How They Met Alice (BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 11

(ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL, Thrid Person Still: )

 Sherlock had brought the trainers to a lab and was putting on a pair of latex gloves as he looked closely at them. Alice stood next to him, not wanting to get in his way and examined the other shoe in much of the same manner as he. He picked them up, examined the laces carefully and peered at the shoes from all directions, then dug out mud from the treads in the soles and put it into a dish. Putting the shoes down again, he looked at them thoughtfully.

 Later, he was sitting at a bench looking into a microscope as, beside him; a computer screen showed that a scanner of some sort was running tests. Alice watched the computer screen, bored because Sherlock wouldn’t let her help. John was wandering up and down on the other side of the bench.

“So, who d’you suppose it was?” He asked. A mobile trilled a text alert.

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed absently, not reacting to the alert.

“The woman on the phone – the crying woman.” John clarified.

“Oh, she doesn’t matter. She’s just a hostage. No lead there.” Sherlock said, waving the subject off.

“For g*d’s sake, I wasn’t thinking about leads.” John said, exasperated. Alice looked carefully from John to Sherlock, glaring a bit at the detective.

“You’re not going to be much use to her.” Sherlock informed. He glanced across to the scanner as it continued throwing up “NO MATCH” results, then looked back into the microscope.

“Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?” John stammered.

“The bomber’s too smart for that.” Sherlock said. The same mobile as before trilled another text alert. Alice glanced at Sherlock’s pocket.

“Pass me my phone.” Sherlock commanded John, who looked around the room.

“Where is it?” He asked. Alice looked down, hiding a smile and not interrupting to see if John would do as Sherlock said.

“Jacket.” He said. John straightened up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief and his eyes broadcasting the message “I am going to kill him.” Turning to his right, he marched stiffly around the table, slammed one hand onto Sherlock’s shoulder and roughly pulled his jacket open with the other as he started to rummage in his inside pocket. Alice looked away, trying desperately to not laugh.

“Careful.” Sherlock said angrily, not looking up. John just about held onto his temper and pulled the mobile out and looked at it.

“Text from your brother.” John said dryly. Alice perked up a bit.

“Delete it.” Sherlock commanded.

“Delete it?” John asked.

“Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.” Sherlock said. John looked at the message again, which read:

“RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
Any progress on Andrew
West’s death?
Mycroft”

 “Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He’s texted you eight times. Must be important.” John argued. Sherlock raised his head in exasperation.

“Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment?” Alice said before he could. Sherlock gave her a surprised look.

“His what?”John sighed tiredly, turning to look at Alice.

“Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story.” She said, even though she was a bit interested in the case Mycroft had presented.