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It was the Summer of 2013, and all London was talking about was the murder of Ronald Adair. Thanks to his friendship with Sherlock, John had maintained a heavy interest in crime. So he always managed to take a look at the latest story on on BBC News or in The Guardian.
No other story in the news had actually caught Johns attention however like the tragedy of Ronald Adair. He thought as he read the story in the paper that Sherlock would definitely find plenty of interest in this case and would be begging Lestrade to let him be a part of it.
Adair's mother, who did business in Australia for a living, had come to visit Ronald at university with his sister, Hilda. They were currently staying in Ronald's apartment, 427 Park Lane. He had no enemies that anyone knew of, nor any vices. He recently broke up with up with his girlfriend, Edith Woodley, a few months prior, though it was on good terms and the two remained friends.
His habits were not out of the ordinary. He kept to himself and his own small social circle of friends. He was fond of cards and on the evening of his death, had just come home from playing with a club he usually frequents. This group consisted of Tom Murray, John Hardy, and Sebastian Moran. In a game he could've lost five pounds at the worse, but was a cautious player most of the time and usually came out a winner.
He returned home around ten PM. His mother and sister both went out to dinner with relatives. His mother happened to leave the window in the sitting room open. Around eleven-thirty, the women returned. They had discovered the front door was still locked, but assumed Ronald was still out. Once they had entered though, they were greeted by a rather horrible discovery.
Adair was lying near the coffee table. His face was mutilated by a gunshot wound to it. There was money all over the table. And along with the money there was a paper with the names of all his club friends.
The officers at Scotland Yard were quite perplexed as to how this happened. The front door was locked from the inside, and although the window was open, there was no way his murder could've happened because A: The height at which the window was, was over twenty feet and although the murderer could've climbed down, there was a bed of crocuses suggesting otherwise. And B: The murderer would've had been a spectacular shot to get it through the window considering ballistics stated the murder weapon was some sort of hand gun. And yes John is a great shot, quite obvious after the incident with the cabbie, but we all know he isn't the murderer and besides he never even met Adair before.
Most of the day, John went about the facts trying to formulate some sort of theory as to what had happened. Unfortunately he made little progress, and it looked to be a case for the late Sherlock Holmes, if he weren't dead that is.
In the evening, growing bored of the four walls that surrounded him, John decided to go for a walk. Around six, he found himself at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane.
After talking to a few people, he was directed to see what he was looking for.
Unfortunately he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings though and happened to collide with an elder man. The man dropped a few books he happened to be carrying, one John spotted as he helped out, was "The Origin of Tree Worship". The man must've been a bibliophile or dealt with books for a living John thought. The books looking quite worn out, must've still been quite precious to their owner though. John tried to apologize, but the man just snarled in contempt and was on his way.
John didn't get much from looking at 427 Park Lane and decided to go back home. He had not been back five minutes when the doorbell rang.
He opened the door to find the old man he bumped into before, and before he could say anything the old man went, "You're surprised to see me." He said in a croaking voice.
"Yes I am" John acknowledged.
"Well I have a conscience sir, and I happened to see you come into this house and decided to come and apologize if I seemed a bit gruff before and express how grateful I am for you helping me pick up my books."
"Oh don't worry about it." John said. "How did you know where I live though?"
"Well it wasn't much trouble, I only live down the street, on the corner of Church Street.".
"Well why don't you come in I'll get you a drink, perhaps some tea for your troubles." John offered.
"That's very kind of you."
John lead the old man into the sitting room. He then went to the kitchen to get the pot boiling.
"I forgot to ask how do you take your tea?" John asked.
"Black, two sugars please." A familiar voice replied.
John returned to the sitting room to find that the old man no longer was in the sitting room. Rather a young, youthful man who should be dead. A young, youthful, not dead Sherlock Holmes.
"You're supposed to be dead." John stated.
"Well that dosent appear to be the case , does it John?" Sherlock replied.
After a funeral, and months of being alone, John couldn't hold in his anger at Sherlock anymore. So he punched him.
A half an hour later, a knocked out Sherlock woke up on Johns couch, sporting a new colorful bruse above his right eyebrow. John now wasn't sure whether to continue being angry at the moment, or to remain calm considering the man he knocked out is now waking up, despite the fact that he did fake his death without letting you in on anything. He also looked thinner.
"What happened" Sherlock moaned.
"I punched you." John said.
"Does it have anything to do with the fact that I'm not actually dead?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh yes." John replied.
Sherlock made a grimace from the headache now had thanks to John. Though in Johns defense, he did have it coming. "Do you need anything for the pain? Don't worry It's not a concussion I already checked."
"Yes please." Sherlock said.
"Oh you say please now."
"Considering you just punched me, I would say yes for now." Sherlock retorted.
"Is paracetamol okay?" John asked
"Perfect." Sherlock said.
"Why the moodiness?" John asked just to get to him.
"You get punched in the face, and I like to see you get all chipper and happy!" Sherlock yelled.
John handed him the paracetamol and some tea and waited for Sherlock to take it and regain his bearings. "You have questions?" He asked
"Obviously." John said.
"Throw them at me." he said.
"How did you do it?" He asked.
"I told you, it's a magic trick."
"Don't give me that crap, I want to know everything." he said.
"I positioned my fall so that I luckily landed in the right position with minimal injury, and trust me I say that lightly. I placed a ball under my arm so it could seem as if I didn't have a pulse. But you have to understand I only did it cause there were snipers trained on you, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. If I didn't die, you would. After he shot himself, he didn't give me much choice as to what to do so I had to fake my death. I had Molly help me get a body and had some of the homeless network pose as doctors and paramedics so I got through with the least conflict."
