Chapter Text
Sherlock was crouched down examining the drainpipe when John found him.
“Sherlock, I don’t think that’s the father."
“Father left before I got there,” Sherlock said, wiping off his pants as he stood. “How did things with Huy go?”
“Good, erm, I found something out actually-”
Sherlock held up a finger, cutting John off as he leaned close to the pipe. A rat scurried out.
“Continue.”
“One of his triggers is mirrors.”
Sherlock perked up suddenly. “What?”
“Uh… mirrors?”
“Mirrors… mirrors, what is a mirror again?”
“Oh God please tell me you’re joking,” John said, holding back a laugh. Sherlock’s face answered his question.
“You’re really serious?”
“John you know how I function, and if you DARE bring up the solar system again I will end you, do you understand?”
John bit back his laugh again, silently chortling.
“Do... do,” he said, hardly containing the laughter. “Do you need me to explain the toaster again?”
“That was one time!”
“You got scared when the toast came out!”
“I was in my mind palace! How was I supposed to know those machines shoot out scorched bread at mock nine?!?”
“The literal name is a TOASTER, Sherlock!” John said, now laughing hysterically.
Sherlock groaned, beginning to pace.
“Why mirrors? Out of all the things?”
“Maybe the kid wore glasses?” John suggested, recovering from his laughing fit. Sherlock shook his head.
“Not enough reflection, so way he could’ve seen himself. No, there had to have been something else so he saw himself clearly. Did he have TVs or computers at his house?”
“I don’t recall if he did-”
Sherlock ran up to him, placing his palms on either side of his face. He began spinning John just as he did another time before.
“Sherlock not this again!”
“You need to remember, John! Close your eyes and think!”
John closed his eyes, putting his faith in Sherlock so not let him fall. He tried imagining the flat, everything inside. When he looked around what did he see? Bits started coming back slowly.
“Well, there was a glass oven door…” He said.
“Good, good, what else?”
“A computer, it was off I think.”
“You think or know? The margin of error, John!”
“Yes, it was.”
“Anything else?”
“I don’t think so?”
Sherlock halted John abruptly, which John’s body did not agree with as he nearly toppled over sideways. Sherlock caught him as he fell into the other.
“Sorry,” Sherlock said, standing John upright. “Forgot that happens.”
“Why does any of that matter?” John said slowly, trying to regain his balance. The world still seemed to spin ever so slightly.
“All of those surfaces reflect, so whatever he saw had to have been vivid- like a mirror.”
“But nobody brings a mirror to a battlefield.”
“Well, obviously not. But what else? Where else could he have seen himself though? Where?”
John rubbed his eyes groggily. Not only was he exhausted, but felt nauseous and dizzy on top of everything else.
“Maybe he dissociated and saw himself I dunno.”
“Wait, say that again?”
“I dunno?”
Sherlock waved his arms dismissively. “No no, the other thing!”
“Maybe he dissociated?”
Sherlock folded his hands together giddily, looking as though he about to start jumping up and down.
“Of course! Huy didn’t see that soldier die, he almost saw himself die! Hence the mirrors, lack of the other soldier, and the memories of him. Oh, this is brilliant!”
John sat, dumbfounded.
“That’s why he couldn’t tell us anything about Bobby, there was no Bobby. Wait, but Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“Where does the name come from?”
Sherlock Went to answer then stopped, looking seemingly confused.
“You’re right, there must be something behind that name.”
“I’m sensing foul play with all of this, Sherlock, with the paperwork and whatnot. Someone is trying to keep this a secret.”
“Yes, but who in particular? And for what reason?”
John wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.
“Maybe let’s talk about it somewhere warmer, yeah?”
…
“I still think that bank statements will help, Sherlock. Find out where the money’s been going?”
Sherlock crossed his legs in his chair deep in thought. John had been essentially talking to himself for the past thirty minutes with hardly any response from his friend.
“Earth to Sherlock.”
Sherlock grunted, a sign he was at least vaguely listening.
“Well? Anything?”
Sherlock opened his eyes and exhaled deeply. He frowned.
“No.”
He sprung up and began to pace. John had always been reminded of his pacing like a lion in a cage, restless, angry, with a need to release its frustration. Sometimes if John didn’t know any better he would hear him growl.
“Bobby… Bobby, who is Bobby?”
“A made-up name maybe?”
“No, no they wouldn’t just make up a name. It had to be at least somewhat familiar to Huy for him to recognize it. Ah! We need information!”
