Chapter Text
“You could stop acting upset, you know. I would have been ready to swear you’d be happy I can still surprise you”.
Sherlock is once more acting like a child, but he’s used to it. Plus, the delicious knowledge that the British Government, the only DI in this city who actually knows what he’s doing plus the best medical examiner in the UK are working on how Moriarty could survive a bullet to the head is more than enough to stay in the good mood he’s in.
He steps up to Sherlock, who’s curled up in his chair.
“Don’t get me wrong, I see why you’re upset. You thought you were free”.
To his surprise, he finds that he actually is sorry for his plaything. A little bit.
“Sherlock, you’ll never be free. You have to accept that”. He pauses. “Then again, it wouldn’t be half as much fun then, wouldn’t it?”
Sherlock still isn’t answering.
He did a good job of acting like he was excited about Moriarty being back for Mycroft, however. He can’t deny that.
Alas, poor Richard. What he wouldn’t give to be able to use him some more. It was delightful to have a face to show his employees. But then again, he’d just grow bored again.
The only toy he’s never grown bored of is Sherlock.
And Sherlock is thankfully still fighting him. He can feel it. The disgust, the hatred, the confusion because he spent years alone to save a man who can never be saved.
They need a new case, he reflects. Something refreshing.
Something he didn’t design.
Again, thank God for Lestrade.
Although – is he only imagining it or is there something like suspicion in his eyes? Not suspicion of John Watson, naturally, he would never suspect the good doctor who keeps Sherlock Holmes alive of anything, but of something being not quite right...
He won’t be mad, in case he is right. It could be fun, to have someone else know, to have someone else realize what is going on behind the door of 221B. Mrs. Hudson thinks they’re a normal couple, naturally. She has no idea why Sherlock gives in to him so freely.
“There’s... something” he begins. “I have no idea what to do, really.”
Sherlock plays his part admirably. Maybe because he has not given up yet. There is a part of him that still enjoys solving cases, a part that forgets now and then.
And it is a pretty intriguing case, all in all.
A man who should have been in Tibet actually sitting in his car dead for a week... yes, there is something very interesting about that.
He’d have loved to have invented it. On the other hand, he wouldn’t get to iunvestigate with Sherlock.
“Any idea about the cause of death?” Sherlock asks.
“It’s a burned skeleton. Your guess is as good as mine” Lestrade shrugs.
Sherlock nods, once more doing his thinker pose.
Ah.
The game is on.
“How have you been, Greg?” John inquires. It has been almost a week since they saw each other last; another clue that the DI might not be as clueless as he seems to be.
Then again, maybe Big Brother gave him a tip. It would surprise him if Mycroft Holmes were never to figure out something is wrong with his brother – unless he’s once more proving that he isn’t the best when it comes to understanding humans.
Naturally no Holmes would admit taht, though.
“Good, aside from this case. The poor parents... I can’t even figure out how he could call from Tibet if he was already dead or dying.”
“And he really has been dead for a week?” John asks. He doesn’t trust many medical examiners. They are so easily led down the wrong path.
“Molly’s sure” he says, blushing. Interesting. Looks like someone has a weakness for Doctor Hooper. This could be useful later, especially if he should ever prove to be a danger.
The morgue mouse is damn good at her job, though. So they really have to deal with the mystery of the man who was at the other end of the world when he died in his car in England.
They follow Greg in a cab.
“Have you got any theories?” John asks.
“Seven”.
He waits for him to elaborate, but Sherlock remains silent. He sighs. He has eight theories of his own, and if Sherlock could only bring himself to enjoy this a little, they would soon be getting cases from all over the world, instead of just the United Kingdom.
The parents of the victim are naturally devastated. John actually remembers the former Conservative MP, if only because he was disappointingly not corrupt. He’s always liked dirty politicians better. They make such wonderful playthings.
Sherlock is... actually rather nice to them, all things considered. But then Johnn has noticed him mellowing for quite some time. He really hopes Sherlock doesn’t turn to nice. He’s dealt with ordinary people all his life, he won’t allow his favourite consulting detective to turn normal.
Even if he has to kill someone else. Maybe Greg. He’s sure Sherlock likes him way more than he lets on.
As they are looking at the car, Greg explains, “Another strange thing: We found two types of vinyls were used for the seats.”
Sherlock looks up, clearly interested. “Two types?”
He nods. “Apparently they differed strongly enough that we could even keep them apart after the car burned out. The second type of vinyl was mostly found around the passenger seat. “
“Where the body was found. Have you asked the manufacturer?”
Lestrade shrugs.
“They told us they only ever use one type of vinyl, and the father is sure he never had the car remodelled.”
Sherlock studied the place where the body was found once more.
“We need to hurry.”
“Why?”
