A/N: I don't own any of the Elementary characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my natove language.
I know that this is really long and annoying but I would appreciate you reading this first.
In an A.V. club review of episode 3x7 "The Adventure of the Nutmeg Concoction", a reviewer, Geneiveve Valentine, wrote at the end, as a joke: "It was charming to see John Horton as The Nose! I hope we see him again. (In another season or a half, when they are on a trail of Paprika Strangler.)" And my mind likes to wander. So this story. If you haven't seen that episode, some parts of this story won't make much sense. Another irregular, Mason, who appeared in episodes 3x4 "Bella" and 3x9 "Eternity Injection", will appear in this story, and so will Ms. Hudson. Moriarty won't appear... in person.
I imagine that this story takes place somewhere in the middle of season four. Slight spoilers for season three finale but nothing major. I've decided not to address Sherlock's (possible) relapse (or a father) much, since we have still a lot to learn and I hope that will not be the season's main story arc.
It is a case!fic, mainly focusing on the characters solving the case, with character dynamic and B stories in between. No shipping, just Joanlock friendship. I know that not many people like that kind of stories but I would appreciate if you would give it a try. Any suggestions or ideas are welcome!
The secret compartment featured in this story was shown in episode 2x12 "The Diabolical Kind". He keeps Jamie's letters there. Gay (that is her name) is a geology expert, one of Sherlock and Joan's irregulars, who appeared in episode 2x14 "Dead Clade Walking".
I am not sure is Joan the kind of person to have fuzzy Garfield themed slippers ready to step into when woken up by a toortle early in the morning, but I like to think that she is.
Joan woke up early that March morning to an unusual sight in front of her. Clyde, lying on the top of her stomach, with a note attached to it. She rubber her eyes, carefully sitting up in bed.
Well, that was one of her less weird mornings.
She picked up the note, recognizing Sherlock's handwriting right away.
PLEASE COME TO THE ROOFTOP.
She smiled, thinking how cute the whole thing was, before getting up and stepping into her fuzzy Garfield themed slippers and heading for the bathroom.
Within ten minutes, she was at the rooftop, wearing her grey T-shirt, black shorts, and a small overcoat. Just as she expected, Sherlock was standing in front of one of his beehives. He smiled upon looking up at her, obviously excited over whatever he was doing.
"Watson!" he cried, pure joy written on his face. "Glad to see you. Please step over."
Joan walked over to him, smiling. "What are you doing?"
"A truly fascinating experiment," Sherlock said, looking at the beehive and suddenly sounding as serious as ever. Then he turned to meet Joan's curious eyes. "Several studies have shown that bees have an extremely powerful sense of smell," he explained. "Some researches also show that bees can even detect explosives and drugs better than specially trained police hounds. Of course, bees are small, fast, difficult to control. But I think that I've come up with a solution. As to how make their ability useful."
Joan glared at him. "Really?"
"First, the bees are supposed to be fed with maple syrup mixed with a small amount of natural orange juice, which makes them well fed and less active, easier to control, but it does not affect their sense of smell. After they detect the drugs, they can easily be ruled back to the hive via a recorded bee buzzing noise."
Joan frowned. "And how they are supposed to "inform" the authorities in case they do detect drugs or explosives?"
Sherlock stared at her for some time, his lips pressed together firmly. "I haven't figured that out yet," he admitted after a short silence, making Joan smirk. "Maybe a simple studying of their behavior will be enough. I am currently feeding them with generous amounts of maple syrup mixed with and orange juice. Ten groups of bees, divided by age, species, and the amount of food. Several minutes after they finish, I will place them in ten seperate, new beeheves, containing ten different little packages, one of which has been filled with small, harmless amounts of C-4 explosive that I had obtained from one of my... female acquaintances," e worded it, making Joan roll her eyes. "A chemisist."
"And, with all due respect, what would be the purpose of training bees to do such a thing?"
"Well, a better sense of smell means a higher chance of detecting a substance. Illegally imported drugs and explosives are a serious problem, and every day, criminals come up with new ways to avoid detection. Smell detection is still the most difficult to avoid, despite some tacticts. FBI has been struggling with a lack of necessary hounds for years. And it would raise more awarness about the bees. Help put an end to their dreading extinction."
Joan chuckled. "I understand." She stepped over and observed the bees eating their threat, smiling slightly.
"This is fascinating," Joan admitted, staring at the colonies.
