Read the original Sherlock Holmes novels and short stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle anywhere for free. Included Novels:. A Study in Scarlet. The Sign of the Four. The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Valley of Fear Included Collections:. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (12 stories). The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (11 stories). The Return of Sherlock Holmes (13 stories. Sherlock 11 - Read Sherlock Chapter 11 Sherlock 11 released! You are now reading Sherlock 11 online. If you are bored from Sherlock manga, you can try surprise me link at top of page or select another manga like Sherlock 11 from our huge manga list.Sherlock 11 released in mangareader fastest, recommend your friends to read Sherlock 11 now! Tags: read Sherlock 11 english, Sherlock 11 raw manga. Full-size polypropylene grip with reinforced threads, Sherlock GT® compatible; Cat. UPC 0-71497-Size Overall Length Case Qty. R017: 13609-1: 4' 14 1/2' 6: 12534. Parents need to know that Sherlock is an excellent adaptation of the classic Arthur Conan Doyle series that's littered with dead bodies, but little actual onscreen violence. Storylines include terrorism, serial murderers, drug trafficking, and smuggling, and there are plenty of scary scenes and suspense throughout each episode.
That was a mistake.
Sherlock's campaign against Odin's God complex cost him a loved one on Elementary Season 7 Episode 11.
Not just any loved one, but his father Morland.
Here I was hoping that the powers that be would find a way to resurrect his brother Mycroft, however unlikely that might be.
Instead they killed off Morland.
I wanted Sherlock to get a happy ending, and not more pain.
Maybe he'll get there by the time Elementary ends in two episodes, but this was really unnecessary piling on.
Sure, Sherlock and Morland's relationship has always been a rocky one, with Sherlock's sense of justice offended by Morland's flogging of international law.
But, as Morland pointed out when last they spoke, he was always there for Sherlock.
He was the one who introduced Sherlock to the most important person in his life, Joan, and who gave him a new home and a much-needed fresh start in New York.
Yes, their prickly relationship worked best when they lived on separate continents, but deep down they loved each other.
After all, following Mycroft's for-real death on Season 6 Episode 9, they were the only relatives that each other had.
That's what made Morland's death particularly hard. Sherlock is now the last of his line (unless he has offspring out there from some one-night stand, something that can't be ruled out).
This promises to make him redouble his efforts to end Odin and his murder machine over the last two episodes.
It was good to see Morland, that king of the world, once again. He almost missed the party because he was too busy running his empire.
But he knew how much it took for proud Sherlock to reach out for help so of course he came when Sherlock called.
Their plan was a sound one, with Morland reaching out globally and Sherlock and Joan working locally.
The beauty of Odin's plan is that his soldiers have only met his lieutenants, not the commander in chief himself. He has all kinds of deniability.
Odin was starting to force the issue, however. The 'murder/suicide' at Conrad's house was staged by Odin's people, just to prove his point to Sherlock and Joan.
Creating a phony potential mass murderer spewing hate online, Sherlock baited a trap that Odin couldn't resist.
The fact that the target was a pharmaceutical company peddling drugs made it that much more apropos for the recovering addict.
(Here's hoping Morland's death doesn't set Sherlock back. There's no time left for a relapse.)
Odin's assassin being a third-grade teacher was a surprise.
Tri catalog 7 3 7. Patrick Mears, a returning veteran having trouble adjusting to the homefront, made sense as someone who would be susceptible to Odin's enticement. A new battle to fight in, and all that.
But a teacher's path to becoming a vigilante wasn't nearly as clearcut.
Annie was a tough nut to crack, a convert who believed in his mission.
That is until Joan proved to her that researcher Talia was an innocent, who was killed only because Odin wanted to scoop up a technology of Talia's brother to finetune his murder matrix.
It was only after Joan confronted Annie and left Talia's harmless emails that Annie figured out that she had been used.
As much as any soldier in a war zone, Annie was suffering from PTSD after her school was shot up and was looking for a way to protect herself and fight back.
Odin exploited this natural reaction.
So Sherlock finally had his witness, although she couldn't finger Odin. All she could do was discuss her role in the operation.
That's why he finally brought Gregson into the fold, since he and Marcus were the only two cops about whom Sherlock felt secure.
After his initial anger at being kept in the dark, Gregson grasped the enormity of this case and how careful he would need to be in building it.
Now to get Marcus on board as well. That's sure to be imminent.
While Sherlock was finding a chink in Odin's armor, Morland was being a titan of industry, targeting Odin's business by calling in favors all over the world.
This left Odin's own company on the verge of pushing him out.
Odin was convinced that he was saving thousands by killing dozens and appealed to Sherlock to step off.
Unfortunately, Sherlock was feeling cocky and didn't hear the veiled threat in Odin's approach.
And Morland ultimately paid for that decision.
It's a different world than Morland once ruled.
A tech mogul such as Odin can create unrest through social media, then turn around and provide information with which rulers can find the protest leaders
In other words, it's more a world of data than contacts, making someone such as Morland antiquated.
