S.Holmes: Sebastian's Revenge

"You know why I have to do it" John he scratched his head because he could never spell out his reasons together at once for them tackling Moran together.

He smiled because Sherlock's view still coincided with his own. "I do want to be with you side by side again. It's Sam's choice if she wants to follow in your footsteps and she would understand and respect my choice for us to work together again. She's very special.” John assured his friend.

John knew he had to get off home. “Yeah, I know, I don't like Sam coming home to an empty house. Tomorrow we'll have a bit more time.” he grinned and slid off his chair. “I'm away then.” he gave Sherlock a touch on his arm as he passed him and paused in the lab doorway. “'Night then.” he gave Sherlock a wink and dashed off.

His footsteps echoed in the corridor and he took the stairs to the ground floor then jogged to the main road and got the first available taxi.

The house was quiet and dark when John let himself in the front door. He took the stairs at a run and made for the kitchen putting the kettle on to boil while he was pulling the anatomy books off the bookshelf by the side of his armchair.

Sherlock felt John's hand on his elbow and returned it with a quick grab of his friend's arm, keeping him there for a split second longer to hold his gaze.

"Night John," he smiled, then gave him a tiny nod and let go, turning back to his microscope and experiencing that strange hollow feeling he always got immediately after John had left. He sighed and picked up his pen, scribbling a few more notes.

He remained in the lab for a couple more hours, intersperced with coffees brought to him by Molly, then he picked up his leather and headed back to his small one bed studio above the bookshop, stopping on the way to pick up a report from Lucy, one of his Homeless Network.

She provided him with a photograph taken on her phone of a man matching Moran's height and build description who had been apparently associating with a known drug dealer in the East End, but had only come on the scene in the last couple of months. She didn't know anything more than that, other than the fact that he allegedly had already developed a fearsome reputation.

He transferred the picture to his own phone, then printed it off when he got back, sticking it up on his wall along with the dozens of other possible sightings and bits of information. It was grainy and only showed half of the man's face, but Sherlock studied it carefully and tried to see whether it matched up with any of the other faces on the wall. There were a couple that looked similar. Could be the same man. It was nothing definite. Just another piece of the puzzle, another strand to the vast complex web. He spent another four hours going through his collected bits of information before finally heading to bed.

When Sebastian had downed yet another pint, he figured he had had enough as it was for one night. It wouldn't do him any good in the morning, but there was the fact that he wasn't trying to keep up a reputation, so he didn't exactly have to worry. As long as no one recognised him for who he actually was, his days usually tended to go smoothly.

Lighting a cigarette once he made his way outside, he immediately regretted drinking so much. He inhaled deeply and started walking, blowing out the smoke so it rose into the cold air. He didn't know what time it was, but surely it was late telling by how dark the sky had become.

Cars noisily drove past him as he rounded a corner and came into another street, staggering slightly in the process of trying to concentrate on where he was going. Thankfully his flat wasn't that far from here and it would only take him a few minutes to get there. He would need painkillers for the splitting headache he had.

Coming across a young couple by the looks of it, he cursed himself for drinking more than he could manage. Something about the girl stopped him dead in his tracks. Sebastian could have sworn he had seen her before. The closer he came to the two, the more familiar she was to him. The coat. That's what it was. But then again, so many people had trench coats nowadays. He told himself it was nothing as he passed, taking a quick glance towards the number of the door. He didn't recognise it. It was probably nothing and he was simply hallucinating.

Despite his flat being no more than a ten minute walk from here at the least, he halted the next cab that came his way. "Follow it," he demanded in a drunken slur when he slid into the seat, ignoring the strange look the cabbie gave him. Something about the girl bothered him and he wanted to know what it was before it drove him crazy. "Follow it!" The sniper repeated louder and the man drove. The car in front headed in the direction he thought it would, which triggered something in his mind, though the amount of alcohol he consumed didn't help him remember.

"Stop." Sebastian told him once the other cab turned the opposite corner he had thought it would. It was nothing, he told himself as he thrust a note to the driver and climbed out, deciding to walk the rest back. He would keep the address in mind, hoping to come across whoever it was again. Though that didn't stop whatever it was from immensely annoying him.