Sherlock yelled, slamming a fist on the mantle. John rolled his eyes.
“We tried that remember? We got beat up?”
“But we did it incorrectly. If we can even begin to attempt this again we need to do it right,” he groaned, throwing himself back down miserably in the chair.
“Well,” John began. “If it was actually him that got shot, maybe he was in shock then? Low blood pressure from blood loss?”
“Yes!” Sherlock stood up again.
“I’m highly concerned about the rate your mood has been changing.”
“Oh, who cares about that? We have a fool-proof plan! We will stage a blood drive-”
“Jesus- what if,” John said, “We ask him to recreate this? He wants the truth more than any of us, with some convincing I’m sure he’d agree.”
“Oh, oh well yes I suppose that would work too,” Sherlock said with a look of disappointment. John could only have imagined what the rest of his plan would’ve been.
…
“I understand your concern, Jason, I really do, but if we want to finalize the case then we’ll need the information,” John said calmly.
“Do we really need to do it like this?”
“I’m afraid so. On the brighter side of things, you’ll have some clarity finally.”
Huy nodded and opened his mouth to speak when the door opened. The three men turned as a man walked in, looking mildly disheveled, with a wiry, scraggly gray and black beard accenting his wrinkled face.
“Oh, father I-”
Both John and Sherlock stood up simultaneously. The man’s eyes widened as if debating making a run for it.
“You must be the father,” Sherlock said walking up to him. He held out a hand. “Sherlock [.”
“Willie Huy,” he responded, accepting the handshake. “Erm- thank you for taking care of my son.”
“We tried contacting you, it seems you went off the radar for a while, hm?”
“I’ve never been one for hospitals, they just take your money until you die I always say.”
John studied the man closely. He made his own deduction that he was very money-driven given the comment. He certainly looked the part of a drunk as well.
“We were just discussing a type of treatment for Jason here,” Sherlock said casually. “Thought you might be interested, to get his memories from the incident back.”
“What- what incident?” He laughed awkwardly. “If you mean from the war then we already know what happened.”
“You can never be too sure, Mr. Huy.”
“This is mad, throwing my son out of his mind to find the information we already have- it’s ludicrous!”
“There’s no need to get heated,” John held up his hands. “Jason was in agreement. It will inevitably help him.”
“No, it will not! You are not to lay a hand on my son!”
Willie stomped up to John, stopping mere inches away from his face. John stayed unwavering, staring the man right in the eye.
“You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?”
“Father, don’t do this it’s alright-”
“No, they’re trying to use you, can’t you see? For revenue!” He spat in John’s face. “Disgusts me.”
John pushed back the flooding of the memories from his own past, packing them deep down out of sight. Now wasn’t the time to waver. He inhaled, fighting the urge to punch the man in the face.
“Have anything to say, soldier boy?”
“Mr. Huy, if you do not step back this instant I’m afraid my partner and I will have no other choice but physical force, do I make myself clear?” He said sternly. Willie smirked.
“Or what?”
“Father-”
“You’ve been given a warning.”
“You’re mad!” He said, stepping away from an ever heated John. “All of you!”
“We aren’t the mad ones,” John said. “You have explaining to do,” John said. Sherlock shot him a look, to which he nodded his head.
“Explaining what? What are you talking about?”
“Alcoholic father, cheated on your wife not so long ago right?” Sherlock spoke up. “Abusive tendencies, she was relieved you were gone, may I go on?”
“Shut up!”
“No, there’s more,” John said. “When did you plan on telling him?”
“You’re insane!”
“Would you like me to? I don’t mind.”
The elder Huy’s face grew red in anger. John knew fully he was slightly intoxicated.
“All that money for your drinking, which I could easily smell, that had to come from somewhere,” he said smugly. Sherlock’s mouth dropped.
“You-you couldn’t have-”
“What? What is he talking about?” Huy said, standing.
“I think my partner can explain the rest better than I, take a seat, would you? We might be here a while.”
“Jason, that soldier you saw die wasn’t real. I know it seemed real at the time, but you were having an out of body experience,” Sherlock said. “You saw yourself die, hence why mirrors triggered your PTSD. Mr. Huy, here, drunken and enraged his estranged son had come hope needing medical care devised a plan. While you received a pension, he began collecting the money whilst hiring unqualified doctors and therapists, of which worked dirt cheap. To keep the lie going, he began feeding false information, planting Bobby right into your head.”
