The Other Half of a Sociopath
A Sherlock fanfiction
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Everyone is born with a black mark that can be found anywhere in the body. It symbolizes one's soul and when they first touch their other half, their marks changes in color to show the strength of the bond. A new matching mark appears to symbolize both their souls' meeting. A green bond mark is the most common and it only has the ability to tell when one's soul mate is in pain. A blue bond mark has the same ability of a green bond mark and the ability to feel each other's emotion within a certain distance. A purple mark has the same abilities as the blue mark but can also locate each other. A rare red mark gives the bonded pair the ability to talk to each other telepathically plus the same abilities as the purple mark. These marks have been seen in society- waves of greens and blues with the occasional purples and reds. However, there is one color that society doesn't see. This color is the rarest and its abilities unknown. A pure gold mark is said to only show up once every century and is said that a pair with this color has the purest of bonds.
John Watson has always been fascinated by his mark. It was two beautifully designed curved swords crossed together to form an X. It was black in color just like everyone else who hasn't found their soul mate yet. It was located on his left forearm. He would often spend hours just watching his mark and trying to memorize every part of it. He always dreamed of meeting his soul mate and imagining what they look like and what their mark consisted of. He imagined what color it was going to be when they touched and what their new mark was going to be. His mum and dad have an infinity symbol on their wrist in a lovely blue color. It always looked beautiful to John. He couldn't wait to meet his other half! Harry had already met hers. It was a girl named Clara and their marks turned blue too. Their new mark was a rose filled with thorns. John had a bad feeling when he first saw it. The ominous feeling he got made him think that their relationship wasn't going to be smooth sailing. Now, at 18, he still hasn't met his soul mate and he felt lonely since most of his friends met theirs already- their marks turning mostly to greens and blue. Since he always wanted to help others, he decided to become a doctor and join the army. He studied and trained hard for the next few years. All the while wishing and waiting for his other half. When he was about to go on his first tour, he spent his last night having dinner with his family and, later, staring at his mark. It looks as fascinating as ever. He always wondered what it meant. Marks are supposed to represent your soul and he always wondered what his meant. Two swords forming an X have to mean something other than fighting. Thinking about his mark made him think about his soul mate and end up missing someone he never met. John sighed and went to sleep.
Afghanistan was truly a warzone. The bodies and gore hardened John to the core. His senses were heightened and his skill with guns and weapons were honed. With his talents, he quickly rose to the ranks of captain. He was well-respected by his fellow soldiers and commanders. He was living his dream of being a successful army doctor. Although everything was going well, if you don't count on the dead bodies and broken bonds, but John couldn't help feeling like something was missing. When he was shot and invalided home with a limp, he couldn't help but feel like everything was over. Because who could ever want an old and worthless army doctor? Finding his soul mate would be for nothing because he was damaged goods.
John was currently walking- or in his case, limping- around the park when he heard his name being called out.
"John! John Watson!"
He turned and saw a slightly obese and familiar-looking man walking towards him.
"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together," The man said patiently. John's face lit up with recognition. How could he forget? Mike used to be a good friend of his back in the day.
"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike. Hello. Hi," John said as he shook hands with the man.
"Yeah, I know. I got fat," Mike said with good humor.
"No." John said, shaking his head politely.
"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?"
"I got shot," John replied flatly. He tightened his hold on his cane. A tense silence filled the air.
A few minutes later, the two of them were sitting on a bench each nursing a cup.
"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John asked.
"Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike replied with a smile. "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted out?"
"I can't afford London on an army pension," John replied sadly. Mike nodded understandingly.
"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know,"
"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson…" John stopped and his whole body radiated tension.
"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked after a while. John snorted.
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!"
"I dunno… Get a flatshare or something?" Mike shrugged.
"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John said with a humorless smile. Mike was smiling knowingly. His eyes lit up with mischief. John's eyebrows crossed together in confusion.
"What?"
"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today," Mike said with a smile. John's curiosity rose. Who could it be?
"Who was the first?" he asked curiously.
As they were walking towards Bart's, John couldn't help but wonder if Mike found his soul mate. Asking about one's soul mate is only asked among close friends and family members. However, that rule has always been loose since most people are open and proud about their bonds. They are willing to share certain information about their bond mate. John was contemplating about whether or not to ask about Mike's soul mate when said man started talking.
"You can ask me anything you know," Mike said cheerfully. John looked at him with a serious look on his face.
"Have you found your soul mate?" John asked quietly. Mike's face lit up with fondness making John's heart ache with longing. Mike pulled down his collar and showed off the purple sun between his neck and shoulder. John looked on in wonder. It's lovely! John thought a little jealous.
"I did. This is our matching bond mark. She is perfect- beautiful and kind," Mike answered with obvious adoration. "Have you found yours, John?"
"No," John replied, a certain longing could be heard from his voice. Mike looked at him sadly.
"You'll find them soon. I'm sure," Mike said soothingly. John just smiled sadly as they arrived in front of a door. As they entered, John looked around.
"Well, bit different from my day," John observed before he saw a man sitting down. He's beautiful, John thought with awe.
"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," the beautiful man said, not looking up from the microscope.
"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike answered patiently.
"I prefer to text," the man responded.
"Sorry, it's in my coat," Mike said apologetically-although, he doesn't sound so apologetic to John. Wanting a chance to talk to the man, John offered his phone. The man looked at him in surprised and then, his blue green eyes – How gorgeous! John thought- flickered to Mike in question.
"Oh, thank you," the man said. John had to marvel at how deep and baritone the man's voice is.
"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson," Mike introduced. The man carefully took the phone without touching John. John felt a bit disappointed that he wasn't able to touch the beautiful man.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man asked while still typing on John's phone. John's eyes were widening in surprise. How? What? John thought.
"Sorry?" John asked, shocked but guarded.
"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?" the man asked again impatiently as he looked up at John.
"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?" John was cut off by the door opening and a woman walked in carrying a cup. The man turned to her as he carefully handed John's phone to him without touching him.
"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," the man said as he took the cup from her. "What happened to the lipstick?" The woman smile sadly.
"It wasn't working for me," the woman replied.
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," the man said nonchalantly as he went back to his microscope and sat down.
"Okay," the woman sighed as she left. That wasn't very nice, John thought. But still how did he know about Afghanistan?
"How do you feel about the violin?" the man asked. His attention was back to John.
"I'm sorry, what?" John asked confused.
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes, I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worse about each other," the man clarified as he looked at John and smiled.
"Oh, you told him about me," John asked Mike, who has been watching quietly and knowingly.
"Not a word," Mike shakes his head.
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John asked with a frown. The man stood up and was tying his scarf around his neck.
"I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now, here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap," he answered confident voice as he put on his coat.
"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked again. Again, his question was ignored.
"Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together, we ought to be able to afford," the man said instead. John felt a shiver ran down his spine when the man said together. John frowned in confusion. He was reacting to a man he had never met before.
"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary," the man continued. The man was striding to the door when John stopped him.
"Is that it?" John asked seriously. The man stopped and turned to look at him.
"Is that what?" the man said as his eyes flicked again to look at Mike.
"We've only just met and we're gonna look at a flat?"
"Problem?" the man asked.
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name," John said seriously. The man smirked knowingly.
"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you- (John smiled at the man's mistake) - but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his soul mate and I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid. Also, I know that you still haven't found your soul mate judging from the color of your mark," the man said calculatedly. John frowned at the man's knowledge of him. It was a bit unnerving.
"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" the man continued. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street," the man smiled and winked at John. John felt his heart jump at the action.
"Afternoon," the man called out at Mike as he walked out. Mike raised his hand in goodbye. John looked at Mike in question.
"Yeah, he's always like that," Mike said expectantly. John shuffled nervously in place.
