Hello, and welcome to my first ever chapters long story. This story is set after series two. It's a sort of alternative to the 3rd series. Since I got the idea before the 3rd series came out. This story will involve some mature content, so I rated it as M. In this first chapter there won't be anything sexual and for the first beginning chapters there won't be but it will happen at some point. I've planned out this story almost completely, so there shouldn't be long times between chapters. However, reviews really do lead me on.
And I'll stop delaying now, here it is.
It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time for John and Sherlock to return to their normal routine. After a well rounded explanation from Sherlock and John's swearing as well as a few punches thrown here and there it seemed as though their relationship was almost mended. In about a month the newspapers appeared to be bored with the scandal and they stopped posting stories about "The Man Who Survived the Fall". Mycroft informed Sherlock that Moriarty's web seemed to have been overall disassembled and without any type of mastermind to pull them all together everything had fallen apart and now organized crime was forming in small gangs like it is supposed to be, not under one leader.
Overall things were going well, and Sherlock and John were happy. As well was Scotland Yard and The British Government.
"The killer is short, probably about 5 '2", and female, as the impressions on the carpet and the gashes in the victims throat would imply. The likeliness of the killer being young is rather high though just as well they could be a grown women and it seems as though the victim knew his killer. He let her in with no hesitation, there are no signs of a struggle or defensive wounds on the mans hands and yet he shows no signs of being incapacitated while she slashed his throat, that means that he was completely caught off guard. The killer is left handed as well, rather then cutting the left carotid she went for the right. Once he was down she stood up and left him bleeding on the floor as he tried to cover his throat."
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked towards Lestrade, John smiled beside him obviously still impressed by his brilliant deductions even after all they went through. After Lestrade was done writing in his notepad he spoke,
"Alright, so we're looking for a female, probably younger in age, about 5' 2", and left handed?" Lestrade looked up at Sherlock.
"She also knew him so it would be optimal to look into his history and see if he knows or knew anyone with that description. Contact me if you find any prints on the weapon." Sherlock turned around and started to walk away with John on his tail, "We're done here, that's all I can give you." While they rushed away a few cries of 'Sherlock!' were heard and then a disgruntled sigh.
John finally spoke once then hailed a cab and got inside, "Is that really all you have?" Sherlock stayed silent, "Is that really, properly, all you have about the case?" No response. "Sherlock?"
"Yes, John. That is really, properly, all I have about the case now will you shut up."
John stayed silent and turned to look out the window, running over the crime scene in his head. John did his routine look and told Lestrade that the man had died from a single long angled slash to the right carotid artery, John said that the person who slashed the throat probably had done this before judging on the precision in which it was done.
Sherlock had asked what else had been retrieved from the crime scene and whether or not they had a weapon. There was a scalpel which was presumably the weapon and Sherlock had immediately pointed out that it was the killers and not the victims. Lestrade had written everything down and then Sherlock had went on to make the rest of his deductions.
"So is there anything interesting in this case?" John asked, "Are you going to continue working on it or are you going to let Greg continue on with the case?"
Sherlock turns his head to John, "Overall, this seems like a typically normal case. A girl, probably young, had a grudge against a man and killed him."
John shook his head, "But it is strange isn't it? I told you Sherlock, and you agreed with me. This looks really professional and well done...Like the person has done it before."
Sherlock looked back out the window, "That's exactly what the girl wants you to think. She's probably a typical 20 something year old girl trying to create the façade of a professional serial killer in order to cover the fact that it was simply a personal crime. This is given away because the victim knew the killer. I came to the conclusion that she probably didn't even use gloves...If the scalpel we found has prints then I'm not getting involved. If it doesn't, I will."
John nodded and turned back towards the window to look at Sherlock's bored expression. Yet again, it seems as though he can't be entertained. It was getting harder and harder to do so lately...After Moriarty, Sherlock couldn't find any cases or killers that were really up to his par. None of them were willing to play the game. Of course, Sherlock is happy Moriarty is gone, but John sometimes can't help but think that the consulting detective misses the game.
The cab stopped at 221B and Sherlock flipped open the cab door and ran to the front of their flat, yet again flipping open that door (not bothering to close it) and skipping up the stairs to 221B . Patiently, John got out of the cab and handed the cabby his fee. He made it to the open door, went inside and closed behind him and sauntered up the stairs of 221B.
The soldier sat in his chair and opened his blog- he looked at his latest posts. "The Six Mongolians" "The Veiled Tenant" "Boscombe Valley Mystery"...He almost considered stop posting about their cases after the Moriarty incident, but he had come to the conclusion that writing everything down really does help him and it manages to provide them a lot of clients. They manage to make a sufficient amount of money from especially wealthy clients, Sherlock often declines the money, but John had worked up the habit of taking up the offers...They need to pay the rent after all.