_______

-JM ♥

Sam held her breath and shut her eyes until they were rhrough the alley and onto the otherside. Looking back, she saw that her pursuer was retreating, headlights shrinking away.
"Thank God.....221b please!" She called up to the driver. Her heart was still hammering away in her chest, screaming for release. She could only wonder who had been following her. The cab swung onto Baker Street and screeched to a halt in front of the familiar black door. "That'll be-" Sam flung the wad of money Ty had given her at the driver and clambered out. This would be the difficult part. Gritting her teeth, she crept up the steps and opened the door. The staircase before her seemed a lot longer than before. She tiptoed up the stairs, carefully avoiding the one step that creaked and slipped quietly into the living room. There was no sign of John, but she sensed his presence in the flat. "I'm home." She called out timidly.

Having sorted out the books and hearing the kettle switch off John took off his shoes and padded towards the kitchen. The door clicked almost imperceptibly as it closed and then there was no sound. John went onto the alert and deftly unlocked the safe on the desk, pulled out his trusty Sauer and silently nipped into the kitchen. The stair that creaked and caught out the unwary didn't make a sound. Not good.

He heard Sam saying 'I'm home. Sam being unusually quiet. John automatically stuffed the gun down the back of his jeans for lack of anywhere to put it and stepped into the living room “Sam, are you all right?” he asked with a concerned face. She looked very pale still and not all right. “What's the matter, love?” he asked stepping forward to her quickly.

Samantha backed away, "I'm fine" She didnt wamt to worry him. If her kidnapper had returned for round two....she shook her head. "I'm okay." She moved around him, heading for the relative safety of her room. She noticed the gun at his back, but decided not to say anything about it.

“You don't look ok..” John replied to Sam's claim that she was fine. He knew better than to press her for information. “You and Tyler made up, friends again?” he changed the subject. “I invited him out for a pint tomorrow night.”

You didn't live with Sherlock and not manage to pick up some idea of his methods. His train of deduction was Tyler had disgraced himself, Sam had gone to see him and Ty was happily going for a pint with him so very probably Ty and Sam had made up and...maybe Sam had walked home alone, because Tyler hadn't seen her home. That would account for her looking unnerved. He pulled his P226 from the small of his back, pulled out the magazine and replaced both in the little safe on the desk.

Yes we made up, she thought as she opened her bedroom door. More than made up.
Sam flopped down on her bed face first and grumbled to herself into the pillow, "Why does everything have to be so complicated?"
Deductions and mysteries had been flung out the window at this point. She could barely think straight. In her head, she ran through the possible suspects. Who had been following her? Her initial reaction was her unknown kidnapper. Now, she wasn't so sure.
Her kidnapper had been involved in a child trafficking ring. It was her very first case - which had a sour ending. He was the leader of the organization, but she never learned his name nor his face. It was her first failure and her last. From there, she'd solved a case involving a missing necklace owned by a millionaire. Then there was the one with the top secret government information on a USB drive that had been implanted inside a dog.
She opened her mind palace that Mycroft had helped her construct and flipped through the files containing her many enemies. None of them seemed out for revenge - most were in prison or had fled the country. For a teenager, she invoked a lot of fear in some people. "No, no, and no." Sam muttered. She opened her eyes and sat up. Perhaps it wasn't one of her enemies. No...no that's not possible. Moriarty, her father's foe, had killed himself and all his henchmen had quit or died. She closed her eyes and fell back onto the pillow.
Maybe a good night's sleep would help clear her mind.
With a happy sigh, she let her mind wander to Ty and dreamed of him till morning's light...

When John glanced back at Sam while he was locking his gun up again she was already heading up to her bedroom. John let her go and padded in his stocking feet off to his room. There was always an empty space, something missing when he left Sherlock, something that he left behind with Sherlock. His room was Sherlock's old room, the man's sanctuary and it was his sanctuary now. It helped to fill that space.

((I apologize for the delay!))

Sam sat up. Her black curls fell instantly into her eyes. At least, she thought, I haven't got a hangover this time.
Downstairs, the phone was ringing. The house phone ringing meant only one thing. With a shout, she flung open her bedroom door and charged down the stairs.
"I've got it, I've got it, I've got it!" Sam about knocked over John who had begun to amble over to the phone. The young detective picked it up and rambled into it, "Samantha Holmes, 221b Baker Street," She gave John a look and raised her eyebrows, the grin on her face stretched from ear to ear.
"Hullo Sammy,"
"Lestrade!"
"Something a bit weird happened late last night,"
"Yes, yes, get on with it-"

((If someone wants to be Lestrade, they can jump in at any time. If not, I'll just combine his parts with mine.))

