Chapter 17

"For Sherlock Holmes?"

John and Irene simultaneously got up (though her much more gracefully than him).

"Yes?"

"I'll be honest with you," the young doctor said, "it was touch and go for a while, but we were able to retrieve the bullet and are fairly certain that there won't be any longterm effects."

"So everything will be alright?" a breathless Irene tried to translate that into normal English.

"It very much seems so," the doctor said smiling.

"Can we see him?" John asked anxiously. He could hardly believe that there wouldn't be any longterm effects. From what he had seen… the bullet had seemed to be so damned close to both the aorta and the trachea…

"I'm afraid he has to rest now. But we'll move him to the regular room in the morning, so it'd be best if you came back to the regular visiting hours."

"Alright… thanks," John said, still trying to comprehend everything. Sherlock wasn't going to die. He was going to be fine. Definitely. And Moran and his gang were in custody.

Everything seemed almost too good to be true.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" John asked when they had made themselves comfortable in the cab.

"Yes, I am."

John sighed, suppressing a growl. "Well, I am not. And I'm a doctor, if I may remind you of that. Come on, Sherlock, it's little more than 30 hours since you were shot and you really think that releasing yourself out of hospital is a good idea?"

"I need answers."

"So just ask Mycroft!" John fell silent, he hadn't intended to sound so exasperated, but Sherlock wasn't really gentle with his nerves.

Just let it go, John told himself. There was no point in arguing with Sherlock, never had been. If he intended to interrogate Lestrade, he would do it – regardless of his health or John's nerves or whatever 'irrational' reasons there might be.

"I still can't believe he did that," John said, even to his own surprise. He'd just been pondering about the matter and hadn't intended to share his thoughts with Sherlock. But perhaps it wasn't that bad after all, perhaps this way he could get some answers.

"If the reward is high enough, almost everybody can be bought."

"But Lestrade? I mean, how come you even suspected him of being a criminal? The thought alone is… Well, let's just say it would never have occurred to me."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Yes," he then said very thoughtfully. "I might not have suspected it in such an early state either." He fell silent, but John just looked at him questioningly, so he went on, "Right before I returned to London, I was in France, more to the point in Paris, and made the French police arrest Milton for art theft. Someone, however, got him out of prison."

John frowned. "And you suspected Lestrade to be that someone?"

"Not then, no. But when Milton got free, he paid me a visit in my lodgings in Paris."

"What did he want?"

"Kill me."

John shook his head. "Exactly how many times have people tried to kill you?"

"I lost count of that years ago," Sherlock said casually. "Anyway, Milton did the famous mistake of letting get his game to elaborate. That way I learned that he knew, or rather thought, that Irene had been beheaded and that she and I had had… some special sort of relationship."

He didn't continue, so John felt compelled to ask, "So?"

"So, there weren't many people who could have told Milton both these facts. Very few people knew or could find out that Irene Adler had been beheaded, and even fewer people knew how intimate she and I had been. Lestrade was one of them."

"Mycroft and I knew about it, too."

"That's why I prepared this little trap of the meeting at King's Cross Station for Mycroft. To be honest, I would have rather guessed him to be the mole, not Lestrade."

"And me?"

"I saw you at my funeral," Sherlock said and John instinctively clenched his teeth to hold all the emotions inside that threatened to emerge when he thought about that day. "And anyway, you wouldn't have the necessary power or file access to release Milton. Now, here we are."

At the entrance, they were expected by a very exhausted-looking Mycroft. "So you couldn't stop him from coming?" he greeted John sourly.

"No, Mycroft, he couldn't, because as you might imagine, I have got quite a keen interest in this case, and now if you'll excuse us, I would very much like to find out why an old friend of mine tried to kill me."

"It's not that I can't see your interest in this case, Sherlock," Mycroft retorted in no less aggressive tone, "but you don't seem to see that your timing is hardly appropriate regarding your current state of health."

"Oh, shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock ended the reprimand and walked past him to the interrogation cell, leaving him behind.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called with some relief as he entered with John at his heels. "Thank God you're alright!"

"Good evening, Lestrade."

Lestrade couldn't miss the iciness of the tone. "Sherlock, listen," he said imploringly, "I've never wanted to help Moran and his gang, and I've certainly never wanted to kill you! You have to believe me!"

But Sherlock's tone remained cold. "Do I?"

"Alright," Lestrade sighed, running his hands over his face, "I know this looks bad. But I told you the truth up there on the roof! Please, Sherlock –"

"What did you do for Moriarty?" Sherlock cut him off. He obviously wasn't in the mood for Lestrade's begging and his apologies.

