Patchwork - Sherlock Holmes (BBC)

Chapter 17

The mood in the taxi was distinctly uncomfortable. Waves of anger were still rolling off John, who sat with his shoulders tensed and his lips pursed. Molly meanwhile looked as though she was trying to disappear into her seat, her face pale and miserable as she stared at the floor. Sherlock was leaning away from Sofia, using the cab door for support and Sofia, after several failed attempts of making conversation, had lapsed into silence, alternating between staring out the window and occasionally glancing over at Sherlock to check that he was ok. It was rush hour, and the taxi crawled through the streets of London at a snails pace, prolonging the suffering of its passengers.

When at last they reached 221b Baker Street, Molly went up ahead to put the kettle on whilst John and Sofia helped Sherlock climb the stairs. The detective couldn't stifle his groans of pain as they laboured up the steps, his fingers digging into Sofia and John's shoulders.
"Honestly," John said, sounding out of breath when at last they reached the top and Sherlock slumped to the floor. "I told you you should have stayed in hospital." The detective merely rolled his eyes. "Molly?" Sofia called. "I think Sherlock could do with some tea."
"Coming!" Molly shouted. There was a crash and she swore loudly. Sherlock winced. "Don't break my favourite mug!" He called warningly. Molly emerged onto the landing with a mug of tea in hand, looking sheepish.
"Er, which one is your favourite mug?" Sherlock eyed her warily.
"It says 'Moriar-tea on it." John snorted.
"Oh, no, I broke one that had a red phone box on it," she said in relief.
"Oi, that's my mug!" John said angrily.
"Well it's not my fault that you leave your belongings here," Sherlock replied, sipping his tea demurely.
"I didn't! I took everything with me when I moved out!"
"Oh. Well. I probably stole it then."
"Sherlock, you can't just -"
"Boys, boys," Sofia interrupted exasperatedly. "You can argue about your mugs another time. Let's just get Sherlock inside the flat, ok?"

Thankfully it was only a short walk to Sherlock's armchair. The detective collapsed into the cushions with a groan, his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat on his pale face. Sofia stared at him worriedly, then blushed as he opened his eyes and caught her gazing at him. A smile hovered about his lips as he closed his eyes once more, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Woah," John said from behind her. "Sherlock, who was here with you last night?" Sofia felt herself turn bright red as she spotted the empty tubs of cookie dough ice cream and 3 bottles of wine which had been completely drained. She had completely forgotten they would still be there; the morning felt like it was a week ago, not 4 hours. Sherlock didn't even open his eyes but replied deliberately casually,
"Sofia's living here now." John promptly choked on his tea.
"What?" He gasped, face red and eyes streaming.
"Well, my flat was blown up so I had nowhere to stay," Sofia was quick to explain.
"That was your block of flats?" Molly gasped, her face pale. Sofia nodded.
"Jesus," John breathed. "Is that why your face is all cut up Sherlock?" Sofia belatedly realised that John was not clued in with what happened in Switzerland and Molly had no clue what was going on at all. Sherlock had clearly realised the same thing as he waved his hand at Sofia and murmured
"You explain."

So Sofia did. It took a good hour, with John and Molly interrupting every 5 seconds with questions which ranged from the serious to the mildly ridiculous - Molly was intent on finding out how Jason liked his gin and tonic. However as the clock ticked on to 4 they were all finally caught up to speed, and everything fell quiet as they all thought about what they had discovered.

After a while John cleared his throat.
"So, what do we do now?" Sherlock shifted in his seat, wincing a little.
"Well, Molly knows what the chemical in the syringe was..."
"It was Dimethylbrisane," Molly said. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"That's interesting. Lucky I survived that."
"There wasn't anything lucky about it, Molly saved you," Sofia reprimanded him.
"What was lucky was that Sofia's got the residue in her blood so I could work out what it was," Molly pointed out.
"What?" Sherlock said, looking uncharacteristically shocked.
"Yeah, somehow I'm immune - I was injected with the same thing but it didn't have any effect."
"That's impossible," Sherlock frowned.
"Welcome to my world," Sofia sighed.

Sherlock gazed at her with a calculating look for a moment, then turned back to John.
"Now we know the gang deals in Polaraine and Dimethylbrisane we can almost definitely find them from the police records. Once we've got that it's just a matter of finding their base and arresting them."
"And hopefully finding Morgose, if he's still alive," Sofia added.
"And once you've got them will you have solved the case?" Sherlock shrugged.
"I'll still have to find the leader of the group who almost definitely won't be based with the gang, but that shouldn't be too difficult - one of the gang members will happily trade a few more years of freedom for information."

Molly and John nodded just as Sofia's stomach gave a loud rumble.
"Sorry," she laughed. "I haven't eaten since last night." She groaned. "And I never did get any shopping in." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"How come?" He asked. Sofia glared at him.
"Because a certain someone rang me up having been stupid enough to inject himself with an unknown poison and I had to go and help him!"
Sherlock shrank under her angry gaze.
"Shall I order a takeaway?" John asked.
"Please," Sofia sighed gratefully.
"What do you want?"
"Chinese," Sofia and Sherlock said in unison.
"Chinese it is."

Molly and John finally left 221B Baker Street at just after midnight. Sofia's arm felt like lead as she waved goodbye, a waxen smile plastered on her face as they wondered out the door at an excruciatingly slow pace. At last they left and Sofia closed the door, leaning her forehead against it and groaning.
"God, I thought they would never leave," she moaned. "I was going to pass out from tiredness."
"Why didn't you go to bed?" Sherlock asked.
"I felt rude," Sofia yawned. "They've been so good looking after you and saving your life I felt the least I could do was stay up and talk to them."
She trudged over to Sherlock, offering him her hands. "Come on. You can't spend the night in an armchair, let's get you to bed." Sherlock placed his hands in hers and together they hauled him to his feet.

The short walk down the hallway felt like a mile as they trudged towards his bedroom, both their feet dragging.
At last the door swung open and they stumbled to his bed, Sofia doing her best to ignore the pair of briefs lying on the carpet. Sherlock however had spotted them.
"Sorry," he mumbled, blushing. "I don't often get women coming into my bedroom." Sofia snorted.
"Yeah, well," she laughed. "Don't get any -"
At that moment their feet tangled together and they fell with the grace of a flopping pancake onto the bed. Sofia's body thudded into Sherlock's, her face inches from his, their combined weight pressing into the bed.
"-ideas," Sofia breathed.

Unable to tear her eyes away from Sherlock's intense gaze, she was painfully aware of how her body was pressed flush against his, how his chest was firm beneath her hands, how his alabaster skin seemed to have been carved from marble as he lay frozen still beneath her. His cupid-bow lips were slightly parted, and Sofia felt her already thudding heartbeat triple in speed as his face raised towards hers, his eyes never closing, his face a heart-wrenching mixture of lust and fear.

And then she was gone, pulling away so fast Sherlock felt breathless, the sudden loss of her weight on his making him feel momentarily weightless. He didn't say anything, he didn't reach out to her. He knew she wouldn't listen. Closing his eyes, he heard his bedroom door gently shut, and he was left alone.

The detective lay awake in the dark for a long time that night, his lips burning from the kiss he never had.