Morland was very good at what he did in his time. But his time has passed.
That's why Mrs. Tseng had that sorrowful look on her face when she betrayed her old friend Morland because she knew her time also had passed.
So where does Sherlock go from here?
Hopefully, he can channel his anger and proceed carefully, as Odin's guard is bound to be up.
What he needs is for an arrogant Odin to make a mistake and give them an opening.
It should come down to the four main characters against Odin. There's not time for guest stars.
Except Moriarty. There's always room for her.
To refresh your memory before the finale, watch Elementary online.
Were you surprised Morland got killed off?
What effect will this have on Sherlock?
How will Sherlock bring down Odin?
Comment below.
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Dale McGarrigle is a staff writer for TV Fanatic. Follow him on Twitter.
'So where were you this morning?'
'Hmm?' Sherlock opened his eyes as John set two mugs and a plate down on the coffee table then perched on the arm of the sofa, looking down at his prone form.
'This morning. You came to pick me up to go to that crime scene - I didn't even realise you were out.'
'Oh, just following up a lead.' Sherlock flexed his toes against the end of the sofa and then straightened his legs, pushing himself into a half sitting position. He pulled his knees up to make room and John shifted down onto the seat, reaching for his drink.
'What sort of lead?'
Sherlock frowned. 'Nothing to do with this case,' he demurred. 'Just ongoing enquiries.' He picked up his own mug and hid behind it.
'You mean Moriarty.'
'I had my phone.' Sherlock scowled. 'And I answered it - even though it was Sally.' The audible defensiveness in his tone irritated him and he stretched his legs out a bit, squashing John against the side of the sofa.
'Ow!' John winced, rubbing his hip and Sherlock belatedly remembered knocking him into the hall table earlier.
He pulled his feet back again and put his mug down, curling onto his side. 'I'm not a child!' he said, resentfully. 'I am allowed out on my own.'
John looked down at his petulant expression and shook his head as affection and exasperation pulled their gloves back on and settled in for another ten round bout.
'I don't think you're a child,' he said. 'I think you're a genius..' he waited a beat, '..who sometimes behaves childishly.'
Sherlock huffed. 'An important distinction.'
'Vital.'
Sherlock turned onto his back again, picking up his feet and dumping them in John's lap in what was, for him, a significant gesture of contrition.
John looked down. 'You really are thinking hard if you've taken your shoes and socks off,' he noted.
'My feet don't smell, if that's what you mean,' Sherlock defended, closing his eyes again.
'No, I'm pretty sure I mean that I have observed,' John emphasised, 'that you sometimes take your shoes and socks off when you're thinking.'
Sherlock's lips twitched. 'If I were Anderson, it would be because I needed to count higher than ten.'
'If you were Anderson, then I wouldn't be sitting here,' John retorted. 'Although you might have Sally instead.'
Sherlock's eyes flew open. 'Not the best choice of topic if you were hoping to sneak some food into me today,' he pointed out, looked nauseous.
'You're the one who brought Anderson into it, don't blame me,' replied John. 'Anyway, I've only made one sandwich and it's mine. If you want one, you'll have to go to the shops.' He picked up the plate.
'I don't have time to waste shopping!' Sherlock complained, eyeing the sandwich as John bit into it. Then his gaze fell to the other half still on the plate.
'No problem,' John mumbled. 'You're not hungry anyway. I'll go tomorrow.'
'I know what you're doing.'
'I'm eating my lunch. A trained monkey would be able to work that one out.' He rested the plate on Sherlock's shins.
'I don't eat when I'm on a case.'
'Who's asking you to?' John took another bite.
Sherlock watched him chew it. 'Fine!' he grumbled, picking up the other half. 'But only because I feel bad about bruising your hip.'
John gave him a crumby smile and they munched for a while in companionable silence.
'The problem is,' John started, as he washed down the last of his lunch with a swig of tea, 'that someone was impersonating you while leaving the scene of a murder.'
He'd picked the perfect time to make his point, as Sherlock had just taken a bite and enough of his upbringing had stuck to render him incapable of talking with his mouth full.
'If you'd walked in looking like the man that witness had just passed in the street, the whole morning would have gone very differently.'
Sherlock was glaring at the last piece of sandwich in his hand, as if suspecting that John had deliberately silenced him with wholegrain bread.
'Lucky for you that it was Lestrade, and that he trusted you enough to tip you off. But if he'd asked me where you were at seven-fifteen this morning, what could I have said?'
Sherlock finally swallowed and opened his mouth to reply. Then he considered the question, gave John a small, smug smile and very deliberately ate the last of his sandwich instead.
He had barely finished when they heard Mrs Hudson at the front door and there was a commotion in the hall. John got up as Sherlock quickly put his socks back on. He was standing, a hand on John's shoulder for balance as he shoved his feet into his shoes, when Lestrade appeared in the doorway, with Sally close behind him and more figures visible on the stairs.