"All right, young lady, keep your hair on." Greg smiled. She was so like her father. "This might be right up your street, my girl, but you're still a minor. I need your dad's permission to bring you in on this, don't forget. Where is he, anyway? Was going to invite him to the pub tomorrow, after work."

((okay, as per His-doctor's suggestion, I am happy to play Greg for you, but if you have anything you want going on, then PM me, please. As Sam is only 17, my version of Greg would need John's permission to involve her and it would be on an unofficial basis and not something he thought would put her in danger. Otherwise this is not going to even have any resemblance to reality, and we're already suspending disbelief to some degree. So let me know if you think this will work and what you want))

"He's right here, did you want to speak to him?" Sam pulled the phone away slightly and mouthed the word 'case' to John. She was already itching for the details.

((Alright, I'll PM you))

John rinsed his hand of clothes washing liquid and grabbing the kitchen towel went to answer the phone. The washing machine had been installed after Mrs Hudson had washed his Arran wool jumper and it had shrunk to a size that fitted Sam's big teddy bear. He more or less collided with Sam as she rushed past him to get to the phone first.

He stood by, drying his hands, with a quizzical face, waiting to see if it was Greg calling. Sam answered his unspoken question and, he learned from her, Greg was calling with a potential case.

"John?" Greg was always happy to talk to the ex-soldier, glad of his down-to-earth attitude and love of the bright vital girl who had inherited her father's scalpel-sharp mind and equally sharp tongue. "I'm calling with something that might keep that lass of yours busy for a while. You know I'd never involve her in anything dangerous, and it's been a while since I had anything remotely interesting but I need your parental permission as always. While I'm on, though, I wanted to invite you to the pub tomorrow. It's one of my colleague's birthday and we're getting together for a bevvy after work. You know us, any excuse. What'd you say? Been a while since we met up, thought you might fancy some time off."

“Hello mate.” John grinned at hearing Greg's gravelly voice. He was always very welcome. God, knows Greg had been the only person he could talk to about Sherlock after he 'went' which had helped him stay sane. He wafted Sam aside so he could move and breathe.

Of course Greg would never put a case his daughter's way if there was any chance of danger. They just agreed that neither of them had the power to foretell the future so they went through this routine every time. “I know, you have my permission. Yeah, yeah, count me in for a birthday celebration. I don't see you often enough, we both need some time off. When and where? Uh, I'll put Sam back on actually unless you want to give me some case details now?” he asked.

Sam was pacing around the room like she'd consumed twelve cups of coffee in one sitting. A case! It had been far too long since she'd had a case. Her only worry was that her newfound emotions would get in the way of the investigation. Her palms itched like they'd been dipped in acid. Couldn't John get off the bloody phone so she could find out the details of the case. Sam motioned wildly to John. Get. Off. The. Phone.

"I'll surprise her, if that's okay with you, John? Save her telling me it's pants or whatever passes for the negative in teen-speak these days. She can come over and tell me to my face. She might actually be interested in this one. There are horses involved."

John was doing his level best to listen to Greg while Sam, obviously dying to hear the details of the case was mouthing and gesticulating 'Get. Off. The. Phone.' John turned and gave Sam a waft away and mouthed "Stop. Being. Seventeen."

"Yeah, fine, Greg, give me a quiet life." John chuckled down the phone mouthpiece. "Greg wants you to go see him for the details." he told Sam.

Sam threw her hands up in the air. Of course he did. Oh, how she hated socializing with anyone other than John, Mrs.Hudson or Ty. She buttoned her coat and left the flat, feet flying down the stairs to the door.
Because she had no money for a cab, the young detective turned left and walked past Speedy's. It would take two hours at best, but Sam rationalized that a walk would be good for her. She couldnt help but worry about the taxi that had been following her the night before. It was possible that her persuer was watching her.

