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“Was it Mary?” John held his breath, the phone pressed hard against his ear.
“John.” Sherlock’s voice was soft. John knew immediately. What he found impossible to accept was true. His heart thudded, pounding against his ribcage, trying to escape his chest, hide from the truth that swelled to fill his head, burst from his skull. He couldn’t get enough air.
He willed his breathing to slow and filled his lungs before he spoke.
“Was that why you said her name when you first woke? You left my chair here and her perfume is sitting on my side table. I know my mind doesn’t work like yours. You tell me often enough. Were you ever going to tell me or were you waiting for me to use your methods? Jesus, Sherlock.”
“John, I…” John heard the sorrow in Sherlock’s voice floating through the distance between them.
“Sherlock, this isn’t a discussion to have over the phone. Where are you?”
“You won’t tell anyone.” A command.
“Okay, I won’t, but Mycroft”
“You need to go out and walk off your frustration.”
John heard what he wasn’t saying and nodded to the empty room. “Right, right.” He hit end and looked around for his coat. He had one arm in the sleeve when he noticed Mrs. Hudson’s pinched face. He’d forgotten she was there.
“I’m going out for a bit.” He told her as he finished putting on his coat.
“You’ll let me know what’s happening?” She moved closer and put her hand on his arm.
“Of course.” He nodded and tried to smile.
________________________________________________________________________
John heard him before he saw him. A rustle of grass and a prickling at the back of his neck, then a darker, more solid shadow in the lee of the stone wall at the edge of the park.
“That you?”
“Yes. Sit on the bench.”
John slumped onto the wooden bench, let his head fall back and sighed deeply.
“Were you going to tell me?” he asked and tried not to move his lips anymore than necessary. He glanced around, looking for anyone who might be watching or any CCTV cameras.
“I don’t know.” Sherlock quiet baritone floated toward him. “I, well, I knew before that there was--”
“What do you mean before? Before she shot you? Christ Sherlock, what the fuck is this all about?” he hissed.
“We can’t talk here. There’s a throwaway mobile at the far end of the bench. Take it and I’ll text you where to meet. Don’t let yourself be followed, John.”
John tamped down the urge to storm over to Sherlock and demand the truth right now. Grab him by those fucking coat lapels and shake some sense into him.
The medic in him came to the fore and he realized that shaking him, no matter how he deserved it, wasn’t exactly on at present. He needed to be back in hospital, not climbing fences and roaming the streets of London on foot in the middle of the night.
“Wait, Sherlock you shouldn’t be out of hospital. Come home. I’ll--” abruptly he realized the darker shadow had disappeared. “Damn you.” He muttered under his breath.
He retrieved the phone and exited the park, turning as if he were headed back to Baker Street. The chime that indicated an incoming text seemed very loud and he had to suppress a flinch and a need to look around to see if anyone heard.
‘behind north clock face big ben’
So he hadn’t been lying to Mrs. Hudson. John hurried toward the nearest taxi stand.
___________________________________________________________________
Three cabs, a stop at a café (exiting through a different door), and a tube ride later John skulked in the shadows near the elaborate stone pillars and iron railings that surrounded Big Ben.
How the hell he was supposed to get in without being seen by cameras or stopped by security he had no idea. Fuck Sherlock and the horse he rode in on. He sidled along, all senses alert, and nearly jumped out of his skin as a cat streaked across his path.
As John walked the perimeter trying to find a way in, a low voice came from the shrubbery on the other side of the fence. The voice was nearly masked by traffic noise from the street, but John would know it anywhere.
He turned and felt his face go hard and cold. He didn’t answer just moved toward the disembodied voice.
“This way, John.” Sherlock said as he led him toward an area further from the ubiquitous CCTV cameras.
John followed the sound of rustling foliage.
He watched as Sherlock scaled the fence with an effort and grimaced as his feet hit the pavement next to John.
“I’ve told you once, you need to be in hospital or at least back at your flat. You need to rest, to heal. Climbing fences is not recommended a week post thoracotomy even for you, Sherlock. You’re not indestructible no matter what you say.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You’d already left, yeah.”
“I’m fine. Things are in motion. We have to hurry.” He turned and walked off only to call over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
John followed grimly wondering how it was he would do anything the man asked of him.
______________________________________________________________________
They reached their destination following a path John was sure he could never replicate. He was so turned around he had no idea where they were, but he was sure they were less than a mile from their starting point. They stopped at a black painted door.
Sherlock bent over. John stepped forward reaching out for him.
“John,” Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, just wait.” He produced a strange tool from the depths of his coat pocket and inserted it into a hidden recess in the doorjamb. A slight twist and the door slid open.
