~(Y/n)'s P.O.V~
BATTERSEA
Sherlock and Lestrade took Miss Wenceslas back to Scotland Yard for investigating, John and I went to Battersea station for West's case.
"How... did you know?" John asked, breaking the silence while we were walking.
I look at him and smile. "I'll tell you the same things I told Sherlock. I thought about it and pieced things together. Alex studied stars as a hobby, and on his wall were sketches of that star." John huffs as he realizes he missed a detail. "And when we entered the theatre and found the Golem. The tape kept replaying the same line. 'Exploding into supernovas', or something like that. We were just lucky I remembered."
John and I were able to convince the Tube Guard that we were with Scotland Yard. I supposed Mycroft actually made some calls. We put on the high vision jackets and went to the railroad lines with the Tube Guard who found West's body.
"So this is where West was found?" John asks when the guard stopped walking.
"Yeah." He replied. "You gonna be long?" He asked. "You with the police?"
"No, not really." I said, crouching down next to the tracks.
"I hate them." The guard said, and I look up at him. "The police?" I asked. "No, the jumpers. People who chuck themselves in front of trains." He sighed. "Selfish bastards."
"I guess that's one way of looking at it." I reply, turning back to the tracks.
"I mean it. It's all right for them. It's over in a split second - strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They've gotta live with it, haven't they?"
I run my fingers on the tracks as he talks. "Well, speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the tracks." I stand up again. "Has it been cleaned off?"
"No, there wasn't that much."
"You said his head was smashed in." John said.
"Well it was, but there wasn't much blood." He replied. John turns and looks at him. "Well, I'll leave it to you then. Just give us a shout when you're off."
"Okay." John walks down the line and the guard walks away. "So... Andrew West got on the train somewhere. Or did he?"
"There's no ticket on the body, John."
"Then how'd he end up here?" He asked, walking back up to the tracks.
The points in the tracks change and slide it sideways into a new route. John squats next to it thoughtfully.
From behind us, Sherlock Holmes stands and watches before saying, "Points." John springs to his feet in surprise and we turn around to Sherlock.
"Sherl, West wasn't killed here; that's why there was little blood." I say to him as he smiles. "How long have you been following us?"
"From the start. Knew you'd get there eventually. You don't think I'd give up a case like this just to spite my brother do you?"
"Yeah, actually." I replied.
He turns and starts walking away. "Come on. Got a bit of a burglary to do."
John and I follow Sherlock to the station and we take off our jackets. Shortly afterwards the boys and I are walking along a street.
"The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service." Sherlock says, striding down the street with his long legs. "Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the latter. We're here."
"Where are we?" John asks, as Sherlock and I turn into the drive of a building and trot up the steps at the side which lead to the front door of flat 21A on the first floor.
As Sherlock rummages in his pocket, John scolds him. "Sherlock! What if there's someone in?"
"There isn't." He says as he picks the lock and goes inside.
We quickly hurried inside and shut the door. Sherlock trots up the short flight of stairs ahead of us and walks into the living room.
"Where are we?" John asks, lingering by the door.
"Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat."
Sherlock goes straight over to the window and pulls back the net curtain. He grins in satisfaction at the sight which greets him outside.
"You mean the brother of West's fiancée?" I ask while going over to Sherlock to see what he was grinning at. Outside the window was a one-story extension, the roof of which can be easily climbed onto from the window. The extension goes all the way to the bottom of the garden which ends in a wall, and directly on the other side of the wall is the railway line.
"He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law." Dropping to his knees, he gets out his magnifier and uses it to examine the window sill. John walks across to him and peers over his shoulder as Sherlock finds some tiny blood-red spots on the white paint.
"Then why'd he do it?" He straightens up and turns at the sound of someone unlocking the front door. Sherlock also stands.
"Let's ask him." He said. "Get back, (Y/n)."
Reaching to the back of his jeans, John walks quietly to the door of the living room as the front door slams. He steps out onto the landing just as Joe, wearing his courier gear, is leaning his bicycle against the wall. When he sees John he picks up the bike as if he intends to throw it at him. John instantly raises his gun and points it at him. "Don't." John said sternly. For a moment Joe keeps coming but John shakes his head. "Don't."
Joe stops and lowers the bike, sighing in a mixture of frustration and fear. He slowly makes his way up the stairs in defeat and plops on the sofa. John puts his gun away and we all stand facing Joe for answers.
"It wasn't meant to..." He begins, looking very distressed. Sherlock looks away, exasperated. "God." He rubs his hands over his face and rocks on the sofa. "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus." He sinks back into the sofa.
"Why did you kill him?" John asks Joe.
"It was an accident." He said, looking away from us. Sherlock makes a sound of disapproval. "I swear it was."
"But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn't an accident, was it?" Sherlock sternly pried.
"I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno, I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands. Serious people." Joe huffed. "Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job." While he talks, he talks slowly as if recalling it exactly from memory. "I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans, beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune." He thought for a moment before continuing, "It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew." Joe stops and looks up at us with a guilty look on his face.