"Has she gone?" Greg asked and when John gave him the affirmative, he bid goodbye and then grinned at his phone. From the patrol car parked down the road, he watched for Sam leaving, expecting her to either catch a cab for the Yard, in which case he would call her to divert her to the crime scene, or to walk, which she seemed to be doing, in which case...

"Bob, drive down the road and draw level with Miss Holmes, will you? Just give the sirens a quick burst to get her attention..." He grinned. Couldn't help himself. This reminded him of the drugs busts he had pulled on Sherlock to irritate him, to warn him or just plain shake him up, to let him know that Greg hadn't dropped his guard. He missed those times. Ancient history, he thought and watched as they drew level and Bob let fly with the sirens. Greg wound the window down.

"And just where do you think you're going, young lady?" he demanded. Bob stopped the car and Lestrade got out. "Want a lift?"

After a fairly sleepless night tossing and turning, Sherlock got up at 6am and went downstairs to open the bookshop early, instantly getting his nose into his bee book and settling back in the swivelly leather chair behind the counter, allowing a steaming cup of black coffee to cool down.

He didn't get any customers till after 9am anyway, but that suited him fine. Customers were an annoying neccessity and he hated most of them. By midday he had sold two books, when someone familiar walked into the shop.

It was Eddie, one of his Homeless Network, a functioning heroin addict just about managing to hold his life together. Sherlock knew he was probably responsible for petty thefts to feed his habit, but he turned a blind eye. He was good at the work he did for the detective. After all, the fifties Sherlock gave him bought a couple of bags on the street. But if Eddie was walking into his shop, he knew it must be something important.

"What is it?" He asked, instantly on alert and already standing up, putting down his book.
"That bloke Lucy gave you the picture of last night?" Eddie replied. "I went to buy a bag of brown off my usual guy, and he was there. The same bloke."

Sherlock grabbed his coat excitedly.
"Where? How long ago?"
"About twenty minutes ago. 17 Oxenden Street. Flat number 2. It's just behind Leicester Square, off - "
"Yes yes, I know where it is," Sherlock interupted impatiently, opening the till and shoving him a fifty pound not as he ushered him towards the door, quickly closing up shop behind them.


(( This is going to be a dead end btw, but I just wanted to show Sherlock actively looking for Moran and not just sitting on his arse all the time reading about bees! XD ))

Sam jumped out of her skin when Lestrade decided to scare her to death with the sirens. "Yes, thank you," she sighed. Samantha would have rather walked, but refusing Lestrade wasnt exactly a good idea. She opened the back door of the car and jumped in. "Alright, whats going on?"

"There's a horse gone missing from a mews stables near Hyde park. The stable owner, woman named Sylvia Gregory, she's dead. Murdered. Clouted over the head, skull caved in. We got someone for it, but the stange thing is, the horse has disappeared. No sign. Nobody saw anything, CCTV shows nothing leaving or entering the stables last night. Bloody funny, really. Something doesn't add up. There's no sign of the murder weapon either."

((My take on the silver blaze story, will pm you the details))

Sam hummed and tugged on a curl of black hair. Quite perplexing. She couldn't wait to sink her teeth into this one. "Are you positive you have the right man for the murder?" How did Lestrade catch thr culprit so quickly? Without her help, or Mycroft's, it usually took them weeks - months even. Lestrade was right. Something didnt add up.
((Sounds good. I await the details))

"Well, we arrested her ex-lover. He was a groom at the stables until she sacked him for dipping his hand in the till. Everybody heard him yelling and shouting at her as he was thrown off the premises by her brother. He was screaming about making her pay." Lestrade paused. "Seems too easy though. He's denying it of course, saying he wasn't there that night but he doesn't have an alibi." Greg could see he was peeking Sam's interest. She was listening to every word, while feigning disinterest and staring out the car window. However, she was too like Sherlock for Greg not to see the signs.

"Our victim chucked her lover out about a month ago," Greg went on. "Since then they've been extra vigilant at the stables, put in cctv and left someone on guard, even had the dog loose in the yard after hours. The stable lad was asleep in the office. He was drugged. The only thing he ate was stew provided by the cook. The family ate the same thing and nobody else was affected. Nothing else seems to have been disturbed, apart from the horse that is. We're waiting toxicology back from the remains of his meal."