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A Good Man Went to War - Chapter 7

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When Mrs. Hudson woke from her episode a short time later, Sherlock had made Earl Grey tea for her and was setting it on a small end table next to the sofa where she was laying. He handed her a cup when she sat up but she barely took it into her shaking hands, and didn't even take her eyes away from him as she did. Was this really Sherlock Holmes? Had she done something to deserve being haunted by such a specter? Terrified, she asked him as much.

Sherlock couldn't help but to smile a little at the question. She really hadn't changed a bit. "I'm not a ghost; I'm real."

"But," Mrs. Hudson took a quick drink of her tea, "John saw you die..."

He looked to the ground and gripped his hands together tightly. He regretted tricking John like that more than anything else in the world, even though it had to be done. "It's...complicated," he told her. It wasn't too complicated for him, in fact it had been rather easy, but he didn't think he had enough time to explain it all to her. If he could later, he would tell both her and John. "Anyway Mrs. Hudson, I have a question about John." He looked back up and saw her gone from the sofa; she had gotten up while he wasn't looking and moved into the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson?"

Sherlock followed her in time to see her flipping over a large plastic card in her window that he had dismissed earlier. His eyebrows drew together. It was a signal, that much was obvious, but he hoped it wasn't for the police. If she sold him out, he would be out of luck until he managed to find wherever John was hiding out.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock stepped forward towards Mrs. Hudson in time for the door he had walked through only minutes ago to slam open to four men and two women in plain clothes holding automatic weapons. They all had their guns pointed at him, to which he looked alarmed and then amused. These were no military men of Moriarty's; they would look far more official, even in plain clothes. The men were unshaven and had a bit of a fowl smell around them; the women had frizzy hair and were covered in dirt and general grime. "The consulting soldiers," he said with a smile.

"A few of a us," one of the men said, "yeah. You a new recruit? Lestrade send you here?"

"No and no. I am someone your leader, Mr. Watson, would have great joy in seeing again. An old friend."

The man looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if Sherlock shouldn't have known about John being their leader. "Watson sent for you then?"

"No. He doesn't even know I'm alive. In fact, he thinks I'm rather dead." Sherlock clapped his hands together once in front of him. "Well, come along then, show me where John has set up home for you lot!"

While the others confusingly led Sherlock away, the man who had addressed him went over to Mrs. Hudson. "Who was that? He is...odd."

Mrs. Hudson looked up at him and then smiled wider than she had in a long time. "That was Sherlock Holmes dear!"

--

Sherlock looked around as the soldiers led him into the alleyway he had given a passing glance earlier; from there, he could clearly see the worn areas of a black paint where the ladders had been used multiple times. It even looked like they had been painted recently. He thought it was such a shame to put someone to work so hard on painting those ladders when the paint would only get chipped away a short time later.

Fascinated by the rather nondescript alley, he watched as one of the women who had escorted him opened the door in the wall that led down to the mini city. He smiled again. "Clever John," he muttered, "clever. No one would think about opening a wall."

Sherlock followed the soldiers down the stairs into the mini city, another fascinating sight for him. An entire city that John hid underground via a door in the wall of an alleyway! Perhaps he had taught his dear friend plenty after all! His head swiveled every which way, taking in the carved stone and the faces of all of the astonished people who recognized him right away. Quite a few people were hiding out there, he noticed. John had built up quite the resistance pocket.

When finally the small group had reached the near center of the mini city, they stopped. The man who had talked to Sherlock earlier told him that he would return momentarily and retreated inside one of the stone buildings that Sherlock assumed took a terribly long time to carve.

He listened to the voices coming from the inside of the building, but could not hear John's. There was the voice of the man and of some woman that Sherlock knew but refused to acknowledge simply because he saw no reason for her to be there. He sighed and stood there surrounded by the other soldiers for far too long; it shouldn't have taken more than a brief moment to get John - and his apparent accomplice, (or some new flame of his) - so that he could see his old friend again.

Just as the thought left Sherlock's mind, the man stepped back out of the building followed by a woman. No, not just a woman, but the woman, still with long brown hair and dressed in a low cut shirt, tight leather jacket, tight blue jeans, and knee-high heeled boots. Irene Adler had returned to London as well.

Sherlock, however, was shocked to see Irene approaching him instead of John. This he not been expecting and it irritated him. How many times was the woman going to outsmart him like this?! Once she had recovered herself from the shock of seeing Sherlock alive again, Irene strolled forward to him.

"Sherlock Holmes," she purred, "alive. This should make a better scandal than our last meeting," she teased.

"Miss Adler, or, should I say," he grabbed her left hand once he saw the two silver bands on her ring finger, "Mrs. Adler."

"Actually Mrs. Norton. But please, just call me Irene, it'll be so much simpler." She crossed her arms over her chest. "What brings you here?"

