SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

send the doctor home

“You told me not to let feelings get in the way of a case,” John said, touching the tip of his tongue against his upper lip, a movement he did when he knew Sherlock would take awhile to respond.

Sherlock threw the curtain back and walked over to his favorite chair. He plopped down, his fingers curling around the rounded edges of the armrests. His feet dug into the floor and his thin frame rose in inhalation. He held that position for a few seconds and then allowed the air to tunnel through his nose and out in a warm breath. He looked up at John and said brusquely, “John, how long have you known me?”

John looked up at the ceiling and blew his cheeks out as he bobbed his head from side to side. “I’m guessing over ten years. Maybe fifteen.”

“Then you should know that feelings are an object to me to play with to get what I need. If you’re assuming I have feelings for Acelya Marinca, then you’re mistaken. I’ve sworn to protect her—,”

“From what,” John interrupted, smiling slightly in entertainment. “What could you possibly be protecting her from besides the Dutch people? Why is she important? Why her? What does she have?”

Sherlock pulling his eyes into slivers and his bottom lip poked out. Pushing himself into the standing position, he jerked the wrinkles out of his purple shirt and walked passed John. He went over to his phone and read a message that he had just received. He opened it and read it slowly. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“It’s an address. Don’t think we’ll need to make that trip to Lestrade’s.” Sherlock slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his jacket.

“Wait,” John called after, pointing in confusion at the famous coat hanging on the hook. “You’re leaving it?”

Sherlock stood halfway in the doorway and looked at John over his shoulder. “It’ll get in the way. Come along.”

John followed obediently. But on his way out, he grabbed his handgun. It wasn’t for him, though. When he caught up with Sherlock at the front door, he passed the gun into his friend’s hand. Sherlock glanced over at John, a bit confused. John was the solider, he should carry the weapon. Sherlock knew he was the brains; he would manipulate the situation so that the gun would not even be necessary. But there was a warning in the doctor’s eyes that told Sherlock to accept the gun without questions.

“I know who you’re seeing. You’ll need it more than I will.”

“Very well then.”

“They’re sure in a hurry to get this over with,” John said, tugging on his coat.

“Or, they’ve got so much up their sleeves that they can’t waste time,” Sherlock said, stepping outside. John closed the door behind them and stood beside him, looking up and down the street. He smacked his lips and rocked impatiently on his toes and heels. Sherlock nudged him and nodded to three figures across the street. “That must be them. The leader, the partner, and the distraction.”

“Wait, where are you going?” John asked, staring at Sherlock like a child given new instructions in a hardware store.

“Going to meet them. Don’t like waiting.” With that, Sherlock scampered across the street right after a blue mini-cooper whooshed by. By the time John was in the middle of the street, Sherlock was already in a conversation with the trio. The three men were dressed in trench coats pulled tightly across their bodies. They looked like business men, nothing to suspect about them from the public eye.

“Is this your pet?” a tall man ridiculed, nodding to the breathless John Watson.  “An army doctor, really, Mr. Holmes, you could’ve done better.”