Sherlock arched a brow. 'Two new expressions in one day,' he observed. 'Although this one looks less promising.'
Lestrade stepped forward, reaching into his jacket. He fumbled briefly, then produced a document.
'Search warrant,' Sally snapped, taking it from his hand and waving it under Sherlock's nose. He ignored her, but John took it, glancing at the details before looking back to Lestrade.
'Why?' he demanded sharply, and Lestrade found himself almost standing to attention at his tone.
'We found one of my warrant cards at this morning's crime scene,' he replied. 'It was tucked inside a cushion in the living room – we can only suppose that the victim managed to hide it there at some point.'
John absorbed that for a moment, thinking how horrible it must have been for Lestrade to discover that it was trust in his identity which had led to all these deaths. 'That doesn't explain why you're here,' he pointed out, although he had a very bad feeling about where this was going.
'Yes, well it turns out to have Sherlock's fingerprints on the inside,' Lestrade reported. 'And as we didn't find it until after you'd gone…' He let his sentence trail off. 'Add to that the witness description of the man seen leaving this morning…' He shrugged, looking torn. 'I'm afraid this was unavoidable.'
The three uniformed officers with him had already moved into the flat. They spilt up and started systematically taking the place apart.
Sherlock paced back and forth while John struggled to get his head around this latest development. After a couple of minutes, he planted himself in Sherlock's path. 'So the killer has been here,' he said quietly. 'In our flat.'
Sherlock's lips tightened. 'Not necessarily,' he murmured, for John's ears only. 'I generally keep one in my coat – it's possible that someone pick pocketed me, just as I do Lestrade.'
'So you don't even know if one's gone missing or not?' John's voice was incredulous.
Sherlock shrugged irritably. 'Well Lestrade shouldn't make it so easy,' he snapped, more audibly this time. 'They're his responsibility, not mine.' He ducked away from the look on John's face and resumed his pacing.
John turned his attention to Lestrade who was standing near the fireplace looking deeply uncomfortable – more so than John would have expected considering this was hardly the first time he'd had the flat searched.
'But you can't seriously suspect Sherlock of these crimes,' he declared. 'What possible motive would he have?'
'The ban cut off his main source of entertainment,' came Sally's voice from the kitchen. 'And psychopaths get bored.'
'He's not a…' John gave up on the eternal argument with a grunt of frustration, and turned to more practical matters. 'But this killer spends the weekend with his victims,' he pointed out. 'Whoever is doing it has been out of circulation from Saturday tea-time to Monday morning for the last five weeks – hundreds of people have seen Sherlock in that time. It's ridiculous!'
'John.' Sherlock's voice was soft and John turned to see him shaking his head.
They maintained eye contact as Lestrade spoke again. 'The theories on the killer's timings are based on Sherlock's deductions,' he said. 'If he is a suspect, then we have to ignore them.'
John frowned as Sherlock gave him a resigned shrug. He had obviously worked this out well before Lestrade mentioned it. 'But…' He was interrupted by a shout from Sherlock's room, then one of the officers appeared, carrying something at arm's length.
As she got closer to Lestrade, it became apparent that her 'find' was a wig. She stopped in the middle of the room and made a fist with one gloved hand, draping the wig over it.
John looked from it to Lestrade's hair and back, just as everyone else was doing. The style and cuts were virtually identical and Sally inhaled sharply, seeming genuinely shocked that they had actually found something to back up her accusation.
'Oh, for goodness' sake!' exclaimed Sherlock. 'That's just one of a dozen wigs I have, and there's not nearly enough grey in it to match Lestrade.' John looked again as Lestrade bristled indignantly. It was true - the hair of the wig was noticeably darker.
Sherlock turned on his heel and strode quickly to his bedroom, followed closely by John and Lestrade, with everyone else who could squeeze in peering over each other's shoulders. Reaching under his bed, he pulled out a large suitcase which he opened to reveal a theatrical costumier's wish list of wigs, make-up, glasses and an array of assorted items.
'I didn't know you had all this,' John said, surprised.
Sherlock shrugged. 'I've not used it in a while, but you never know,' he replied. 'It's been very effective on occasion.'
'So, you're saying this wig is yours?' Lestrade asked, indicating the one held by Constable Douglas.
'Just one of many,' Sherlock confirmed, waving his hand towards the suitcase.
'Er.. it wasn't with the others, Sir.' The constable spoke up. 'I found it in the wardrobe.'
Sherlock looked around the room pointedly, drawing everyone's gaze to the spectacular level of mess surrounding them. 'I'm not the tidiest of people,' he admitted. 'You'll probably find several more in unlikely places if you keep looking.'
Lestrade regarded him for a few moments, then turned and headed back to the living room. Everyone trooped after him, John chewing his lip thoughtfully. He was the last through the door and moved to join Sherlock in the middle of the room. 'But, about the timing..' he started.