That night, John was lying down on his bed and staring at his mark. The design and the color still haven't changed- not like John expected it to. The longing to find his soul mate still remained. The curiosity and the desire to find them and get to know them were still there. As he thought of his mystery soul mate, the image of one Sherlock Holmes popped into his head. John couldn't deny that the man was beautiful. The soft curly locks of dark hair, the pale skin, the high cheekbones, the cupid bow lips and the color of his eyes were all so breathtaking. It made John wonder if the man had already found his soul mate. John shakes his head. Probably not or else he wouldn't be looking for a flatmate. Not that it matters, John thought dejectedly, it won't be me that's for sure.
There was just something about the man that John found so intriguing. He was clearly a smart and clever man to be able to know all those things about John. He just wanted to know how the man did it. He was curious. Also, something about the man screamed danger and excitement that made John's heart race with adrenaline. He couldn't wait to meet Sherlock tomorrow.
As an idea popped into his head, John sat up and went to fetch his laptop. Opening up the search bar, John typed in Sherlock Holmes. Numerous links appeared and on top of the list was a website called The Science of Deduction. Intrigued, John clicked the link. As he read the articles, John's curiosity about the man grew. Could he really do all these? How, though? Continuing his research, John opened other links but he couldn't find anything else worth reading.
Frustrated, John turned off his laptop and went back to bed. That was pointless, John thought, that didn't lead to anything at all. John couldn't do anything but wait until tomorrow. With that thought in mind, John went to sleep.
The next evening, John was on his way to meet Sherlock at the aforementioned flat. When the cabbie informed him that they have arrived, John looked at the flat and thought that it was going to be expensive. John frowned with doubt. As he stepped out, Sherlock arrived. They greeted each other without shaking hands.
"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive," John said.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal- owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out," Sherlock said with his hands clasped behind his back. John looked confused.
"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"
"Oh no, I ensured it," Sherlock answered with a secretive smirk. John felt even more confused. Before he could ask any further, the door opened to reveal a gentle and kind-looking old lady. Her eyes lit up when she saw Sherlock.
"Sherlock, hello," Mrs. Hudson greeted cheerfully with her arms open to give Sherlock a hug. Sherlock welcomed the hug and turned to John. John felt a little envious of Mrs. Hudson for being able to touch Sherlock. Sherlock introduce them both to each other and Mrs. Hudson let them in. As she led them to the flat, she started talking about all sorts of things that John could barely keep up. When they entered the flat, John looked around. It had a cozy feel about it. John smiled. He likes it. He turned to look at Sherlock and saw the man watching him expectantly.
"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed," John said. Sherlock smiled.
"Yes, yes, I think so. My thought precisely," Sherlock responded. Looking around some more, John noticed bits and pieces of personal items around the flat.
"So you moved in already?" John asked Sherlock.
"Yes, I went and moved in right away," Sherlock nodded as he tried to tidy his things. John continued to look around when something odd caught his interest.
"That's a skull," John said plainly as he pointed at the object with his cane.
"Friend of mine. When I say friend…" Sherlock trailed off uncertainly. Mrs. Hudson came to Sherlock's rescue.
"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms," she said kindly. John tried not to blush at the remark and tried to appear nonchalantly.
"Of course, we'll be needing two," he replied.
"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got bonded ones," she said as she turned around and walked into the kitchen. John looked at Sherlock, who was still trying to organize his things.
"I looked you up on the internet last night," John told him as he sat down on the armchair. Sherlock looked at him, titillated.
"Anything interesting?" Sherlock questioned.
"Found your website, The Science of Deduction,"
"What do you think?" Sherlock asked with a bit of excitement on his face. John gave him a look of doubt. Sherlock frowned in response.
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb," John responded with doubt.
"Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock answered. John was once again captivated. Brilliant, John thought.
"How?" John couldn't help but ask. Sherlock just smiled knowingly. Just then, Mrs. Hudson walked in with the morning paper.
"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same," Mrs. Hudson said, not looking up from the paper. Sherlock looked at the window and John could see a frown appear on the man's gorgeous face.
"Four," Sherlock said quietly. "There's been a fourth and there's something different this time."
"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson said quietly horrified.
"Where?" Sherlock asked. John looked confused. Who was he directing that question to? Then John saw a man by the doorway, out of breath.
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," the man answered.
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different," Sherlock said.
"You know how they never leave notes?"
"Yeah," Sherlock affirmed.
"This one did. Will you come?" the man requested.
"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked instead.
"It's Anderson," the man replied. Sherlock frowned in distaste as he looked out the window.
"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock said as he continued to frown.
"Well, he won't be your assistant," the man said, looking like he expected this response from Sherlock. This made John curios about how long the man has known Sherlock.
"I need an assistant," Sherlock said firmly. The man frowned.
"Will you come?" the man asked again.
"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind," Sherlock finally replied.
"Thank you," the man said with a smile as he walked out. As soon as the front door downstairs was closed, Sherlock started jumping with both of his fists pumped up in the air.
"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock said excitedly as he prepared to go out. Mrs. Hudson smiled motherly at him as she went downstairs. Sherlock suddenly stopped and looked at John. John looked at him in return with one eyebrow raised in question.
"You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor," Sherlock said with a serious look in his face. John nodded in response.
"Any good?" Sherlock asked.
"Very good," John replied confidently. He was certain of his skills as both a soldier and a doctor. He had trained his whole life for this since it has always been his dream to be an army doctor.
"Seen a lot of injuries too, then; violent deaths," Sherlock continued. John nodded again in agreement.
"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Sherlock said with an amused smirk on his face. Adrenaline started to course through John's veins.
"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John replied trying and failing to keep the excitement from showing on his face.
"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock asked. The expression on his face showed that he knows exactly what John's answer would be. John's response didn't disappoint him.
"Oh God, yes!" John smiled excitedly, not bothering to hide the excitement anymore.
Sherlock smiled, amused.
Both men headed towards the front door. Mrs. Hudson was there to bid them farewell.
"You're both leaving?" she asked. Sherlock stopped to look at her and then, walks up to her and grabs her shoulders gently.
"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said excitedly. John looked at him with a growing fondness. He is so endearing! John thought with a smile.
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent," Mrs. Hudson said with fondness.
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Sherlock said as he turned dramatically with a swish of his coat. John followed as he smiled with amusement.
Once they were both seated in the cab, John looked at Sherlock with a questioning gaze before he looked away. Sherlock, of course, noticed.
"Okay, you've got questions," Sherlock said as he looked at his phone. This is my chance! John thought with excitement, although he tried to hide it.
"Yeah, where are we going?"
"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock answered.
"Who are you? What do you do?"
"What do you think?" Sherlock asked instead of answering. John thought about it for a moment before speaking.
"I'd say private detective…" John trailed off.
"But?"
"… but the police don't go to private detectives," John finished.
"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job,"
"What does that mean?" John implored.
"It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me," Sherlock explained. John gave him a curious and amused expression.
"The police don't consult amateurs," John responded. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq'. You looked surprised," Sherlock said.
"Yes, how did you know?" John asked.
"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq," Sherlock explained purposefully.
"You said I had a therapist," John probed.
"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother," Sherlock continued with his explanation. John hummed in acknowledgment.
"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches, not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already," Sherlock said expectantly.
"The engraving," John answered. Sherlock smiled.
"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses say it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says soul mate, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Trouble in paradise then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do. Sentiment, but no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his soul mate; maybe you don't like his drinking," Sherlock further explained.
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John said a bit unnerved.
"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone. Never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see, you were right," Sherlock finished with flourish. John nods but then looks at Sherlock confused.
"I was right? Right about what?" John asks, confused.
"The police don't consult amateurs," Sherlock responded arrogantly. John chuckled silently as he thought; He finally explained how he knew about Afghanistan to me just because he felt insulted by that comment. How adorable!
