There are certain things that Sherlock knew and had always known to be true. Criminals always had flaws, common people overlooked these flaws, and he, the great consulting detective, lived to find them. But it was in this method of reasoning that Sherlock would come to overlook his own shortcomings. For the universe didn't abide by Sherlock's rules and it sure as hell wasn't starting now.


The 1st of June, 2014

With a huff, John Watson stepped out of 221b and yanked his mobile from his trouser pocket. He'd gone into the day with high hopes, only to have them crushed by his disgruntled best friend.

"Hi, it's John," he spoke into his mobile, clearly miffed, "he's not coming."

The recently wedded, father-to-be held his hand out for a cab while Lestrade prattled away on the other side of the line.

"He understands that it would be helpful to arrive today, but he says it won't happen."

A cab went by, despite John's efforts.

"He says he's busy."

And another.

"I don't know what with! Busy avoiding us for as long as possible."

Finally one slowed down.

"He's been off lately… more than usual, yes. Ever since my wedding."

"Kings Cross, please," John spoke to the cabbie. He set the phone down on the roof of the car, Lestrade's response still loud and clear, and tossed his duffle inside the car.

"God knows not even Sherlock Holmes could understand the inner workings of his own mind," he continued once inside. He nodded to himself a couple of times, smiling at the detective's ramblings, before ending the call. "I'm on my way now. I'll see you shortly."

Following his arrival at the station, John spotted Lestrade and Anderson amidst the crowd of bumbling travelers. Within a few paces, they saw him as well, and a wash of relief spread over both of their faces.

"Not waiting long I hope." John gave both of them a forced smile.

Their faces soured.

"Run out of work related topics then, eh?" John forced a playful smile.

"We're fine," Lestrade reassured him. "We're actually just waiting on Molly now. She said she'd be on her way after dropping that cat of hers off with a friend."

John nodded and swayed back and forth from one foot to the other.

"I wouldn't think she'd want to come. Especially with her-" Anderson was cut off.

"Hi guys," the petite brunette greeted the three, carefully balancing two bags and a lab kit in one arm.

"Didn't see you there behind all of this." Lestrade motioned to her pile of belongings. "Need any help?"

She shook her head adamantly. From beneath her cardigan, she produced her ticket and motioned them forward, unsure of how long she could keep upright.

"Sherlock not coming?" she asked once boarded.

The three men shot each other cautious glances before all eyes landed on John.

"He's busy. He'll be arriving later." John avoided eye contact with Molly and released a slow and uneasy breath.

"Course." Molly's lips creased and she looked away, displaying a terse smile.

A dreadfully long stretch of silence enveloped their car before John finally spoke up.

"What is it we're looking for in Edinburgh then?"

Lestrade leaned forward, hands clasped. "Turns out our victim worked for a lab in Edinburgh. We have reason to believe that it could have been a co-worker who poisoned him first."

John's mind made a leap. "A lab? Could the lethal pathogen found in his system, have originated from that lab?"

"We think so, yes."

'That's why I'm here," Molly piped up a little too enthusiastically.

Lestrade chuckled. "With your whole lab too, eh?"

She turned away, not sensing the joke. "You can never be too prepared," she muttered quietly.

"We are going talk to the lab's manager tomorrow," Lestrade went on, "to see if we can match cause of death."

"And if we find anything?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Then we'll go from there."

"I'm leaving now, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock called out to his landlady on the first floor landing.

The older lady poked her head out of her flat with scrunched brows.

"It's almost 8'oclock at night," she fretted." Stay in, you can leave tomorrow."

He shook his head with frustration. "I'm needed in Edinburgh by morning."

"Be careful then." She raised her hand to her cheek and sighed. "Don't accept a ride from someone you don't know."

"I am taking a cab to the station, though," he replied, breaking the news to her upfront. He passed her a slip of paper. "I'll be fine. John and Lestrade, and…" He paused, eyes narrowing. "Anderson, will be there once I arrive. If you need anything of importance, you can call." He pointed to the slip folded elegantly in her hand.

She nodded.

"I'll see you in a couple days. Goodnight Mrs. Hudson."

She didn't reply, but pressed her hand to her chin and downcast her eyes to the slip. The address of a hotel in messy writing was penciled across the top.

"The others are staying there. I should be returning tomorrow night."

The landlady waved a quick goodbye and stepped back into her flat as the front door clicked shut.

The 2nd of June, 2014

Ding

A pause.

Ding

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Edinburgh. We will soon be arriving at the Edinburgh Waverly station. Please ensure you take all your belongings with you as you disembark the train."

Sherlock woke slowly. His eyes felt heavy and he began to feel shooting pains down his neck. He almost immediately regretted his decision to fall asleep in the very upright seat of his first class car. Luxury comfort? Definitely not.

