Prologue: The Blue Problem, Part I
Sherlock stretched his hand towards the kitchen, eyes fixed on his computer. A thin stream of water splashed from the sink to hover over Sherlock's outstretched palm. He sipped the water absently, and John rolled his eyes.
"You couldn't just get up and get a glass of water?"
"Clearly not," Sherlock drawled. "The kitchen is all the way over there."
John shrugged. "You could've asked me. I was going in there for some tea." With a grunt, John got up from his comfy chair and went into the kitchen. He put on the kettle and started rummaging around in the cabinets for some biscuits. "You're getting lazier every day."
Sherlock sat up straighter and turned around to look at John, setting the computer down on the end table. "Me? Lazy? John, have you even seen the amount of casework I've been doing? Piles and piles..." Sherlock trailed off, muttering to himself. He slumped into his chair and blue coat until he was practically buried in them both.
"Phone for you, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs.
Sherlock sent the water back into the kitchen with a hasty flick of his wrist and shouted back, "Well, bring it up, then!"
"No need to be so rude, I'm just coming upstairs now..." Mrs. Hudson trailed off, and John could hear her plodding up the steps from the apartment below. "Here you are, dear."
Sherlock grabbed the phone and asked, "Yes?" without another word to Mrs. Hudson. "Not now, Lestrade, I'm busy with another case–" Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes widened. "Say that again," he said, getting up from the chair and fixing his coat. "I'll be over there shortly."
He pulled on his scarf and demanded, "Well, John, are you coming?"
"Yes, yes..." John shot a lingering glance back at the teapot and started for the door.
Sherlock wordlessly hung up the phone and pressed it into Mrs. Hudson's arms. "The game is on, John."
"What game is it, exactly?" John asked as he trudged down the stairs.
"I'll tell you in the cab." Sherlock opened the front door and stepped into the street, waving his arm.
"Good luck on your new case, dears!" Mrs. Hudson called from the door before closing it behind them.
Sherlock shooed John into the cab and shot one look at the cabbie before saying, "There's been a murder down in Bexley."
"Ah, right." John nodded to himself.
"Mr. Andrew Meyers, a noted geneticist, was found in a river a quarter mile from his car, which was parked in a back alley and filled with water." Sherlock gazed out the window at the city zooming by.
John stared at Sherlock. "So... why did Lestrade call you in?"
The consulting detective turned his distant gaze on John. "They think the murderer was a water elemental."
"A...?" John's mouth fell open, but he closed it quickly. "Are there any suspects?"
"I'll know when I get there," Sherlock replied coolly.
"Of course you will."
By the Thames, John wished he'd brought his jumper. The cool autumn breeze swept up the river and through the streets of London, tugging at his clothes. He was almost–almost–tempted to use his powers then, to call up just a few sparks of fire, but he couldn't, especially not in the middle of London.
Sherlock and Lestrade both knelt by the body. "John, care to make any observations?" Sherlock inquired.
Lestrade sighed. "Why not? I can't possibly get in any more trouble than from letting you into the crime scene. Why not him too?"
Ignoring Lestrade, John trudged over and stared at the sand-crusted body. "He's a scientist, isn't he? At–"
"Blakeford Labs," Sherlock interjected. "It says so on his nametag."
"Thanks, Sherlock," John said only half-sarcastically. "Isn't that a–"
"Genetics lab," the detective interrupted again. "It's just a few minutes away from here."
John huffed, "Why am I even saying anything? Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."
"On the contrary, John. Do continue." Sherlock walked around to John's side of the corpse. "What do you see?"
"Well..." John bent over the body to observe it closer. "Mmm. Drowned, definitely."
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock smiled, clearly amused. Lestrade just rolled his eyes.
John obliged his friend and continued, trying to think like Sherlock. It was harder than it sounded. "Only a couple hours ago, so... he was murdered around when he got out of work, at five. Seeing as it's seven now."
"Yes, clearly. So whoever killed him knows where he works, when he gets out, how he comes home–as his car was found halfway between his home and the lab–and the perfect spot to commit murder. Close to the river, and far from anywhere useful." Sherlock pulled the collar of his coat up, and John suppressed an urge to groan. Again with the coat collar.
The detective continued on, oblivious. "I'll have to see the car now. I've learned all I can from here."
"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked. "Because after this, I'm giving him to Molly."
"Yes, yes, quite sure," Sherlock replied, waving one hand carelessly at the inspector as he strode down the street.