Lestrade shook his head, standing four-square in front of the fireplace again. 'I'm sorry, John, but it won't fly - as long as Sherlock is under suspicion then any evidence he's connected to is tainted. Drugs in teacups found by him, browser history on laptops he's had access to, theories about phone calls which he's put forward, all that sort of thing is excluded. The only thing we can definitely go on at this stage is the actual time of death, which in most cases is vague to the point of 'any time on the Sunday'. Unless he was physically out of the country on one of those weekends, it's going to be hard to prove that he couldn't have committed the crime at some point of the day or night.'
'But..'
Sally interrupted this time, from her position near the kitchen doorway. 'You can't ignore the wig,' she insisted to Lestrade. 'It ties in perfectly with his gaining access using your warrant card. So what if he has a suitcase of them? This wasn't with the rest and the style is too close to yours to be a coincidence, especially with the tinted glasses from the witness description, which would hide his distinctive eyes. And it's not just the evidence from today,' she rushed on. 'He refuses to suit up at crime scenes, which gives him an out if we find any trace from him; and you said yourself he knew the fourth victim was female before he could possibly have known any such thing.'
Lestrade rocked on his heels, looking more uneasy than John had ever seen him.
'You know what the Super said,' Sally pressed again. 'One thing.. if we found one thing to link him - well, it's right there.' She nodded across the room to Constable Douglas, who was still holding the wig and Lestrade followed her gaze, then closed his eyes briefly. There was regret on his face when he turned towards Sherlock, and he started to reach inside his jacket.
'May I please be allowed to finish a bloody sentence?' demanded John loudly.
Lestrade halted his movement, making Sally huff out her breath in exasperation.
'Thank you,' said John, sarcastically. 'So, if it's proved that Sherlock couldn't have done one of these crimes, then he's off the hook for all of them and we can concentrate on looking for the actual murderer, right?'
'It's a serial case,' agreed Lestrade. 'All or none.'
'There we are then,' said John, with a shrug. 'During the time period you gave for last night's murder, Sherlock was with me.' He folded his arms decisively. 'This victim was found sooner than the others, it's a smaller window of opportunity - only four hours according to what you said this morning?' He waited for Lestrade's nod. 'Then I can absolutely guarantee you that Sherlock could not have committed that crime.'
'So, you're giving him an alibi?'
'No,' John replied, immediately. 'No, I'm not giving him anything. He has an alibi. All I'm doing is reporting it to you.'
'From ten o'clock last night until two a.m. this morning?' Lestrade clarified. 'You were actually with him.. not just that you didn't hear him go out - you were physically in the same room with him, for all of that time?'
John shrugged again. 'Well, one or both of us probably went to the bathroom at some point,' he replied, 'if you want one hundred per cent accuracy. But I can promise that neither of us left the flat.'
Sally's gaze kept flicking to Lestrade and she pounced at the first sign of wavering. 'Sir, this is bullshit!' she proclaimed. 'There's no way these two are..' She waved her arm, a disbelieving look on her face.
'Oh, come on,' Constable Douglas murmured. 'I mean.. we've all wondered.' There were nods all round.
'Are they offering Advanced Conclusion Jumping as part of police training these days?' John asked, in an impressive imitation of Sherlock's manner. 'We fell asleep on the sofa, if you must know.' He mentally swapped Friday night's events with Sunday's. 'The important point is that Sherlock was here, in this flat, with me - and not off in Shoreditch murdering some poor woman.'
Lestrade looked at him. 'I'm sorry, John, but if you fell asleep, how can you be sure that he didn't go out?'
John squirmed a little but made sure his answer left no room for doubt. 'Because he was lying across me,' he said, for once glad of the colour he could feel rising in his cheeks, since it gave credence to his story. 'When he did get up it woke me and my leg was completely dead, so he must have been there for hours. Also, he.. er..' He broke off, his hand waving vaguely over his cheek but afraid Sherlock would never forgive him if he finished that sentence.
'He.. what?' Lestrade challenged.
'I had an imprint of John's jumper down the side of my face,' snapped Sherlock, irritably. 'Which had clearly formed over some time. And I got up at four this morning, if that rounds out your picture of events.' He glared at Lestrade, as if daring him to laugh.
'I don't believe it,' Sally protested. 'Snuggling on the sofa - him?' She nodded her head at Sherlock. 'There's no way.'
Lestrade gave her a look. 'A jumper pattern on his face, Sergeant - really? Can you honestly imagine Sherlock making that up?'
She turned on John. 'Are you saying the two of you are involved?' she demanded. 'That you're a couple?'
1175 Sherlock Avenue Burnaby Bc
'I'm not saying anything of the kind,' John denied, realising that a little bit of vagueness on this issue would provide a perfect distraction. 'I'm discussing Sherlock's location during a four-hour period of time, not satisfying your prurient curiosity.'
There was a tap on the open door, then Mrs Hudson appeared. 'Is everything all right, dears?' Her anxious gaze swung between Sherlock and John, then became disapproving as it moved over the police officers. 'Not another of those nasty drugs busts? I don't know why you bother - you never find them.'
