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   Title: Burning Hearts
Fandom: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock
Gene: Crossover, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mystery, Fluff
Character/s: Sherlock, Martin, Mycroft, John, Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur, Lestrade, Moriarty, OCs and other minor Sherlock characters
Rating: PG-13 
Summary: Round Two. Only this time, the stakes have changed... and so have the players.
Warnings: Violence. Bit of foul language. Spoiler for The Great Game.
Notes: Sequel to Thicker than Water. Reading that first will help understanding this fic.

Essays and Exams. You suck... Sorry for the delay. Will try for another chapter soon but essays do not go away if you stare at them. I know, I've tried.

Thanks to Elvendork for her betaing. 

Chapter One
Chapter Two 
Chapter Three
Chapter Four  
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven 

 

Moments after Carolyn’s dramatic statement Sherlock had raised one eyebrow and opened his mouth to dispute her point. To everyone's surprise, Carolyn had managed to cut him off simply by raising a finger at him.

“We’re coming with you.” She had said, “And that’s final. We are going to help you.”

Sherlock had narrowed his eyes at her, but had not argued. When she gestured at her crew to leave, however, his eyes had followed her out the door.

“What’s so curious?” John had asked, recognising the look on his friend’s face.

“Martin.” Sherlock had answered before walking out of the room, leaving behind a confused flatmate.

 ********

Sherlock was sulking. And John was going to admire Carolyn Knapp-Shappey for it.

For now however, he was stuck between an excited Arthur and sulking Sherlock and somehow couldn’t find it in himself. Carolyn was driving and Douglas was in the seat beside her after some fast negotiating that even John had lost track of. Silence reigned in the car, with Arthur’s attempts to break it constantly shot down by his mother.

Sherlock pulled out his phone about the halfway point. He sent off a series of texts then returned to his sulking.

John sighed, and then tried to use Sherlock as a pillow to get some sleep.

********

“Left here.” Sherlock broke the silence as they reached the outskirts of London. The movement of his hand also jolted John out of his nap, and Sherlock gladly rotated the shoulder once John’s head was removed from it.

“Here? We’re not going back to Baker Street?” John asked as Carolyn made the turn.

“We are. Just need to see a man about a van.” Sherlock replied. The car was silent for a moment as this sunk in.

“What do you mean by that? You need to find out about Martin’s van?” Douglas’ voice, collected but nowhere near calm.

“Is the man with a van going to tell you where Skip is?”

“Why on Earth are you focusing on Martin’s van? I thought we were trying to find the man, not his van.” Carolyn was splitting her attention between driving and Sherlock; spending too much on the later in John’s opinion.

Only he had no questions for his friend, trusting that in moments Sherlock would reveal the information required. Not that it mattered; Sherlock refused to answer any of the MJN crew’s questions. He merely smiled mysteriously and gave a direction to turn every so often.

********

Eventually Sherlock had them stop in a part of town that would have made John nervous before he lived with Sherlock. Now it was a familiar sight to him, having spent a good amount of time chasing people through it. However the MJN crew were not as familiar and it showed. Carolyn kept twitching while driving slowly and double checking that Sherlock was still smiling and Douglas seemed to be trying to examine everything that passed. Only Arthur was unaffected.
Sherlock didn’t say a word once the car stopped but threw open the door and stalked off. Knowing his friend, John followed waiting for the tell-tale sounds of running when the others moved to catch up.

They didn’t have far to go because Sherlock had stopped on the next street along ignoring the parked police car beside him. He stood talking to a strange man in front of a familiar looking van, with fresh paint marks. As they approached the man, whom John recognised as being part of Sherlock’s homeless network, pocketed something and walked off.

“Douglas, is that what I think it is?” Carolyn asked.

“I believe so.”

John looked between them and Sherlock. ”Sorry, what is it?”

“Martin’s van.” Sherlock answered. “Abandoned but not burnt. Means either they do not believe we can get any evidence from it or...” he trailed off and bent down to examine the tires.

“Or what?” Arthur asked, head tilted to one side.

“Or...it doesn’t matter?” Guessed John when Sherlock ignored Carolyn’s question. He received a curt nod and small smile from Sherlock; both signs he had guessed correctly.

“Doesn’t matter? How could evidence about Martin’s kidnappers not matter?” Carolyn growled.
Sherlock glared at her. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Martin-”

“Oi! You lot! Move on!” A voice broke into the argument and the group turned towards the man coming from the house across the house. “This is a crime scene, we don’t need people loitering.”

John was the only one positioned to see Sherlock’s grimace and he soon found himself hiding one as he recognised D.I Gregson as the man coming towards them.

“Oh it’s you.” Gregson said as he reached their side of the road and met Sherlock’s eyes. “Thought I told you to steer clear of my crime scenes.”

“You did make it quite clear the last time we met, Tobias. And I’m sure the families of the two people who died before Lestrade called me in were quite happy to hear you did.” Gregson began to speak but Sherlock cut him off. “However this time I am merely in the area. You can bungle your crime scene in peace.”

Gregson suddenly had a feral grin on his face. “Well, since you’re here you could tell me how your name got all over my crime scene?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as the MJN crew gasped. “Oh it’s one of those. Give it to Lestrade; he’s already working two murders like this. Oh and I didn’t do it, for the record. I will have an alibi for the murder.”

He turned to walk off as Gregson spluttered. In an attempt to keep the peace and distract Gregson, John asked “What was the victim’s name?”

“Wallet identifies him as Martin Crieff.” Gregson growled.


Next chapter



 

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