Chapter Text
"What are you thinking about, Jon? Or should I address you with Mr. Jonson from now on?" Sherlock's voice cracked a little even though he tried his best to keep a straight face - he liked his humour the same way he liked his beach visits: dry. I huffed, and my arms crossed all by themselves. It was my defensive stance whenever I sensed he was trying to get a rise out of me. In reality, I had considered buying a giant watermelon from the merchant on my right after we finished our business with Bernadotti. Still, I didn't feel like sharing these thoughts with him anymore after he'd teased me again.
"I'm glad to see mocking me amuses you so greatly," I said, but I knew I deserved it a little, although I still mostly blamed him for the uncomfortable conversation at the gallery. I had messed up, but I had never been good at lying and improvisation. He should have known that much and briefed me before we entered the place.
After a moment of silence, I spoke again. "I don't like him," I said under my breath. My eyes did not meet Sherlock's - something told me he didn't share my views on Verner Vogel, and I couldn't understand why. The man was strange! Something about the way he spoke raised the hairs on the back of my neck. He was sly, cunning, no one to play around with. Yet Sherlock did not see it like this, or at least he did not mind what he saw. It was incomprehensible how he'd see a red flag and simply ignore it.
"I believe you are paying too much attention to his words, Jon. Ultimately, it doesn't matter what he thinks of you... or of both of us, for the matter." He was in good spirits. Apparently, he did not mind Vogel's conclusions a lot, and I decided to drop the topic for the moment.
In the meantime, and much unlike my friend, I struggled with my mood. While I was thankful for the case and the opportunity to get out and have a little fun, what we had discovered so far was everything but fun. I was utterly disappointed with mankind, to the point I was not able to help myself once I met the British Envoy Thomas Norton. And that, well... The thought of this man made me groan in disgust.
"Do you think that pig would remember what has befallen him once he comes to his senses?" It was the only thing that had happened that day that lifted my spirits a little. I chuckled to myself at the memory of punching the man, although the feeling had been more appalling than anticipated. Something about the fleshly vessel of a person giving in under one's own force disturbed me. And my hand hurt still - I observed my knuckles as I spoke, but they looked normal.
"We never introduced ourselves," Sherry smiled, seemingly unbothered by the violence we had resorted to. His eyes were scanning the market in search of the clothes merchant. He did not seem to dislike punching people as much as I did - likely because he'd already gotten used to it. "And even if he remembers our faces, it would be unwise to say anything. He knows we know. There ." He nodded in the direction we were supposed to follow.
"I didn't need your help, by the way. I would have handled him just fine on my own," I threw in, but it didn't really bother me, and I smiled at him. Sherry had knocked the man out with a single blow and put an end to our interrogation pretty fast, and that was always fun to witness, so I couldn't complain too much. After Norton had passed out on the floor, we had stared at him for a brief moment and then left the City Hall as if we'd never been there. It wasn't the usual way Sherry did things, but I could tell he had enjoyed this as well.
"The truth is, I wanted to punch him just as much." He smiled back. His confession came as no surprise. His spirits were truly good that day - he needed cases and mysteries like flowers needed sunshine and water. He was flourishing whenever he had a case. "Now, let us get our tattoos, shall we?"
Of course, the tattoos were temporary, but we needed to blend in if we wanted to enter Bernadotti's property without being noticed. And for obvious reasons, Sherry did not want us to be noticed. If anything, I was grateful he didn't send me home immediately but let me join his investigation instead. Though I assumed he knew there was no way I'd leave him in the middle of it. The best he could do for me was to infiltrate the businessman's warehouse without taking any risks. After we'd put on appropriate clothes and gotten the tattoos, we headed to Bernadotti's warehouses in the hope we'd find out how and why the man had gotten involved in all of this. I assumed Sherry already had an idea about that, but he did not share it with me, and I saw no connection between the businessman and Thomas Norton.
"A quick lesson in improvising: I shall introduce myself as Jon. What about you?" Sherry nudged me while walking and eyed me in anticipation. I could only stare back for a while, which seemed to amuse him again.
"I, uh... Atlas?" All of a sudden, I couldn't think of a single male name that wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft. Or Atlas . I was truly awful at this! It made me feel utterly useless, but Sherry did not seem to share my sentiments - he just laughed instead.
"Really, Jon? Atlas? You can't think of a single ordinary name? How about Pete? Do you like it?"
"Yeah, why not," I grumbled, but then a better idea crossed my mind. "Oh! How about Nabe? Can I be Nabe? You can be Laura!" I almost tripped on a stone from excitement, yet my friend did not seem very enamoured with my suggestion.
"I would rather die, Jon." An eye-roll. Classic. I clicked my tongue.
" Nabe . Name's Nabe. It's you who is Jon now, Jon ," I said and grinned at him. He mumbled something under his breath, but I no longer listened, for I did not want him to rain on my parade again.
As we approached the warehouse, I found myself struggling to keep my cool. I'd have taken Sherry by the arm had I not believed it would make us look even more suspicious. All I had to do was to let Sherry do the talking as always, but I still feared they'd see through our act. A look around revealed countless crates with different kinds of imported goods, although I suspected not all of them were imported legally - something Sherry had mentioned in passing before we'd gotten there. The labels definitely did not fit the actual contents. Still, we seemed to raise no suspicion among the men who were dressed and tattooed just like us. Or rather, we were dressed and tattooed just like them . Either way, we had definitely nailed the disguise! Our names weren't asked until we reached one of the warehouses, which was guarded by a man who looked older and infinitely more threatening than both of us combined. Much to my surprise, Sherry introduced himself as Laurence and me - as Nabe. I could barely conceal the proud smile on my face before the man finally invited us in.
