Sherlock and the Case of the Captured Best Friend

A Sherlock Fan Fiction

By: Amber Warren

So guys! I started writing this because I had (another) Sherlock marathon tonight and felt like writing. Tell me whatcha' think! :)

Oh and guys, I really appreciate reviews! Alot! So please review! Who knows? It might speed up the writing process and make me upload faster? :)

Disclaimer: (Sadly) I don't own Sherlock. :'(. First off, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Sherlock Holmes and Steven Moffast and Mark Gatniss (sorry if I spelt that wrong) own the AMAZING BBC show Sherlock. I only own oringinal characters. Oh, wait. There isn't any really. Oh Well!

"John, come in here right now!"

John Watson hurriedly dashes into his flat's cluttered living room. "What, Sherlock? What's wrong?"

His flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, is lying on their couch, staring up at the ceiling with a bored expression on his face. "I need tea."

John lets out an angry huff and replies, "Really? I thought something was seriously wrong!"

"Yes, is there is something wrong!" Sherlock sits up and tightens his favorite blue bathrobe around his thin middle. "I don't have a cup of tea in my hand!"

John rolls his eyes and stalks back to the kitchen to get his obnoxious roommate some tea. "You know, you could ask nicely once in a while. Like saying 'please' and 'thank-you'? Ever heard of it?"

"You know that's not my style, John," Sherlock grins at his friend.

"Yeah, I know, I know," John grumbles and begins to make the tea.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had been living in 221B Baker Street for quite some time now. They always solved cases together. Sherlock Holmes was the smartest man in all of London…according to himself. "His massive intellect" usually made other people quite angry and annoyed with him. Sherlock's cocky, over-confident demeanor and I'm-better-and-smarter-than-everyone-here attitude made it hard for people to like him or enjoy his company. It was John who actually made Sherlock get out of the house besides to solve cases for Scotland Yard and he made him socialize with people, one of the few skills Sherlock did not possess. John was quite different than his flat mate. John was quiet but sociable and kind. Quite the opposite of Sherlock. They were very different but considered each other, their best friends. Greg Lestrade, the inspector for Scotland Yard, and Sally Donavan, a police sergeant for Scotland Yard, did not have much patience for the "consulting detective", as Sherlock tended to call himself. But they do call him in because he is the best at what he does.

John makes the tea in a couple of few short minutes. "Here," John says, placing the tea on a table beside the couch his genius companion was lounging on. "You know, you could make tea for yourself."

"But that's boring!" Sherlock rolls his vibrant blue eyes and throws up his arms in apparent disgust for the simple task. "Much too boring!"

"I bet it's more exciting wasting than laying here like a lazy bum all day," John points out.

Sherlock narrows his eyes but dismisses his friend's point. "Any new cases?"

"Not since you asked fifteen minutes ago," John sighs as he sits down in his favorite green armchair. He rubs his neck and groans. He'd been on call at the hospital and had had a rough night.

"Lots of things can happen in fifteen minutes, John!" Sherlock exclaims. "Especially with criminals! Call, call, call!"

Now, it's John's turn to roll his own light brown eyes. "Fine, just shut up! You're giving me a headache!"

Sherlock grins in victory as John takes out his mobile and punches in Scotland Yard's cell number. "Hello, Lestrade. Yeah, it's John. Anything new?"

Sherlock sits up and crouches on his legs. His hands are pressed together and to his lips, a position he always does. He's eagerly awaiting the results.

"Okay. Alright. Thank-you. Yeah, bye," John says and ends the call. "You're in luck. There's been a string of murders."

"Yes!" Sherlock shouts, seemingly at the top of his lungs, fully unaware that shouting, "Yes!" at such news makes him sound like a psychopath, not a "fully-functioning sociopath". "Come on! I want to get over there as soon as possible!"

"I'm ready but you are, but you do realize it's about fifty degrees out and you do not have the proper outfit for how cold it is," John points out.

Sherlock looks down at his outfit. He's wearing a dark blue t-shirt, his favorite robe, a pair of pajama pants, and a pair of blue plaid slippers. "Oh," he mumbles. "One minute!"

Sherlock rushes to his room and closes the door. He hurriedly sheds his clothes and pulls on a pair of dark dress pants, a blue (if you can't tell, blue is his favorite color) button-up shirt with a collar, and a pair of black dress, shoes (his most casual pair).

Sherlock runs a hand through his mess of ebony curls and shrugs. Should he use a brush? Neh. It's good enough.

Sherlock practically skips out of his room and says, "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, and I can see you clearly are, too," John laughs at Sherlock's almost child-like behavior. "C'mon, let's get going before you explode from excitement!"

The two go down the stairs and open the door before Sherlock says, "Oh, wait!"

