Chapter One: Carnage

A/N: There are two of us writing this fanfiction and it is our first one, so please be nice! :)

Disclaimer: We own this story but not Sherlock, or any of the other characters.


"It just doesn't make sense," Sherlock muttered, as he paced around the lab. "Random. Unrelated. The victims never met. Why are they being targeted? Why?"

"Let's just try and think this through logically shall we Sherlock," John said in a futile attempt to calm his friend.

"We? Let's just leave the 'logical' thinking to me, John," Sherlock replied curtly.

"Now, there is no need to get angry," John responded.

"Incorrect. If ever there was a time to get angry it's now," Sherlock snapped. "John, I am the world's only consulting detective. I've solved every case Lestrade has ever given me without fail. Until now; this is the first one that's made absolutely no sense."

"Maybe you're looking at this from the wrong angle," John suggested tentatively, which earned him a glare from Sherlock.

"Perhaps these five bodies aren't connected at all; they led completely separate lives," John continued. "They never shared any contact, the only thing they had in common was that they were all trying to give up smoking. Probably as a News Year's resolution, like a million other smokers in this country."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. "Don't be absurd John; I'm really not in the mood for your stupidity at the moment. Of course they are connected. The cause of death is too specific, these people have been targeted. I just don't know why."

"What if someone in the factory accidentally increased the nicotine concentration in the patches?" John offered.

"Not possible John. The quality control in these places is scrupulous, and besides, the patches were all from different batches."

"Oh right, yeah of course," he said as his gaze dropped to the ground.

"Each and every one of them died of an overdose of nicotine. This was unique. The murderer clearly wanted attention. But why did he kill these people specifically?" Sherlock drummed his fingers against the table, before letting out a sudden cry of exasperation and throwing his arms in the air like a child. His left hand collided with a microscope sitting dangerously close to the edge of the worktop, and sent it crashing onto the floor, hitting John's foot on the way down.

Sherlock ignored John's yelp of pain and rushed to save the blood sample he had been analysing, but he was too late as the slide had smashed.

He let out a frustrated sigh, and hastily pulled out his phone to call Molly. Meanwhile John was attempting to clean up his bleeding foot and cursing Sherlock for his insensitivity.

"Do stop making a fuss John, I need to talk to Molly," Sherlock chastised.

"To ask for bandages for my foot I hope? There's got to be a first aid kit somewhere in this lab!" John said looking around frantically. "Sherlock, do you know where it would be?"


The security guard observed his target struggling to balance three cups of piping hot coffee whilst pressing the button to call the lift. He studied the picture in his hand. 'That's her,' he whispered to himself, and began inputting the code that he had been given by that strange man who had offered him so much money to carry this out. He finished the code hastily, and turned to his colleague behind him. "What are you laughing at Kenneth?" he asked, intrigued.

"Come over here, you have to watch this video!" Kenneth chuckled. The guard went over, averting his attention from the security camera image that showed his target entering the lift.


Molly stood by the entrance to the lift, attempting to push the button with her elbow as so not to spill the coffee Sherlock had demanded she bring him. The lift doors opened and she greeted Stamford as he got out. She stepped inside and as the doors began to close her phone started to ring. Molly sighed as she realised it was impossible for her to reach her phone. Stamford stopped and held the doors open, kindly offering to hold the coffees while she answered.

"Oh hi Sherlock, is everything OK?"

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock greeted. "I'm going to need you to pop back to the morgue and fetch me another blood sample from victim number four."

"Ask her for bandages," John interjected, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"In fact get more blood samples from all of the victims as there are several more tests I could run on them," he asked.

"But that would mean going all the way downstairs. I mean…not that I mind, it's just your coffee would get cold," Molly tried to explain, while Stamford waited patiently against the open lift doors.

"I don't care about the coffee Molly, just bring the blood!" Sherlock said shortly, growing too frustrated to keep speaking in his persuasive tone that he knew could work wonders on Molly.

