I was gonna do a rape Fanfic or a sick fic and hey, heads won, rape it is. I don't own Sherlock or any other mentioned characters; they belong to the amazing Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, Mark Gatiss , and Lord high Steven Moffat.
Sherlock lay back on the sofa, John was nearby, blogging. He sighed at his friend. Not one case in six days, poor bastard. He had four nicotine patches, probably just enough to keep him sane.
"John, must you think so loud?" Said Sherlock, breaking the silence.
"Sorry. Look, Sherlock, it's been a while, have you checked the site?"
"Not a damn thing. Oh God, this is infuriating! So BORED!"
As he said this, John's phone buzzed.
"What does Sarah want now?" He asked gruffly. John didn't bother to ask how he knew.
"Might see her soon. Will you be ok?"
"Hmm." He replied, clearly not caring. John gave a half smile. He texted back saying he would be there in about ten minutes.
"Something ought to turn up, a serial killer perhaps." He said to the now standing Sherlock who was furiously playing the violin. Then he stopped, looking out of the window.
"I think one just has." He said. John walked over to the window where a flustered Lestrade was walking from his police cruiser to the door. A satisfied grin crept upon Sherlock's face as he went to answer the door.
"John, get your coat, let's go."
"Wha-no! I need to see Sarah!"
"Oh, you can see her any day, come on!" John sighed and got out his phone:
Sorry, gonna have to cancel, family emergency.
JW xxx
Technically he wasn't lying, Sherlock counted as family. Sort of. Sherlock was downstairs and had opened the door before Lestrade could even knock.
"Three, all raped and strangled, no found connection. Gotta be a seven at least, surely." Said Lestrade before Sherlock could ask.
"Six and a half. Nonetheless, seeing as you have kept me deprived from any cases over the past few days I shall accept. I'll follow behind." He said walking past him and hailing a nearby cab. John gave a look of apology and Lestrade returned it with a look of "gotten used to it by now."
They arrived to the scene, greeted by the unwelcome faces of Anderson and Donavon. Sherlock didn't care; his mind had been incredibly lazy and needed to be put to work again. He scanned the walls. Loose nails, pictures used to hang here, ripped down by the look of the bends. Didn't want them up there. Divorced then, unhappily, partner was cheating. He looked over to the body.
"Name?" He asked
"Rebecca Thompson. This was her home address if you were wondering."
Sherlock observed the body. Late thirties, Hair was cut, quite recently. Trying to get over the stress of the divorce? Likely. Marks around the ring finger, they were married. Mark is red, the ring was there quite a while, took some effort to rip off. Wrists, signs of cutting. Depression highly likely. He took out her phone. Photos, hardly any without a man, her husband, didn't get round to deleting them. Let's see, Facebook. Last status update:
I hate my life, I don't deserve this. I just want to die!
Speak of the devil.
"Well, got anything?" Asked Lestrade.
"Victim was in her late thirties, was in a state of depression after her husband left her, and turned to self-harm. Posted on Facebook that she wanted to die."
"Oh how do you know that?" Said an annoyed Anderson.
"Shut up Anderson, you're a bad influence on the apprentices. It's clear by her walls, phone and the obvious cuts on her wrist that she was depressed. Judging by her hands, her husband left her, probably after cheating. She wanted to die, there are signs."
"Probably didn't figure she would go to such a brutal end." Muttered John.
"Ok and the murderer?" Asked Lestrade. Sherlock walked over to the window, there was a broken bottle and a small amount of blood. She had tried to ward of her attacker, and had managed to strike him, but he overpowered her.
"He's careless, forgot to clear the evidence. Send it the labs."
"How do you know it's not hers?" Asked Anderson. Sherlock turned with a look of annoyance.
"Do you see a wound anywhere, Mr Chief of Forensics?" John suppressed a giggle. It was a crime scene, he couldn't.
"Lestrade, if you wouldn't mind, the other two houses?"
"Of course, this way, follow the car."
He sat in his chair facing away from the door, fingers drumming on the table. He heard the door open and stopped.
"You're back." He said, emotionlessly.
"Yes sir. Its Sherlock, he's onto us."
"Of course he is. I expected no less from him."
"What do we do?"
"We wait."
The man at the door stood aghast.
"Wait? This is Sherlock Holmes, what are we waiting for?"
"What he waits for on ever case." He now turned to face the man. "For him to make a mistake."
"He doesn't make mistakes."
"Then we shall make one for him. A good nudge in the right direction never hurt anyone. One in the wrong direction however, well that's different. The virgin will soon be on his knees. You may go now."
"Ok. Goodbye Mr Moriarty."
"Mr Anderson." Said Moriarty in dismissal.
Sherlock was on full thinking mode. He had seen the other two, a morbidly obese man, clearly a comfort eater due to his alcoholic mother, and a bullied teenager who had dyslexia. Each had posted in a form of social network that they wanted to die. And their wishes had rung true. He suddenly had an idea. He pulled up his laptop and typed in the names of the victims on Facebook. They hadn't blocked their friends list, clumsy. He searched all three, searching desperately for a mutual friend.
John watched from the kitchen, always fascinated by his friend. He had tried to get him to eat something, but he should know by now that he never eats on a case. Sherlock continued to scroll, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen. And then he stopped, staring, and put his hands to his face, closing his eyes.
"Sherlock, Sherlock what have you found?" He asked, concerned.
"These people were unrelated, in every way possible. They never met. But they knew, or thought they knew, one person, one person who could track their every move over a website as simple as Facebook."
"Who?" he asked coming over, and he froze when he saw the profile he had brought up. The name was Rich Brook, but the profile picture was Jim Moriarty.
Bit shorter than I would of liked, but I'll try and make the next one longer. Reviews very much welcome