John had to jog to catch up. "And you know where the car is, then?"
"Of course." Sherlock flagged down another cab. "I expect Donovan and Anderson will be there. Unfortunately. I can only hope I get there before they make a mess of things."
They rode in silence to the other crime scene, with Sherlock completely absorbed in thought. John wondered exactly what was running through his friend's mind. Usually, it was some impossible trail of clues that only Sherlock could have put together. Usually, it was something utterly brilliant.
It would have surprised them both to learn it was "Material Girl" by Madonna.
"That car is... full of water," John said at last, staring at the small 2005 Corolla sitting in the road.
"Yes it is," Sherlock murmured, pacing around the car. "Not a single drop on the outside."
"How do you suppose it got in there? How do you suppose it's staying in there?" John asked, peering into the murky car window. Not a single bubble disturbed the water filling the car, and everything around the car was perfectly dry.
Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. "A water elemental, obviously. No one else could've done it. There's no water seeping through the cracks, which means this elemental is powerful. They'd have to exert their powers over this water for a long time, probably from a distance..."
"And I suppose you're some kind of expert?" Anderson asked skeptically.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Sherlock asked sharply. "Your presence makes it extremely hard for me to concentrate."
Anderson raised one eyebrow. "We know everything we possibly can know based off this car, and there isn't anything you can tell us that we don't already—"
"Anderson, drive Donovan back to Scotland Yard, why don't you? Maybe then I'll actually be able to think." Sherlock turned his back on Anderson.
"That might work when Inspector Lestrade is here—" Donovan began.
"—Which he is," Lestrade interjected, slamming his car door shut. "You to go back to the station. I'll join you in a bit."
The two left sullenly, and John was rather glad to see them go.
Sherlock flicked his fingers at the car after Donovan and Anderson were out of view, and the car window rolled down. John supposed that Sherlock had used the water inside the car to control the window.
The rest of the water stayed in the car obediently as Sherlock reached into it. "Aha!" he cried triumphantly.
"What is it?" Lestrade asked, staring wide-eyed at Sherlock. The usually indifferent inspector had always been impressed by Sherlock's powers over water, and that never failed to amuse John.
"A note." Sherlock rolled the window back up, a piece of paper clenched in one hand. "It was stuck between the passenger's seat and the center console. Clearly our murdered man shoved it there without thinking, judging by the crumple patterns."
The paper was perfectly dry, and the ink hadn't run, even though the note had been in the water.
"Well, what does it say?" Lestrade demanded impatiently.
"Thanks for everything," Sherlock read aloud.
John tentatively took the note from his friend and smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper. "When did it get there?"
"Probably just before the murder. Judging by the skid marks over here..." Sherlock paced away from the crime scene and towards the main road, peering out into the oncoming traffic. "Mmm, definitely. When he left work."
"How do you know that?" John handed the note to Lestrade.
"When else could he have gotten murdered?" Sherlock rejoined them at the car and announced, "We're going to the lab now."
"Oh, I see. Am I your taxi service now?" Lestrade asked, but he caved under Sherlock's intense gaze. "All right then, let's go."
Sherlock jumped out of the car and strode into the building without waiting for John or Lestrade.
"You can't go in there yet, Sher– Oh, damn." Lestrade slammed the car door shut, following suit. John had to scramble in behind them, still trying to pull his white knitted jumper over his head.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled. He finally caught up with the consulting detective and said much more softly, "You can't go in until the other investigators have had their turn."
Sherlock sighed, his whole body expressing scorn and weariness with people in general. "It'll take five minutes. I'll be in and out in no time." He offered Lestrade a very Sherlock smile, which was perfectly insincere. "What are you waiting for, John?"
"Right," John said, having finally sorted out the jumper. "Let's go, then."
Sherlock approached the front desk purposefully. "Hello, the name's Sherlock Holmes. My partner and I are from Scotland Yard. We're here investigating the murder of Andrew Meyers. We're just going to look around, ask a few questions... nothing too intrusive." Sherlock offered the receptionist one of his signature insincere smiles.
"Oh, well... I suppose that's all right. Can I see some identification?" the woman asked.
Sherlock obligingly pulled out an ID badge nicked from Lestrade and flashed her the picture. Then he pulled out another one that had John's face on it, and showed her that one as well. John tried not to look surprised and instead attempted going for a Detective Inspector John Watson kind of face.
