All is Fair in Love and War

And Old Lace

JOHN WATSON

Sunday Morning

It was pitch dark outside and someone was shaking him.

John rolled over with a grunt of discontentment to find Sherlock bent over him, curls bouncing and his face alight with the familiar glow of the detective on the scent.

"Are you awake?" Sherlock whispered hoarsely.

"No, I'm sound asleep," John groaned, "because that's how I like to be at - God damn, Sherlock! - two in the bloody morning. Get off."

Sherlock dropped onto the end of the bed, pulling his knees up under him like a crouching bird of prey.

"Sleep is boring, John," he said. "Get up. I've found something."

The doctor rubbed his bloodshot eyes, dragging himself upright enough to glare blearily at the other man.

"This had better be good," he warned, "or else I swear -"

"I know where Moriarty is," said Sherlock. John shut his mouth. "The soil sample. It was comprised primarily of water-saturated silt-sized particulate matter. Moreover, the percent organic content was unusually high. According to the tensile strength and arrangement of the plant fibers, they originated in various native grass species, Golden Dock especially."

"So some sort of a bog?" John asked, frowning.

"A marsh, John," Sherlock moaned, as if the distinction should have been transparent. "A bog would be too acidic for most horticultural life forms."

"Alright, so a marsh," the doctor said impatiently. "Which doesn't narrow it down especially."

Sherlock's lips quirked mischievously, and he leaned in like a schoolboy telling a secret. "On its own, no, it doesn't. But the tests also pulled up some other very interesting compounds. Tell me if these mean anything to you: diphenylamine, ethyl centralite, and nitrodiphenylamine."

"Those are all explosives!"

"Quite," the detective-turned-chemist nodded. "And the tests found unusually high concentrations of lead and zinc."

"Gunfire," John breathed. "Are there any marshes around London that have seen battle?"

Sherlock snorted. "Doubtless most of them have at some point in history. We need to determine a more specific time period. The sheer volume of explosive agents means that the place in question was home to something more significant in scope than a mere afternoon's skirmish, while the use of lead puts the end date of the site's military use no less than fifty years ago. Couple with that the soil type and plant matter, and we know exactly where Moriarty has ferreted himself away."

The doctor stared blankly at him. "We do?"

"Of course! Isn't it obvious? Rainham Marshes!"

"The nature reserve?" John asked incredulously.

"Yes! Before it was converted into a modern, environmentally conscious research site, it housed a military firing range. The old facilities are all still there."

"By why would Moriarty pick somewhere as ridiculous as a nature reserve to hide?"

"Please, John. Plenty of reasons. It's out of the way, hard to navigate for anyone not sticking to the hiking trails - and they all conveniently skirt the military base, by the way - and it is overall an ideal place to set a trap for a doctor and a consulting detective."

"Oh, he's trapping us now?" said John, crossing his arms. "I thought the point of the exercise was for us to get him, not the other way around."

Sherlock brushed this aside. "He anticipated his gunman getting shot; naturally he'll have set things in order such that we go right where he wants us. The trick is in our knowing it's a trap and being cleverer."