A/N: This is the first chapter of my first Sherlock fan fiction (actually it's basically my first ever fan fiction). I'll try to update the story often, if it's any good. If you like it (or if you don't) please leave comments and suggestions!
"John, we've got a case!" Sherlock boomed as his flatmate entered the cluttered apartment. The tall "consulting detective" nearly leapt out of his chair; this was the first worthwhile case in weeks.
Nearly running into John on his way out of 221 B Baker Street, Sherlock shouted to his landlady, "There's finally a murder! It's Christmas, Mrs. Hudson!"
...
"What have we got, Anderson?" asked John, as the three men surrounded the corpse laying on the floor of a dusty warehouse on the outskirts of London.
"30 year old woman. No vehicle outside, so we're not sure how she got here; she's from Basingstoke. And according to her driver's license -"
"Come on! You must be an idiot to provide such shallow information."
"Have you got any better?"
John put his head in his hands, almost embarrassed by Anderson's ridiculous question.
"My goodness, Anderson! Use your head for once! You must have a higher IQ than that of a child. Or perhaps I spoke too soon."
"So what have you got, oh great one?" Anderson questioned sarcastically.
"Well, for one thing, look at her body. No wounds."
"Clearly."
"But look at the position of her arms and legs. She wasn't alone when she died. Somebody moved her body. And-" Sherlock suddenly stopped speaking.
"Well, what is it?" the forensic detective said impatiently.
"Oh," the dark haired man breathed as he swiftly walked away from the crime scene. John quickly followed, shooting the third man a look of perplexity.
"Where are you two going? Sherlock!" Anderson shouted after the pair, but they did not break their stride.
...
"Sherlock, where are we going?"
"Oh, John, people can be so naive. Luckily, I'm hardly human," Sherlock smirked as the two men piled into a taxi.