S.Holmes: Sebastian's Revenge

The taxi driver dropped John off at the teaching hospital and the ex-army doctor hardly noticed where they were parked until he got out. It didn't matter now. He smirked because Sam thought she was the only person to sneak out. As far as Sam was concerned if she asked where he was going he could say to meet an old friend quite truthfully. His step lightened as he crossed the road and went into Bart's to see Sherlock, alias Ben Sigerson, and made his way upstairs to the laboratories.

John made a beeline for the end lab and peeked through the toughened glass window where he could make out the familiar warm, browny-ginger mop. He smiled and, as convention demanded, gave a light knock on the door before pressing the handle and strolling in. “Hi.” the smile broadened into a grin.

Sherlock arrived early and headed straight up to the labs. His research had become very important to him, even more so than before, as there was slightly more free time on his hands, fewer cases and less to do in the evenings. He was writing several scholarly papers and theses on various subjects, for which there were always countless experiments and results to collate. He enjoyed it. It kept his hands busy and his mind occupied, delayed the rapid onset of boredom that never led to good things.

Tonight he found he was slightly more on edge than usual, as he knew he was expecting a visit from John any minute, and he knew he wouldn't get much work done once his friend was here. The footsteps on the corridor announced his arrival long before the little knock on the door did.
"Come in," he called, without glancing up from his microscope. He finished scribbling down a few notes with one hand, his eyes still trained on the bee wing he was studying, then he threw the pen down and stood up fully, grinning as he walked over to John.

He held out his hand for a shake, then took John's and pulled him in for a friendly hug, patting him on the back.
"Good to see you," he muttered as he pulled away and grabbed up a chair, indicating with his hand that John should do the same. "How are you? How's Baker Street?"

John found Sherlock, as he expected intently focussed on a slide under a microscope but aware of his arrival all the same, and crossed the lab. Still beaming he stepped into the not-quite-a-hand-shake and returned the greeting lightly patting his friend's back. His friend hardly seemed to get any older apart from a few lines. He looked well John noticed. “Good to see you too.”

“I'm fine, how are you? You look busy.” John pulled a chair out for himself. “Baker Street's the same. Mrs H tidies up, can't find anything.” he shook his head with amusement and settled himself on the seat lacing his fingers on his lap. “Had a visit from Mycroft this morning.” he relayed the particulars breifly.

Sherlock sat down and nodded eagerly, always keen to hear news from his old home and forever with hopes of returning there someday.
"I'm fine," he answered, then glanced over to his work. "Doing some research. On bees. Quite fascinating."

"Mycroft came to visit? What does he want?" He frowned. He'd been getting on with his brother better over the years, with much of their old resentment forgotten, although he still put on the act for John.

John glanced at the microscope when Sherlock said he had been studying bees. He was very glad his friend had something interesting to keep him occupied. He was rarely bored, he didn't have time to be, but he missed the mental challenge of keeping up with his friend on cases and the old days when they ran round London together like mad things and flat-shared.

“Mm, Sam and her 'friend' had an argument, she nicked a bottle of Mycroft's booze and he only found out this morning when he realised he was a bottle short so he came over to see she was ok. Which she was. Apart from being a bit hung-over.” John explained.

((Are we going to wait until the exchange between John and Sherlock is over before going back to Sam and Ty?))

(( Maybe cut between the two 'scenes' at the natural breaks in their topics? ))

((Hmm yeah that sounds like a good idea (: ))

"Friend?" Sherlock snapped, leaning forward. "Sam has a friend? Who?" He was instantly suspicious of any new faces to join the inner circle of their world. With Moran still out there he had to be suspicious of everyone, for the safety of the people he cared about.

Mycroft's drinking was still a concern too. The fact that Sam had got drunk was hardly a surprise. She was, after all, a teenager, but his elder brother should no better than to run around after a measely bottle.
"How much is Mycroft drinking these days?"

John shifted in his seat glad that Sherlock hadn't asked him what sort of friends as he couldn't have asked a more difficult question if he'd tried. Allies and good platonic friends but they fancied each other and went out together but weren't dating.