"Oh, ok then," she said sounding obviously disappointed. "What shall I do with it then? I mean…shall I just pour it down the sink. Or maybe I could reheat it for you…you know, if you like."

"Can I help Molly?" Stamford asked recognising the tone of distress in Molly's voice.

"Oh, it's just Sherlock, he wants me to get him some blood samples, but I don't know what to with this coffee," Molly explained, whilst holding a hand over the speaker of her phone.

"I don't mind taking them up to your lab for you," Stamford offered.

"Oh no, I didn't mean… it's fine, I can manage…" Molly stuttered, blushing.

"No Molly, I insist," he said stepping back into the lift and ushering her out. "Go and get your samples, I'll take care of the coffee."

"Oh Ok," Molly accepted, not having time to protest. She smiled at Stamford as the lift doors closed and then resumed her conversation with Sherlock.

"Molly, are you still there? I said I don't care about the damn coffee," Sherlock shouted down the receiver, shocking Molly as she returned the phone to her ear.

"Oh, yes. I'm…um I'm here Sherlock. I'm sorry…I was just talking to…" Molly began to explain before Sherlock interrupted her.

"At this moment in time I really cannot stomach your stammering so if we could just end this conversation now, you can go and get me those samples and I can get on," he said.

John then let out a wail of pain as he pulled a particularly large shard of glass from his toe, which Molly heard clearly on the other end of the phone.

"Oh My Gosh! Was that you Sherlock? Are you ok?" she worried, picturing Sherlock in pain.

"No, it was John. He's overreacting like the drama queen he is. However I am far from ok because I can't hear you walking in the direction of the morgue, so won't you get a move on," Sherlock hissed.

"Ok, I'm leaving now, but is John alright?"

"Yes, yes he's fine; he's just making fuss because I'm not paying him enough attention."

"And because you threw a tantrum and a microscope fell on my foot," John called out in the background, to which Molly reacted with a horrified gasp.

"Oh My God! Poor John, shall I fetch some bandages or something?" Molly asked.

"No. Just. Get. Me. The. Samples," Sherlock ordered before abruptly hanging up and slamming his phone onto the work surface.

"So is she going to get me a first aid kit or something then?" John asked hopefully.

Sherlock did not respond; instead he stormed over to the fume cupboard and wedged his head into the gap.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John asked confused.

"Attempting to gas myself so I don't have to listen to your whining for a moment longer," he retorted whilst inhaling from a bottle of clear liquid deeply, which John noted had a toxic sign on it.

John sighed and then hopped across the lab to where the fume cupboard stood and began tugging Sherlock's arm to pull him away. However, in doing so, his injured foot hit the floor, causing John to jolt back in pain, taking Sherlock with him so his head hit the glass with an audible thud. The look of pure anger in Sherlock's eyes caused John to retreat away from him.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry," John began to apologise whilst stifling a laugh. Sherlock of course noticed this and was about to launch a particularly scathing verbal attack on John but was interrupted by a bumbling Molly who then stumbled through the door, arms full of various medical supplies.

"I didn't know what the injury was like exactly so I just brought everything. I hope you don't mind…I'm sure there's something here that will help."

"Samples?" Sherlock requested impatiently, immediately forgetting about his sore head and refocusing on the task in hand.

"Oh, yeah they're here somewhere…I think... I mean I definitely picked them up. They're in my pocket I think," Molly said as she reached for them, completely forgetting that her arms were full of bandages, which tumbled to the floor. "Oh no!" she cried. "I'm such a klutz! I better pick these up so we can get you sorted, John."

Unable to bare her idiotic, time-wasting behaviour anymore, Sherlock thrust his hand into the pocket of her lab coat to extract the bottles of blood, brushing her thigh as he did so. Molly's face instantly blushed red in response to his touch and she began mumbling inconspicuously.

John's foot was throbbing and he didn't want to hassle Molly in her state of embarrassment, so he began trying to pick some of the bandages from off floor but he was unsteady on his one foot and consequently plunged forward towards Molly, so that they both fell to the ground, John's face landing straight onto her chest.