Sherlock 11 Series
Lestrade coughed.
'Anything,' Mrs Hudson corrected quickly. 'You never find anything.' She looked flustered.
Sally jumped in. 'Perhaps you can settle a question for us?' she asked. 'Do you know if either of your tenants went out last night? Or early this morning?'
'Oh, yes, dear,' replied Mrs Hudson. 'I had a bad night last night - my hip, you know,' she rubbed it, wincing, 'and I did hear Sherlock go out very early this morning. Can't mistake him on the stairs,' she added. 'His legs are so much longer. Sorry, dear,' she gave John an apologetic smile.
'What time, would you say?' asked Lestrade, looking tense.
Mrs Hudson tipped her head to one side, as everyone in the room seemed to lean slightly towards her, 'Oh, it must have been.. Ssdreporter 1 0 9 download free. let me think.. around six?' she offered. 'Perhaps six-thirty. Something like that.'
Lestrade exhaled as Sally pursed her lips. 'What about last night?' she asked. 'Between ten and two, specifically.'
Mrs Hudson thought back. 'Well, Doctor Watson was watching one of those loud action films,' she said, 'and Sherlock kept complaining about it.'
Sally looked extremely doubtful. 'Surely you can't hear that much detail from downstairs?' she demanded. 'This is an old building and it's pretty solid.'
'You're quite right, dear,' nodded Mrs Hudson approvingly. 'I only hear voices when they're raised. Like yours on Friday,' she added. 'You can be shrill, can't you?' Sally waved this away.
'But Sherlock complained with his violin,' Mrs Hudson explained. 'Which was quite.. squawky.'
Despite the situation, John couldn't help a smile as Sherlock huffed.
'So, what time was this?' Lestrade asked again.
'Oh, up until around half-past eleven,' Mrs Hudson said. 'I made my Horlicks and by the time I went to bed they'd settled down, although I think the telly was still on.'
Sally tried again. 'And are they involved with each other?' she asked. 'I mean, have you seen any evidence of physical affection between them?'
Mrs Hudson regarded her as if she were a bit simple. 'If you can't see that they're involved, then you need glasses more than I do,' she retorted. 'No matter what my optician says.' Her face softened. 'And they're very affectionate - although usually only when no one's looking. Why only the other day I..' she lowered her voice, rather pointlessly as there was breathless silence in the flat, 'I accidentally walked in on them together,' she murmured, with an apologetic glance in their direction.
John found it surprisingly easy to keep his expression bland, as his face seemed to have frozen over.
'They didn't see me,' Mrs Hudson confided. 'Completely wrapped up in each other they were.' She smiled happily, and Sally watched as any remaining doubts held by the rest of the team vanished faster than unguarded doughnuts.
'Enough of this rigmarole,' declared Sherlock, turning to Lestrade. 'I trust that you now have sufficient grounds to discard the arrest warrant you clearly have tucked in your pocket.'
He moved to stand behind John and put both hands on his shoulders as his gaze moved around the room, carefully making eye contact with every officer present. 'I would ask that any information from this enquiry be treated confidentially in order to avoid John becoming more of a target.' His voice dropped, acquiring a gravelly edge which made the hairs on several necks stand up. 'If any harm comes to John through gossip from someone in this room.. you will regret it.' There was no doubting his seriousness, and muttered agreements and nods emerged from various directions.
Lestrade attempted to reassert the control which Sherlock had assumed so effortlessly. 'So you are asking me to ignore the evidence which is piled up against you and to work on the assumption that you are being framed, based on the testimony of one man with whom you are clearly in a very close relationship?'
'I would think the word of a decorated war hero would carry sufficient weight with your Superintendent, don't you?' drawled a honeyed voice from the doorway.
Sherlock closed his eyes. 'My day is complete,' he announced.
'Hello, Mycroft,' said John, uncomfortably aware of Sherlock's hands but not daring to shrug them off.
'John,' Mycroft nodded back to him. 'Well, Detective Inspector?' he continued. 'Are we finished with this..' the pause was long enough for everyone to insert their own variation on 'foolishness', '.. investigation?'
John held his breath. Lestrade clearly didn't want to arrest Sherlock - was looking for an excuse not to, in fact - but he wouldn't respond well to strong-arm tactics. The two older men locked eyes for a long moment, until Mycroft seemed to come to the same conclusion and adjusted his posture in a manner too subtle for John to identify, but which somehow switched him from 'threat' to 'enquiry'.
Lestrade made his decision. 'Right, everybody out,' he announced. 'And no discussion of anything mentioned here today, understood?' He turned to Sherlock. 'I'd be glad of your thoughts re the attempt to frame you,' he said as the others filed past him, with Sally looking both sullen and bewildered.
Sherlock nodded. 'I'll text you later,' he agreed.
'Er, Sir?' Constable Douglas' voice rang out and Sherlock's hands tightened on John's shoulders. 'What should I do with this, Sir?' She was still holding the wig.