"That... was amazing," John commented earnestly. Sherlock gave him a look of surprise.
"Do you think so?" Sherlock asks with uncertainty.
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary," John replied with conviction.
"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock said with a hint of vulnerability present in his voice. John turned to look at Sherlock and noticed a look of openness on his face.
"What do people normally say?" he asked Sherlock softly.
"Piss off!" Sherlock said with a smile and the sad look on his face disappeared. They shared a laugh.
After a few minutes of silence, John asks Sherlock a question.
"Who was that man?" John looked at Sherlock and saw the man look up from his phone. He looks annoyed, John thought.
"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," Sherlock answered. John nodded.
"How long have you known him?"
"Give and take, five years," Sherlock answered, "Is there any reason you're asking me these questions?"
"Just making small talk. If we are going to be flatmates, we'll need to know a bit more about each other," John shrugged. That's what I'm saying but I just have this need to know if you have someone special already, John sighed. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgment. The cabbie informed them that they have arrived. As they stepped out, John noticed the typical setting of a crime scene.
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked out of the blue. John smirked. Might be better to ease him into it, John thought.
"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're processing their separation; and Harry is a drinker," John said, trying to sound indifferent. He could practically feel the self-satisfaction coming off of Sherlock.
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything," Sherlock said truthfully.
"And Harry's short for Harriet," John finished. Sherlock stopped walking and stared at him.
"Harry's your sister," Sherlock said, irritation started coloring his voice and face.
"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" John asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
"Sister!" Sherlock exclaimed, very irritated. John fought off a smile from creeping into his face.
"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John asked again and was once again ignored.
"There's always something," Sherlock muttered quietly. As they walk closer to the crime scene, John saw a dark-skinned and curly haired woman in formal wear glaring at Sherlock.
"Hello, freak," the woman greeted nastily. John frowned.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock said in greeting.
"Why?" she responded haughtily. I don't like this woman, John thought as anger grew inside of him.
"I was invited," Sherlock said indifferently but John could see the hurt on the man's face.
"Why?" she asked again. This time John glared.
"Is this how the officers in New Scotland Yard behave?" John asked the woman using his captain voice. The woman turned to him in surprised as if she just noticed him and Sherlock looks at him with both surprise and intrigue.
"What?" the woman asked. John gave her a stern look.
"I said is this how the officers in New Scotland Yard behave?" John repeated more firmly this time.
"I-I don't understand," she stuttered.
"What gives you the right to call this man a freak?" John clarified for her. The woman's face hardened.
"That's because he is a freak," she explained. John raised a condescending eyebrow at her.
"How so?" The question made the woman hesitate for just a moment.
"Because he gets off on these kinds of stuff. He likes it," she explained.
"So should I call you a freak too? Since you're an officer and you also like these kinds of stuff," John said. The woman gave him a shocked look.
"But I get paid for my work. It's my job," she answered.
"So you use the excuse of getting paid as a justification for liking this kind of work but you condemn and insult a man who offers you his services for free just because he likes it?" John clarified as he glared at the woman.
"We don't need his help," the woman said arrogantly, her surprise fading away.
"That's funny because I was there when your boss, DI Lestrade, came to get Sherlock," John said with a smirk. The woman's face fell.
"Who are you?" she asked a bit unbelievably. John stood straighter in response.
"I'm Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," John replied. The woman look slightly horrified. She opened and closed her mouth in astonishment.
"If it won't be too much trouble, officer, we would like to proceed to the crime scene as requested by the Detective Inspector," John continued. The woman wordlessly lifted the tape and informed the DI of Sherlock's arrival as she walked ahead of them. The two men started walking towards the building.
"What you did… that was good," Sherlock said a bit awkwardly. John smiled at the uncomfortable looking man. He could tell that Sherlock was not used to other people defending him.
"You're welcome, Sherlock," John said. Before Sherlock could give a response, a funny- looking and arrogant bloke came out of the building.
"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" the man ordered conceitedly. John's previous anger returned. Was every officer in the NSY deprived of any form of professionalism? John thought with distain.
"Quite clear and is your soul mate away for long?" Sherlock smirked.
"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that," the man said dismissively. John had a feeling the bloke was going to be embarrassed real soon.
"Your deodorant told me that," Sherlock replied.
"My deodorant?" The man questioned.
"It's for men," Sherlock said with an innocent look on his face. John and the man looked at Sherlock confused.
"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" The man said, looking very insulted.
"So is Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock finished flatly. "Ooh... and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"
"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply..." The man started to explain.
"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock cut him off. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over and I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." Sherlock gave the pair of adulterers a patronizing look. John couldn't help but laugh as they went in. Cheating on your soul mate was look down upon in society. It is unthinkable to hurt and reject your perfect match. John couldn't understand how some people could do that. If he found his soul mate, he'd cherish them. They spotted the DI putting on a blue body suit.
"Who's this?" The detective asked.
"Lestrade, this is Doctor John Watson. John, the Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock introduced the two men to each other. John nodded his head in greeting. The DI gave him a curious look.
"Is he your assistant?" the DI asked.
"Yes and no, he's my new flatmate and I offered him to accompany me," Sherlock answered. The DI gave him a surprised look in response.
"You offered? You don't like people, Sherlock. You think we are all idiots," the DI said in disbelief. Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"People are idiots," Sherlock said. John cleared his throat. Sherlock looked at him for a moment. "Most of them, anyway." Lestrade's eyes widened. John just looked confused.
"Can we proceed?" Sherlock asked impatiently.
"Upstairs," the DI replied still looking surprised. "I can give you two minutes. Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."
As they entered the room, Sherlock scanned the area before kneeling beside the dead body. He meticulously looked over the dead pink woman and then, stood up to check something on his phone.
"Got anything?" Lestrade asks.
"Not much," Sherlock responded, not looking up from his phone.
"She's German. Rache, it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…" the man from before said as he suddenly appeared by the door. Sherlock walked up to him.
"Yes, thank you for your input," Sherlock cut him off as he slammed the door to the man's face, not once looking up from his phone.
"So she's German?" Lestrade clarified as he raised his eyebrow at Sherlock.
"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night... before returning home to Cardiff," Sherlock said as he pocketed his phone. "So far, so obvious."
"Sorry. Obvious?" John asked confused- this seemed to be his normal state of mind when dealing with Sherlock.
"What about the message, though?" Lestrade questioned.
"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock ignored Lestrade and looked at John.
"Of the message?" John clarified.
"Of the body. You're a medical man," Sherlock responded. Lestrade looked at Sherlock sharply.
"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade said, trying to stop John from going near the dead body.
"They won't work with me," Sherlock said, giving Lestrade a look John didn't understand.
"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here," Lestrade elucidated as he tried to get Sherlock to understand the 'rules'.
"Yes... because you need me," Sherlock responded self-importantly. John looked at the two men feeling like a third wheel. Lestrade has a look of defeat on his face.
"Yes, I do. God help me," Lestrade said tiredly. John felt bad for the man. Sherlock seemed too much to handle to the DI but John can't help but find the consulting detective fascinating and exciting.
"Doctor Watson," Sherlock called him again, a hidden order in his eyes. John hummed in acknowledgement, trying to spare Lestrade from even more stress.
"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself," the DI said tiredly as he turned towards the door. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."
"Well?" Sherlock requested persistently.
"What am I doing here?" John asked and giving Sherlock a skeptical look as they both kneeled down beside the body
"Helping me make a point," Sherlock whispered softly.
"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent,"
"Yeah, well, this is more fun," Sherlock smirked shrewdly.
"Fun? There's a woman lying dead," John responded flatly.
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper," Sherlock said and John sighed in defeat but couldn't help feeling proud that Sherlock acknowledges his skills.
"Yeah, asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs," John said clinically.
