How Sage Became a Holmes//book the first (A Sherlock BBC Fanfiction)

The Curtain Opens; Enter Sage Samuelson and Moriarty.

At the railways at Battersea, John investigated what happened to Andrew West and the Missile plans. The Tube guard who found West's body took him to the railway line where the body was discovered. After inspecting it, he noted that there was no blood on the line, and the guard informed him that there hadn't been any. He then left, leaving John to his deductions. "Right. So, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he? There's no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?" He wondered out loud. Beside him, the points changed and one of the tracks slid sideways into a new layout. John squatted  down again and looked at the tracks thoughtfully.
"Points."
"Yes!" John sprung to his feet and turned around to see his flatmate standing nearby.
"Knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood." Sherlock remarked.
"...How long have you been following me?" Asked John.
"Since the start. You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?"
He turned and started walking, pulling put his phone. "Come on. Got some business to attend to."
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It was then that I received a text:
We've got a bit of burglary to do. Coming?
SH.
I smiled at my phone, leaping up from my bed and after practically throwing on my shoes, raced out the door.
Sherlock texted me instructions as to where to meet them, and in half an hour, we were breaking into someone's flat.
"The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service." Said Sherlock. "Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the latter." He rummaged around in his pocket, and pulled out something to pick the lock with. I attempted to conceal my excitement, while John started to protest. Once Sherlock had the door opened, we hurried inside and shut it. Sherlock trotted up the short flight of stairs ahead of him and walked into the living room, John and I on his heals.
"Where are we?" John inquired. I was wondering the same thing myself.
"Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat."
"Joe ...?" I asked.
"Brother of West's fiancée." He replied. "He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law." He dropped to his knees and slowly examined the edge of the window sill. John walked across to him and peered over his shoulder as Sherlock found some tiny blood-red spots on the paint.
"Why'd he-" the spin of the door unlocking cut John off. My eyes grew wide.
"Someone's here." I mouthed. They both straightened up and John quietly made his way to the front door, gun in hand.
"Don't." I heard him say sternly.
Shortly afterwards, Joe sat on the sofa while we all stood nearby. He fessed up to killing West, although it was an accident. All he did to start out with was steal the missile plans, but West found out and confronted him. They got into a fight, and Joe shoved him down the stairs, which is what killed him. He dragged the corpse to the railway tracks and put it on top of the car, and it fell of at the points.
"D'you still have it, then? The memory stick?" Asked John. Joe nodded.
"Fetch it for me – if you wouldn't mind." Said Sherlock. Joe sighed, and went to the other room to get it. "Distraction over, the game continues." Sherlock leaned over and whispered to John.
"Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber. "
"Five pips, remember, John? It's a countdown. We've only had four."
"Ummm...what?" I asked. They turned to me. "Anyone care to explain?"

That night, I went back to Baker Street. Which was freezing, by the way, because the windows hadn't been replaced yet; so we bundled up in our coats. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around him, trying to conserve heat. The pink phone was on the arm of the chair. John sat at the dining table, typing on his laptop. The TV was on and Sherlock was yelling indignantly at it. "No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"
"Knew it was dangerous." Said John.
"Hmm?" Asked Sherlock, not looking up from the TV.
"Getting you into crap telly." I laughed. "Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked.
"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again. He is also annoyed at Sage's absence." I rolled my eyes.
"You know, I'm still waiting." Said John.
"Hmm?" Grunted Sherlock.
"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker." I groaned, flopping down dramatically on John's armchair.
"Oh don't start, I've only just got here." I whined.
"Didn't do you any good, did it?" Sherlock said to John, ignoring me.
"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective." Said John.
Sherlock smiled. "True." John stood up and closed his laptop.
"I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's some risotto left in the fridge if you're hungry, Sage."
"Thanks. See ya." He nodded.
"Uh, milk. We need milk." He said.
"I'll get some." I offered.
"Really?" I shrugged.
"Really."
"And some beans, then?"
"And anything else I see fit. I might as well go now; Sherlock can have the risotto and I'll grab something else for myself."
"Right, thanks." John left, and I heaved myself from his armchair, putting on a hat and scarf.
"Alright, I'll be back in less than an hour." I said.
"Hm." Said Sherlock, not looking away from the TV.
"Bye."
"Yup." He popped the "p" at the end. I ran down the stairs, briefly checking my pockets for my wallet, keys, and phone. Then I was out the door into the brisk night air, walking along the quiet streets to the market.