'John!' whispered Sherlock urgently, but very definitely for his ears only.
Lestrade's gaze skittered away from the apparent nuzzling going on in front of him and he turned towards the constable, aware of a strong desire for a cup of tea and a jammy dodger. Maybe two. He glanced back - yes, this was definitely a two biscuit situation.
John cleared his throat and stepped forward, finally understanding that Sherlock had been holding on to him specifically anticipating this moment. 'If you're not charging Sherlock with anything, then presumably he gets to keep his belongings?' he demanded, injecting some belligerence into his tone.
Lestrade sighed. 'Yes, fine,' he said quickly, waving his arm at the constable. 'Leave it,' he instructed. 'Let's go.' He risked a glance back at the pair of them, relieved to see them now standing at a more normal distance. 'I'll talk to you later, then?' he said, and scuttled through the door.
The second he was gone, Sherlock swooped on the wig, picking it up on the end of a pencil and carrying it through to the kitchen, while Mycroft settled into an armchair and Mrs Hudson started fluttering around, plumping up random cushions. John didn't really know who to challenge first, but followed Sherlock by default.
'So.. why did you want me to stop them taking the wig?' he asked, as Sherlock snapped on some latex gloves. 'I thought it was yours, anyway?'
Sherlock shot him a pitying glance. 'Of course it's not mine!' he said. 'Why on earth would I have a wig which was an exact match to Lestrade's hair two years ago?'
'God knows,' sighed John, rubbing his forehead. 'But I wouldn't put it past you.'
Sherlock's lips twitched. 'Fair point,' he acknowledged, 'but no, it's not mine.'
John felt tired and his head was starting to ache. 'So why did you say it was?' he asked, aware that he was probably going to be ridiculed for not working it out yet.
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, then strode around the table and pushed him down into a chair, switching on the kettle in the same movement. 'Mrs Hudson!' he called. 'John needs tea,' he advised as she appeared in the doorway. 'Probably biscuits too, if we have any.'
She didn't argue, and he went back to work. 'If I'd admitted that the wig wasn't mine,' he said, picking it up and examining the inside, 'the police would either have believed me - and taken it away for examination,' he produced his magnifier and peered closer, 'or not believed me - and taken it away for examination.' He glanced up at John. 'And no doubt taken me away too,' he added. 'And it might have seemed suspicious if I had made a fuss myself when it had supposedly just been lying around - you did an excellent job of seeming concerned about the principle rather than the item.'
John felt warmed by the unexpected praise, and took a mouthful of the tea Mrs Hudson passed him, giving her a smile of thanks as she put Sherlock's drink on the table and handed a cup to Mycroft, who was now leaning against the doorway. Then he focused on her a bit more pointedly.
'What was that about?' he asked. 'Accidentally walked in on us' indeed - where did that come from?'
Mrs Hudson set her own teacup down and sat beside him, folding her hands together primly. 'Well, dear, I thought your alibi could do with a bit of back-up,' she told him. 'I heard you when I was coming up the stairs.' She shook her head. 'I know a thing or two about dealing with the police, let me tell you. And they always want corroborating evidence.' She sipped her drink.
John goggled at her.
'I didn't lie, if that's what you're worried about,' she promised him blithely. 'It's always better to stick to the truth as far as possible, isn't that right, Sherlock?'
'Well, it worked for us in Florida,' he smirked, then paused and looked at her, turning his attention away from the wig for a moment. Video converter 2 1 0. 'You have something, don't you?' he asked, watching carefully as her hand twitched almost imperceptibly. 'Something in your pocket.. Oh!' He frowned. 'Do NOT show that to Mycroft!' he insisted. 'In fact, you should delete it immediately.' He watched her face, then sighed. 'Fine - but keep it to yourself.' He turned back to his microscope. 'I suppose you can show John.'
John wondered if he'd somehow nodded off for a large portion of the conversation and not noticed. He turned to Mrs Hudson and raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was an enquiring manner, but probably just looked bemused.
She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and poked a few keys then handed it to him. John squinted at it, then turned it sideways, taking a moment to register what he was seeing.. It was a photo of their sofa, with John fast asleep in the corner, one leg stretched out across the floor and the other up on the cushions - at least, it was presumably on the cushions.. it couldn't actually be seen at all as Sherlock was draped over it, with one hand tucked under him and the other holding a handful of John's jumper. Only the back of his head was visible and John's arm was draped loosely around him.
'Completely wrapped up in each other',' John echoed softly. He looked up, reluctant admiration in his eyes. 'You sneaky..'
'Careful, dear,' Mrs Hudson warned, with a smile. 'I'd only popped up to make sure everything was all right after that big row on Friday, but the two of you seemed to have made up - even if there was no kissing.' She winked at him.
John turned and waved the phone towards Sherlock. 'Have you seen this?'
He shook his head without looking up.
'Do you want to?'
