beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 7

John quickly whipped out his phone. There was no time to stare; he snapped a photo of the front page. He turned the page to reveal a picture of a vaguely familiar woman, but before he could register anything of note, he heard footsteps outside the room. The file was far too big to smuggle out; he quickly clicked another photo, returned the file to its hiding place and shut the closet, moving towards the door just in time. Yardley Oliver opened it and looked at him suspiciously.

"Sorry that took so long." John said.

"Er, not a problem. I do hate to turn you out like this, but I'm feeling a little drowsy and would prefer locking up the house securely before I turn in."

"Yes, of course." John said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was getting."

Mr Oliver ushered him to the door. "Thank you so much, really. Talking to someone who's experienced a similar loss did help me. By the way, how's Sherlock Holmes getting on with the case?"

On the doorstep, John turned around and smiled at him. "He's working on it right now. Good night."

John hailed a cab and set off on the journey back home, mind buzzing. Who was Charlotte? Why was there a Sherrinford file in Irene Adler's luggage? Why had she gone to so much trouble to hide it? If only Mr Oliver had stayed in the living room for a few more seconds, John could've uncovered so much...

He entered 221B, lost in thought, and his foot was on the first step when he heard Mrs Hudson shriek from the kitchen. He entered it to find her standing next to the fridge, looking aghast.

"Oh, John, Sherlock's up to it again!" she said, "There's a foot in my fridge."

"Erm, that's my fault. I wouldn't let him keep it in ours. Bad for Rosie, you know."

"Yes, of course. Well, won't you meet Mrs Adams? Bertha, this is Doctor Watson."

John nodded at the frail old woman sitting at the kitchen table. Bertha smiled back at him, but her smile vanished almost instantly, and she went back to staring broodingly at the kitchen table. Her fingers nervously drummed on the wood, and John didn't need a medical degree to deduce that she was an addict.

"I didn't know that you had company, Martha." she finally said.

"Oh, no, I'm just leaving." John said. He fetched Rosie from Mrs Hudson's bedroom and made his way upstairs, ready to sit up in wait of Sherlock.

***

Sherlock was not having a good time. If he was determined to get answers, Irene was equally resolute not to give any. He'd spent the last hour trying to steer their conversation into dangerous waters, but she kept cutting him off with snarky comments. They were halfway through dessert by the time he managed to make any headway.

"Where did you go after Karachi?" he asked.

"Oh, just here and there. Moriarty's connections kept me safe, even after his death." She laid her fork down for a moment and stared at Sherlock. "I really did think you were dead, too. Shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

"And yet you knew I was alive long before the press reported it. How?"

"When Moriarty's web started unravelling, I realized there was only one person who could possibly be behind it." She let her hand brush Sherlock's slightly, and he didn't pull away. "Then, of course, I also realized that you wouldn't stop until his entire system - and hence my protection - came crashing down. So I fled. I've spent the last few years hopping from country to country. You should see how good my slogans sound in Spanish."