"Most definitely," Sherlock agreed, nodding his head. "It will probably take ten minutes before they are ready, but the observation is still breath taking."
"I will go make myself a breakfast after I... finish something. You want me bring you a candy bar or something?"
Sherlock looked at her like she had said something unreasonable. "I've eaten an egg salad for lunch yesterday. In this period of my work, that is enough for some time," he explained.
Joan went downstairs without saying another word.
Sherlock looked after Joan for some time, before walking over to one of the bee hives and opening a secret compartment on its side. He pulled out the box, his heart swelling at the sight of an envelopes lined up inside. He picked out the newest letter, closed the compartment behind, and sat on the near by chair.
One of the most amazing things about reading her letters was that, most of the time, he was almost able to hear her voice, so clearly...
Dear Sherlock,
I apologize for avoiding to directly express my feelings of your... change of pace for such a long time. Although there isn't much to say about it, I am afraid. Not that that is a bad thing, if you ask me.
I am not disappointed in you. It is hard to resist old passions and vices. Especially if they are not completely bad, no matter how much you keep saying to yourself that they are. I don't think that there is a need to, actually. I would gladly continue with my activities. Maybe I will someday. I know that I will. Oh, how I look forward to that. I'm sure you think-know-that I've already found a way to engage in my old passions, at least from time to time. But, even in this state of mind, you must be smart enough to already know that I won't reveal anything incriminating, not even in the most intimate of our correspondences, such is this.
Marcus Bell walked into an abandoned field, centered behind a hill, followed by several forensic techs, two of whom carried thermal cameras with them. There was nothing around but the ground and rocks. Just like the forensics, Marcus had latex gloves over his hands, and booties over his shoe bottoms, though forensics were also wearing protective overcoats. He looked around, noticing nothing suspicious, and sighed. He hated being on the field early in the morning, especially due to an almost certainly false tip.
"OK, guys. Search the area."
I'm sure that Watson will be there for you. She already is, from what you've written, isn't she? I hear that she has recovered well following Andrew's death. You two will fall back to an old rhythm, I presume. I think that will be good for you. For both of you.
I'm sure that you sometimes wonder could we try the same thing. If only I were free. I have my... wishful moments too. But the life isn't perfect. Sometimes the only thing left are memories.
Joan was sitting at her desk in the basement, sealed an envelope, her hand shaking slightly as she began writing Andrew's father's address on the back. The anniversary was approaching and she thought that she should pay her respects. For a moment, she looked at the flower store address written on the notepad near by, then sighed.
I'm sure you will find many more filth to amuse yourself, and your partner. Seeing the results of the worst human traits and using deduction applied to that in order to satisfy your detective urges. After all, smart person once said: "Without a darkness there could be no light".
As you've often said, a facility for quation covers an absence of original thought. But one can't deny that even the lesser minds can, in the rare moments of full clarity, see into the rawest, darkest corners of this cosmos. Only they lack the courage-skills-to embrace it.
The only question is: who is the darkness, and who is the light?
Marcus sighed, looking down at the thermal image of human body under the ground.
"Call in a couple of more techs," he ordered. "Tell them to bring the shovels. And call in the canine unit too."
I dear hope you'll write soon!
Ever yours,
Jamie Moriarty.
Sherlock lowered the letter, looking up. He just stared in front of himself, without making a sound. He remained in that position for some time, before his ringtone went off.
He pulled out his phone and, after seeing "Bell" written on the screen, answered.
"Hallo?"
#
Within an hour, Sherlock and Joan had been approaching that same field, followed by Marcus. The burial sight had been uncovered, partially decomposed male body lying on the piece of plastic on the ground near by. Sherlock just finished with pulling the gloves over his hands as Marcus started his explanation. "Male's body, buried about five feet deep", he said. "Unfortunately, there don't appear to be any usable shoe prints or tyre tracks around."
"You seem to have some witnesses," Sherlock commented, glancing at the several people from behind the police tape a few feet away; few middle aged men, a young black haired women with shoulder-length hair, and a red-haired teenage boy.
Marcus sighed. "Just some people who happened to be hiking or sight seeing a mile away, or the joggers. We will interrogate them and take the info, but I doubt that we will find out much from them. It doesn't look too difficult at first, but murders with bodies found on an isolated locations are often very hard to solve, and a former police chief has a summer house a few miles away so..."