"You know what it was. You've read the papers," Sherlock said, giving the doctor a pointed look.
"Oh that's right. She's one of the suicides? The fourth one you mentioned back at the flat?" John said as he looked back to the moment he met the Detective Inspector.
"Sherlock, two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got," the DI reminded the detective.
"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase," Sherlock replied as he and John stood up.
"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked confused.
"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married," Sherlock observed.
"Oh, for God's sake, married? If you're just making this up..." Lestrade questioned in disbelief. Marriage was only for people who lost their soul mates –a black line strikethrough the matching mark to represent the broken bond- and ended up with someone else and the only symbol of their matrimony was a ring. Soul mates, on the other hand, are automatically considered an official couple and no special ceremony is needed. They just need to register their new soul mark for recording purposes. A separation is when two soul mates manually tattoo a black line over their matching mark to signify the ending of their bond- although doing so is extremely look down upon in society. One can notice the difference between a naturally broken bond and a manually broken bond. The key difference is that a manually broken bond line is slanted while a naturally broken bond line is horizontal. Divorce is only for people who are married, understandably.
"Her wedding ring- ten years old at least. Her matching bond mark is horizontally crossed," Sherlock said as he showed the DI and John the dead woman's broken bond mark on underside of her left wrist. "The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."
"That's brilliant!" John exclaimed. Sherlock and Lestrade looked at him in amusement and surprise, respectively.
"Sorry," John apologized sheepishly.
"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asks expectantly.
"It's not obvious to me," John frowned.
"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring," Sherlock deadpanned. John tried to hide his laughter while Lestrade just frowned- apparently he's used to Sherlock's attitude.
"Her coat - it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff," Sherlock explains as his hands move fluidly.
"That's fantastic!" John exclaimed again. Sherlock looked at him and John tried to give an impassive look.
"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asks John curiously.
"Sorry. I'll shut up," John said a bit sadly. The man really is amazing with his deductive skills.
"No, it's... fine," Sherlock whispered, a bit amazed. He isn't used to being complemented, John thought as he remembered the woman from earlier.
"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Sherlock's attention was back to Lestrade.
"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is,"
"She was writing 'Rachel'?" the DI repeated.
"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock asks thoughtfully.
"How do you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked again.
"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious - could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night" Sherlock finally answered as he gestured to the body before kneeling down to examine it again. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"
"There wasn't a case," Lestrade answered and he crossed his arms and shrugged. Sherlock froze.
"Say that again," he ordered. John looks on confused, his normal reaction to Sherlock it seems.
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase," Lestrade repeated and clarified.
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Sherlock jumped up and yelled.
"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade said as he tried to calm the eccentric man.
"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them," Sherlock said heatedly as he flew down the stairs.
"Right, yeah, thanks! And...?"
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings," Sherlock said as he stopped walking. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to," he said excitedly.
"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade asks, clueless.
"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car," Sherlock answered annoyed at the apparent slowness of the DI.
"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John said, trying to divert Sherlock's attention.
"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair- she color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..." Sherlock's eyes lit up with realization. "Oh." Sherlock exclaimed as he clapped his hands under his chin. "Oh!"
"Sherlock?" John said, worried.
"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked.
"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake," Sherlock said, although he seemed to be talking to himself.
"We can't just wait!" Lestrade disagreed.
"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock said, passionately. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock started walking speedily out the door.
"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade yelled after him. Sherlock came back and yelled, "PINK!" before walking away quickly. Lestrade sighed as he started to organize his people. John looked around and wondered what he is supposed to do. He started walking down the stairs when the DI stopped him.
"What are you to him?" Lestrade asks as the woman from earlier walked up to them and stood beside her boss. John gave him a look of confusion.
"Sherlock, with all his talents and brilliance, doesn't really get on with people. You've seen how he's like. He can be rude and arrogant and eccentric. That's why people tend to stay away from him. He just doesn't understand human interaction. He can deduce the motives and actions but he doesn't understand the meaning behind it. So, what are you to him?" Lestrade asked again.
"I am no one important. I just met him yesterday," John shrugged, although he felt a bit hurt by the DI's words. Why he does, John couldn't really find an answer. Lestrade stared at him silently and John looked right back at him.
"You defended him, though, from Sergeant Donovan's insults," Lestrade said. The dark skinned woman from earlier, who was apparently Sergeant Donovan made a startled noise. "Why?" the inspector continued. John thought about it before giving the DI his answer.
"Sherlock, from what I have seen, is a brilliant man. He can observe the things around him in ways I never could. Although he has his faults, he isn't the only one. We all have our own personality, our own likes and dislikes and our own hobbies. Calling him a freak just because he enjoys these kinds of things is wrong. Calling him a freak because he acts and reacts differently is wrong. Calling him a freak because he isn't afraid to show people what he is like is wrong. That's why I defended him. Your sergeant had absolutely no right to insult him. She was being a bully," John replied with conviction. Lestrade looked at him with a gleam in his eyes. Donovan looked both insulted and surprise.
"I agree with you, John. I also think Sherlock is brilliant. I just find him difficult to deal with sometimes due to all his quirks and eccentricities. I also agree that Donovan doesn't have the right to call him names," Lestrade said. Donovan looked at the DI sharply. Lestrade just looked right back at her. "I told you numerous times not to call Sherlock a freak-you and Anderson both. The next time I hear either of you insult Sherlock again without any provocation from the man; I'll suspend you." The detective inspector finished firmly.
"But sir-," Donovan tried to protest. Lestrade put up his hand to stop her protests.
"No, Donovan. I warned you a lot of times already and you still haven't listened to me. Now, you were being unprofessional and insulted a man without being provoked in front of civilians," Lestrade said. Donovan looked angry and insulted as she walked away with Lestrade shaking his head disappointedly at her. Her pride will get in the way of her success, John thought. Lestrade turned back to John.
"Thank you, John. Here's my card. I have a feeling we will be seeing each other more often from now on," Lestrade said with a smile as he gave John his calling card.
"Thank you too, Detective Inspector. Umm, can I ask where I can get a cab? I'm still learning my way around London," John said awkwardly. Lestrade nodded understandingly and told him the directions. As John walked away, he didn't notice Lestrade's knowing smile.
Following the DI's directions, John quickly found himself on the main street. As he walked, the phones from the telephone booths kept ringing as he passed. He stopped and looked curiously at the phone and noticed that the ringing stopped when another person tries to answer it. Is it meant for me? John thought. John continued walking and when a phone rang, he went inside the booth and answered it.
The person on the other line told him the placements of the cameras around him and John watched as they all turned away. A black Mercedes suddenly appeared and the voice on the phone told him to get in the car. Deciding it was in his best interest to follow, John went in and found a beautiful woman inside. John sat down silently as the car drove away. Who is this person to be able to manipulate the government's security? John thought inquisitively. A few minutes later, they have arrived at a warehouse. There was a posh looking man with an umbrella standing there and a chair. John got out of the car and walked towards the stranger.
"Have a seat, John," the man gestured towards the chair. John looked unimpressed.
"You know, I've got a phone," John said as he limped his way towards the posh stranger, "I mean, very clever and all that, but er... you could just phone me- on my phone. " The two men stood facing each other and sizing each other up. John noticed that the man had similar features with Sherlock. Is he a relative? John thought.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place," the man replied, "the leg must be hurting you. Sit down."
"I don't wanna sit down," John responded as he straightened his back, looking very much like the former Captain Watson. The man smirked.
"You don't seem very afraid," the man stated.
"You don't seem very frightening," John said blankly. The man chuckled.
"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" the man asked rhetorically. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him... "John stopped and tried to remember when he met the detective, "...yesterday." The man hummed in acknowledgement.
"And since yesterday, you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" the man asked sarcastically. John was starting to get impatient.
