CHAPTER FOUR
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i. how could you know !

— THE MAN THAT RUSHED UP THE STEPS OF 221B WAS SOMEWHAT TALL, and had greying hair.

He barely even stopped for a moment to look around, his eyes glued to Sherlock as the man himself turned away from the window.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, not even waiting for the man to say something first.

Danny found his way to the couch across from John, leaning his back against the arm so he could watch the situation.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." He replied.

"What's new about this one?" Danny asked from the couch.

Both Sherlock and the, assumed detective, turned to look at him with an odd sort of glint in their eyes.

"Sorry, was I not supposed to-..? It's just- you wouldn't have come to get him if it was the same old story, there's gotta be something different this time." Danny watched them curiously. Then his eyes widened for a moment and he whispered to himself, "Damnit, Marigold, what did you do to me."

John gave him a look for a second, but remained quiet.

"Well, you know how they never leave notes?" The man asked, turning back to Sherlock, who replied with a short 'yeah'

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked.

The man sighed, "It's Anderson."

Sherlock turned his head away with a slight cringe, "Anderson won't work with me."

"He won't be your assistant." The detective shrugged.

"I need an assistant."

"Will you come?" He asked again.

Sherlock shuffled in place, hands in his pockets, "Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." He went to back out of the room but stopped when his eyes caught Danny again, sitting cross legged and messy haired on the couch. "You're welcome to bring him as well, if he's half as good as you."

Danny clicked his tongue, "Honey, I'm not even a quarter."

There was an awkward silence before the man nodded, "Right." and backed out of the room, rushing down the stairs.

Danny wasn't really paying attention, but his response had put a small smirk on Sherlock's face.

Once the door shut downstairs, Sherlock practically glowed in excitement.

"Brilliant! Ah, four serial su*cides, and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas." He began to grab his coat. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late, might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." The woman replied, to which Danny looked up at her with a soft smile.

"Something cold will do." Sherlock stated, grabbing his scarf. "John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

He then went to rush down the stairs in a similar way the detective had only moments before, when he stopped, and turned to Danny.

"Are you coming? I do much better work when I have someone to impress." Sherlock stated. It almost sounded like a flirtatious remark, but Danny let it slide.

"You want me to sit there and look pretty while you be all brilliant and crime solve-y?" Danny asked, leaning back slightly more into the arm of the couch.

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Yes, precisely."

Danny sighed for a moment, before nodding and standing up.

"You'll be okay?" He asked John.

John nodded, a slight smile on his face, watching his friend gather himself awkwardly.

Once he got the 'go ahead', Danny was out the door, following Sherlock to the road just outside 221B.

They stood side by side for a moment, Sherlock trying to hail a taxi before he stopped, realization on his face.

"Get us a taxi, will you." Sherlock asked, before quickly moving back inside.

Danny chuckled at the way Sherlock's mind seemed to work, and did as the man asked, managing to wave a taxi over in seconds.

Part of him already knew that Sherlock had gone back up to drag John along, so he slid himself into the front seat and asked the driver to wait for a moment.

Just as Sherlock and John got into the taxi, cramping themselves in the back seat, Danny's phone began to ring with a familiar tune.

He practically grinned as he answered the phone.

"Hey kiddo." Danny greeted.

"Hey Dan." Tony replied. "Jasper's here too."

"Good, put me on speakerphone."

"Danny-" The boy groaned, but did it anyway.

"Listen here, mister. There was a lot of commotion last time I visited so you're gonna have to get the Dan talk over the phone." Danny spoke, staring at the road ahead of him as they started moving, almost forgetting he wasn't alone in the car.

"If you hurt him I'll hunt you down. Got it? I don't care if you're a spry, hip, skippy little shit, I will go full army on your ass." Danny threatened, only partly serious.

"Yes sir." Jasper laughed, knowing that Danny was just doing it to show how much he cared about Tony.

Tony's voice came back, sounding embarrassed, "Are you done threatening my boyfriend?"

"I guess." Danny said with a laugh.

"So I can tell you about Liv now?"

Danny leaned forward in his seat, pressing his phone closer to his ear, "What's going on? Is she okay?" He asked worriedly.

Tony took a moment, "She's eighty-eight pounds as of yesterday."

Danny could hear his smile through the phone, and quickly realized he was smiling himself, "That's ten more than last month!"

"I know! And we spoke with Gideon not too long ago.., she quit smoking cold turkey. It took a few weeks but she's getting better, Danny, I can feel it." Anthony spoke in excitement.

Daniel Evans was never known for being an emotional sort. But this news made him nearly cry. Liv, for the longest time, was only ever getting worse and worse. Nothing ever helped. She'd get better for a while before she only plummeted again, worse than before.

Danny and Tony loved her unconditionally, they slept and ate in the same room together for days on end- and slowly they became more of a very odd, very dysfunctional family built on broken bones and whispered pinky promises of how they wouldn't let go, they wouldn't give up until there was not one of them left standing.

In the back of his mind, Danny always knew that Liv didn't want to get better. She would lie and say that she really was trying but Danny knew her well enough to know that it wasn't the truth.

He'd watched them go through hell, he'd pick them up, dust them off and then keep going, he'd help them fight their battles while he himself fought his own.

He was an optimist and a dreamer, and a hoper and so irrevocably human.