And then everything began unfolding too fast. In retrospect, both of us would have to admit that the guard had managed to deceive us much better than we had managed to deceive him . He had known our tattoos were fake from the very start. We'd later find out we'd been spotted by an informant when we had asked the merchant for them, meaning Bernadotti's men had been expecting us - the infiltrators - from the very beginning. Of course, we didn't know any of this until we entered the warehouse and heard the door lock behind our backs. The sound confused me at first, and so did the five or six men who were staring us down with guns in their hands. I didn't understand what I was witnessing until I was pushed to the ground by no one other than Sherlock Holmes himself.
" Stay down! Don't move! " His tone suggested he'd not accept any protest from me, and before I could ask him what was going on, he had already pulled out his gun and disappeared from sight. At first, I couldn't get a clear picture of the events, thanks to a large barrel blocking my view. Of course, I couldn't simply stay hidden for long. I knew I wouldn't be of immense help, considering I was the only unarmed man in the room, but at the same time, leaving Sherlock to the hands of fate did not sit well with me either.
I crawled from behind the barrel to get a better view, and at first, it seemed as if Sherry did not need my help at all. It was always a delight to see him fight! It didn't take long before he incapacitated the majority of our enemies. He used a rope to tie their hands behind their backs. I had to restrain myself from cheering for my dear Sherlock loudly every time he landed a blow and knocked a guy out. Yes, I am very much against violence, but it was warranted! They had set a trap for us!
After a few minutes of fighting, there was only one man left, but he moved with more confidence than the others. It was understandable, seeing how his armour was heavier, and while I was certain Sherry would send him to sleep in no time, armour or not, the tables had begun to turn. Whenever Sherry lunged at him, the man seemed fully prepared and successfully blocked each of Sherry's attacks. Unlike my friend, who was starting to feel exhausted (it was very apparent even from the distance), the other man had mostly stayed out of the fight until his mates had all been brought down. He was still warming up, but Sherry was almost at his limits.
It was when it happened. Out of nowhere, the man lunged at Sherry again, and this time, he landed a punch to my friend's jaw, sending him to the ground. Without hesitating, the man aimed at my friend and fired, and even though Sherry rolled over and dodged the bullet, it was only by a hair's breadth.
I couldn't watch this. I knew I had to stay out of it and hide behind the barrel, but I was no coward. There was no point in surviving any of this if something happened to Sherlock. I had always known this. Of course, I had always known this! He had created me to protect him, to shield him from harm, to always be there for him. I had not given it much thought since I had become a real human, but among all the things that had changed, this aspect had not.
I felt no fear in that moment. Without hesitation, I got up on my feet and grabbed a gas lamp, which lay not far away from the barrel. "Hey, over here!" I yelled, and once the man turned to face me - the source of the sound he'd just heard, I threw the lamp in his direction. I had imagined it much more impressive - that I would actually hit him with the lamp and incapacitate him, but it turned out I wasn't that great at throwing. The lamp burst a few feet away from him, but it served its purpose - for a moment, he became disoriented, and before he had the chance to figure out what was happening, Sherlock had already gotten back on his feet and thrown him to the ground. A second later, the man was knocked out cold, and both I and my dear friend sighed in relief.
I would lie if I said I wasn't a little proud. Of course, Sherry had done the actual work, and I had only assisted a little towards the end, but I had still helped him and proven myself to some extent. I wasn't that useless - I wasn't a liability. I could still help him even if I had no experience. I smiled at him, and he chuckled and smiled back while still struggling to catch his breath. It was not only important to me because I wanted to be useful to him. I couldn't imagine staying behind while he hunted criminals and risked his life. I wanted to share this part of his life with him, just like I had always done, and I wanted to be there and intervene before something terrible happened to him. I did not mind giving everything, even my newly gained life, if it meant keeping him safe, and I couldn't keep him safe if he left me behind. Of course, I was planning to learn to use a gun and to fight. I wanted to do whatever was needed.
These were the thoughts swirling in my head when I heard it.
"You snotty bastards!"
At first, I believed one of the bound men had decided to attack us verbally, but in the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing. However, my reactions weren't fast enough to see who that was before I heard the sound of a gun being fired.
There was pain. Sharp. Burning. In retrospect, I know I shouldn't have done so, but when the bullet entered my body, I couldn't help screaming in agony and terror. It hurt more than anything I had experienced in my brief life as a person. Time moved in a slow motion from there on. I finally saw him - a man not much older than Mycroft holding a gun pointed in my direction. Shaved head, a sour face, thin, but definitely not someone you want to meet in a dark alley. It was when I knew I was done for. Nothing in his facial expression suggested he'd hesitate. He had not come to merely wound me - he had come to kill, and it was only a matter of seconds until he fired again.
Involuntarily, I fell back on the ground and squeezed my eyes shut at the impact. I didn't want to see how he fired the very bullet that was going to end me, and it was too late to hide or run. I did not want to see it coming - I simply wanted to close my eyes and never open them again if that was where I was supposed to die. And at that moment, I did not regret not living my short life to the fullest. I did not regret wasting it with occult books instead of going to the pub. I only regretted leaving Sherry behind. My supposedly last thoughts as a living, breathing human belonged to him. I knew my demise would hurt him, but he'd never openly show it. He'd suffer alone and never ask for help because that's how he was. Stubborn, prideful, not willing to show anyone his real face. I couldn't take it.
"Sherry..." I doubted he could hear me, but that wasn't the point. It just felt right to use his name as my last words.
Then I heard another gunshot. And another. And another. And my mind went blank.