"Well, obviously, the victim is a Caucasian man," Joan noted, carefully observing the corpse, as Sherlock walked over and began examining it closely. "In early to mid twenties, I'd say. Medium length blonde hair. About 5'10, average weight. Completely naked. Probably a forensic countermeasure. Strangled to death. From the front, judging by the position of the knot."
"ME thinks that he had been buried here for about two weeks, give or take a few days," Marcus informed them. "It looks like he had been beaten up prior to the death too. Plenty of bruises, several cracked ribs, broken nose. An autopsy will probably reveal more of it. There are also some... lacerations on his... private area," he said, avoiding to look at the body, unease evident in his voice. "The autopsy will show did that happen before or after his death, and did the killer do that or..."
"The killer did that," Sherlock said, matter of factly, making Marcus frown, while Joan walked closer, joining the examination. "The lacerations are all of the very similar shape and size, almost forming some kind of a pattern. The injury was inflicted prior to the victim's death too, judging by the amount of dried blood." His eyes then trailed up the victim's body. "There is also a cut on the victim's neck, just above the spot where the rope tied. Made prior to the death, but I'd say non fatal."
"It looks quite precise," Joan noticed, while Sherlock was already busy studying the rope and the knot. "Maybe the killer has a medical knowledge. By the look of the cuts, I'd say he likely used a common switchblade." Joan sighed. "That doesn't help much."
Sherlock turned to face Marcus, holding at the knot with one hand. "The rope is long and thick, barely at all degrated," he pointed out. "No thread marks on it at all. This is a rock climbing rope. Tied so tightly around the victim's neck that it broke through the skin. Our killer is likely a hiker, quite strong too."
As Marcus wrote that down, Sherlock continued examining the corpse. He carefully studied every bruise. "The bruises on the right side of the body were inflicted under a different angle than the ones on the left," he deduced, breathing heavily, his eyes trying to capture every detail. "Leaning to the right side, slightly less severe," he explained. "Our killer is left-handed. Judging by the shape and size, he probably used his bare hands to beat up the victim."
"Some guy," Marcus muttered, feeling himself shiver.
Sherlock then went on to studying the victim's hands, while Marcus turned facing Joan, who had since walked over to him.
"Forensics and canine unit are canvassing the area, looking for evidence, or possibly another dead body," he said. "They haven't finished yet, but it doesn't look like they will find much."
Sherlock studied the victim's right hand closely, even smelling it. There was something... odd about it.
"Who found the body?" Joan asked, looking around. "I've noticed some evidence bags on the desk near by, filled with dirt and rocks. That is usually how forensics preserve the evidence while digging out a corpse."
Marcus nodded his head. "Yes, they carefully dug up the body, and stored the dirt samples in evidence bags. They will process it all at the crime lab. They will take all these samples with them soon. It was an anonymous tip. Somebody reported "seeing someone bury something" here, possibly a body. I went over there with several techs, they had thermal camera, they searched the area and they found the body. The caller didn't identify himself. The call was traced to a phone booth in Brooklyn.."
Sherlock used his tweezer to collect samples from under the victim's fingernails. He carefully studied the content, then stored it into one of the evidence bags he had been carrying with him. He did so several times, before finally forming a conclusion and deciding to share it.
"Luckily, not the whole body had decomposed equally, so to say. The victim's right fist remained reatively well preserved, probably because it ended up being positioned just under a big rock sticking up from the ground inside. Judging by the look of the substance on his right fist and a forearm, and the fading but still present smell of it, that area is covered with a red pepper. He also has two different oil burns on his right forearm, of different age." Sherlock stood up with a groan, then walked over to Marcus and Joan, showing them the evidence bags. "On the first look, this substance, found under the victim's fingernails, is nothing but dirt. But on a closer look, you will also see traces of salt, pepper and origamo. Our victim worked as a cook, and was probably right-handed. There is also something like plastic here, but unfortunately, no skin or blood."
Joan sighed before taking another look at the body. She suddenly frowned, having noticed something on the victim's right shoulder. Marcus and Sherlock exchanged a glance before approaching her. "It is hard to see on a first look, due to a size of it and decomposition, but if you observe closely, you will see a scar on the left shoulder," Joan explained. "Looks like a medical one too."
"Good observation, Watson," Sherlock complimented her, studying the star closely.