"Who are you?" John asked frankly. The man gave him a secretive smile. It looks the same as Sherlock's, John thought with a tiny bit of fondness.
"An interested party,"
"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends," John stated a bit suspiciously.
"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having," the man said.
"And what's that?" John asked, trying to hide the jealousy in his tone.
"An enemy,"
"An enemy?" John repeated in disbelief.
"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic," the man stated thoughtfully. Sounds more like sibling rivalry, John thought.
"Well, thank God you're above all that!" John replied mockingly. His phone beeped and John took it from his pocket to see a text message from Sherlock. How? John wondered.
Baker Street.
Come at once
if convenient.
SH
John smiled as he read the text. He didn't know how the man got his number but he shouldn't be all that surprise. The man apparently has numerous talents and John found that enthralling.
"I hope I'm not distracting you," the man said, noticing the smile on John's face. John looked up and the smile vanished from his face.
"Not distracting me at all," he replied indifferently.
"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" the man inquired. John fought the urge to roll his eyes at the man. He didn't think the posh bastard would appreciate his effort.
"I could be wrong... but I think that's none of your business," John said.
"It could be,"
"It really couldn't," John replied, giving the man a defiant look. The man looks at him amused.
"If you do move into, um... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way," the man said instead.
"Why?" John asked. His theory of this man being a relative of Sherlock was becoming more probable.
"Because you're not a wealthy man," the man replied.
"In exchange for what?" John asked.
"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to," the man requested. Hmm… he is obviously older than Sherlock but not old enough to be his father. He could be a brother or a cousin. Although, the protectiveness and his apparent knowledge of Sherlock leans more on the man being Sherlock's brother. Sherlock doesn't seem like the type to get close to people, John thought perceptively.
"Why?" John asked.
"I worry about him. Constantly," the man said, although he seemed hesitant about his admission. Pretty sure I am meeting Sherlock's brother, John thought.
"That's nice of you,"
"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a... difficult relationship," the man requested as he fiddled with his umbrella. John's phone chimed again.
If inconvenient,
come anyway.
SH
John read the text and couldn't help the warm feeling spreading all over his body. Sherlock wants to see him. And he had a feeling that it's rare for Sherlock to want to see someone.
"No," John replied as he looked up from his phone.
"But I haven't mentioned a figure," the man stated.
"Don't bother," he retorted. John never liked being bribed.
"You're very loyal, very quickly,"
"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested," John countered, trying to keep the warmth from spreading to his cheeks.
"'Trust issues,' it says here," the man said, reading a small notepad.
"What's that?" John questioned.
"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"
"Who says I trust him?" John refuted.
"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," the man continued.
"Are we done?" John asked impatiently.
"You tell me," the man answered as he pocketed the notebook. John wordlessly turned around and started walking away. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen," the man continued. John stopped and his curiosity got the best of him. He turned back around to face the posh bastard.
"My what?" John asked, irked.
"Show me," the man ordered instead. John's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he walked up to the man and raised his left hand. The man went to take John's hand in his.
"Don't..." John warned, not liking the thought of touching the man when he hasn't got the chance to touch Sherlock yet. The man gave him a patronizing look and John relented.
Nothing happened. That's when John noticed the red mark on the underside of the man's left wrist. The familiar feeling of sadness and longing came to John making him frown slightly.
"Remarkable," the man stated, distracting John.
"What is?" he asked.
"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?" the man asked rhetorically. John looked over his hand.
"What's wrong with my hand?"
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service," the man stated clinically. John stayed quiet. Definitely Sherlock's brother, John thought amusedly. What a first meeting!
"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson... you miss it," the man smiled meaningfully. John looked at him a bit anxious. "Welcome back," the man continued dramatically. John's phone beeped the third time. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson," the man said as he turned and walked away. The beautiful woman from before walks up to him while still texting on her phone.
"I'm to take you home. Address?" the woman asked. John read the message on his phone.
Could be dangerous.
SH
"Er, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first," John replied as he looks up at her. They both got in the car and drove away. After a few minutes, they arrived at his old apartment. Without a word, John got out of the car and went to his room. He packed his things and anything else he might need. He went to his bedside table and opened the drawer. Inside was a gun. The very gun he had during Afghanistan and the same gun he was going to use to shoot himself a few nights ago. Now, he would use it for its intended purpose- to protect others. After he packed his things, he went back to the car, not once looking back.
John entered the flat and saw Sherlock lying down the sofa with his eyes closed and hands together under his chin. He seems to be meditating. Should I disturb him? John contemplated.
"What are you doing?" John asked after he noticed the patches on Sherlock's forearm.
"Nicotine patch. Helps me think," Sherlock exhaled deeply. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." John frowned.
"It's good news for breathing," John replied.
"Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring," Sherlock replied, bored. John looked closer at Sherlock's arm and his frown deepened.
"Is that three patches?" John asked in disbelief. Sherlock closed his eyes, apparently bored with the conversation.
"It's a three-patch problem," he responded nonchalantly.
"Well...?" John asked tentatively, "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important." Sherlock's eyes snapped open and trying to look at John from his place on the couch.
"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock asked.
"My phone?" John asked as his eyes furrowed in confusion at Sherlock's request.
"Don't wanna use mine- always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website," the detective responded.
"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone,"
"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear," Sherlock said.
"I was the other side of London," John exclaimed in disbelief. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.
"There was no hurry," Sherlock answered indifferently, seemingly oblivious of John's disbelief. John sighed and handed the man his phone.
"Here. So what's this about – the case?" John asked. Sherlock looked at him with such a clear gaze that it made John's heart pound. John started walking towards the window.
"Her case,"
"Her case?" John repeated as he peaked out the window and trying to find traces of who he was pretty sure was Sherlock's brother.
"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake,"
"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked, continuing his search. Sherlock just ignored him. John just rolled his eyes and smiled fondly at the eccentric man.
"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock said out loud. We? John thought as his heart skipped a beat. Gosh, I'm such a girl. Knit picking every word coming out of his mouth. There has to be something wrong with me!
"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text," Sherlock ordered.
"You brought me here... to send a text," John clarified incredulously as he faced the sofa.
"Text, yes. The number on my desk," Sherlock repeated as he turned to face John with an annoyed look on his face. That's when he noticed John looking out the window. "What's wrong?" He asked John, concerned. Hmmm best to pretend ignorance for now, John thought.
"Just met a friend of yours," he replied.
"A friend?" Sherlock asked skeptically. Remembering what the posh bastard said about Sherlock, he rephrased his answer, "An enemy."
"Oh," Sherlock said calmly. "Which one?" John gave the man an amused look.
"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people have arch-enemies?"
"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked conspiratorially.
"Yes,"
"Did you take it?"
"No," John replied with a laugh. Sherlock gave a disappointed sigh.
"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time," Sherlock advised. John just smiled at the endearing man.
"Who is he?" John asked. Will he tell me? John thought.
"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number, Sherlock ordered again. Well, that wasn't what I thought he'd say, John thought as he went to type the text. John picked up the paper on top of the desk and looked up at the man lying down the sofa in shock.
"Jennifer Wilson. That was... Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" John asked as he looked at Sherlock for an answer.
"Yes, that's not important. Just enter the number," Sherlock said impatiently. "Are you doing it?"
"Yes,"
"Have you done it?"
"Ye... hang on!" John cried.
"These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out, Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come," Sherlock instructed. John looked up worriedly.
"You blacked out?"
"What? No... No!" Sherlock denied as he sat up from the sofa and moved to sit on the armchair. "Type and send it. Quickly! Have you sent it?"
"What's the address?" John asked as he typed the text as quickly as possible.
"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock cried out impatiently. He pulled out a small pink case beside his armchair and placed it on the table. John stared at the case in shock.
"That's... That's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case," John mumbled confused. How on earth did he find it so quickly? John wondered.