"I see." John said. "Who else knew?'
"Well I went to Molly before everything cause I needed her help in making it look real. Then about a week later I told Mycroft cause I needed his help."
"I'm going to kill him" John said.
"Don't blame him, I needed his help-"
"And you don't think I could've helped! You don't think I would've been a valuable asset in ending all this!"
"I know you could've helped."
"Then why didn't you let me?" John asked
"I needed you here and it was better if I kept you in the dark and didn't tell you."
"Fuck that! It's been over a year that I thought you were dead. I had to go back to to therapy because I witnessed what I thought to be your suicide, and then you come back like nothing ever happened. How do you think that makes me feel?"
"I'm sorry John, I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry for not telling you. I wanted to so badly, there were so many times I wished you were there just because I needed you to be there with me. There were times I was hurting, times I even thought I was going to die. And I would always just wish you there, even if it was just to hold my hand and tell me that everything was going to be okay." By now Sherlock was in tears. John could tell the man had been hurting so much in the past months. Though that didn't mean that he had to forgive the man right away. Though he also hated seeing anyone he cared about like this, and despite what has happened, Sherlock was still his friend, and he still couldn't leave his friend hanging when he's turning himself into a ball of snot and tears. So he did what any friend would do and went up to the man and comforted him, cause god knows John needed it too.
It was another hour before Sherlock finally spoke again. " There is still work to be done, and I could use some assistance now if you're up for it." His voice was scratchy from crying, but he did feel a little better, but the fact John was right next to him may have helped.
"What would it consist of?" John asked.
"Well we would have to be off to Baker Street as soon as possible. Time is of the essence. And I probably wasted enough already." Sherlock chuckled a little and waited for John to respond.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Yes" he replied "So are you coming?"
"Oh yes."
"Be sure to bring your gun, we might need it." Sherlock advised.
The duo left Johns apartment and took a cab headed toward Baker Street. When they arrived at Baker Street however, Sherlock did not lead them to 221B but to an empty building right across the street. They climbed up the steps of the vacant building where Sherlock took them to what was a perfect view of the sitting room in 221B. Though upon the initial discovery of this fact, he noticed that all the lights were on and that someone was sitting in there already.
"Sherlock"
"Shush, don't let yourself be seen from the other side." Sherlock snapped.
"But Sherlock, someone's already in the sitting room."
"Don't worry it's not real it's only a mannequin." Sherlock assured.
For four hours the men sat in the vacant building before there was some change in their stakeout. John had noticed movement in the sitting room. " Hey Sherlock, I think the mannequin just moved." John said.
"Well that's about the eight time that's happened. Glad you've finally noticed." Sherlock said.
"Wait, it's been moving?" John asked.
"Yes, I've had Mrs Hudson move it a bit every half an hour, you just haven't seen her cause she's done it from the far side to avoid suspicion."
Suddenly there were footsteps. "One of yours?" John whispered.
"No one else was supposed to be here." he replied.
The intruder, emptied out his bag and started assembling, John soon realized that the man was putting together a gun. The man put himself in position and pulled the trigger. The bullet shattering the window of the sitting room of 221B. And that's when Sherlock made his move. John then quickly followed pulling out his gun in the process. The man tried to shoot, but Sherlock tackled him and John took the gun.
"John call Lestrade tell him we've got Ronald Adair's killer." Sherlock ordered
John then pulled out his phone and called Lestrade and and explained the situation. At first he was very surprised to be hearing from John but assured him he'd be there in a few minutes. Though he was in for a shock when he arrived with two other officers and saw Sherlock alive and not in a coffin where he was supposed to be at the moment.
"Oy! What happened to you?" Lestrade asked
"Whatever do you mean Lestrade?" Sherlock asking as if he knew nothing.
"Where the hell have you been?" Lestrade asked while the other two officers went to cuff the man.
"I'll explain later, right now I've got your killer."
"Who's killer?" Lestrade asked.
"Ronald Adair's. Colonel Sebastian Moran, called Tiger among his comrades. Well I've set my trap, sat in my tree, and caught my tiger." At that moment, Moran tried to lunge after Sherlock but the two officers prevented him.
"You're better off dead Holmes, why can't you just die." Moran said
"Well I can't say you've made it easy for me, one of your men were very close to finishing the job at one point, but I guess I just don't die." Sherlock said.
"You will die, I will make sure of it. Even if it costs me my last dying breath."
"That's very ambitious of you." Sherlock replied. "Good luck with that in prison."
Lestrade and the two other officers then proceeded to take Moran in to Scotland Yard. And Sherlock and John went across the street to 221B where they were greeted by a very happy Mrs Hudson who couldn't stop hugging them and stating how much she missed them. "What happened to your face?" she asked.
"John punched me" Sherlock replied sounding a little bashful.
"Good you probably deserved it. I'll go get you some ice for it though" And she was off.
They then proceeded to once again sit in their chairs. When John out of the blue asked Sherlock a question. "So what did Moran have against Adair anyway." He asked
"Well they played cards together, and I assume that they would split their earnings. Then Adair found out Moran was cheating, told Moran he had to leave the club or he'd tell everyone, therefore ruining his reputation and that would get him banned from any club. Moran didn't like either option and decided to kill Adair to keep him quiet. Though we'll know the full truth in due time."
Things still weren't perfect, and wounds still needed mending, but they were on the road to recovery.