“His name's Tyler Ashcroft, he's an ex-Lieutenant Royal Veterinary Corps, Afghanistan, then London, the Queen's horses. She met him at a posh party a year ago. He resigned his commission a bit after he met Sam. Too much pen-pushing he said. Uh, now an artist full time. Paints Afghanistan. His horses and people's dogs sell.” John smiled and added crisply. “He..has a website.”

Those were the factual details which Sherlock would like. “Decent lad and protective of Sam.” John continued with his opinion.

“I've no idea how much Mycroft drinks.” he didn't know and it really wasn't his business unless it affected Samantha. “The expensive strong stuff, obviously.” he blinked and stifled a yawn.

Tyler sat on the edge of the bed and although Sam said she was ok, he could see, and hear, she wasn't a hundred percent. Her eyes were full of tears and she was sniffing. Her rather feeble protest that she was ok was just her being independent and brave about the nightmare.

The artist eased himself up off the bedcover and produced a crumpled paper tissue from his jeans pocket. Scrunched up tissues removed paint to create nice off-white clouds in watercolours so he checked that it was a clean, unused one before passing it into Sam's hand. “Not a problem.” he replied honestly. She hadn't disturbed him from work. He had got a lot done while she was asleep.

Ty wondered if he should give her some privacy but he was reluctant to go until she was feeling better. He looked at his watch. “You've been asleep ages. It's gone 7pm do you want to go to a restaurant or shall I order us a takeaway? What do you fancy?”

Sam moaned. She'd slept the day away. John would be furious. However, in her defense, she did have a hangover. For most, it took about three days to wear off. Samantha attempted to sit up. "Christ," She pressed her palms flat against her temples. It felt like her brain was going to seep out her ears.
She noticed a tissue was in her hand and dangled it between finger and thumb, perplexed. "Yeah...takeaway is fine."
Ty smelled even more like paint now. In a weird way, she liked it. "C'mere," She mumbled, collapsing on top of him. The young detective pinned him to the bed. She kissed and nibbled at his neck, unable to get enough of him.

"Can we," She tugged hard on his ear with her teeth. "Get," Sam pressed her nose to his so their eyes were inches apart "Chinese?" She whispered. Her hands slid beneath his shirt..
.

Tyler hid that he was slightly amused that Sam had a massive hangover because he knew how bad she felt. He had been through the students getting pissed thing and had been to enough all night army do's that he wasn't a big drinker now and consequently he suffered badly for an indiscretion and kept his sense of humour about his own self-inflicted misery.

It felt like Sam was wanting to eat him, not a take-away, as she pushed him on his back and was attacking his neck as if she had just discovered it.

He liked how her hair tickled and how her lips were moist and warm and the way her teeth were grazing against his skin. His breathing was becoming slower and heavier with arousal. His hands went to her waist and his hand stroked up her back. Not teasingly, softly but firmly. You feel this? This is me saying I want you too.

Sam nipped his ear pulling it with her teeth and then her nose was pressed on his. He opened his eyes and squinted into the gorgeous green ones and then closed them again grinning. She whispered that she had decided on Chinese food. Could they get that?

“Yes.” Yes, he could get that, but not with her soft warm hands now touching his bare skin above his waist and pushing his shirt up. A tremor shot from his waist to his groin and he breathed in sharply. He could get them Chinese but maybe not yet.

Sam wanted to explore every inch of him. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it would explode. When Ty's hand caressed her back, she arched a little in response, delighted by the touch.
She prayed he wouldnt attempt to take her shirt off because of her scars. To distract him, she sat back on her knees and unzipped her pants, wriggling out of them. [i]Not exactly seductive.[\i]
They were off in a flash and landed on the floor beside the bed...

Sherlock listened to John's description of Sam's "friend" with a thoughtful expression and a small frown. He didn't quite know what to make of it, but John seemed quite fond of this Tyler already, or at least seemed to approve of his association with Sam.