Sherlock disappeared into the darkness and John followed. They entered a narrow hallway. No light came in through the windows John had seen from the outside. It didn’t seem to be a house at all. Only one door led off to his right and inside all he could see was darkness.
“What is this place, Sherlock?”
“A false front, just a façade, useful for keeping up appearances and masking emptiness or ugliness from the casual observer. People pass by everyday and very few see what is right in front of their eyes, John.”
John realized he was the casual observer. He’d seen what he wanted to see, what was presented to him. A woman who seemed to love him, enjoy being with him. He had taken her at face value, never once seeing anything other than the face she showed him. How could he have been so blind? John’s mind was a swirl of questions. His chest a chaos of emotions he couldn’t identify or bring himself to express.
Sherlock flipped on a light.
John looked away, He couldn’t face his…what the hell was Sherlock to him? Friend? More than that surely. He couldn’t find a word that explained what he felt for the mad genius. But right this minute all he felt was betrayed, again, and stupid for ever having believed a word out of that mouth that had lied so often before.
And Mary, his sweet, funny, loving Mary. How was this fucking shite even possible? What had he done to deserve this bloody mess of a life? He felt his eyes fill with tears. Abruptly he turned his whole body away from Sherlock barely able to see the blank, dingy wall of the corridor. He heard Sherlock move closer and shook his head warning him to back off.
“John, I was going to tell you. I needed to find out why. I--”
“When?” John snapped.
“What?”
“When did you know something was wrong about Mary? Before we married? All those months before the wedding? When she shot you in the fucking chest? When?” He swirled to face him, stepped closer, crowding him, looking up into those ever changing eyes, watching as the pupils dilated.
“I was wrong not to tell you.” Sherlock backed up as far as he could in the narrow hallway. “But you loved her and she, well she liked me. I thought--”
“When? Just tell me.” John’s voice was low and gruff with menace.
“The first night.”
“Christ, Sherlock.” John shook his head in disbelief.
“You were so angry with me John, would you have believed anything I said?” Sherlock stood straighter and winced with the pain.
John saw it and immediately switched to Doctor mode. “Listen you idiot, you need to be in hospital. Let’s go there and we can deal with this later when you’re better and--”
“No. It’s already begun. I’ve been busy. She will be here shortly. You can, well, you can listen to all that we say and then you’ll know what I know.”
John bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He furtively swiped his eyes and took a deep breath, expelling it in a rush as if to push all of his conflicted emotions out with the carbon dioxide laden air.
“All right. Okay, tell me what’s been going on since your escape.” He gave his head a quick shake and pulled his shoulders back to release some of his tension.
“First I contacted Billy,” he said as John grimaced at the thought of Sherlock’s continued contact with the junkie “had him contact Anderson”
“Anderson?” John interrupted incredulously.
“Do you want to hear what I did or discuss Anderson and his flock of fans?” Sherlock snapped.
“Go on, go on.” John gave a sigh.
“If all goes as I think it will, Mary will try to track me down.”
John looked at him in disbelief.
“You asked her to help, didn’t you?” Sherlock asked irritably.
John nodded. He had, even without a second thought.
“She’s very clever. She will reach out to the people who believed in me. The people neither Mycroft nor Scotland Yard would think to ask. Billy was to tell Anderson to tell Mary that I would probably be here in Leinster Gardens. I left him to write his own script. If Mary doesn’t come we’ll know that was probably a mistake.” He stopped and took several shallow breaths.
“You okay?” John queried.
“Fine, fine.” Sherlock said with a dismissive flip of his hand. “Billy is stationed at the corner nearest this place. Another of the homeless network is stationed in the other direction. They will notify us when she is near. You can duck into this room,” He motioned toward the single door. “I’ll stand down there in the shadows.”
“No, you won’t. I will, I’ll confront her. You’ll stay out of the way. She shot you once. What makes you think she wouldn’t do it again?” John protested.
“I don’t know, but she’ll tell me things she won’t tell you.” He stopped at John’s expression of incredulity. “It’s true. She all but threatened me if I told you she was the shooter.”
“What? When?” John shook his head and clinched his fists. “What the fuck is going on here Sherlock?”
Sherlock put his hand on John’s arm to stop him. “John, calm down. I don’t know when exactly, while you were out of the room on that first day I think, it all sort of runs together. You came back and she and I were never alone together after that.” He slumped back against the wall.
“So you knew there was something off about her since you met her. You didn’t tell me then. Or anytime before I married her. You let me go in blind. She shot you, nearly killed you for Christ’s sake, threatened you while you were at your weakest and you still kept quiet.”