He knew that maybe Tony wouldn't get the chances that Danny did. Tony would die at eighteen, never becoming a renowned artist, never having the opportunity to be the person he'd always wanted. He wouldn't get to march in pride parades or protest for rights around the world, he wouldn't stand at his sister's side and see her marry the love of her life, and he wouldn't get the chance to do so himself.

But damn it all if Danny couldn't love him as he fell. He supported his cracked up family with as much love as his heart could hold.

"She'll get better." Tony whispered.

It nearly broke Danny, hearing him speak. This boy could be gone in days, hours, maybe even minutes and he never had the chance to live.

"Now it's your turn." Danny closed his eyes, becoming very aware that he was in a taxi with Sherlock and John in the backseat, listening intently on the conversation.

He didn't want to cry in front of them. But what kind of man would he be if he didn't?

He could hear Tony shuffle and a door close before he spoke again. "Danny... I can't."

"Sure you can." Danny's voice shook. "You can get better and then you and Liv can visit, yeah? You always wanted to travel, it'd be perfect."

Tony sighed, "Yeah, it sounds great... Listen, Alice and I have to go meet up with Reyes. I'll talk to you later."

Danny also sighed, though his was shaky and unbalanced, "Yeah. I love you, kid. Stay safe."

"I will." Tony stated. "...And Danny?"

Danny hummed, rubbing his eye with his sweater sleeve.

"I love you too."

It was quiet as Danny hung up the phone, an awkward silence that wouldn't be broken for a while.

He looked out the window at the passing cars and watched the sky as it became darker, trying not to rub at his eyes too much to make them itchy and red.

He was only half listening when Sherlock and John spoke up again.

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock pointed out.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked, glancing outside.

Sherlock inhaled slightly before replying, "Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you, what do you do?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked.

Danny hugged his arms closer to his body, realizing very quickly that he didn't have a coat on, only a sweater that wasn't offering a lot of heat.

"I'd say private detective." John hesitated.

"But?" Sherlock pressed.

"But police don't go to private detectives."

Sherlock smiled slightly, though his eyes caught Danny who was slouched in the front seat holding his hands under his arms and the smile was quickly wiped off his face.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world, I invented the job." Sherlock boasted.

Danny let out a small, weak laugh, "That is incorrect."

Sherlock looked at him curiously, "Excuse me?"

John ignored that, instead asking what it meant to be a consulting detective.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock explained, "Now what do you mean, I'm incorrect?"

"You're not the only consulting detective, Sherlock, there's one in America working with the FBI." Danny explained.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Who?"

John ignored that again, "The police don't consult amateurs." He laughed.

Sherlock turned back to John with a challenged look in his eyes.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw." Sherlock stated. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor, obvious."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists, you've been abroad but not sunbathing."

Danny desperately wanted to tune out, but was also curious how he knew what he did.

"Your limps really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic." Sherlock continued to explain.

Danny decided to just listen to his subconscious and stare blankly out the window, not coming back to the conversation until he heard his name.

"Now- how could you possibly know about Danny's illness?" John asked.

"Ah, it was more of an educated guess, but a pretty good one if I do say so." Sherlock stated.

"Obviously, he has similar posture and hair cut but his tan isn't quite as intense as yours, so he's been in the sun but not for very long. The way he watches you as you walk tells me he's looking out for you, worried almost, and as if he's used to keeping an eye on you or he believes he owes you in a way- making sure you're okay."

"If he served with you, for not as long, but long enough to form a connection with you- keeping in mind that you are a doctor. You must have diagnosed an illness of his and he happened to be discharged for illness or injury."

"Now the fact that he's moved back to England, to move into a flat with you, when he has a friend in America who is obviously dying, only strengthens the idea that he's thinks he owes you a debt. He thinks you've saved his life."

Danny leaned his head back against the seat, not liking the way this conversation had turned.

"But the illness? You pegged it for lung cancer, quite correctly, actually." John pressed, leaning into the questions more.

"Well the way he itches and presses at his nose so consistently tells me he's used to having something there, a slight weight or weird feeling- it's similar with drug addicts but with the way this man looks he doesn't look like someone who does or used to do anything." Sherlock glanced at the man, noticing the slightest hint of a smile.

"And of course his friend, Eugene, spoke out the side of his mouth, common with smokers who hold a cigarette in their lips when they talk. It's not prominent as it would have been maybe, say, a few months ago, meaning he quit smoking around the time you were discharged. And he happened to pop an aspirin while you weren't looking. Headaches are a common symptom of nicotine withdrawal." Sherlock muttered.

"So, your friend recently quit smoking because he realized what had happened to you, someone he loves. You're used to being hooked up to a steady line of oxygen. Lung cancer wasn't too difficult of a leap. And if you were still sick, you would still be on oxygen so cured lung cancer patient." Sherlock finished. "Now, who is this other consulting detective in America?"

Danny just shook his head with a small laugh, "I'll let you talk to her sometime."

author's note

200 words over 2000 I hope that makes up for a few other times I was short 😖

So I went off a little bit about Tony, somewhat because I wanna show Danny's feeling about the situation and because I'm so used to writing for him, I'm sorry 😂

Also I'm not super smart like Sherlock so I had to kinda- stupidly explain how he knew Danny was military and cured lung cancer patient. Sorry if it took forever and it bored you,
I'm really trying, I promiseee

I hope you enjoyed ? ♥️😂