The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 23

John barely managed to be roused for his final fittings that afternoon.  Despite how tired he'd been, he laid awake in bed for a long time.  Funny how that night he could sleep anywhere but in a comfortable bed.  He allowed himself to be poked, moved, dressed and undressed and accidentally stuck with pins without complaint.  He wouldn't look in the mirror or give an opinion on the clothing, which annoyed his high-strung tailor to no end.

When finally the torture of fashion was concluded, John dressed and went downstairs.  He ended up in the library, learning from one of the many footmen that no one else was at home.  Lord Sherrinford was away for the day as usual and Harry had apparently found somewhere else to be as well.  John wondered idly if he'd gone to beg of Clara's parents again.  Certainly his situation was quite immediately about to improve.  John's wedding was in two days.

John left his book; he couldn’t concentrate anyway.  The library had an impressive collection of medical texts, books on plants and the sciences.  Normally John would have been utterly lusting after those tomes, breath-taken and overwhelmed with the need to open each one and luxuriate inside.  Today he felt like a bit of flotsam in the surf, buffeted around the huge empty house with no real direction or purpose.  The long, empty hallways, dark from closed doors and lack of life, stretched on forever and twisted into nothingness.

John growled and pushed to his feet.  The servants didn’t seem at all surprised when he called for his coat and said he was going for a walk.

London at least had more life to it, especially once he'd gone further than the posh streets of Mayfair where a few ladies he'd tipped his hat to barely acknowledged his gesture once they'd seen a loose thread on his coat or the battered cane in his hand.  He wondered idly where Baker or Bow Streets were in relation to him now, at which he might find Sherlock, and whether the few pence in his pocket would get him anywhere at all.

A bit of conversation with a grocer's boy let him know that the Bow Street Magistrate's Court wasn't too terribly far so John decided to walk.  The exercise would do his leg good, after all, and the day was somewhat pleasant.  Hopefully his spare change would get him a good way back towards the Sherrinford house if he didn't find Sherlock.

By the time he'd found the Bow Street offices, John was tired.  Still, he asked after Lestrade and was taken straight to a small room cluttered with papers, a disgruntled Lestrade, and Sherlock.

"John!  You're finally here!"

"Finally?  I wasn't aware you were expecting me."

Lestrade very kindly gestured to a comfortable leather chair wedged in the corner and sent a young lad loitering in the hall for some tea.

"Where else would you be?  Mycroft spends his days running England from his club and you aren't speaking to your brother."

"Just so.  Have you been here all day?"

Lestrade snorted.  "Had sorted through a stack of missing persons before I even made it in this morning."

"Sherlock, haven't you slept at all?"

"Sleep is a waste of time!"

"Nonsense, Sherlock.  We can only function at our peak with proper amounts of rest."

"Perhaps that is true of the mundane population, John, but I simply don't need it.  Look at how much I've accomplished while you spent your day sleeping."

"You've accomplished making quite a mess, Sherlock," John retorted with a half-smile.  "And I'll have you know that I also had hours of bloody fittings this afternoon, and I walked here from your brother's house."