Sherlock opens the closet door and grabs his absolute favorite black Belstaff "Milford" trench coat. "Almost forgot Now, I'm ready!"

Walking into Scotland Yard, Sherlock and John see numerous cops and police sergeants frantically running around the place. They enter Lestrade's office and Sherlock says, "Hello, Lestrade. I hear you need my help? Not that I'm surprised."

Greg Lestrade looks up from his desk which is scattered with loads of paperwork. In his hand, the inspector holds a coffee mug bearing the words, "Happy Birthday, Greggy!" on it and it's filled to the brim with black coffee no doubtedly containing quite a few shots of caffeine in it. "Yes, I get it! You're a genius! Just cut the crap for a few minutes alright? We're swamped here and I want you in and out of here before Sally notices you're he-"

Before he can finish his sentence, Sally Donavan enters the room, staring at a sheet of paper. "We found another body and now-"

The second her eyes meet with Sherlock, they narrow. "Oh, great! Freak's here!"

"Nice to see you to, Sally!" Sherlock mocks sarcastically. "What? You're not happy to see me? Because I'm thrilled to see you!"

Sally rolls her dark brown eyes and turns to Lestrade. "Really? You had to invite the Freak?"

"John called and I couldn't lie to him and tell him there was nothing going on!" Lestrade explains to the ticked off Sally.

Unlike Sherlock, Lestrade and Sally actually like John because of his kind nature. They enjoy his company even if it means having to deal with Sherlock.

"Well, that's just grand," Sally mutters. "Well, come on, you two! Let's get to the first crime scene."

"The first?" Sherlock asks, as the three exit the bulding and start walking to Sally's car. He gets slightly excited about the promise of more than one crime scene and actually feels a bit guilty about it, which is odd for him. "How many are there?"

"Yes, the first," Sally says sadly. "There's been about three bodies found and the total keeps rising. Here's my car. Hop in."

The duo opens the door of Sally's green Prius and slide into the car. Sherlock thinks to himself, Figure's the prick would have a Prius.

The newly formed trio drive down the streets of London, making turns willy-nilly it seems. They finally come to an old abandoned warehouse.

"They found a body here?" John asks incredulously.

"No, John, that's why Sally took us here. Because they didn't find a body," Sherlock says snottily. "Really, John, do you not think before you speak at all?"

John ignores Sherlock's rude comment as the three walk into the creepy old building. A shiver travels down Sherlock's spine at the place and he tightens his coat around him.

And the body sends a shiver through all of the group's spines. It's a young woman about twenty-five. She's obviously a flight attendant from the twisted bun her brown hair is in and she has obviously just come here from a hot place, most likely Florida or California, judging by her tan. She is married to a very wealthy man by the size and look of her engagement and wedding rings, so she is a flight attendant to raise her self-esteem and not just be a trophy-wife or a stay-at-home-mom, which Sherlock can't blame her for. She is either had bad eyes or is self-conscious about the color of her eyes because Sherlock detects contact lenses atop her eyes. She is wearing expensive jewelry and it looks very new so her husband probably screwed up and either cheated or some other idiotic thing like that. The jewelry is obviously an attempt to make it up to her, but it doesn't seem like she forgave him. All of that was obvious to Sherlock. Who knew how much those two idiots got from her? Not much, he guesses.

But the creepiest part of the body is that she sits with her back to a wall, with one hand resting on her lap and one cupped underneath her chin, holding up her head. Her eyes are wide-open and her lips are covered in ruby-red lipstick. A strand of brunette hair falls over her temple. Sherlock (with a gloved hand, of course) bends down and pushes aside the strand revealing a very small, very clean bullet-hole. Sherlock had started to think that maybe it was suicide with her cheating husband and meaningless life, but if she had shot herself she couldn't have cleaned up the blood around her wound, obviously, which is how the wound looks. It looks as if she was shot and then someone cleaned up the wound. Who would do that? It look as if they had tried to make it as theatrical as they could. Who would do something like this?

And then, with a sick feeling creeping its way into his stomach, Sherlock realizes he knows of someone who would do this. Someone he hadn't dealed with since a him and John had escaped a certain terrifying pool duel. And when Sally hands him an envelope and says, "We found this. It's addressed to you," his worst fears are realized.

As Sherlock opens the envelope and reads it, his heart plummets straight to the floor.

To My Dearest Sherlock,

Hello, my lovely! You didn't think you could get rid of me so easily, did you? Oh, no! No, no, no, no! There's much more to come! And I know you'll solve my case. You always do. That's what intrigues me so much about you. You always solve the case! …But would you be able to solve a case if it was about your own best friend?

Your BFF,

Moriarty

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