"I've seen it a few times," Joan remembered, her face lightening up. "During surgeries, as well as on recovering addicts. The victim had a tattoo surgically removed. I would say, about a week before the murder. Maybe that can help you identify him, or maybe even determine the motive."
"We'll check," Marcus promised, just at the moment when Joan pulled out a small scalpel from her pocket, and used it to move some of the torn flesh on the cut on the victim's chest to the side, allowing her to look inside the wound.
"OK," Marcus exclaimed, disgusted look on his face. Sherlock just stood near by, watching the procedure with a mixture of curiosity and pride. Joan repeated the procedure several times, eventually frowning and standing up straight, while Sherlock moved aside and started to examining the dirt and rocks stored in the evidence bags, that laid on a near by stool.
"This is weird," Joan noted. "The beating was extremely brutal, but there are no fibers or threads inside any of the open wounds."
"Well, the body started decomposing some time ago," Marcus pointed out.
Joan took a step back, still looking down at the body. Sherlock went on to studying the tools used by the forensic techs, left near by. "Yes, but the internal tissue looks pretty well preserved, and there is barely any dirt inside the wounds. Well, most of them." She frowned, remaining silent for some time, having concluded something. "He was already naked when he got beaten up. Also, minor, random cuts on the body, that also look like they had been made by a switchblade, suggest that the killer cut his clothes off. But there are no such cuts from below his waist, other than lacerations on his genitals."
The silence that followed was soon interrupted by Sherlock. "Detective, how wide is the search?"
"Half a mile radius," Marcus answered. "They are about to finish."
"We will have to go further than that," Sherlock announced.
#
Within twenty minutes, they walked out of Marcus's vehicle, followed by two forensic techs carrying thermal cameras, and heading towards an abandoned area surrounded with a wire fence. The terrane was pretty much the same, except there were more rocks, and there were also a lot of trees around. "I am not a geology expert, but I did learn a few things from Gay. Especially about the rocks, New York City vise," Sherlock said.
"Gay?" Marcus asked. Both Sherlock and Joan ignored that.
"One type of the rocks that had been recovered in the grave are commonly found on this location, not where the body was buried. Although this area is just a mile away from a burial sight, you don't find many of such rocks in that field. Especially not in that amount, and so deep in the ground, according to the data written on the evidence bags. Those rocks also have an unusual cuts on them, that look like shovel marks. I've noticed the same marks on the other rocks recovered from the grave, the one that, geologically, match to the area where the body was found. By all accounts, the uncovering of the grave really was taken care of carefully, and the tools used by forensics don't match those cuts."
"So, whoever buried our victim in that field, had been digging, with the same shovel, in this area sometime prior," Marcus concluded.
"It is not necessarily an evidence of an additional foul play or even much of a lead, but it is worth checking out," Joan added.
"And I think that we should start here," Sherlock said, pointing at the fence. "An abandoned spice and flavor farm, surrounded with wire a fence, hidden from the view, mile and a half from the burial sight."
They easily walked inside the area, since the door was unlocked. After making a few steps forward, they stopped, observing the area, the location giving them a good view. There was not much to be seen: bunch of dirt and rocks, some branches, a shed at the very end, and some old soda cans and grocery bags. The place smelled of grass and fertilizer. A part of the fence far to the left was broken a little.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, it seems," Sherlock concluded, then turned towards one of the forensic techs. "But there is only one way to know for sure."
"I may save you some effort," Joan exclaimed, attracting attention of all the four men as she pointed to the ground in front of them. "At the first sight, the ground looks undisturbed. No signs of digging. The killer did a good job. But there are more rocks and branches on this location than on the rest of the area. It almost appears posed, constructed. Somebody wanted to conceal this area, make it harder to access to."
"That was the same way that grave in the field was concealed," Marcus remembered, mentally face-palming himself.
"The size looks also about the same like the one of the grave that was uncovered there," Sherlock noticed.
It wasn't long before Joan started walking forward, from one end of the farm to another, observing the ground carefully, followed by her colleagues, and her partner.
"It's the same here," she pointed out, feeling herself shiver. But then she continued.
Almost half a mile away, the same. "And here."
And, at the very end of the area, near an abandoned shed, the same. "And here," she concluded with a sigh.
All five people just stared down at the ground in silence for some time, breathing heavily, almost in some sort of an irrational fear of speaking than not knowing what to say.
Until Sherlock finally expressed the only logical conclusion out loud.
"It looks like we have uncovered a mass grave."
~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~