Where once a darkened view was out the window beside him now showed endless fields of greens and yellows in early daylight. Small farmhouses dotted the countryside, passing by like brown smudges on a flipbook and long dirt roads lay between them, appearing quite short despite stretching for miles. A thud against the rail jarred his reverie and he turned to the aisle of the car.

A man in his late forties dressed from head to toe in a horribly blue suit smiled Sherlock's way.

"Morning," he said cheerfully.

Sherlock didn't respond, but instead sized the man up with a downturned grimace. His hair was untrimmed, combed to the side to show his eyes, and he smelled like the inside of an old, untouched closet, piled up with boxes and clothes long forgotten.

"Where are you headed?"

Sherlock ignored his question, still upset with the man's presence. "When did you get here?"

The man tilted his head, probably regretting his friendliness, but answered the grumpy consulting detective regardless. "Newcastle stop."

"Oh, yes. That accent. Should have expected." He could hear John's disapproving tut in his ear, but pushed it away.

The outskirts of the city slowly crept towards them and the train's fast pace slowed. A never-ending cluster of buildings and structures stretched beside the train cars before the whole inside darkened, enveloped by the station.

"Edinburgh Waverly station," an automated voice reverberated over the speakers.

With a sudden lurch, the train came to a stop.

"That's odd."

Sherlock turned to see the man's attention focused out the opposite window towards the platform. He looked as if he would continue to explain whatever mundane occurrence fascinated the businessman, when Sherlock stood, the train barely at a halt, and pushed past him. From the bin above, Sherlock grabbed his travel bag, and swiftly made his exit through the growing mass of passengers.

Sherlock was early, or at least by his standards. Out on the street, Sherlock made his way through the crowds of people on their way to work and around town. There was one thing that Sherlock needed more than anything else at that moment: coffee.

He reached a hand back to massage his neck, when he spotted a small café a block down from the station. With a heightened sense of urgency, Sherlock walked briskly to the corner to cross, when a lady with two toddlers in a stroller crashed into his shin.

With a rather effeminate shriek, Sherlock turned to the culprit, disgruntled.

"Are you kidding me?" the lady behind the kids said –her own coffee spilling down her blouse.

Sherlock looked once down at the set of babbling kids and back up at the fuming mother, before taking off across the street and over to the coffee shop.

Inside, the small shop was bustling. A line at least ten people long, began at the counter before weaving around a cluster of chairs and tables, and finally ending beside the washroom.

With another roll of his eyes, Sherlock padded towards the end. After stepping out of the way three times to let people into the washroom, the line was finally moving up.

"How long does it take to order coffee?" he asked under his breath.

A blonde lady with short hair and a coffee button attached to her uniform smiled up at Sherlock when he reached the front.

"What can I get for you sir?"

"Just regular black coffee, please." He felt proud of himself for adding a tad bit of politeness to his request.

"We have three roasts to choose from," the lady went on. "Colombian, Winter Spice, and our house blend."

"Just a regular coffee."

"Our house then?"

Her perkiness was driving Sherlock up the wall.

"Sounds just peachy." Sherlock flashed her his trademark sociopathic smile before his face turned sour and he slid over a few notes.

"And who might this drink be for?" She flashed him another persistent smile.

"John," he supplied, as if tricking her made any difference.

"Okay, John. Let me guess, you aren't from here, are you?"

Sherlock shook his head and glanced down at the clock on his phone. He was going to be late.

"Are you visiting for business or pleasure?" She winked at him.

Sherlock felt a bit of the bagel he'd eaten on the train coming back up. "Business."

"Too bad," she replied, pouting.

"You know what actually, I'm here for pleasure." Sherlock leaned across the counter. "In less than five minutes, I'll be on my way to the lab of a murder victim that was poisoned with a lethal pathogen. I get to interrogate the site manager and employees to evaluate whether they're capable of killing a human being. And you know what?"

The lady shook her head, eyes dark and deep like the inside of a coffee cup.

"It's all for pleasure."

Sherlock grinned down at her, leaned back to his side of the counter, and took the change from her outstretched hands.

"Thanks for the coffee," he finished, grabbing the cup of dark liquid from the other barista beside her and heading for the door.

Opening the door to the BioTech lab was like stepping into Barts; the smells, the clean surfaces and Molly. Molly… what was she doing here?

Sherlock ignored the exasperated glance John sent him and the sarcastic remarks on tardiness from Lestrade. He was focused solely on the out of her lab coat pathologist, hiding behind charts on the other side of the room.

"Didn't know you were coming on this little field trip."

"Didn't know if you were going to bother showing up," she bit back in retort.

"Is this," Lestrade gestured to Sherlock and Molly, "why he is so off right now?"

John shrugged.

"How's Tom?"

Molly gave him a drop-dead stare, before retuning to the sheet of paperwork in her hands.

His eyes narrowed, before retreating back towards the other group.

"She's going to look around the lab a bit while we talk to the manager." Lestrade tried to catch Sherlock's eyes, but they kept wandering back to Molly. "Shall we go?"

