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Hunting the Hunter	By : LadyLaran Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 1962 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "Sherlock" as that belongs to the BBC. I make no money from this!

Chapter List
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Author’s Note – Thanks to everyone who reviewed. The feedback feeds the muses! I know most of the readers have probably seen Series 3 by now, and I hope they enjoyed it! I finally got my series 3 and am catching up at the moment. I am certainly seeing what people have been chatting about in certain areas, and I’m anxious to continue writing even though I know this one won’t match up with series 3 much, if at all.
Disclaimer – I do not own “Sherlock” because if I did, we’d have more than three episodes a series, and there’d be kisses and more between John and Sherlock! I don't make any money from this either!
Chapter Three – Plotting and Tales
It took Lestrade a little more than an hour to arrive at Baker Street. He entered 221B, setting his backpack down beside the door. The police detective had dressed in a heavy pair of jeans, sturdy hiking boots, long sleeved t-shirt, and a blue jumper. He hung his jacket by the door, ready for him to pull on when the pair left the flat to start their hunt.
“You made better time than I expected,” John greeted, looking up from the weapon he was cleaning. After packing, he had dressed in a pair of sturdy jeans, long sleeved shirt, plain oatmeal colored jumper, and a pair of heavy but comfortable combat boots.
“Yeah, everything was where I thought it would be,” Greg answered, sitting on the couch. “I lucked out on finding the blanket and sleeping bag. You think we’ll be camping some?”
“Best be prepared for anything and having the gear provides extra camouflage for our cover,” the other answered, putting the gun back together and setting the cleaning kit in the pack.
Lestrade nodded, getting a bit more comfortable in his seat. His friend spoke again before he could say anything.
“Here’s the file that started everything,” John told him, nudging the folder towards his friend before heading to the kitchen. “Though I’m grateful for it because it meant we discovered he’s alive, it’s worrying that Sherlock was clumsy enough to be spotted.”
“It’s not a good sign,” he agreed, picking up the folder and reading what lay within it. After a few moments, Greg began to see why John was worried. Sherlock had been spotted twice by Mycroft’s agent and if the agent had seen him, it was possible any of Moriarty’s people could have seen him.
“Damn it, I hope he wasn’t spotted by the enemy,” he muttered, accepting a cup of tea from his friend.
“So do I,” John said, sitting down and sipping from his own cup. “Sherlock is usually not that clumsy, which makes me wonder if he’s all right. It’s not like him to slip up like that.”
“Well, we can teach him not to when we find him,” Greg answered, setting the file down and sipping the tea with a soft sigh. “Let’s just hope the bloody idiot doesn’t get himself killed before we catch up to him. I take it we’re heading to Wales first?”
“Swansea,” he answered, sipping his tea again. “That’s where the report states he was seen, and it’s a good starting place. It’s large enough for a branch of Moriarty’s syndicate to hide while they operate, and we’ll have good places to hide while we look for Sherlock as well as take the branch down.”
“You realize this hunt could feasibly take us all over the world?”
John sighed, shrugging as he did so. He had thought of that issue earlier and had no problem with it if it meant getting Sherlock to a safe place as well as handling the problem of Moriarty’s group.
“Yeah, I’d thought of that. Makes me hope we find the idiot soon since he’s better at languages than I am. I don’t remember much of the French I took back in primary school,” he said, frowning.
“I can get us through France,” Greg admitted to the other. “Same with Spain. The rest of the world, not so much.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French and Spanish,” John commented, surprised by that. “The ones I learned over the years are more for the Middle East. I speak a few of the dialects there as well as Arabic. A friend was teaching me some of the native languages of India before I was discharged to go home.”
“I think we’re surprising each other,” the other answered. “So we’re pretty much shite out of luck in Russia, Germany, and any Asian country unless we find someone who speaks English or one of the other languages we speak?”
“Unless we find Sherlock, yeah, that about sums it up. Right now, I’m not too worried about it. Our cover, for the moment, is a pair of tourists backpacking through Europe so not speaking the local language in certain places only helps our cover. God, I sound like Sherlock right now.”
Greg chuckled, nodding and setting down the empty tea cup.
“Yeah, you do but that’s not a bad thing. Between the two of us, we might can figure out what he’s thinking and be able to track him down faster. Speaking of which, what’s the plan?”