"Yes, obviously," Sherlock answered as he rested his elbows on top of his knees and his fingers under his chin. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her," Sherlock added as an afterthought.
"I never said you did,"
"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption," Sherlock stated. John raised an eyebrow at that.
"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" he asked in return. Just the thought of the baseless accusations that must have been aimed the brilliant man out of jealousy or cruelty was making him angry and sad.
"Now and then, yes," Sherlock answered with a small smile. John frowned deeply.
"Okay..." John answered, not really knowing what to say. He went to sit across Sherlock.
"How did you get this?" John asked, changing the topic.
"By looking," Sherlock answered sarcastically.
"Where?" John continued, undeterred.
"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it- wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed- took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock explained smugly.
"Pink," John said as he remembered Sherlock's words before he ran off. "You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" Brilliant! John thought, amazed.
"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock stated.
"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked rhetorically.
"Because you're an idiot," Sherlock answered frankly. John gave him a disbelieving look.
"No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is," Sherlock waved him off. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"
"From the case? How could I?" John answered as he leaned back and propped one elbow on the armrest to lean his head on.
"Her phone," Sherlock answered. " Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it."
"Maybe she left it at home," John answered despite thinking how unlikely that was for an adulterer.
"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home,"
"Er..." John sat up straight as a thought came to him. "Why did I just send that text?"
"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"
"She could have lost it," John answered.
"Yes or...?" Sherlock prompted.
"The murderer... You think the murderer has the phone?"
"Maybe she... left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone," Sherlock explained.
"Sorry... what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John asked confused.
"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." At that moment, the phone rang. "...would panic," Sherlock finished dramatically as he stood up.
"Have you talked to the police?" John asked as he twisted on his couch to look at the man. Should he inform Lestrade? John contemplated.
"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police," Sherlock responded as he prepared to leave.
"So why are you talking to me?"
"Mrs. Hudson took my skull," Sherlock informed him.
"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" John asked blankly.
"Relax, you're doing fine," Sherlock smiled. "Well?"
"Well what?" John pressed, confused.
"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly," Sherlock replied in disgust.
"What, you want me to come with you?" John's eyes widened slightly. No way!
"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so..." Sherlock trailed off as he saw the look on John's face, "problem?"
"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan," John started. There was something that was bugging John about the female officer since he met her.
"What about her?" Sherlock looked at him curiously.
"Why does she hate you so much and call you freak?" John asked. He noticed that when the woman called Sherlock a 'freak' it seemed more than just an insult. The look in her eyes had fear in them. Sherlock looked at him with a hint of worry in his eyes. What's he worried about? John wondered.
"She thinks I'm a psychopath. When the time comes that I'll get too bored and solving cases won't be enough, she fears that they won't be able to do anything to stop me when it's my turn leaving around dead bodies."
"That's not fair! She's already accusing you without any solid proof," John replied.
"It doesn't matter, John,"
"She also said you get off on this?" John asked. What did she mean by that? John wondered. It really didn't register to him at first. He was distracted with protecting Sherlock's dignity.
"And I said 'dangerous', and here you are," Sherlock replied with a smirk and turned around.
"Damn it!" John exclaimed as he followed after the consulting detective. As they walked out the street, he wondered if he could ask Sherlock about his opinion on soul mates. While John was thinking on how to broach the subject of soul mates to Sherlock, he didn't notice Sherlock looking at him with a gentle smile. A couple in their late teens walked passed them and John noticed a purple mark on the woman's wrist. John was immediately filled with envy. He longed to find his soul mate but it seemed that he was destined to be alone. John sighed and turned to look at Sherlock, who by then was observing their surroundings.
"Where are we going?" John asked, not familiar with the area.
"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here,"
"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John questioned doubtfully.
"No, I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught," Sherlock said with a bit of excitement.
"Why?"
"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience," Sherlock answered, sounding very much like he experienced it himself. Which he likely did, John supposed.
"Yeah," John agreed. He witnessed it himself when Sherlock explained his deductions to him earlier in order to receive a praise.
"This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go," Sherlock deduced. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" he continued oratorically.
"Dunno," John shrugged. "Who?"
"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?" Sherlock asked as they entered a small Italian restaurant. "Thank you, Billy," said the consulting detective as a waiter opened the door and led them to a table by the window. Both men sat down facing each other. John opened the menu and scanned it while Sherlock looked out the window.
"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it," Sherlock ordered.
"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad," he answered.
"He has killed four people," Sherlock stated simply.
"...Okay," John responded uncertainly. Then, a big man with long slightly curly hair and a huge smile came up to their table.
"Sherlock!" the man greeted happily, shaking Sherlock's hand with enthusiasm. Sherlock returned the sentiment with a small smile on his face as he shakes the man's hand.
"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date," the man offered generously. Sherlock sat back down and looked at John.
"Do you want to eat?" He asked the doctor.
"I'm not his date," John denied, stuck up at the big man's statement. I'm not that lucky, John thought dejectedly. The man just smiled at John.
"This man got me off a murder charge," the man said with genuine gratitude laced in his voice.
"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduced. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."
"He cleared my name," the man added, the smile of gratefulness never leaving his face.
"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"
"Nothing. But for this man, I'd have gone to prison," Angelo explained.
"You did go to prison," Sherlock corrected.
"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic," Angelo ignored Sherlock's statement and left.
"I'm not his date!" John called out after him.
"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait," Sherlock said, apparently unconcerned about being referred as John's date. John sighed in defeat and thanked the detective before he ordered his food. A minute later, Angelo came back with a candle. John looked at him startled since he didn't think Angelo would really make things between him and Sherlock more romantic. A warm sensation started filling his cheeks and he let out a breath in order to calm himself down. He turned to Sherlock who was watching out the window. Archenemies, huh? John thought. What a way to describe one's brother! John then wondered if Sherlock has anyone special, obviously not a soul mate.
"People don't have arch-enemies," John said quietly as his meal arrived, unsure about how to start the conversation. Sherlock turned to face him.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow.
"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen," John clarified.
"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull," Sherlock replied as he turned back to face the window. He really is beautiful, John thought in awe. The dim light casting shadows on the detective's face and highlighting his gorgeous features. John inwardly shakes off the thought. I can't think about Sherlock like that, John reprimanded.
"So who did I meet?" John continued with the conversation as he tried to play ignorance.
"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock asked instead of answering.
"Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don't like... Soul mates..." John trailed off.
"Yes, well, as I was saying, dull," Sherlock replied as he rolled his eyes. A pang of dismay hit John's heart. It shouldn't surprise him that Sherlock doesn't care about relationships or soul mates, given what he has seen of the man so far.
"You don't have anyone special, then?" John asked carefully.
"Someone special? No, not really my area," Sherlock said uncaringly. John's heart throbs painfully at the detective's words. I should be bothered by this at all but I am, John thought sadly. I should just ignore his words and its effects and stay indifferent.
"Oh, right. I bet it's distracting. For you, I mean. Distracting you from the work," John stuttered, "Which is fine, by the way." I don't want to offend him, John thought, he must think I'm nosy.
"I know its fine," Sherlock said as he turned to watch John intently. His eyes like the ranging sea- dark and mysterious. John couldn't help but think he could stare at those eyes forever, beautiful as they are.
"So you've never been with anyone before?" John couldn't help but ask.
"No," Sherlock denied firmly. John sensed that he was entering dangerous and forbidden territory. He should stop this conversation or else Sherlock will get angry with him.
"Right. Okay. That's fine. Good," John responded. Sherlock looked at him with an unreadable expression and piercing eyes.
"John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and that I find the subject of soul mates unappealing unless they help me solve a case so…" John really shouldn't be bothered by the eccentric man's words but they hurt for some reason.
"No. No, I'm just curious. That's all," John interrupted. "I'm just saying, it's all fine."
