, of course. I'll get the door." He stumbled over his words in a way John had only seen a few times before. Usually when he was finding it difficult to express himself.

"Maybe he feels bad..." John wondered. And suddenly, he caught a glimpse of the old friendship they used to have. He remembered it being difficult, but he always knew Sherlock had his back. He knew that beneath it all, Sherlock respected him and trusted him.

A little bit of his anger slipped away.

Hearing the door open he readjusted his position in his chair. Lestrade strolled in looking around the room in awe.

"Well this is a change! How long'd this take to clean up?!"

John followed Greg's eyes around the room, taken aback by how normal it looked, and how easily he had overlooked it. The sofa was almost good as new and the floor had obviously had a thorough clean. New lamps and tables, almost exactly like the old ones, were back in their usual places. The window had been replaced and even new plates were in the refurbished cupboards; books back on shelves.

Memories flooded in, but he pushed them back, glancing at Sherlock with a confused and bewildered expression.

"He cleaned?!?"

As usual, Sherlock skipped the pleasantries.

"Sit down Gregory-"

"It's just Greg..." Lestrade quietly corrected as he made his way through the room -Sherlock ignored him.

"-There isn't time to waste on discussing the furnishings, we need to see this footage. It could reveal some vital information to unraveling this case. You could've got here sooner, we've wasted enough time already."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow as he settled into the sofa end closest to the Tv, "You could've answered the door sooner." He countered; "I was stuck in traffic."

Sherlock's face soured at the rebuke, "On a Monday? At midday? When the traffic is most calm?" He argued, for no apparent reason other to show off or annoy, "No, you were late for another reason. I could smell the smoke the second you stepped in. And that stain on your shirt? Not very good at hiding it are you. Ah, but you weren't alone, rendezvou-ing on the job, Greg? I wonder how your boss feels about-"

"You bloody bas-"

"I think you said something about not having time?" John cut in over them hastily, realising the twilight period was over, and the bickering was back between them. He was silently pleased.

Lestrade looked defeated and a bit pissed. He glared at a section of the floor.

Sherlock huffed like a child and rolled his eyes, flopping into the other end of the sofa. Neither of them seemed willing to move again, so John hauled himself up and limped over to the Tv.

Sherlock and Lestrade brought their attention to him as he got up, poised to interrupt , but not wanting to treat him like an invalid. They watched as he inserted the dvd into the player, both with matching expressions of sympathy; both feeling they put him in that state. A rare thing for Sherlock to feel.

As he turned to hobble back to the chair, their expressions switched back again, and he sighed like a teacher dealing with disobedient children, though neither of them were such, that was for sure.

"Just play the damn CD." He said, strained, as he lowered into his chair.

Sherlock calmly picked up the remote, seemingly unaffected by Johns obvious stress.

"He is a sociopath after all;" John reasoned with himself while turning to face the screen, "can't expect him to care much."

Sherlock glanced across at him briefly, then started to fast forward through the footage.

The screen whizzed through the months prior to the event in question. The feed was from the main office room, the entrance doors could just be seen in the top left corner, and the interrogation room was right below the camera. There was no movement besides the scurrying of rats.

"Wait! Stop it there..." John interjected in the silence that had fallen.

Sherlock played the video. A man had walked in, fuzzy in the low quality footage, but still clearly Charles by the sunglasses and leather. He seemed to be surveying the site, and caught view of the camera. He smiled and waved.

"Well isn't he in a good mood." Lestrade commented, sarcastic.

Sherlock looked suspicious.

The time stamp was dated a month before they were due to arrive there. Moriarty nodded and promptly strolled off towards the entrance, picking up a travel bag that was left near the doors, and exiting the building.

They waited a bit longer to see if anything else would happen, but when it was obvious that it wouldn't, they started forward again towards the few days before they were taken, all but one anticipating the revelations that were sure to come.