Chapter Text
“You did WHAT?” Was definitely not what John thought he would be shouting in the early hours of a Saturday morning at a certain consulting detective that just came home from scoping out a suspect in their latest case with a grave expression to rival a Victorian funeral ten years ago. Now, however, this seemed more and more plausible by the hour he spent with Sherlock.
“Listen, John, I’m truly sorry. For telling them you’re my fiancé, that is,” Sherlock reworded his previous statement. “I really did mean the part about you being a brilliant man.” Okay, John could see through this a mile away, and he’s not even American! No amount of flattery would get Sherlock out of this. Fine, maybe he’s a bit off the hook (who wouldn’t want to be complimented by the Sherlock Holmes? Not John Watson, that’s for sure), but not entirely.
John steadied himself with a breath. “Alright, fine, okay. Mind backing up a bit, Sherlock? And before you start, yes, I did listen, and yes, I do remember the case.”
He was going to have to voice this over when the case is solved to make sure the listeners weren’t confused. “The case required me to enter the inner circle of our suspect. So I did. It—”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes, John, in the middle of the night. It was a party, after all.” Sherlock sounded like he was scolding a naughty child caught stealing chocolate from the top of the fridge. John would’ve found it rather funny if he wasn’t on the receiving end of it, and if he wasn’t apparently socially engaged to Sherlock. “As I was saying, it wasn’t hard. It was actually surprisingly easy not to get found out.”
“I can see that by the lack of bruises from a fight on your face. That’s new.” John was unable to keep from at least one snarky comment. Sherlock ignored the remark and continued.
“There, I found some invaluable information. For instance, our main suspect, Frank Bailey, is the owner’s best friend, not just one of the workers. Which obviously ties into the automobile theft, since he would have some of the most intimate knowledge of the store, helping design the building itself. I assume he has an accomplice, since he had an easily verifiable alibi –even too verifiable, like he’d constructed it specifically for this. Remember how fast he spoke? He didn’t even have to think for a moment– when we originally talked to him three days ago, but I’m sure he was part of this.” Sherlock explained. John knew very well that all of this was probably true, since Sherlock was never one to say something before he thought it was at least a very likely option.
“So, we have our suspect, the car salesman who’s best friend is the owner of the establishment, his accomplice, –if he has one– and two hours before it’s considered normal to wake up. This isn’t too urgent of information, so we can tell Mariana tomorrow. It’s not like it’s a murder, anyway.” John yawned, turning to walk towards his room.
“Oh, but it is a murder.” Sherlock had this giddy grin plastered on his face that John found adorable infuriating. He hadn’t seen it yet, but he could tell. John froze in his tracks. An overwhelming urge to sigh came over him, which he did. Because it was four–something in the morning! No–one can blame him here.
“I’ll wake Mariana up, but you owe me.” John grumbled. Don’t get him wrong, he loved these kinds of adventures, –well, not the murder part, no– but sometimes, he just wanted to go back to sleep to get those two hours of peace. Just as John was leaving 221B, he turned to Sherlock. He pointed to Sherlock, then to himself, and back to Sherlock in an accusing manner as he said: “Also, I’m not telling Mariana about… this. That, is your problem.” He turned the microphone off.
Sherlock didn’t give any sign that he heard what John said, but John assumed he did. John turned to the door leading into the hallway once again, and braced himself for waking up Mariana in what she considered an ‘ungodly hour’, which meant anything before seven in the morning.
John called Mariana, hoping she’d pick up on the first few rings. He probably looked like a lunatic, standing in front of her flat, phone pressed to his ear, trying to wake her up by calling her multiple times. For the first time today, John was glad no rational person was out at four.
“ Ugh, what, John.” John felt a bit bad for waking her up after he heard her voice.
“ So , you know about the car theft case we took since our case slump, right?”
“Yeah…” Marina slowly said after appearing out of the door, still in her pyjamas, and cancelling the call.
“Apparently it’s a murder. Or, at least, a murder is involved.” All John could do was put on an awkward smile and shrug.
“Please tell me it’s some clever English wordplay about a flock of crows and not a dead body in a car dealership.” Mariana facepalmed.
“It’s a dead body. I don’t know if it’s inside the dealership or not, though. You’ll have to ask Sherlock about that one.”
“I’ll be up in 221B in 30 minutes.” She sighed angrily. Or, as angrily as someone can be when they’re still half–asleep.
“Alright.” John waved goodbye as the door was slammed shut right in his face. Well, Mariana could have certainly been more angry, he supposed.
It was now around five, and a slightly less horrible hour of the morning. John was already recording and had made an intro, so the editing process was a little less of a nightmare. When Mariana burst through the door to 221B, she just glared at Sherlock and silently sat on the sofa they received clients on. “Well? Do you two have anything more to tell me about the case?”
“Ah, not that I know of—” John started, before being cut off.
“No, however, we are engaged.” John winced. Even though he understood Sherlock was not great at mundane speaking, this was a new low … probably because they were thought to be engaged by the lead suspect and his circle.
“WHAT?” Mariana nearly fell off of the sofa. John winced again.
“Well, we technically aren’t engaged… our suspect thinks we are engaged because of Sherlock trying not to blow his cover,” John was trying his best, okay? Damage control, although not his speciality, was apparently a unique skill in the company (well, Mariana wasn’t bad at conflict resolution, she just didn’t have a chance to use it often since she rarely tagged along for cases).
“And twenty–three other individuals. More, if the rumour spreads,” Sherlock couldn’t help but add.
“Oh and here I thought you two had gotten your act together— though five in the morning is certainly a time, I guess,” Mariana was still glaring at Sherlock, but now she expanded her glare range to also include John.
“What?” John asked.
“Nothing.” Mariana said slowly. John couldn’t help but think Mariana was about to congratulate them on the engagement, but he also couldn’t help thinking that he went mad and all of this is some weird wish–fulfilment dream.
“Okay, now what? Sherlock?” Mariana urged.
“I have reason to believe a murder occurred, and that Frank Bailey is connected to it.” Sherlock explained.
“What reason?” Mariana probed. Vagueness is one of the things Sherlock really needed to work on.
“Well, to start, I found a dead body while I looked around in the dealership earlier today.”
“Oh.” Mariana was no longer scowling at the two.
“Another reason is—”
“Yeah, that’s a good enough reason on its own, mate. You really don’t have to list more.” John interrupted. “Also, why didn’t you tell me? I was right there!”
“I didn’t want to raise Frank’s suspicions. He is connected to the murder, and I am sure he’d dispose of any evidence if I so much as looked toward you in front of him in a way he thought was wrong. We are rather popular for solving murder cases.” John had to sigh again. It was too early for this.
“Alright, but you could’ve told me on the ride back, or even in the four hours after we got back from the dealership.” John pointed out.
“The cab driver is not affiliated with the case. I see no reason to divulge sensitive information about an ongoing investigation. However, not telling you in those three hours and forty–six minutes was an oversight on my part. I apologise.”
“So, what’s the game plan?”
“Well, Mrs. Hudson, now we gather as much information as possible.” Mariana pointedly ignored the blatantly incorrect last name. She got used to it.
“Great. I’m going to go get some sleep,” Mariana yawned.
“Me too. Have a nice nap, Mariana,” John turned to walk back to his room, turning the microphone off once again.
“Yes, while you do that, I’ll be planning on catching our killer.” Sherlock all but shooed us away from the main room.