"Good. Thank you," Sherlock replied as he turned back towards the window. A few minutes of tense silence later, John finished eating. He didn't know what to say. He shouldn't have opened up the topic of relationships. He was just so curious about the man he seems to have strange feeling for. He couldn't help but learn more about the brilliant detective. He was like the embodiment of danger and excitement. And it made John's heart race. Sherlock is just brilliant!
"Look across the street. Taxi," Sherlock said, bringing John out from his reverie. "Stopped. Nobody getting in and nobody getting out." John watch Sherlock as the man's mind thought up theories at the speed of light.
"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock continued to muse.
"That's him?" John could barely make out a face.
"Don't stare," Sherlock said sharply. John looked at him bemused.
"You're staring," John stated flatly.
"We can't both stare," Sherlock responded childishly. The man suddenly stood up and ran out the door. John following close behind him, not realizing he left his cane. They stopped at the middle of the street when the cab they were chasing speed up making a car horn loudly behind them. John apologized to the driver as he made a note of the cab number.
"I've got the cab number," John informed the detective.
"Good for you," Sherlock responded as the man placed two fingers on either sides of his temple and shut his eyes.
"Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights," Sherlock mumbled.
"Oy!" a driver shouted at them. Sherlock then took off in a certain direction. As expected, John was right behind him. As they ran, Sherlock shouted encouragements to John.
"Come on, John... Come on, John. We're losing him!"
Sherlock, then, saw the cab they were chasing drive by them and stopped making John almost bumped into his back.
"Ah, no!" Sherlock shouted in frustration. He then ran in another direction. However, John took a wrong turn
"No, this way!" Sherlock shouted after the doctor.
"Sorry!"
They continued their chase as they climbed and jumped between buildings. John always right behind Sherlock. A few minutes later, they caught up with the cab and stopped right in front of it.
"Police! Open her up!" Sherlock shouted as he opened up the cab door and flashed a police ID. He saw the bewildered face of a tourist. "No," Sherlock panted.
"Teeth, tan. What, Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived," Sherlock deduced.
"How can you possibly know that?" John said as he tried to catch his breath.
"The luggage," Sherlock replied. "It's probably your first trip to London, right; going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock said to the tourist.
"Sorry, are you guys the police?" the man asked confused.
"Yeah," Sherlock lied. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah,"
"Welcome to London," Sherlock said and walked away. John turned towards the tourist.
"Er, any problems, just let us know," John added as he went towards Sherlock.
"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," John said.
"Basically," Sherlock affirmed.
"Not the murderer,"
"Not the murderer, no," Sherlock clarified.
"Wrong country, good alibi,"
"As they go,"
"Hey, where-where did you get this?" John asked he look at Sherlock's hand, not making a move to touch him. Sherlock carefully handed the ID to John. John read it with perplexity.
"Right. Detective Inspector Lestrade?" John implored.
"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat," Sherlock stated indifferently. John looked at him funny.
"What?" Sherlock asked, noticing the look John was giving him. John shakes his head in response.
"Nothing, just... 'Welcome to London'," John chuckled, Sherlock let a laugh. John watched, amazed. Sherlock's unguarded smile was beautiful. His eyes twinkled with mirth. John felt his heart flutter with pride for being able to make Sherlock smile like this, so unlike his empty smiles.
"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked, bringing John back to the present. John turned to where Sherlock was looking and saw the same tourist point at their direction as he spoke to a policeman.
"Ready when you are," John said as they ran back to 221B.
A few minutes later and they found themselves leaning against the wall in the hallways.
"Okay, that was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," John panted as he smiled.
"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock joked as they both laughed.
"That wasn't just me," John replied. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"
"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway," Sherlock said referring to the police.
"So what were we doing there?"
"Oh, just passing the time and proving a point," Sherlock said.
"What point?" John asked, interested.
"You," Sherlock replied with a knowing smirk. "Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs." John's heart fluttered at the statement. Sherlock wants me to live with him, John thought with wonder.
"Says who?" John responded.
"Says the man at the door," Sherlock's smirk never leaving his face as he gestured towards the door. Just then, there was a knock at the door. John opened the door to find Angelo standing there.
"Sherlock texted me," Angelo as he handed John his cane, "he said you forgot this." John took his cane in a daze.
"Ah," John was speechless for a moment, "Er, thank you. Thank you," John said as he closed the door. John turned to face Sherlock with a look of amazement. Before either man could say something, Mrs. Hudson walked out the door with a worried look on her otherwise gentle face.
"Sherlock, what have you done?" She said with worry.
"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock responded confused.
"Upstairs," Mrs. Hudson replied as she pointed to their flat. Both men ran up the stairs and burst into the room. They found the police doing a search.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked angrily. Lestrade was sitting on the armchair and stood up.
"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid," Lestrade said in greeting.
"You can't just break into my flat," Sherlock responded annoyed. John looked around and saw people rummaging through Sherlock's things.
"And you can't withhold evidence and I didn't break into your flat," the DI responded in kind.
"Well, what do you call this then?" Sherlock asked as he gestured towards the room.
"It's a drugs bust," Lestrade responded a little too cheerfully. John's head snapped up at that remark.
"Seriously?! This guy - a junkie? Have you met him?" John asked in disbelief.
"John..." Sherlock said quietly.
"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational," John said to Lestrade.
"John, you probably want to shut up now," Sherlock warned with unexplainable heat.
"Yeah, but come on... "John said as he turned towards Sherlock. He, then, noticed the look on Sherlock's face. It was the look of regret and self- disgust.
"No," John said in denial. He continued to look into Sherlock's eyes and saw a flicker of fear in them.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"You?" John asked incredulously.
"Shut up!" Sherlock said annoyed, though there was sadness in his eyes. "I'm not your sniffer dog," Sherlock continued, looking at Lestrade
"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog," Lestrade answered.
"What, An- Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Sherlock exclaimed in disbelief.
"Oh, I volunteered," the annoying man from before said with a frustrating smirk on his face. John felt his previous anger at the man rising. Still, he couldn't believe that Sherlock used to do drugs. What drove this brilliant man to do such a thing? John wondered sadly.
"They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen," Lestrade complemented. Just then, Sergeant Donovan came into view.
"Are these human eyes?" she asked.
"Put those back!" Sherlock ordered sharply.
"They were in the microwave!" Donovan cried out horrified.
"It's an experiment," Sherlock explained, frustrated.
"Keep looking, guys," Lestrade ordered. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down," Lestrade said to Sherlock.
"This is childish," Sherlock muttered darkly. John looked at him sadly. No one likes their home to be invaded, obviously, but John couldn't help the detective in this one since he did withhold evidence.
"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" Lestrade stated firmly, looking at Sherlock in the eyes.
"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock said sarcastically but his eyes held worry in them as they flickered in John's direction.
"It stops being pretend if they find anything,"
"I am clean!" Sherlock cried out in frustration. John's heart throbs at the detective's discomfort. He hates it. He hates seeing Sherlock like this.
"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade implored further.
"I don't even smoke," Sherlock said as he showed off his forearm where the nicotine patches were. Lestrade showed off his own forearm. There were nicotine patches there too.
"Neither do I," the DI stated before he continued. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."
"Who is she?" inquired Sherlock.
"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter," Lestrade answered. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the answer and said, "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"
"Never mind that. We found the case," Anderson injected rudely. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath." John frowned angrily at the forensic officer's statement, unaware that Lestrade was watching him.
"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research," Sherlock responded rudely, looking at Anderson like he was just scum stuck under his shoes. He, then, turned to Lestrade and said, "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."
"She's dead," Lestrade replied bluntly. Sherlock's face lit up. John watched him in fondness.
"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be!"