“We get to Swansea and find ourselves a cheap hotel, staying with our cover. Once there, we’ll hit the areas he was spotted and start snooping to see if we can’t find out where that branch is. We get enough information, we’ll figure out the right way to dismantle it permanently and go from there.”
“Sounds easy enough but I know it won’t be,” the silver haired male told the other. “There’s too many unknown variables that we can’t really plan for until we get there.”
“I know,” John answered. “Ok, so answer me truthfully. Handgun, rifle, and knives, how good are you?”
“Handgun I have a very high accuracy with. I’m rusty with knives, and I’ve not had the occasion to use a rifle since finishing up the training. I’ll need a refresher from you when we find the time and place to do it,” he told him honestly.
“I can work with that,” John murmured. “I’ll be a harsh taskmaster though. We don’t have a lot of time for refresher training, and there’s other things you’ll need to pick up.”
“Good thing I’m a quick study,” he quipped. “Right now, I’m all for learning what I need to because this is too damned important to screw up.”
“Very true,” the smaller one said. “Were you able to get everything on the list?”
“Yes,” Lestrade replied. “Everything is accounted for and in good shape too. Surprised me since it’s been years since I’ve gone camping.”
“If something else comes up, we can get it courtesy of Mycroft,” John replied as he finished up getting everything settled into his pack and ensuring that the weight was evenly balanced. “He should be ready for us in a couple of hours. I know he needs time, but I’m anxious to get moving.”
“You and me both, mate,” Greg replied, finishing his tea. “We should eat something before we go; it’s better to travel on a full stomach.”
John nodded, pointing to a drawer in the kitchen. He was looking over the map, trying to get a general idea of the location and surrounding areas from it.
“Plenty of menus in there,” he told his friend. “Chinese is fastest.”
“Dim sum, right?”
“Sounds good,” John answered distractedly. “I also like number four on the menu.”
Greg nodded, calling the order in. It was good to know the doctor was interested in eating as he knew that stress always cut into the man’s appetite, but he also knew that his friend would eat despite his upset because strength and health were absolutely necessary for their mission.
“Food should be here soon,” he told him, plopping onto the sofa to avoid Sherlock’s chair. “Getting any ideas?”
“Maybe, I need a better map,” he grumbled. “I can’t do much with this one; I hope Mycroft remembers to give me some good ones for the location.”
“He probably will. The man is beyond anal when it comes to attention to detail,” Lestrade pointed out. “I think it’s where Sherlock learned it from.”
“Possibly,” John said, shaking his head. “I’d never dream of pointing out just how much the two of them are alike. Sherlock would have destroyed all of my jumpers to get even.”
“Did I ever tell you how I met Mycroft?”
“No, you haven’t,” the doctor answered, getting up to make more tea for them. “What happened?”
“It was back when Sherlock was still using,” Greg began. “He was a scrawny little shite back then, all skin and bones. Despite being strung out, the kid was amazing and once I realized he knew what he was talking about, I pulled him aside to talk to him. That’s where I made the offer of letting him work with me if he stayed clean.
“That afternoon, I’m heading back to my car and get grabbed by two goons. I fought them off for a while but end up getting subdued with hood, handcuffs, the works. They drive me for what feels like hours and then pull me out in this warehouse that looks like it came out of some really bad gangster movie. Hood comes off and there he is, Mycroft Holmes, and I was ready to kill him already.
“He starts asking me questions, being all demanding and the like, and I decided to be an arse and call him Mr. Cagney with every question I countered him with.”
“Oh god, you didn’t,” John asked, eyes dancing with laughter as he carried the tea tray back in.
“Oh I did. I told you, it was something out of a very bad gangster movie and I wasn’t going to cooperate. The more I called him that and agitated him, the more uptight he got.”
“Let me guess, the ‘I smell shite and it’s got to be you’ kind of look?”
“That’s the one,” Greg snickered. “Hell, I think we were at it for almost two hours before he finally broke and told me who he was. After we got that straightened out, I ended up with Sherlock at my flat for detox because he refused to stay with his brother. I told Sherlock what happened, then rented every James Cagney gangster movie I could find because he wanted to see why I found it so amusing. Every so often, if Mycroft is being a nuisance, I start calling him that and he straightens out.”
John shook his head, hiding his amusement. Somehow, he could picture his friend doing this and wished there had been a way to record that encounter so he could see it.
“Sounds like Mycroft has issues with introducing himself normally,” he said, watching as Greg got up with the doorbell rang.