Instead of going over to help the pair of them, Sherlock merely glanced up from the samples briefly to remark: "Well John, it's a shame you couldn't have chosen someone a little more voluptuous to cushion your fall."

Molly's eyes glazed over in response to his cruel words. She pushed John off of her, then hurriedly stood up and rushed out of the room.

Two minutes later, after rolling around on the floor, John eventually managed to stand up and began hobbling towards the door after Molly, though when he finally reached the exit, she suddenly appeared in front of him.

"The lift wouldn't come," she mumbled. "And I couldn't face walking down nine flights of stairs."

Her sudden appearance in the doorway caused John to stumble backwards in surprise. He would have fallen again if weren't for Sherlock, who quickly caught him from behind.

"Thanks Sherlock," John said gratefully. "You do care after all then."

"No, I do not care for your idiotic display. However I couldn't bear to watch another scene of carnage that could easily have been taken straight from a Carry On film," Sherlock bit back.

"Oh, right I see, well thanks anyway," he murmured.


Sherlock, fixated on the case that was still troubling him, ended up staying in the lab for the whole night, analysing the samples over and over again, frequently visiting his mind palace as he did so. John and Molly dutifully remained with him; John due to the fact that he couldn't walk without assistance even after Molly had finally bandaged up his foot for him, and Molly because she could never resist Sherlock when he asked for her help, which he required often that evening.

By the morning, Sherlock had finally had his 'eureka' moment when he concluded, "There is no connection. I have explored every possible option and it is clear that there is no link between the victims."

John listened to Sherlock's explanation and repressed to the urge to comment 'I told you so'.

"The killer just killed to kill. It was all just for attention, most probably my attention. I think I know exactly who's done this…." Sherlock trailed off before suddenly commanding: "Right John, let's go home."

John looked up in surprise and asked: "Who did it then? Don't you want to catch them?"

"Never you mind John. And I will, when the time is right," Sherlock explained elusively as ever, before heading towards the exit.

Sherlock hurried out of the lab and pressed the button for the lift, leaving Molly to assist John out the room. By the time the two of them finally reached the corridor, the lift still hadn't arrived and Sherlock quickly grew impatient with it; repeatedly punching the button.

"Oh will it still not come?" Molly asked, wishing she hadn't as soon as the words escaped from her mouth.

"No Molly, I'm just aggressively pressing this button to make a tune," he spat out sarcastically. After a minute more of waiting, Sherlock made a decision. "Well, it's clearly broken so we'll have to take this stairs," and began walking away but then halted when he realised John wasn't in tow.

"Sherlock, my foot," John said, pointing down at his injured limb.

"What about it?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think I can quite manage nine flights of stairs," he explained, which evoked a sigh from Sherlock.

He then turned to Molly and said: "Well, what are you waiting for? Call the maintenance department so we can get out of here."

"Oh. Oh Right. Of course. Um yeah…I'll do that right away," Molly stuttered apologetically and then reached for her phone before remembering that she was holding John up.

"Um Sherlock," she began.

"What Molly?"

"Could you maybe let John hold onto you for a moment?"

Sherlock let out another deep sigh but obliged nonetheless and Molly proceeded to dial the number for maintenance.

30 minutes later-during which time, John had fallen over once more, Sherlock had punched a wall and then proceeded to reduce Molly to tears-a maintenance worker finally arrived at the scene, immediately sensing tension within the group.

Sherlock didn't bother with pleasantries but instead just pointed at the lift and ordered: "Fix it!"

The worker shot him an angry glance but proceeded with the job anyway, and the four of them remained silent as he worked. Eventually, the man was able to ply the doors open to reveal a sight that made Sherlock's eyes suddenly light up with delight; for it was a scene of a crime. He studied the corpse that lay slumped on the lift floor littered with three polystyrene coffee cups.

"A new case!" he exclaimed excitedly.