The next few days in the flat past uneventfully. John went back and forth from St. Barts occasionally working as a Medical Doctor when he's bored (he's becoming more like Sherlock then he thinks). The results came back from Lestrade and it turned out that Sherlock was right, there were prints on the scalpel.
They were able to trace the prints back to a women matching Sherlock's description 5' 2" , left handed, and only 19 years old. She had a grudge against the victim for telling her parents about her drug problems. She had a record and was easily able to be traced. She didn't admit to killing the victim and claims she had been framed, but with the means, motive, and absolute evidence she was easily convicted.
Sherlock was currently, probably, burning down the flat- but John decided to ignore that in order to go to his...What would he call it? Work? No. When he works at St. Barts it is more of a hobby...He would call it...Volunteering. That is essentially what it is. He is volunteering to do things at the hospital- but he's also getting paid. He shook his head quickly. It doesn't matter, as long as he is helping people and doing something not just letting himself marinate in that flat of his.
The cab he was in stopped and he paid the fee. He's wasting so much money. They really should take the tube more, in fact- Why doesn't he take the tube more? He thought about it and then realized it's because Sherlock never takes the tube. He supposes since he's almost always helping Sherlock with cases these days he has gotten used to ignoring public transportation.
John was just about to approach the doors to his job when his entire world went dark.
"Why hello Dr. Watson!." The voice was rough and obviously belonged to a man. John started to open his eyes...however right as he did an overwhelming grogginess took him over as his head lolled, he grimaced and tried to grab his head only to find that his hands were tied to a chair, as well as his legs. He struggled against his binds, "Now, don't do that Dr. Watson you're going to get rope burns, my boss doesn't want you to get hurt yet." After the army doctor was able to get himself to see he straight, he looked up at what seemed to be his kidnapper.
The man was tall and well built, he had dark blue eyes that were cold and empty. The man was standing over John and looking down at him, he had a military crew cut of graying hair. He was probably about 50 something years old but obviously in shape for his age.
"What do you want?" The words came out of John as a sort of straining mumble. He must have been drugged with something. Everything around him was blurry and he had a tunnel vision towards his kidnapper as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
The kidnapper leveled him with a stare, "What do I want? I want to do my job." As John's eyes starting focusing better and his vision was no longer blurred...He could see he was in a large vacant lot- how original. There was a chair in front of him as well as a table, with what looked to be- knives? The kidnapper went over to the table and lightly picked up a butcher knife. "Usually, this is the part where I start cutting you apart...but my boss just insists on keeping you healthy." Twisting the sharp silver in his hands he sighed, "It really is a shame. I know you're a soldier, it would have been interesting to see when you break." He quickly hit the knife to the steel table and an echo sounded throughout the lot, "But I can't. At least not yet."
John had been through this before. Really. He had been kidnapped way too much in his life, really, he didn't even get kidnapped in Afghanistan and when he comes to London he gets first kidnapped by a Chinese Smuggling Ring and then he is kidnapped by A Criminal Mastermind. Both of those were caused by Moriarty, but now that he's gone? REALLY? He didn't expect to be kidnapped any time soon.
"Look. I know you probably want me to ask who your boss is...And then you'll go one to say- 'He has many connections. He's a ghost pulling all the strings!' Or something a long the lines of that. I've been through this before and I've watched telly." His voice had finally gone back to it's original tone and was no longer mumbling. He had become worse then Sherlock with his running mouth- for all he knows this person could really want to kill him. But he wasn't taking this anymore. He breathed in deeply, "Alright, you know who Sherlock Holmes is? That's why you've kidnapped me?"
The kidnapper squinted, "You're just done with everything aren't you?"
"Yeah. Yes- I frankly am."
The man shook his head and almost laughed, "Well, boss did tell me about you. Just as boss told me about Sherlock Holmes- This is about Sherlock Holmes too, but that's not why you've been kidnapped."
"Then why, pray tell, have I been kidnapped?" John rolled his head up to meet the kidnapper's eyes.
"It's because of Moriarty."
John eyes quickly widened. "What?"
"Moriarty. It's all because of Moriarty."
"What do you mean Moriarty? Moriarty's dead. His whole organization is gone...He took a gun and shot himself straight through the hea- ah" a needle breached his skin and John looked as the kidnapper put pressure to the plunger and a clear liquid seeped into his skin.
After the man ripped the needle out he set it down on the stainless steal table.
"Now we don't what to ruin the mystery do we Dr. Watson?"
And there's the first chapter :) I know the whole 'John gets kidnapped' is very common in our fanfiction world, but trust me all the rest of the story is pretty much original content. The title is "Not As it Seems" remember.
I probably won't be commenting on the next chapters, unless there is something I would like to address specifically. REVIEWS REALLY HELP ME CONTINUE. So please, please, please tell me what you think.
Thank you
-Moriarty-Mastermind