“I think so,” the police detective said, then headed down to answer the door. He came back up with a large bag of food.
“Right, hope you’re hungry,” he told him, sitting back down and began dividing up the food. “I ordered a little bit of what I know you like that I do too.”
“That works,” John admitted, opening a pack of spring rolls with a sigh. “Sherlock loved these. He would always distract me so he could steal some of mine. It always wound up as a play fight because of that.”
“I had to relocate my sweet stash five times before I finally gave up,” Greg told him. “The bastard would always find them and eat most of them before I realized what he was doing. Of course he wouldn’t tell me that most of them were gone; I’d always find out on stressful days where I really needed the pick me up.”
“God, don’t I know it. If Mrs. Hudson bakes and brings up the extras for us, I never get any if I was out or at the surgery. It’d be gone by the time I got home. She finally had to put some aside to give me once I came home so I could at least have a few. I never really minded too much since it was calories Sherlock needed so badly, but it was also a game to him so I had to make sure to fuss. For some reason, it amused him to do that.”
“Weird sense of humor,” the detective agreed between bites of his meal. “Did he ever tell you why Anderson hates him so much?”
The doctor shook his head, mouth full with dumpling as he chewed. Understanding the signal, Lestrade chuckled and began sharing the story.
“Sherlock went to rehab after detoxing at my flat,” he began. “He let me know when he was home and ready to resume cases and the first murder that came along that had me stymied, I gave him a call and asked him to come out.
“It was Anderson’s first time on my team, and it was a pretty gruesome scene. I’d been at this job for a while and had somewhat hardened myself to it,” he told him, taking a sip of his tea to moisten his throat before continuing with the story.
“It was a mother and her three children, small ones under the age of four, and they had been savagely ripped apart. I don’t think I’ve seen violence to match that since that case,” Lestrade admitted. “Sherlock came onto the scene just as Anderson got there, and both went in at the same time. Sherlock was nagged by Anderson to not contaminate the scene as they stepped through the door. He went on to do his thing, calmly looking everything over, and Anderson royally disgraced himself. Poor bastard threw up, barely managed to miss hitting the corpses with his mess. Sherlock didn’t even flinch or look up, just commented to Anderson that he needed to avoid eating extra servings of curry in order to avoid eating his wife’s jellied eels.”
“Oh good lord, he didn’t,” John asked, eyes wide as he stared at the other.
“He did,” Greg answered, chuckling as he did so. “I was trying very hard not to laugh, and Anderson kept staring at him. After a few moments of that, Sherlock very seriously suggested that he clean up after himself before someone began to suspect that it was the dodgy curry that killed the victim.”
“That started the animosity?”
“Afraid so,” the policeman answered, still chuckling. “Anderson has never been able to live it down, and I don’t think he’s eaten curry since that day either.”
“I probably wouldn’t have either,” the doctor chuckled. “I don’t think much phases Sherlock when it comes to disgusting things. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come home to find road kill in places where it shouldn’t be.”
“I have no idea how you did it,” Greg stated. “I’d have gone off on his arse the first time I found something like that in my flat. You never really seem bothered by it though.”
“Surgeon in the army,” John reminded him. “I’ve seen a lot worse in my time. Sherlock did that as a way to see how far he could push me, but he kept forgetting that army blokes don’t startle too easily when it comes to disgusting pranks. Dead things I can handle; it’s the bloody spiders some of the morons in my unit put in my tent that I would go off about.”
“Spiders?”
“Bloody huge spiders,” he shuddered. “Traumatizing when you come off duty to find it sitting on your cot, staring at you. The worst is finding them in your boots when you wake up. That’s one of the things about Afghanistan I don’t miss.”
“Look at you, big old Captain Watson, afraid of spiders,” Greg teased.
“You go face to face with the damned things and see if you’re not creeped out by them,” John bantered back, shuddering again. “Those things were just nasty and vicious at times.”
Before the DI could form a rebuttal, there was the sound of the doorbell and both men tensed.
“That should be Anthea,” the smaller male murmured, rising to his feet. “Let’s see what she’s got for us, and then we can get this hunt started.”
Author’s End Note – Again, thank you for your patience for this chapter. I know it’s a long time in coming, but I’m still working through this. I do hope everyone enjoys this so please let me know what you think. For those wanting to know about updates but are on AFF only, check my profile for the yahoo group I have! ~ Laran
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Hunting the Hunter