Pretend it's Cluedo

The King's Head

Sherlock had taken things better than John expected him too. It seemed as though he wanted them to know, and to help him. But John wasn't sure, Sherlock always had reasons for his actions, and John knew he would never know what they were, but he could still wonder.

The pub he had sent Lestrade and Molly to was called The King's Head, a name that would later become the title of this case on John's blog, because the case was about The King's Head, and what the king's lover would do to avenge the king's death, and his death was almost totally due to his head, or more specifically his mind, which is associated to his head, right? John thought it was sufficient reason to call the case that.

The pub itself was unremarkable, a typical British country pub. A dark wood bar, with a few beer stains, some tables in a restaurant area, and a darker area with booths and bar seating in it, where Molly and Lestrade were sat, facing them in the corner. It surprised John to see them holding hands; it did not surprise Sherlock: he had already concluded that by the time he'd figured out what'd gone on they would be engaged and pregnant. He knew Lestrade's wife had left, and that Molly had always liked Lestrade and vice versa, it was inevitable, Sherlock had tried to set them up for so long, and now they were finally getting there. He felt like a proud father. It entertained him.

Sherlock knew Mycroft had only just left, his aftershave lingered in the air, and Molly and Lestrade were acting guilty.

"You alright, Sherlock?" Lestrade was the first to talk, he surprised himself with his casualness.
"Always, Greg."
Lestrade could not be more worried, had Sherlock just got his name right?
"Uh, Sherlock?" John looked at Sherlock as if to remind him of something.
"Oh." He paused. "Yes. Mycroft. John wanted to know what Mycroft said."
"Sherlock." John warned.
"I want to know what Mycroft said." He looked semi-vulnerable, semi-angry with himself, and John for making Sherlock ask himself.
Lestrade told Sherlock what Mycroft had said with the occasional comment from Molly.

"He really does care about you Sherlock." It was Molly, Sherlock just sat opposite her looking awkward.
John decided to change subject. "He told you he didn't know and he wanted Sherlock to find out?"
"He did. I don't know what's going on but it's something bigger than Mycr-."
"It's not to do with Mycroft." Sherlock interrupted. He pulled out a pen from his pocket before, looking around the pub. He wrote on a napkin and then turned it to the other three. "I need you to book a different hotel for tonight, our hotel's been bugged." His writing was met with confused looks. "And so is the house. And ergo, so likely is pub. So we need to go, NOW. And make sure we aren't followed. I have all I need from the house. I'll explain when we're not being listened to."
"There's the takeaways address, Lestrade."
Lestrade nodded. "Alright. Let's have a pint, then I can take you all back to yours, then go and get a take away." He said looking at Sherlock.
"Good good." It was John. "I'll order, who wants what?"
"A pint of their draft cider." Lestrade.
"Ditto." Molly.
"Vodka."
"Sherlock." John warned.
"Fine. A whiskey."
"Vodka it is." John shut Sherlock down.
Lestrade chucked John the twenty. "Round's on Mycroft."
John walked back, somehow not managing to spill the two ciders, nor the vodka (much to Sherlock's relief) nor the whiskey, that John had "accidentally" ordered for himself, after his "chat" with Sherlock he thought he deserved it.

They drank, and talked about meaningless things. Then they left, Lestrade avoided being tailed, and they parked up on a busy residential street, that had few spaces, and was a short walk from their hotel. Sherlock said it would look like they were visiting an old friend of his who lived on this street.

The hotel was a small three story 70s building, now owned by a large hotel chain. It wasn't ugly, but wasn't exactly pleasing to look at either. It was expensive though. Sherlock was happy to find his banking app telling him he had been transferred a few thousand pounds by Mycroft under the title "expenses". He payed for a "double suite", which the receptionist said had two rooms both with double beds, which Sherlock knew would do for them, particularly due to Molly and Lestrade's handholding and sofa-sharing.

The four of them sat in the room Sherlock and high had claimed; Molly and Lestrade on the bed, John sat in an armchair and Sherlock sat on the floor.

"This is not about Mycroft."
"But-" Molly was interrupted.
"Blocking Mycroft out makes it so obvious that it's about him that it can't be him." He paused.
Lestrade took the pause as an invitation to speak. "So it's about you."
"Naturally."
"But," John interjected, " you haven't pissed many people off since you returned...?"
"Hence it must be to do with something before I left."
"Moriarty?" Questioned Molly.
"No. But someone related to him and his death."
"But he's back so can't it be him?"
"He's dead John. Very dead. Someone's playing with us. And I think I know who."

A/N: thanks to everyone who's read and voted on this story: we've got to 100 views! :) anyhow, hope you enjoy and if you did, leave a comment or a vote! It makes me happy :) WIW out!