"What happened next?" I pressured.
"I... We fought for a moment and I shoved him. He lost his footing and fell down the stairs. I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late. I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking."
"When a neat little idea popped into your head." Sherlock pushed the curtain aside and looked out of the window. "Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved."
"And points." John added. "So d'you still have it then? The memory stick?" Joe nods.
"Fetch it for me, if you wouldn't mind." Sherlock said.
Joe sighs and stands up, making his way into another room. Sherlock walks closer to us, so we all huddle up together.
"Distraction over, the game continues." Sherlock whispered.
"Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber." John whispers, crossing his arms.
"Five pips, remember, John? It's a countdown. We've only had four." He looks back at Joe as he comes out of the room with the stick in hand.
"Good. Now, call the police and turn yourself in. We've got work to do." Sherlock said, taking it from him. John and I look at Sherlock before following him outside.
NIGHT TIME.
221B.
We all made it back home, John to his typing and Sherlock... Well, I don't know what he's doing. Watching TV? The windows still haven't been replaced yet, so everyone wore something warm. I changed into my pyjama clothes which were quite thick, also good for eating a small tub of ice cream in - which was what I was doing. Sherlock sat in his chair with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around him, trying to conserve heat. The pink phone is on the arm of the chair, almost as a reminder that we have problems. The audience on the TV boos noisily, Sherlock began to yell at it. "No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father!" He gestures at the screen angrily. "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" Sighing, he folds his arms again. John turns around and looks at Sherlock for a moment and gets back to typing. "Knew it was dangerous." Sherlock made a humming noise to John, not turning to look back at him. "Getting you into crap telly." He said, typing slowly away. "Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince."
I closed the lid on my ice cream, licking the contents left on the spoon and asked, "Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" I get up from my spot on the couch and put my ice cream away.
"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood... again."
I make it back to the living room. "You know, I'm still waiting." John said. Sherlock stopped focusing on his show for a moment. "Hmm?"
"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker. Luckily you have me to thank." I bowed slightly before plopping on the couch.
"Didn't do you any good, did it, John?"
"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective." John said, closing his laptop.
"True." Sherlock said, smiling.
"I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge." John says, standing up and making his way for the door.
"Mm." Sherlock replied, his eyes still glued to the screen.
John stops at the door. "Uh, milk. We need milk."
"I'll get some." Sherlock says quickly.
John turns back with a look of disbelief. "Really!?" Sherlock nods without looking towards John. "And some beans, then?"
Sherlock, still not looking away from the TV, "Mm." John hesitates, still surprised.
"Sure you will." I say, standing up and stretching. "I'll go, John. It's not too far from here. Besides, I can't have scrambled eggs without some milk." I start to head for the door but John steps in my way.
"Nuh-uh, especially in that clothing and a psycho murderer on the loose." He says.
"John, please. We both know Sherlock won't get some, and it's not even too far. You don't always have to act like my older brother okay? I need fresh air anyway." John scowls at me. "Aaand I just ate ice cream. Might as well walk me there?" I plead with puppy eyes. John hesitates for a moment and sighs.
"Well, if you're going to go, you might as well use my coat." Sherlock says, standing up and taking off his coat. "I have more, anyway."
John sighs in disapproval. "Alright fine. I'll walk you, and we'll split up at the store ok? You best make it home safely." Sherlock hands me his coat and I put it on over my clothes.
"Always, John." I say, smiling. John and I turn out the door. I grab my purse that was hanging on the wall.
Once we make it out to the street, John sighs. "...What's the sigh for?" I ask as we make our way to the store.
John rubs the back of his neck. "It's just exhausting. All of this running around."
"Oh." I reply, shoving my hands into Sherlock's coat pockets.
"You... (Y/n), you like him, don't you?" John asks, forcing me to stop walking. Luckily the dim street lights were hiding my noticable blush.
"I um, ...nope." I continued to walk, catching up to John.
"You hesitated." He said.
"Shut up." I playfully punched him. We both laughed and stopped in front of the store.
"Well, this is where it ends." He says.
"You make it sound like I'll never see you again." I say, taking my hands out of the pockets. He chuckled lightly and smiled, turning away. "Say hi to Sarah for me, eh?"
"Hah." He said. "You better not do anything with Sherlock while I'm gone."
My whole face heated. "Yeah well...!" I shouted at him as he continued down the sidewalk until out of view. I clutch Sherlock's coat tightly around my body and smiled to myself. Sighing happily, I turn around. Face to face with a man with short blonde hair.
He brought a gun up to my face and a white van pulled up next to the sidewalk. He seemed familiar to me, but his stare was cold. My mind was rushing with thoughts. Do I run? Do as he says? Why does he look familiar?
"Get in the van." He demanded. "Or I'll shoot you." He had a British accent. Why does he look familiar? "Get in the fucking van!" He shouted, pointing the gun at me in an attempt to look threatening.
"Okay." My voice came out surprisingly calm. "Okay."
.
.
.