'Emphatically not,' he replied. 'And put it away before Mycroft gets hold of it.' He raked a glance over his brother. 'Best hide the biscuits too.'
John swivelled in his seat to see Mycroft standing up straighter. He caught John's eye.
'My turn?' he asked, stepping forward and pulling out the end chair. He settled onto it and smiled benevolently. 'I was notified when the arrest warrant was issued for Sherlock,' he explained. 'That's what brought me here - an arrest would be very bad for his business.'
Sherlock sniffed. 'You mean Mummy would have a conniption,' he said. 'And she'd blame you for not preventing it.' He was still poised over his microscope, examining the wig in careful detail.
Mycroft sighed and John jumped in before the squabbling could start. 'So now we know that the killer has definitely been in our flat,' he reasoned. 'The warrant card might have been managed, but stashing that wig is another matter.'
'Agreed,' said Sherlock. 'Although I doubt it was Moriarty. Probably a minion.'
John shook his head. 'Moriarty again?' he asked. 'Why are you so sure?'
'Think about it, John!' Sherlock demanded, throwing a quick glance at him. ' I accept that an ordinary serial killer might be unrelated.. but who else would have this level of interest in me; have the resources to break in here undetected; go to such trouble to have me arrested and get me out of the way? It's got to be him - or someone connected to him.'
John decided not to get into the definition of an 'ordinary' serial killer. He rubbed his aching head again and looked at Mycroft. 'Well, don't you have some kind of surveillance?' he asked. 'I mean, you're probably not supposed to have, but surely you do? You might have him on film or something.'
Mycroft shook his head regretfully.
'You asked the same thing when Carl Powers' trainers appeared in the basement back in March,' reminded Sherlock. 'He's not allowed to keep me under surveillance - I told you that.'
'Oh, yes,' recalled John. 'You never said why, though.'
'Didn't he?' Mycroft interjected. 'You surprise me, John - the two of you being so close.' His smirk had 'revenge for the biscuit jibe' written all over it.
Sherlock growled at him. 'Fine,' he snapped, glancing up at John again. 'Mummy made him stop. She decided that some of my more destructive behaviours were put on for his benefit.'
'You mean drugs?' asked John.
'Among other things..' muttered Mycroft darkly.
'That's enough!' Sherlock straightened up and glared at him. 'Clearly the killer, whoever he is,' he flashed a sardonic glance at John, 'is interested in me and is capable both of murder and of getting in here.' He turned his gaze to Mrs Hudson and his face grew serious. 'You need to leave.'
She looked startled and began to shake her head. Sherlock moved round the table and crouched down next to her chair, taking both her hands in his. 'Martha,' he said, his voice gentle but firm. 'I don't care about many people and John can look after himself. But I care about you.'
Even having seen him make almost the exact same move with Kate this morning, John could not doubt his sincerity now.
'Just for a few days,' he promised. 'A little break..'
'In the country,' Mycroft finished. 'You don't need to do a thing, a car will pick you up in.. an hour?' he suggested. 'Would that suit?'
'Oh, Sherlock..' She sounded distressed and John put a hand on her shoulder.
'Please,' said Sherlock, holding her gaze. 'I'll work better if I'm not worrying about you.'
She looked back at him for a long moment, then up at Mycroft and around to John, all three of them regarding her with concern and affection, then she nodded and Mycroft rose to his feet, pulling out his phone.
'What about my nephew?' she asked. 'He got home a few hours ago.'
'Your nephew too, if you wish,' Mycroft offered. 'He can accompany you.' He hit a few buttons, then moved into the living room, talking quietly.
Sherlock rose to his feet and Mrs Hudson did the same, pinning on a brave smile before leaving to pack her case.
When Mycroft walked back into the kitchen, Sherlock offered his hand. Mycroft's eyebrows rose half a millimetre in an expression of extreme surprise but he took it, a genuine smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
'Thank you,' Sherlock said.
'You are quite welcome.'
'Group hug?' suggested John. His laughter at their equally horrified expressions broke the tension and they all sat down around the table.
'So.. Would you like to bring me up to date?' Mycroft enquired. 'Assume that I know anything which has appeared in a police report,' he added, to a fair amount of eye rolling.
![Sherlock Sherlock](https://omundoanimado.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/sherlock-11-26-14.jpg?w=584)
'The killer himself seems autonomous,' Sherlock began. 'His victim selection is consistent, as is his method - I think he's more or less acting alone.' He glanced at John and shrugged. 'But I also think he's linked to Moriarty in some way, just as that cab driver was. He is perhaps getting some sort of funding or assistance from the deal, and Moriarty is using him to throw suspicion at me - to break my ties with the police even if he can't get me out of the way completely.'
Mycroft nodded slowly. 'And his method?'
'He's been getting in using one of Lestrade's old warrant cards and disguising himself accordingly. Presumably it's one I lifted, as it has my prints on it, and I would estimate around two years old, judging from the level of grey if the wig is designed to match it. He's been assisted so far by the press and police describing these as Sunday attacks, meaning that people haven't been on guard when he strikes at dusk on the Saturdays.