"Nothing," Lestrade answered a bit more calmly, but with a lot of emphasis. Ignoring Sherlock's snort, he went on, "I only worked for Moran, and only after Moriarty's death. When I started digging into the real causes of the case and came into the way of Moran and his gang, they threatened me and I – I saw no other way than doing what they asked of me."

"What did you do for them then?"

Lestrade shook his head. "All kinds of things. Parker owns some bars and night clubs in Soho and Shoreditch, I had to warn him when there was a drug bust about to come or if they were about to investigate into him about prostitutional affairs. And when Milton got into prison, I had to forge the papers of the case files to get him out. Twice."

"Why didn't you arrest me when we first met at Thames Road?"

"It wasn't an easy decision, I can tell you that," Lestrade muttered.

"Why not?"

"Well, I knew that Moran and the others wanted to kill you, didn't I? And I supposed you'd be safer in custody than out in the open – and as a matter of fact, it would have been according to the protocol to arrest you."

"So why didn't you?"

"I… I was hoping… You seemed to have a plan! And I mean, you always did things that seemed impossible to everyone, so I just hoped that maybe you could stop the rest of Moriarty's old gang. We were on the same side, don't you see? We both wanted to get rid of them, and I figured that you were the one man who could do that."

"So you're just an opportunist? You find out who's got the better hand and then decide by what rules you want to play?"

"No, I was just… What else was I supposed to do, Sherlock? They were going to destroy my life, to kill Karen and God knows what they would have done!"

Sherlock's answer was an indecipherable look – one that had to be quite hard to bear for Lestrade.

"Look, Sherlock –"

But Sherlock didn't let him apologize or whatever he was going to do. He just left the room without even so much as glancing back at him.

John looked after him, and since he wasn't sure how to treat Lestrade, he hurried after Sherlock.

He didn't dare speaking before they got into a cab. "Do you believe him?"

"There is no way I can deduce the reasons why he did what he did, it's not that –"

"Do you believe him, Sherlock?" John interrupted the detective. "Just – can't you just let go of all the deduction and proving for a while and answer this simple question: Do – you – believe him?"

"I can't know –"

"Sherlock!"

John saw him twist his lips; that question obviously wasn't one of the kind Sherlock liked, but that was no reason to make John let him get away without receiving an answer.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked after some silence.

John was caught off-guard; it didn't happen often that Sherlock asked him for his opinion. "I think he's telling the truth."

Sherlock nodded, but didn't say anything. For a long time. A very long time.

"Well," he finally said, "we'll have a hard time proving it. May I count on your help?"

Woah – what was that? Was Sherlock really saying what John thought he was saying? "You want to prove that Lestrade's innocent, after everything that happened?"

"I want to prove there were extenuating circumstances, and yes, after everything that happened. That's what friends are for, right?"

John didn't say anything, he just shook his head. It was hard to believe that Sherlock, of all people, had said something moving enough to render him speechless.

It was afternoon when they were finally sitting in their rooms in Baker Street again. John had convinced Sherlock to let him talk to Mrs Hudson first before Sherlock himself had shown up. Still, she was rather rattled, laughing and crying at the same time, and would hardly let them alone for a minute. It was some time until Sherlock – as tender as John was used to see him only when talking to her – had calmed her down enough so that John and he could talk things over privately.

John could tell by the pale, haggard face that Sherlock was exhausted and as a doctor was once more convinced that he should have stayed in hospital for another day or two. But it would be alright. Sherlock only had to get himself some rest. John would look after him.

"By the way, where's Irene?" John asked as Mrs Hudson went down the stairs into her own lodgings.

"Looking for a flat."

"Oh," John said with some surprise and didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell if Sherlock was pleased that The Woman didn't move in with him or not, but neither was he sure how he himself felt about that. Well, that was not quite true, in any case, he knew he was feeling puzzled.

"Why doesn't she move in with you?"

"Too much distraction."

John chuckled, but quickly changed the sound into a clearing of his throat. "You know, some people would be glad about that sort of distraction. But don't worry," he added as an afterthought, "only human people."

Sherlock looked up at him. "I'm not saying … Look, all I'm saying is that I wouldn't be able to focus on a case the way I have to if she was… moving about here all day long, scattering her… woman things all over the place."

"Oh boy," John said grinning, "you really do have a problem."

"Well," Sherlock retorted good-humouredly, "better than the bunch of problems I would have if I let the female gender rule my mind as other people in this room tend to do."

"I don't…," John started, but decided he didn't want to start a fight right now. "Never mind. So – case solved. Bad guys behind bars, your name about to be cleared… I figure that was a pretty good week's work."

"Actually a year's work, but yes, I'm quite pleased with the result, too."

John was silent for a moment; there was something on the tip of his tongue which he knew he should say, but he just couldn't say it right now when both he and Sherlock were feeling so comfortable and relaxed.