It was a strange feeling, having a daughter, and it was something he'd not quite got used to, even after all this time, perhaps because they'd never been fully acquainted, never had chance to get to know each other, but he couldn't help feeling protective and paranoid.

"I don't like him," he said finally, and with a determined air, as if him saying so meant their friendship would now cease. "Moran was in the army, I don't trust army men. For all we know they could be pals." He knew John would probably pull him up about the fact that he was in the army, but right now Sherlock didn't particularly care.

John had expected Sherlock not to like Tyler, but the reason for his objection caught John entirely off guard. “I was...” he flared up going tense but catching himself over-reacting he stopped. Sherlock could still press his buttons.

Letting it pass as inconsequential and relaxing John's voice went back down in pitch. “Course you don't like him, you're her father. There'd be something wrong with you if you didn't care about who Sam is friends with.” he said reasonably.

“Let's be rational about this.” he suggested. “If they were pals Moran would have shown up long ago. Not to mention he'd be 6 feet under as well because Ty would kill anyone who threatened her life.” John smirked. “If it makes you happier the three of us could go for a pint and you can deduce the hell out of him.”

As ever, John provided the reasonable diplomatic view, and Sherlock was softened by his words. He sighed quietly and relaxed his tense muscles, noticing that he'd been holding his shoulders practically up to his ears. He rolled them and sat up straighter.

The idea of going for a pint wasn't exactly something he liked the sound of, but he could hardly pass up the opportunity to suss this guy out for himself. John's opinion was one thing, but his friend regularly missed the tiny details only Sherlock could pick up on.

"I think I'd like that," he agreed with a small smirk. "I'm catching a serial killer in Paris on Saturday but I've got some space in the diary before then."

John smiled as Sherlock's tension subsided. He thought it'd be much better for Sherlock to meet Tyler and make up his own mind. Sherlock had never been one for drinking in all the time he had known him so a pub that served food would do nicely.

“A pub that does meals. Then I know you've eaten something before Saturday.” he wished he was going with his friend to Paris hunting a serial killer as well.

“I know where to go The Green Man, Barnsdale Street, I'll see if he's free tomorrow evening. 8pm.” he plucked his phone from his jacket pocket, pulled up messages, typed a quick text and pinged the 'send' “Done and sent.” he dropped his mobile back in his pocket.

A stifled little sound of protest that Ty didn't want to let out escaped when Samantha withdrew her hands from his stomach. It was fine, it had to be fine because he had promised to stop when she wanted to. He had wanted this to happen, had imagined it, except he wasn't prepared for Sam unzipping her trousers. She had deposited them on the floor before it really sank in what she was doing.

He groaned and rolled on his side before rolling off the bed and standing up. “I think we'd both be safer if I get us that Chinese now.” he grinned. Things you do for love, eh!

"I'll shout it up and get plates ready." Ty's phone beeped then. He paused to give Sam a smile and jogged off down to the studio.

He wasn't too surprised to find it was a text from John.

Boys night out pint and pub snack tomorrow 8pm Green Man, Barnsdale Street. JW

Tyler replied. Sounds good. TA

"Sam, does your dad know you are here?" Ty called up the stairs.

Sam sat on the bed, utterly confused. Wasn't this what he wanted? What she wanted?
Ty went downstairs and left Sam alone, pantsless and perplexed. Just when she thought she understood things like love and sex, she was left alone, half naked on her boyfriend's bed.
"He's probably figured out where I am by now," Sam shouted to Ty.

“Ok.” Ty yelled back and phoned in the order for their meal.
Tyler wondered if John had known Sam was coming to his house and if her dad had known Sam was in a mood with him. It would explain the text. Good thing he hadn't declined the night out then.

He grabbed plates, headed back upstairs and plonked them on the coffee table in front of the sofa in the living room. “15 minutes, gorgeous. I ordered the usual and I'm starving so I ordered soup as well.”