"I should be the one asking that. You're supposed to be in the witness protection scheme in America," he pointed out in a harsh whisper.

Irene smiled and waved everyone away. "Get back to what you were doing, whatever it was. I'm sure Mr. Holmes will be available later." She gestured for him to follow her and led him into the building she had emerged from.

"You're supposed to be safe in America," Sherlock said louder once they were away from prying eyes.

"And you're supposed to be six-feet under enjoying a dirt nap," she rebuked. "My being here makes far more sense in that aspect, so you might want to start the explaining portion of this conversation."

He shook his head. "That's not important right now. Look, where's John? I thought he was in charge of the consulting soldiers." He was sure he'd found the right group; there was no way two groups could get away with hiding in London, even if both were underground.

Irene sighed and leaned back against a table covered in maps and photographs. "He is. In fact, he founded this rebellion group. I'm the group's temp leader." When she saw his eyebrows knit together, she continued, "John disappeared nearly a month ago. Moriarty's men captured him during a raid on the Parliament Building. John's General, his normal temp, died in the attack, with quite a few others. Only two men made it back, and they seem to have confidence that the kid who escorted John into the room would die before letting the group's leader die."

"Where are these two men?" Sherlock wanted to have a word with the two who just left John to die at Moriarty's hand.

"They're on sniper guard duty. I wouldn't give them too much attention, they're good men. From what I understand, they had a great friendship with John. They wouldn't have left him if they didn't think he'd be okay."

He turned from her to hide the anger on his face. He didn't care how good of a friendship they had with John. They just left him to be captured! They would have to answer to him for their actions at some point.

"We're trying to free him Sherlock. Don't worry, he'll be safe," Irene said reassuringly.

"How do you know he's not dead?"

"An insider has said that Moriarty has something special planned for him, but wouldn't elaborate as to what. I almost don't want to know."

Sherlock faced her again. "What's your plan then? You can't just rush the Parliament Building, it'll end up the same as last time. Someone will get captured or killed, and we can't have that happen again. Another insider, maybe? You might be able to get someone in urban camouflage to sneak inside."

She shook her head. "We can't do anything yet. Security has tightened like you wouldn't believe since that raid, and we can't get close."

He walked over to look at all of the maps and photos behind her. "What's your plan then?"

"We can't do anything yet. I'm sorry Sherlock." She looked into his eyes when he glared to her. "I really am sorry. We can't do a thing with security so tight. No one has the experience to sneak in there."

Sherlock turned his attention back to the maps. There were markings everywhere. Places around the Parliament Building where security was tighter than it apparently had ever been. Every last inch of the perimeter was covered in the indelible ink that burned his mind to see. John was being held somewhere in that building, and he couldn't do a single damn thing to help him! The thought enraged Sherlock, and he hit one fist on the table before turning away to pace the room in furious speed.

There had to be a way! There was always a way!

After a few minutes of this, Irene walked over to him. "Sherlock, please stop."

"Nothing's impossible. There has to be a way into that building," he muttered.

"Sherlock, it is impossible! It simply cannot be done, we've looked at all the possibilities!"

In response to her, he said off-handedly, "Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be truth."

Irene rolled her eyes. "Exactly. For you, that means admitting that there's no way inside. There's no tunnels, and airplanes can't even fly near the bloody thing without getting shot at! There's no way in."

"There has to be...something...it's there, I'm just not seeing it," he hissed. He kept pacing, but he slowed down a bit.

While continuing to watch this frustrating display, another man ran into the small building. A wide but grave smile decorated his face. "Ma'am, come see! You won't believe it!"

Irene followed the man, deciding to leave Sherlock to his thinking for a bit, but almost immediately ran back for him. Without allowing him a single second of protest, she pulled him by the wrist outside of the building.

As soon as they were in front of the building, Sherlock broke from Irene's grip and ran over to where another of the soldiers was carrying John on his back. He saw that John was bloody, especially his face, and probably had a few broken bones here and there, but was otherwise breathing and fine. He kept his eyes trained on John, studying his every feature no matter how bloody until he was sure that the unconscious angel being carried towards a tiny hut-like building really was John Watson.

As the nurse who had assisted John in his surgeries cleaned him up and put clean bandages on him where needed, Sherlock smiled happily. He stayed next to John after the nurse and a few others had helped to move him to the bedroom in his tiny home, sitting on the bed next to him until he could no longer fight the sleep and curled up next to John on the bed.

Sherlock and John were home.
Some fluffeh Johnlock for you awesome people! :meow:

I recommend this song (Understanding by Evanescence) for this entire story (only recently found this, otherwise I would've pointed it out earlier): [link]

Ch. 6: [link]
Ch. 8: [link]

Start Over?: [link]
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gay-rudy's avatar
ahh a bit of happiness <3
loving this so far