Chapter 40

John's POV

Sherlock and I caught a cab to 221 Baker Street, which was a scary coincidence, since at Baskerville we stayed in 221b Baker. 

Sherlock led me up to a flat, and an older woman saw him and hugged him tightly. She had reddish/brown hair that was short and curly, and she herself was a small woman, though she had a large smile, and she seemed lovely. 

"Yes, hello, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said impatiently, awkwardly patting the woman's back. "We need to see your husbands records please."

"My husbands records? Whatever are you talking about?"

Sherlock groaned. "We know you still have them, and we need to see them."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and walked off to get them, while I sat on her sofa and Sherlock looked around. I noticed he pocketed something, and I gasped, causing him to spin around to face me. "Sherlock,"  hissed, "What the hell are you doing?!"

"This will come in handy for Mycroft, now shush," he whispered back, giving me a condescending look. Mrs. Hudson reentered the room, and Sherlock and I both tried to look casual. I crossed my legs and scratched the back of my head while Sherlock leaned against the mantelpiece, pretending to yawn. Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock a folder. "This is it. Was there anything else?" 

"No, that'll be all, thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"You won't even stay for a cuppa?"

"I'm afraid not, I'm sorry. John and I have to go."

"Are you two an item?" Mrs. Hudson beamed at us.

Sherlock pulled me up in a fluid motion, and gave me a short, passionate kiss, before turning back to Mrs. Hudson, leaving me breathless. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson. John is my boyfriend." He smirked at her before pulling me out of the flat, the folder in hand.

"Erm, thanks for this, Mrs. Hudson!" I called as we got into a cab. 

Sherlock told the driver the address before turning to me. "You ruined that."

"Me?! How?"

"We were supposed to be looking natural, and you scratched the back of your head! How natural do you think you looked?"

"And what about you, Mr Lean-Against-Mantle-Yawning? You weren't so natural either." Sherlock rolled his eyes as I sassed him. "What did you nick anyway?"

Sherlock produced a small paper-knife, like the one people open envelopes with. "This," he said, turning it at all angles, "is of particular interest to me. Mycroft will probably like it too."

"So you're giving that to Mycroft?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock shook his head at me. "This is for me!"

"You said Mycroft would like it, though. I naturally assumed-"

"Of course," Sherlock cut me off. "Mycroft will like it therefore I will keep it. It would be greatly helpful for his Government job."

"You're terrible," I laughed fondly.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied, giving me a quick peck on the lips.

We were to go back to Baskerville later on that night, but we went back to my house first, and Sherlock rifled through the papers that Mrs. Hudson provided us with. On the papers were lists of names, and Sherlock skimmed over them, before handing them to me to make sure he hadn't missed anything. 

"Aha!" Sherlock cried out at last, tapping his fingers on a piece of paper. "Richard Brooke! A known drug smuggler! This is it, John! This is what we need to be rid of Moriarty for good!"

"How is Richard Brooke and Moriarty linked?"

"Moriarty is Richard Brooke. He uses disguises, but if we can prove they are one, we can get Moriarty and Moran imprisoned for good!" Sherlock placed the folder in the breast pocket of his overcoat (that pocket could fit everything in there) and then asked me to leave with him once more. 

We pulled up outside Mycroft's place, and Sherlock tossed the cabbie some money as we got out. Sherlock impatiently rang the doorbell, and stood back. "They've been at Lestrade's house, but they should be back by now, since we're back at school tomorrow. Ah," he said as footsteps sounded inside, "Here is Mycroft."

"Brother dear!" Sherlock cried as Mycroft opened the door. Sherlock shoved past Mycroft, and  I smiled as I followed him in. 

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked in his smooth voice. 

"Found something you might like."

"Really? What?" 

I smiled at Greg as he came and stood by my side. "You're just in time to witness a scene unfold," I whispered to him. He chuckled quietly, and together we watched the Holmes brothers. 

Sherlock produced the paper-knife, and held it in front of Mycroft's face. Mycroft tried to grab it, but Sherlock swiftly moved it away. "Where did you find this, Sherlock?"

"A trusty friend unknowingly provided me with it."

Mycroft groaned. "Who did you steal this from, then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Confidentiality and all that. You know how it goes."

"You know it is of national importance that you give that knife to me."

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not concerned."

"Sherlock, grow up. Give it here."

Sherlock shook his head. "Maybe I don't want to."

"I don't care. You have to. I have men looking for that knife everywhere."

"They're not very intelligent then, are they? After all, a fifteen year old boy did find it before they did."

"That doesn't matter now, Sherlock. Hand it over."

"Or what?"

"I'll have you done for robbery."

"Mummy and Father won't appreciate that. I have information on you, too. Besides,  you're already in enough trouble with Father after the way you spoke to him on Christmas day."

Greg flinched as Sherlock said that, but Sherlock either didn't notice or didn't care, most likely the latter. 

 Mycroft rolled his eyes, and reached out to grab the knife. Sherlock pulled it away.

"Do you want to come see my new car?" Greg asked me, as we continued watching the Holmes's. 

"Yeah, that'd be good."

We turned and walked out of the room to the garage. Greg ran over to his gorgeous car, and, grinning at me, he began to tell me all about the car and how Mycroft had given it to him.  Honestly, I filtered out his words. Sherlock had taught me how to do that, and I was glad he did. 

A loud thud from inside drew Greg and I back in there at lightning speed. Sherlock and Mycroft were proper fighting, and they had knocked over one of Mycroft's Maggie Thatcher  statues. 

Greg and I pulled the two off each other, and, trying to remain serious, like mothers, we forced the two to apologize to the other. 

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered.

"Many apologies," Mycroft said quietly. 

"Sherlock," I said in a stern voice. "Give Mycroft the knife."

"But John," Sherlock whined, pouting at me.

I gave him the Look. The Look was the established 'don't mess with me you know I will hurt you,' / 'that was rude' ,signal between Sherlock and I. 

Sherlock handed it over, before storming out of the house, and I followed close behind. 

After going back to my house to get our things, and saying goodbye to my parents, Sherlock and I headed back to Baskerville.