docwithablog | storyline one.

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[ John walks in and does his usual, charming follow-up on Sherlock's instructions (as if they weren't already crystal clear, ugh) and Mrs. Ingram turns to talk to Mr. Ingram who proceeds to stare at Sherlock with something that looks like... hm. Violent intent? Unbearable confusion? Well, whatever it is, Sherlock has no time for it - immediately, he turns fully towards the other man, raises his chin slightly and says: ]

Mr. Ingram. I made an interesting discovery in your son's room - if I were you, I'd have the room thoroughly aired and cleaned before letting anyone in there again. [ The fact that Sherlock just waltzed in and more or less pushed his face against the ventilation shaft is neither here nor there. ] Can't tell you more at present time, unfortunately. [ He steps closer, peering down his nose at Ingram though the man's actually no shorter than him. It's a gift. ] You ought to alert the authorities. The woman in the shop - there are striking similarities, even the police can't be dumb enough to miss them.

[ He thinks about the small petri dish in his pocket. It's burning a hole down there, almost - oh, he needs to get back to the lodge and give it a look. A really good look. He doesn't have the tech to make any conclusive findings but - ah, wait! He blinks. Turns away for a moment, thinking. ]

[ It isn't that John can't see the wheels positively turning in Ingram's head. Finally, he barks out, clearly agitated: what was he doing in Daniel's room? John shrugs, nods towards Sherlock who's left them to their own conclusions which is never a good idea when he gives them info like can't tell you more at present time, right? His voice, when re replies is calm, soothing almost. As long as he manages to keep Ingram's hands off of Sherlock, he'll consider his mission a success and that, mind you, is not a low bar to set. ]

You know what he does, Ingram. He was investigating.

[ Investigating what exactly? Ingram sounds more and more constipated. You can't rightly blame the man when he came in two seconds too late to catch Sherlock's instructions to his wife and she makes a brave attempt at calming him down, reaching out and putting her hand on his shoulder, whispering: think of our boy, Terence. Ingram, in turn, takes a deep breath, clearly trying to level himself a bit, though John can tell by the prominent vein in his temple that it really is a lost cause. John glances over at Sherlock again, hoping in spite of all experience and all proof to the contrary that the man will for once in his sorry life come to his aid, but since that's not very likely to happen, well. He purses his lips. ]

A crime, I suspect. Since he wants you to involve the authorities. [ Trying to go the more appeasing route now, only because all other paths have been tried and tread, yes. John gestures towards Ingram with a rather soft hand, loose wrist, non-threatening in every single way. ] You're a man of importance. Shouldn't be that hard.

[ Finally, the severity of the situation as it's being presented to them seems to dawn on Ingram, on both the Ingrams actually and Terence blinks a couple of times, muttering in disbelief: our son has been the victim of a crime... John's best guess is that it beats any of the physical or mental disorders that they're otherwise looking into and although horrible, pride can more easily bear that human immorality has caused damage than fickle concepts like chance and, God forbid, fate have. ]

[ Yes - yes, that's the best way to do it by far! Sherlock nods to himself, turns - and realises that John's only just finishing catching the Ingrams up. Lord, can't these people adapt? New situation, new reality, come on! Pushing one hand into his pocket, he pulls out the petri dish and looks at Mr. Ingram speculatively, eyes slightly narrowed. No, it won't do to simply hand it over; the idiot wouldn't know what to properly do with it and it might just end up in the wrong hands. Instead, he opens his palm and balances it, holding it out for the others to see. ]

Does your oh-so-secret military lab have the equipment necessary to analyse this sample? [ He keeps his fingers lightly curled, ready to snatch it away at any second. ] I only ask because I really won't put too much stock in anything you've told us so far regarding that place. For all we know, it might be an underground barn.

[ Ingram takes a moment to reply, his face very red at this point and his hands clenched into fists. His wife slips her hand to his elbow, clearly thinking the same as Sherlock (and John, going by his soothing tone of voice) - that the man's getting more and more inclined to strike out, physically. Ingram manages a deep, very shaky inhalation before breathing out slowly, shoulders sinking a fraction. Then, he tells him Quite, yes, though not in my department. I'll pass it on to the relevant people, make sure it's - Sherlock shakes his head, interrupting him smoothly: ]

No no, please - let's not involve any potential perpetrators this early on in the game. [ He turns away, pocketing the sample swiftly. ] We'll find a way, Mr. Ingram. For now - [ A nod in the general direction of the boy who's started drooling on the sofa. ] - take care of your own business.

[ With that, he turns away. And walks off, expecting John to follow suit. On the way, he fishes out his phone and shoots off a text (Required: Coordinates for underground base around Helston. There's something in it for you and it's better than cake. - SH). ]

[ The expression on Ingram's face when Sherlock just turns around and strides away again is so recognisably beaten that John can't help but smile slightly, very apologetically, mind you, but his lips do curve and he inclines his head at the couple, looking the boy over once more on the way - there's nothing he can do for him, Ingram should already have called the necessary medical agencies by now, he'll be fine. And that is by Sherlock Holmes' best estimate, so it will undoubtedly prove true as well. Eventually. Somehow, after much adventure has been had. The well-known rush of adrenaline finally kicks in now and Jesus, that's horrible timing... But okay, good, they're on a case again. Not ideal, not what he'd imagined for them, still -- if nothing else, it keeps Sherlock off the sweets. That, at least, is a good thing.

The other man's foreboding we'll find a way is less promising, because John knows the extremes Sherlock's willing to go to in order to, what, have his fix, solve his case, same old, and they're talking a top-secret military base here, they're not just going to let anyone saunter in, if he really doesn't want Ingram to take the sample himself. Which makes sense, supposedly, but it does place them in a bit of a pickle, doesn't it? Nodding at Dr Williams outside, gesturing towards the sitting room in a sorry about the mess manner, John breaks into a march to catch up to Sherlock, already ten steps ahead.

It takes him twenty seconds, of course, it always does, then he's up to speed. As much as one is ever up to speed with Sherlock on fire. ]

storyline one.

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