Sebastian sighed to himself as he downed another pint of scotch at the counter of one of the local bars, the only one he would show his face in nowadays. He had drank here for years, so he was well known among the many other men that came here on a regular basis. The best thing about this dump was that like him, a few others that he was quite friendly with had a bit of criminal history too, making it all the better to fit in.

The sniper had mostly been drinking his money down the drain after Jim's death years ago and the fall of their empire once Holmes started tracking down each and every one of them. He had been on Sebastian's trail for a while when he had attempted to kill him once, though from there everything went downhill.

Sebastian had been left jobless, but had soon turned to dealing and playing cards and mostly gambling. He was good at it, despite being an unfair player. That was, until a man called Adair had caught him cheating and had threatened to expose his identity. Sebastian wasn't happy and having a streak for killing, he had gotten rid of him. That had been a bad move because once again, Holmes was onto him.

He had fled to India for a while, keeping hidden and changing his appearance so no one would recognise him as to not get caught. His once dirty blonde hair was now chestnut, though his face wasn't much different apart from a few more scars and in addition, he wore green contacts to also change the colour of his eyes.

He had come back to London, though he knew there was people out to get hold of him. Hence why his appearance had to change. Sebastian had not killed anyone in a few months now, so he was safe from being noticed or tracked down for the meantime.

Glancing up as the bartender came over, he automatically thrust his empty glass out. "Same again?" George asked and lifted the glass. Sebastian merely grunted his reply, then turned towards the man seated beside him. The sniper didn't have many friends for the main reason he couldn't trust anyone any more, but he had known Oscar for years now. The man had been locked behind bars and had only gotten out a few months ago after being arrested for sexually abusing under age children and teenagers.

"You needin' a lift?" He asked, regardless of already drinking two pints himself. Then again, the man could drink anyone under the table and would still look and act sober.

"No," Sebastian muttered, handing over the money when the bartender came back with his drink and slid it across the counter to him. "Cheers."

"Suit yourself. I'll be going now. Take care of yourself. Don't know who's lurking about at this time." Oscar slapped him on the back in a friendly manner and disappeared through the door on his way out, leaving him to drink alone in peace.

[[Wow. Wasn't expecting it to be so long.]]
_______

-JM ♥

Samantha wandered out to the living room, still without pants, and collapsed on the sofa. Bored.
She picked up the remote and flicked absently through the channels on the television. Boring.
Sam turned it off and threw the remote across the room. It hit the wall with a crash and collapsed in two pieces on the ground.
Grumbling, she pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the blank screen. Nothing had gone according to plan. She laced her fingers together, hugging her legs even tighter.
First the horrific nightmare, now Ty's rejection - was it rejection? She wasn't quite sure now. Her brain was still foggy.

((I'm a bit confused being a Brit. Here trousers = pants and knickers, pants or panties= ladies underpants ))

It hadn't escaped him that Sam was sitting on the sofa minus her trousers. That was different but fine. She was welcome to walk round his house wearing as much, or little, as she was comfortable in. Her legs, he noticed, were long and slender, and like her face, pale and finely shaped.

The clatter upstairs had alerted Ty that something had hit the floor and as he turned from the coffee table he caught sight of the remote lying on the floor in two bits. Picking the bits up he could see it was only with the battery cover that had come flying off. “Nothing on telly then.” he remarked as he slotted the plastic cover back on and put the remote on the tv table none too gently.

He knew what the problem was. She was bored. He went to sit beside her on the sofa. “Why not take on private clients if Lestrade hasn't got anything you can work on?” he suggested. “I can help. Would your dad object if you did that?”

((My apologies!))

"It's not a case I want," Sam growled.
She was painfully aware of how close Ty was to her.
Sam considered trying to put the moves on him again, but she was afraid he'd refuse.
Or offer another distraction.
She was curious and wanted to explore it all in one night. The young detective was aware that it was an unhealthy approach, but she simply didn't care. Sam knew with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that nothing exciting or new was going to happen.
The kind of 'bored' she was experiencing was not a hole that dead bodies and mysteries could fill. Sam looked over and Ty and bit her bottom lip.
"I...I think I..."