“This makes no sense” he explains impatiently. “The murderer could have put the body somewhere else, but he chose to victim’s car. But he didn’t only do that, he concealed it in a way nobody has explained yet. Now, why would he do that – if he wanted the body concealed, surely there would have been easier hiding places – “
“He knew the victim” John says, “well enough to know that his parents don’t use his car or have keys”.
Sherlock nods.
“So he did all of this just as a way to buy himself some time.”
“He’s on the run” Greg summarizes.
“Or... He’s shutting down his business” Sherlock mutters. “The victim was in Tibet. Do we know whether he went anywhere else?”
“We can check” Greg says, obviously excited.
“Well then” Sherlock declares half an hour later. “Kyrgyzstan, Thailand, the Netherlands. All of these are among the ten countries in the world with the highest heroin trafficking rate.”
“He was selling drugs?”
“Or buying and distributing them. With travels on such a scale, he wouldn’t have worked alone. I would say he had a fall out with his partner or partners.”
“Just how big an organization are we talking about?”
“That is the question.”
It really is. Has John truly been so preoccupied with his game that he overlooked a new group installing themselves in his city?
Thankfully, the oversight proves to be much smaller than he anticipates.
“The vinyl” Sherlock calls out while he, John and Greg are still combing through files for evidence of the trafficking organization, “It was in the form of a car seat.”
“He was hidden between that and the real car seat” John quickly deduces. Thankfully, it’s an easy assumption to make, so Greg doesn’t realize his slip-up.
“If you suddenly had to get rid of a body, where would you find a car seat quickly? A single car seat? I don’t think the killer is smart enough to buy it inconspicuously. Otherwise, he would just have let the body disappear permanently...”
And so it is that they eventually find the group of murderers: Three students who were trying to bring a thrill to their pathetic existence and got caught up in the whirlwind a non-ordinary life brings.
It has been a rather amusing day, he has to admit, even if Sherlock declines accompanying Lestrade to tell the parents.
They really have to have a talk about all this humanizing going on these days.
Sherlock is quiet on the way home. John is not surprised. He’s probably coming down from his post-case high. It used to last for a long time, but ever since... well.
He hasn’t enjoyed his cases that much since he returned form the dead, that is all.
Sometimes, John almost regrets telling him then. It was fun, playing the grieving widower, marrying, divorcing, returning to grieving, and then act surprised when Sherlock returned. He could have just continue the game, then. But knowing him, he’d probably have grown incredibly bored with it if he hadn’t changed the rules.
It’s perfectly fine as long as he’s the one changing them.
If he played by the rules, he’d never have ended up where he is now, after all.
That reminds him. There’s another small terrorist attack he has to arrange in North Ireland. It’s no big deal, but it requires some... personal time.
He can’t have Sherlock around when he makes his arrangements. As tempting as the thought is, it would probably tip a few people off.
Sherlock has fallen into his chair, his coat still on. John could tell him to take it off, but what is the point? When he’s in one of his reveries, the consulting detective tends not to hear him. Now and then he has to remind him of his existence. Painfully. Just a little bit. He doesn’t like being ignored, never did.
Maybe that’s why he eventually did away with Harry. He might not have cared for her or her parents, but she did love to ignore his existence unless she needed something.
“Sherlock, I need to take care of some business. These terrorists are too dumb to engineer their own bomb. I’ll be back when I can.”
No answer, but he’s used to that when he informs Sherlock of his excursions.
He’s in such a good mood when he leaves, he might not even kill anyone this time around.
Not that he meant to, last week. The cab driver was just so annoying.
This time around, no one manages to rouse his wrath, but he still contemplates killing someone just so Sherlock can have a new case in the morning. But on the other hand, this was a pretty good case. He’d hate for it to be swept under the rug just for one he knows the outcome of. Maybe in a week or so, or perhaps he’ll wait until he sees Sherlock getting dissatisfied with his lot again...
Yes, he’ll wait until Sherlock needs to be taught another lesson.
His mood gets even better when he checks his messages on his burn phone.
Apparently Culverton Smith is active again.
He’s watched him for quite some time, now. The man could easily be an artist. They’ll have to wait and see. He’s going to be an interesting case either way, he can tell.
Should he tell Sherlock right away? He’ll see. Maybe the consulting detective is in a better mood and they can start wondering what Culverton Smith could possibly be up to this time. He did like to play around with tropical diseases, John remembers.
That’s not what happens, however.
Sherlock Holmes hasn’t lost the ability to surprise him yet. It is just as well, he will later reflect; he was growing a bit too used to the status quo, and that is never a good sign with him. He’d rather be surprised than remember the drag that was his existence after he’d established himself and before he learned of Sherlock Holmes.
So he doesn’t get angry – as far as he could, anyway. His anger is not that of normal people.
He gets intrigued.
Because today is the day that he returns to 221B and Sherlock, still in his coat but standing in front of the fire place, turns around and announces, “The game is over.”