The other two nodded calmly, while Sherlock sneered to himself and followed suit.

Sherlock barely saw Molly the rest of the morning. By lunch, she split off from the group to head back to the hotel while the others made their way to the victim's mother's house.

The house was situated in an older neighbourhood with colour-clashing townhouses that were practically built on top of each other. Football banners displayed resident affiliations in front room windows and side alleys housed rubbish forgotten or simply ignored by passing dustbin lorries. A new, blue civic sat parked on the street in front of the two story house and the four men exited from a cab just behind it.

"Best behaviour," Lestrade told Sherlock with a smirk.

Sherlock looked away in contempt.

The pathway up to the house was recently renovated, as well as the front entryway's siding and windows. A woman in her late 60s answered the door to the four men –her fading red hair tied up in a tight bun on her head.

"You must be from NSY?" She stepped back to let them in.

"I'm DI Lestrade and these are my… colleagues," he finished with furrowed brow.

Sherlock scoffed and stepped by the lady, into her foyer.

"Did the vict- Scott. Did Scott live with you?" Sherlock looked around noting the messy living room and smart TV hanging from the wall at the back.

The woman shook her head. "No, he lived alone. About 20km from here actually."

Lestrade shot Sherlock a warning look. Best behaviour, rang through his ears.

The detective inspector ran through his normal brigade of questions and condolences, while Sherlock behaved himself, sitting on the settee in the corner. It looked as if he was coming to the end, when Sherlock jumped in, interrupting one of the lady's many childhood stories.

"Did you win the lottery? Maybe inherit a large sum of money from a deceased family member?"

"Sorry?" the lady shifted her attention to Sherlock.

"Ignore him," Lestrade said.

The lady glanced at the dark oak clock behind them and stood. "I'm sorry, but I have errands to do before the shops close. You can come back tomorrow if you'd like."

"I think we're done her ma'am. Thank you for your time." Lestrade pulled Sherlock up by the wrist and guided him towards the door.

"Sorry about that," John added in on his way out –his face tinted red like a parent embarrassed of his children.

Sometimes Sherlock could forget that the others interacted outside of work. It always seemed impractical and unnecessary, but then again, people did silly things. A different cab brought the four of them back to the hotel and as they neared the elevators, Lestrade invited the group for supper and drinks at the hotel's restaurant.

John agreed promptly, his stomach rumbling almost on cue. Anderson shrugged and said "why not," shortly after. Lestrade had his phone out to call Molly, when the others' eyes landed on Sherlock.

"I don't eat when I'm on a case," he informed them matter-of-factly.

"I-" Anderson was quickly cut off.

"Key, John. I'll need the key to your room."

John dug into his pocket and pulled out the plastic card. With little more than a nod to the others Sherlock left the men for the elevators.

"Where's he going?" Sherlock caught Anderson utter.

"His mind palace to sulk," Lestrade stepped in.

Sherlock turned away from them and jammed the up button on the elevator panel. Glad I booked my ticket back to London tonight, he thought bitterly.


Ding

A pause.

Ding

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Edinburgh. We will soon be arriving at the Edinburgh Waverly station. Please ensure you take all your belongings with you as you disembark the train."

Sherlock jerked forward in his seat. His neck pulled him back sharply, before turning towards the window in his train car. Rows of yellowing green fields stretched out across the landscape before him.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and withdrew his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up quickly, flashing the time and date: 7:36 am. June 2nd.

"No. No," he repeated adamantly to himself. This isn't right.

He turned towards the aisle to see the cheery man from the day before in his horrid blue business suit.

"Morning."

"No!" Sherlock rose abruptly and pushed himself into the aisle.

Rows of passengers looked up in alarm as the groggy man made his way to the car's vestibule. A train official stood waiting by the door preparing for arrival.

"We're almost in Edinburgh," he told Sherlock in a strong Scottish accent. "If you could take your seat and wait till the train comes to a stop, please."

Sherlock pushed onward, into the final car and leaned over a set of empty seats. Out the window he saw Waverly station coming into view and cursed.

"Excuse me." He leaned forward, speaking to the lady ahead of him. "What day is it?"

She looked back at him confused. "June 2nd. You took the overnight train, sir."

"I know I did. I took it yesterday!"

She shrugged and went back to the phone in her lap. Tired of this nonsense, Sherlock stalked back to his car, where the passengers there were just gathering up their belongings. The businessman smiled Sherlock's direction when he returned.

"Long trip isn't it?"

Sherlock breathed in and out slowly.

"Did you ride this train yesterday?" Sherlock asked, gripping the seat in front of the man.

The man shook his head just in time for the train to lurch forward a bit and come to a stop. "I don't think so." He pondered it for a moment, before a site out the window behind Sherlock caught his attention. "That's odd."

"I don't have time for this." Sherlock opened the bin above him and grabbed his travel bag. With a sudden swoosh, he was headed down the car and out onto the platform below.