'What he does for the whole weekend, I still don't know, although I have several ideas. He seems to kill them at some point on the Sunday evening, but it's possible he's staying until early dawn on the Mondays, then putting on a different wig which matches my hair, before leaving. As carrying a complete change of clothes would look suspicious, he must have a coat which is sufficiently like mine to fit a verbal description, but which wouldn't look out of place on a plain-clothes policeman. It's also got big enough pockets to hold a wig, together with tinted glasses, his murder weapon and whatever else he needs for his ritual.'
'You have a problem,' Mycroft pointed out.
John thought that was a bit of an obvious call, but Sherlock was nodding.
'I know,' he said, then turned to John. 'He's either stopped or he's going to change his method,' he explained. 'Lestrade assumed that the victim hid the warrant card, but as they found the wig here, the killer almost certainly planted the card as well. So he's lost his entry method, unless he has duplicates - but the public might be warned about it, and there will certainly be publicity regarding the Saturday entry..' He spread his hands wide. 'The rules are changing.'
'And motive?' Mycroft enquired. 'Presumably something to do with infidelity, judging from the victims selected.'
'Indeed, but that hardly narrows the field,' Sherlock complained. 'How many people do you know who aren't affected? Even leaving out the three of us, one need not look far - Mrs Hudson's nephew tried to commit suicide over his wife's betrayal, our next door neighbours split up after an affair, and the police force is completely riddled with it - even the ubiquitous Hopkins mentioned that his father had 'gone off with' someone. It's sickening.'
John was distracted. 'I wonder why Hopkins wasn't here today,' he said. 'I would have thought he'd jump at the chance to poke around your stuff - probably go off with all sorts of souvenirs.'
Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste. 'I imagine that Lestrade didn't trust him,' he said. 'If he'd found something doubtful, he would probably have asked me about it first.'
'Good point,' acknowledged John. He thought a little more. 'Sally was weird,' he said. 'I mean, I know she's very anti-you, especially lately, but I'm still surprised she genuinely thinks you capable of this.'
'I'm not sure she does,' Sherlock said thoughtfully. 'Not really.. She looked astonished when that wig turned up.' He shook his head. 'No, I think she was just doing her usual 'he's a freak' act up to that point, but then she was thrown, and reacted aggressively.' He shot a look at John with an odd expression on his face.
'I'm afraid it was the alibi which really deepened her suspicions,' he said. 'Well, the rather.. personal aspect, at least.' He watched the colour rise in John's cheeks. 'Her instinct told her that was a lie, which is interesting as everyone else seemed happy to accept it.' He gave a half smile. 'Perhaps Sally is not quite such an idiot as the rest.'
'Well, I must take my leave,' said Mycroft, getting to his feet. He picked up his umbrella and hung it over his arm. 'I realise that there is no sense asking you to be careful,' his gaze was steady on Sherlock, then moved to John as they both stood up, 'but do stay together, won't you?' He nodded in farewell and departed, leaving an awkward silence behind him.
John bit his lip. 'I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you,' he started. 'It's just the thought of all the evidence you've worked on being dismissed and there being no one capable of catching this murdering bast..'
'Shut up,' Sherlock told him fiercely. 'What you did..' He broke off, shaking his head. 'I would never have asked it of you, but it was..' He stopped again. 'Thank you,' he finished.
John relaxed, the tension seeping from his frame as a smile spread over his face. 'You're welcome,' he replied, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder before heading into the living room, where he sank down into his armchair and tried not to imagine how he would be feeling now if things had gone differently; if he had been left on his own.
'You still manage to surprise me sometimes,' Sherlock said, moving to his own chair.
'Well I've already killed for you,' John pointed out. 'To balk at a lie after that seems a little ridiculous.' He sat forward and adjusted his cushions, which Mrs Hudson had plumped beyond all reason.
'Anyway, it wasn't much of one,' he added. 'I couldn't get to sleep last night and heard you puttering around down here for well over an hour after I went to bed - and then there was the violin playing, which I eventually nodded off to, so I do know you didn't go out.'
He looked up just too late to see Sherlock's reminiscent smile - Bach always did send John to sleep.
'But that didn't seem much use as an alibi, so I swapped it with Friday night.'
Sherlock quirked a brow. 'That was actually very.. intelligent of you,' he said. 'A genuine memory is far more convincing than a false one.' John's face brightened at the compliment and Sherlock regarded him in some bemusement. 'It's perhaps strange in the circumstances, but I would not have expected..' He tipped his head to one side. 'Is there anything you wouldn't do for me?'
John settled back and closed his eyes, folding his arms across his stomach and getting comfortable. 'Well, I'm not getting you another bloody cup of tea, if that's what you mean.'
Sherlock's lips twitched, but then he swallowed. 'Actually,' he said, before stopping to clear his throat. 'Another cup of tea would be lovely.'
John threw a cushion at him.