"Okay, go ahead," the receptionist said, waving them both in. John glanced back and saw Lestrade sitting on the steps, his head in his hands, probably crying in despair.
Sherlock shot John a grin and strode briskly into the lab, long coat flowing behind him. "All right, who should we talk to first?"
"Are you asking me? Oh, um... coworkers, maybe?" he ventured. "Maybe it was one of them."
The consulting detective stopped short at the lift and pressed the down button. He was silent until the two of them had entered the elevator. Then he glanced down the row of floor numbers and asserted, "Nope, no, definitely not."
"How are you so sure?" John asked. "Haven't you heard of workplace competition?"
"John, it's obvious. Look at the floor numbers. Genetic research." Sherlock looked like whatever deduction he'd made was obvious. "Genetic research?" he repeated, one eyebrow raised.
John shrugged helplessly. "There isn't workplace competition in genetics research...?"
"Gah. This firm does work in... you know." For the first time, Sherlock looked actually uncomfortable, and he finished somewhat hesitantly, "Research on elementals."
Instinctively, John clenched his hands, feeling fire crackling under his skin. "Right. Then it couldn't have been any of them, since a water elemental killed Meyers," he said slowly, trying to keep his temper under control.
"Precisely." Sherlock's cool gaze never wavered from the elevator doors. "The real question is... who did he experiment on?"
John nodded, consciously relaxing his hands.
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and Sherlock walked onto the floor like he belonged there. John sort of shuffled in behind the consulting detective, trying to act inconspicuous.
A scientist stood right outside the doors, presumably waiting for the lift, and Sherlock pounced on her.
"Hello, I'm Detective Inspector Holmes, and this is my partner Watson. Could you point me to the lab where Dr. Meyers worked?" Sherlock asked, looking the very picture of innocence. John wanted to stab him.
The scientist blinked. "Has something happened to Andrew?" she inquired. "I haven't seen the news today."
Rather than let Sherlock explain, John interrupted, "He was murdered last night when he left the lab–"
"Very unfortunate, yes," Sherlock continued brazenly. "Now, if you could–"
"Oh my god, that's awful!" the woman exclaimed. "I can't believe it. How did he die?"
"Drowned. Probably. The lab if you w–"
John shot an angry glare at Sherlock. "That's what we're trying to find out. So it's really important that we look around a bit in his lab. Can you point us in that direction?"
"O-of course. It's down that way," she answered, pointing to the left. "I hope you catch whoever did it."
"We will, I assure you," Sherlock said, grabbing John by the sleeve of his jumper and dragging him down the hall.
"Stop that," John hissed, swatting Sherlock away. "Thanks for your help!" he called after the scientist before turning to his friend. "Sherlock, we really have to work on your people skills, because that back there was–"
"Not good?" Sherlock looked a bit put out, mostly for John's benefit.
"A bit not good, yeah," John agreed. "Let's shoot for fifty percent business, fifty percent empathy."
Sherlock pulled up his collar and shoved his hands in his coat pocket. "Mhmm." Then he shouldered the lab door open. "Alright, first person who tells me anything of use doesn't get arrested!"
"He's joking. Or trying to, at least," John amended.
There were only three people in the lab, thankfully for the reputation of Scotland Yard. John had no actual idea of what any of them were doing, having a limited knowledge of research science and genetics.
"You with the glasses," Sherlock said after a long, awkward moment. "Do you know what Meyers was doing yesterday?"
The man seemed to shrink away from Sherlock. "Well, he wasn't doing anything. His test subject kind of escaped a few days ago. What happened to him?"
"Dead. Now, about that test subject..." Sherlock caught a glare from John. "It was very unfortunate, and any information you could offer us about his test subject would facilitate the investigation process."
"Well," one of the man's co-workers said, "You know all our subjects are convicted criminals. He had the strongest powers–he was a water elemental–and he... he loved playing mind games. You could never tell what he was going to do next."
The first scientist nodded. "I'm not surprised that he got out."
"And, um, what's his name?" John asked.
The second scientist answered quietly, as if she were afraid of the name, "Jim Moriarty."
A/N: Hey, guys; this is your author speaking; I can't make any promises as to when this updates, but be assured that it will, probably once a week. More fun cases and references to canon/new series Sherlock to come 8D
And please review, it would make my day all the better :3
Beta edited by the fantastic Athena'sDragon uwu