"If you had included Irene and me in your plans, you might not even have been injured, you know." Damn it, why had he said it despite everything?

But it was out now and couldn't be taken back anymore. And truth be told, John was keenly interested in Sherlock's justification.

Despite his fears, however, Sherlock hadn't lost the light, jesting tone. "You know that three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead? Since it would have been quite an awful bunch of labour to kill you without leaving traces, I decided not to tell you in the first place."

John was unable to decide between that light jesting conversation that he wanted and the serious talk that he had to have with his friend, so he tried to find a way in the middle. "Did it ever occur to you that you might be having trust issues?"

Sherlock didn't answer at once. John wasn't sure whether it was because he had insulted him or because Sherlock had realized that John was right after all. Well, one didn't exclude the other, so probably both.

"Well, did it maybe occur to you that 'trust issues' might not be the principal reason for keeping you and Irene out of this?"

Alright, now they were getting somewhere. "So what was the principal reason?"

Again, Sherlock took his time with a response, or rather with the continuation of the conversation. "You know, I should be angry with you," Sherlock said after a while and it didn't elude John that he was just trying to change the subject. Well, whatever, let him be. Anyway, John had a fairly good idea of what Sherlock's motives might have been, and maybe it would be more merciful to both of them if Sherlock didn't have to say it, so a change of topic was probably best.

Just that being angry with him was a bit too much. "You? With me?" Clearly he had meant it the other way round?

"Of course. I had one dying wish, only one, and you failed to fulfil it."

"I'm sorry?" John asked, still puzzled, and still trying to figure out whether Sherlock was still in a jesting mood or if he had become earnest.

"I told you specifically to tell the world I was a fraud. Well, I stayed informed, I kept reading your blog. Can't see you did that."

"I didn't tell them the opposite. The press did the rest."

Sherlock chuckled. Seemed as if he hadn't turned serious. "Yes, I guess they did."

Only that it was now John who was far from jesting. "You know, I really don't see that's funny."

And now, John was sure that also Sherlock was earnest. Utterly so. "No. No, it's not. John…" He cleared his throat. "Uh, look…" And once more. "I want you to know…" There seemed to be something heavy on the way, in any case something Sherlock had extreme difficulties getting out. He even had to clear his throat again before saying something that would have knocked John off his feet if he hadn't been sitting already. "I am sorry. For what I did to you. For making you watch me die and… everything. And I assure you I would never have done it if I had seen any other way out."

Oh my. That was… Good Lord. Was that really Sherlock talking? Without any ulterior motives?

John studied Sherlock's face more earnestly. It wasn't very easy for Sherlock had seated himself, as had always been his habit, in the chair that was turned away from the window. But nevertheless, John could make out that his haggard features wore a serious expression. And his eyes… John had hardly ever seen such a sadness in Sherlock's eyes.

"It's okay."

John wouldn't have thought he'd ever have said it, but now that it was out, he knew that it was true. He had been angry with Sherlock, right, and it was difficult to understand that Sherlock had really been able to be so cruel to him, to torture him in such a horrible way, but by now, John understood that what Sherlock was saying was true. He hadn't just pretended to commit suicide for fun, it hadn't just been one of his experiments to make John watch. He hadn't tried to keep John out of it because he enjoyed being cruel to him, but instead had had to be cruel to him to ensure that John had as little as possible to do with this matter. It had simply seemed as the only possibility for him, to ensure the safety of all of them.

In the silence that stretched between them, John could feel that it was alright. He hadn't realized it until now, that it was over, that things would be getting back to normal, that everything would be alright again. He'd hoped it, sure, but after everything that had happened it had seemed too good to be true.

"Alright, then," Sherlock suddenly said and if John hadn't known him so well and if there hadn't been that look in his eyes, he might as well have thought that Sherlock had completely turned into the un-feeling, business-like reasoning machine again without even remembering their previous conversation. "So may I count on your help?"

It was close, but John managed to hold back a "Sure, whatever you need". He'd learned from experience that Sherlock usually asked for his help when working a case and that thus, with regard to Sherlock's current physical constitution, offering him his help wouldn't really be to Sherlock's own good (at least apart from preventing him from getting bored). Therefore, it was wiser to ask, "Doing what?"

"Clearing Lestrade. A bit. Proving that he had been forced by the remainder of Moriarty's network to do what he did. Only as soon as my doctor allows it, of course," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. "Are you in?"

John scrutinized his friend, but Sherlock really seemed to be most serious about this. He wanted to solve the case to the end. To help Lestrade. And he was asking for John's help. They would start solving cases together again, bringing themselves in all kind of impossible and not rarely dangerous situations. If he was in?

"God, yes."

– The End –