Sherlock reached out to him.
“No, let me try to understand this. Why are you even telling me now? Why, when it’s all so fucked up?
“John, I made a mistake when I left you to grieve my death. I, you love her. You wanted her in your life. I wanted you to have what would make you happy.” He looked away. “I didn’t tell you then, so I’m telling you now. Is this a mistake too?”
“No, Jesus, Sherlock. I don’t know.” John’s shoulders sagged.
They stood across from each other, Sherlock, leaning against the wall breathing heavily, and avoiding looking at each other.
“So what’s our next move?” John asked at last.
“I know she’s been hiding something from all of us and Magnussen knows what it is. He threatened her with exposure. She was after his proof that night, just as we were. I surprised her there. Tonight, she won’t be distracted. I’ve done a bit of research and have a fair idea of what she’s after. Tonight I’m after confirmation. She’s obviously trying desperately to keep it from you, not to lose you.”
“Too late.” John said with a shake of his head and his mouth tightening into a thin cold smile. He turned away clinching his fists and walked toward the end of the corridor. He stopped when he saw a wheelchair, complete with IV stand and a bag of fluids. “Where did this come from?”
Sherlock had followed. He lowered himself gingerly into the chair.
“Did you fall for the open window?” He grinned smugly. “As you pointed out, I’m a week post gunshot. Do you think I would be able to crawl out a third floor window and make it to the ground safely? Billy, dressed in scrubs, wheeled me out and took me to Baker Street for these clothes and then here. I’m not a super hero, John.”
John found himself chuckling. Then realized he had absolutely nothing to chuckle about. For a brief moment he had easily slipped back into the comfortable role of confidant to the man sitting in front of him. But the reality of his present situation jerked him back like a taut bowstring after the arrow is released.
The woman he had married was somehow the same person who had tried to murder his closest friend. The mother of his unborn child had a secret so terrible that she would resort to murder to keep it from him.
He couldn’t deal with this. He wanted to turn and run and run and never come back. To find another place, another life, be someone else, anything but stay here and deal with all this swirling, sickening emotion.
He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. He had no time to be a coward. He had Sherlock, who should still be flat on his back in hospital, putting himself in jeopardy to solve the mystery of Mary’s past and his, John’s, baby’s future. He had to take care of them, Sherlock and the baby. He would worry about Mary later, when he knew more.
“Listen, Sherlock, you can’t put yourself in the line of fire again. I can sit in the chair here in the dark and she’ll think I’m you. You can question her, but I can’t let you be in her sights again.”
“How will you sitting here and my voice coming from somewhere else work? Mary’s clever.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you can talk into your phone and I’ll set this” he held up the throwaway, “on speaker.”
“Never work, you can tell the difference. The hollow sound of the phone on speaker, plus I’d have to speak at a normal level and she’d hear that as well. Stereo voices, John?” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and then the oh! expression that always thrilled John bloomed on his face. He took his phone out and hit speed dial.
“Billy.”
“I know she’s not in sight yet. You would have called.”
“When she does come give her your phone and the bluetooth.”
Sherlock snorted. “Don’t whine. I’ll make sure you get it back.”
Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. You’ve been invaluable.”
He ended the call.
“I will carry on the conversation that way. With the ear piece in we can hope she won’t realize it’s not you talking, but you’ll need a disguise if she’s to think you’re me.”
John looked around for anything that could possibly be used for a disguise. The corridor was bare. He turned back to Sherlock with a shrug.
“Turn up your collar and muss your hair.” Sherlock instructed.
John flipped up his collar and almost smiled. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“No. More.” Sherlock said as he stood and reached toward John.
John drew back slightly. Sherlock fixed him with a glare. John straightened and held his breath as Sherlock ruffled his hair much the way John had see him disturb his own. Sherlock adjusted John’s coat collar and smoothed his hands along John’s shoulders. John shivered. Sherlock withdrew his hands and gave a quick nod. “That’ll do. Now we wait.”
“Tell me, Sherlock. Tell me what you noticed and when. I know you, you must have done research. What’s she afraid of? What in hell could make her shoot you? I don’t understand. I, Jesus Sherlock, how could you let this happen?”
Sherlock’s phone signaled a text. He glanced at it and looked at John and nodded to him as a small smile crept onto his face.
“John, I explain it all later. The Game is on! Sit here.” And he raised his phone to his ear as he walked away down the long dark corridor.
“Can’t you see me?” Sherlock’s voice floated back to John. John tensed and waited.
“The lie, the lie of Leinster Gardens, hidden in plain sight.” John suppressed a shudder as he sat in the wheelchair.
This time it wasn’t a game for John.