Jason stared blankly at the wall, Willie shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“The family dog,” John added.
“The only one who found out was the mother, and she couldn’t know, could she? So with some of the money, you made sure she couldn’t tell a soul. You would be wasted right now if you could, but money’s tight. Too tight, you could only afford a little bit to get you through after hiring that hitman. Who was a poor choice, by the way.”
Sherlock turned to Jason quickly. “He’s been apprehended, no worries.”
“All to feed your addiction,” John finished. “Are you proud of yourself, Willie?”
“Even went through the trouble of hiding the official paperwork. You couldn’t stay in St. Mary’s too long before they found you out, hm?”
“How- how did you find out all of this?” Willie stuttered. “It was so thought through I-”
“I didn’t,” Sherlock confessed. “John did, I was merely along for the ride. I'm quite good at catching on, though.”
John furrowed his brows at Sherlock, who turned up the corner of his mouth slightly.
“How perfect of a plan can a drunk pull of? It was bound to fall through.”
“I can’t believe this, I- it’s all true, isn’t it? You did this! I thought you cared!” Jason yelled, standing up. Willie stood, backing away.
“Let’s not make any harsh decisions, Jase,” he said.
Sherlock hit the wall once, which in turn the door opened. Lestrade, along with several others rushed the room.
“Get on the ground!" One of them yelled. John and Sherlock exited the room, waiting outside until the situation was handled officially.
They stood in awkward silence, watching as Willie was dragged out by a rather strong officer.
“How?” Sherlock spoke up finally above the background noise. “How did you find that all out? And when?”
“Well, during you’re little mind palace sessions I took the liberty of doing my own research, paired with personal experiences in the area,” John replied. “I had a hunch.”
“Even after I shot you down multiple times?”
“Fueled my need to prove you wrong even more,” John chuckled, putting his hands into his pockets. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know, because I know you had all the information.”
“I saw all of it, but I didn’t want to put it together. Especially after making it clear I thought you wrong,” he admitted. John smiled.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened, you were, you were right,” he said as if it pained him to utter the words. “I was wrong.”
“Sherlock I-”
“And you get credit for the case. I’ll just say I was working on something separate at the time to make up for what I said.”
“You really don’t need to do that-”
“No, no it’s the least I could do,” he said quickly. “Truly.”
“Well, that’s...nice of you.”
They walked down the street, not bothering to take a cab back to the flat. It was a fairly nice day, light breeze and a soft snowfall. John chuckled suddenly, realizing something.
“What’s so funny?” Sherlock asked, looking at John strangely.
“You, this,” John waved his arm for emphasis. “Me being right, it’s all so strange.”
Sherlock stopped, causing John to halt his pace as well. He turned to John, smiling with a type of smile John had seldom seen. It was pure, not sneaky or sarcastic, just an overall genuine smile. His heart faltered.
“What I said before, you really are smarter than you or I give credit.”
“Well I don’t know about that,” John said, laughing.
“I’m serious. You really are brilliant.”
“Where is this all coming from?”
Sherlock sighed and rubbed the back of his head.
“Well, it’s not like I don’t think that all the time, I suppose I just never tell you. And with the way I’ve been acting, I think this time I really do owe you an apology for everything.”
John raised his eyebrows. Usually, when Sherlock said such a thing we wanted something or needed a favour, but this time didn’t feel like that at all. Did he genuinely mean this?
“You don’t believe me,” Sherlock noted.
“No no,” John said shaking his head. “I just, erm, don’t know what to say. Thank you, Sherlock.”
“Just don’t get used to it,” he laughed. “Please.”
John laughed, patting Sherlock on the shoulder.
“Not a problem, mate.”
They continued walking, John inadvertently smiled to himself. He noticed after a few blocks it was growing chillier as the sunset, and he had, unfortunately, forgot a heavy coat this time around. He subconsciously hunched up his shoulders to retain at least some warmth when something was wrapped around his neck.
“What-”
He nearly jumped out of his skin until he realized it was Sherlock, placing his scarf around John. He looked up in surprise, Sherlock walking as though nothing had happened. He chuckled.
“Thanks.”
As they walked back, no more words were spoken between the two. It wasn’t awkward by any means, it was more a comfortable silence of two friends enjoying one another’s company. So in truth, nothing really needed to be said. Like a wise man once said, sometimes speaking too much is counterproductive, and in turn, takes away its value. So it could be said no words spoken is better than any at all.