"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago," Lestrade informed Sherlock, seemingly confused as well. Sherlock looked puzzled. John could practically see deductions going around Sherlock's head.
"No, that's... that's not right. How? Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock questioned.
"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?! Yup – sociopath, I'm seeing it now," Anderson replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes mockingly at the detective.
"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt," Sherlock explained heatedly.
"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow," John said.
"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked uncaringly. Everyone become quiet as they all looked at the detective. John, too, was looking at Sherlock in disbelief. Noticing the look, Sherlock looked around and saw the looks of everyone around him.
"Not good?" Sherlock whispered to John quietly.
"Bit not good, yeah," John answered as he cleared his throat. Sherlock seems to be ignorant about human interactions and emotions just like Lestrade said. I should be concerned but I find it adorable. Weird, John thought as he looked at the detective in the eye.
"Yeah, but if you were dying... if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds what would you say?" Sherlock asked intensely at John.
"Please, God, let me live," John joked as he tried to keep a straight face.
"Oh, use your imagination!" the detective responded. John rolled his eyes good naturedly at the eccentric man.
"I don't have to," John said, clearly implying that Sherlock could do it himself.
"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers - she was clever," Sherlock explained. "She's trying to tell us something." Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the doorway.
"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson informed the consulting detective.
"I didn't order a taxi. Go away," Sherlock said, as he waved a hand at her dismissively. Mrs. Hudson didn't appear to be offended and just looked around the flat.
"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a brown.
"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson," John answered her when it became clear that Sherlock wasn't going to.
"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers," Mrs. Hudson frowned even deeper. Just then a look of extreme annoyance appeared on Sherlock's face and he, then, yelled, "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock did a go away motion towards Anderson, which he responded with a look of indignation and said, "What? My face is?!" Lestrade, who seems to know Sherlock fairly well, ordered, "Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back."
"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson cried out in anger.
"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade barked at him. John watch Sherlock intently as the man concentrated.
"Come on, think. Quick!" John heard Sherlock muttered.
"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked quietly. Sherlock's control snapped.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled in frustration. Mrs. Hudson turned around and walked away in fright. Suddenly, a look of realization appeared on Sherlock's face. John watched this all happen quietly and intrigued. Sherlock seemed different from the man he met yesterday. This one seemed more alive, John thought in wonder.
"Oh!" Sherlock cried out quietly and chuckled triumphantly, "Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!"
"She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead," Sherlock exclaimed as he looked at everyone in the room. "Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." He explained.
"But how?" Lestrade inquired. John's eyebrows furrowed in thought. She planted it on him? So, the phone has a tracking system of some sort, John thought. His eyes widened in realization.
"Wha...? What do you mean, how?" Sherlock questioned in disbelief.
"Rachel," John answered quietly. Sherlock turned to look at John in surprise.
"It's because of Rachel, isn't it?" John asked Sherlock. A look of pride entered Sherlock's eyes and Lestrade looked at the two of them confused.
"Rachel is not a name," Sherlock said to Lestrade.
"Then what is it?" Lestrade asked the detective. John moved towards the pink case before Sherlock told him to. Sherlock called out his name as he opened his laptop. Before Sherlock could say anything else, John responded with, " .uk."
Sherlock smiled at John before turning back to the laptop and explained, "Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, its e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and all together now, the password is?"
"Rachel," Lestrade answered.
"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson interrupted with venom. He is just asking to be punched in the face, John thought angrily.
"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at the annoying man. John had to stifle a giggle. Lestrade, however, noticed and sent John a small smile.
"Unless he got rid of it," Lestrade said.
"We know he didn't," John answered. Sherlock was muttering impatiently again, "Come on, come on. Quickly!" Mrs. Hudson came back looking a bit urgent and said, "Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver..."
"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" Sherlock responded sarcastically as he stood up. Without thinking, John sat down on the seat Sherlock vacated.
"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever," Sherlock said to Lestrade.
"We'll just have a map reference, not a name," Lestrade replied.
"It's a start!"
John frowned as the search ended and called Sherlock. He was ignored, however, as Sherlock continued his conversation with the DI.
"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had,"
John tried again and this time, he caught the detective's attention. Sherlock stood behind the doctor and looked over his shoulder. "What is it? Quickly, where?" he asked impatiently.
"It's here. It's in 221B Baker Street," John answered, just as confused.
"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock implored.
"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade supplied. Sherlock raised an incredulous eyebrow at that.
"What? And I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?"
"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," John said to Lestrade. Sherlock stood up straight and had a blank look on his face.
"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim," Lestrade ordered his officers. John, who was watching the detective, noticed him standing still like he's in shock.
"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked, concerned. Sherlock seemed to snap out of his daze.
"What? Yeah, yea. I-I'm fine," the detective answered quietly. John stayed quiet as he continued to watch the detective. Sherlock, then, started heading towards the door.
"Where are you going?" John asked, worried.
"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long," Sherlock said, distracted, as he left. John frowned. He has a bad feeling about this. He stood up and walked towards the window. He saw Sherlock and a cabbie driver talking. His frown deepened. His mind suddenly remembered Sherlock's words from earlier this evening.
/
Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?
/
John gasped. He looked down again and saw Sherlock going inside the cab. NO! What is he thinking? John thought horrified. He, quickly, turned away from the window and grabbed the laptop and his coat. He ran towards the door. Just before he reached it, a hand grabbed his uninjured shoulder. He turned and saw Lestrade looking at him confused.
"Where are you going, John?"
"I have to go to Sherlock! He just got in a cab with a serial killer!" John said frantically.
"What?" Lestrade cried out in disbelief.
"Let go of me! I need to go to him! Right now! He's in danger!" John said in panic. Lestrade immediately let him go and without another word, John ran.
Fear.
That was all John could feel at the moment as he got in a cab and instructed the driver where to go. Fear that something might happen to that brilliant yet idiotic man. The all-consuming fear gripped his heart making it impossible to breath. What would he do if he was too late? The thought made him gasp in unbearable pain. I can't think like that, John thought as he shakes his head. Minutes went by, and the pain and fear continued to increase. His heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest. His wounded shoulder throbbed painfully and his left leg was jittery. A sound from the laptop brought him out of his thoughts and relayed the new directions to the cabbie.
A few agonizing minutes later, they arrived at a place called Roland-Kerr Further Education College. John paid the cabbie and immediately called Lestrade. The DI answered after the first ring.
"John!"
"I am at Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Please hurry!" John informed the man.
"Just wait there, John. Don't go in alone," the DI ordered.
"I am not waiting!" John then hanged up the call and proceeded to go inside. He widened his senses as he ran. He has to hurry and find that man. He can't be late. He just can't. Where is he? John thought frantically. He continued to open door only to find it empty. He prayed to every God he could think of to keep the detective safe. He can't lose him yet. The thought made his whole body throbbed in pain. He couldn't understand the feelings he had for the man. It was mindboggling to feel this much in such a short amount of time. He went inside the next room and he sighed in relief as he saw the familiar silhouette of the consulting detective. He ran towards him only to find that Sherlock was in the opposite building. John saw Sherlock holding something against the light. Fear consumed John. I can't get to him in time, John thought in panic. He saw Sherlock hesitating to put something in his mouth. No!
Without another thought, John took out his gun and aimed at the cabbie. When he was sure that he wouldn't hit Sherlock, he fired. A blast and the shattering of glass could be heard as it echoed throughout the room. John saw the cabbie fall as Sherlock jumped back. John dropped down so that Sherlock couldn't see him. He let out a breath of relief as he heard the sirens of the police. He quickly hid his gun and walked out the door carefully so that Sherlock can't see him.
A few minutes, john found himself standing outside the police tape as he waited for Sherlock to come out. He didn't have to wait long as both the DI and Sherlock came out followed by Sergeant Donovan and the body of the dead serial killer. He watched as Lestrade and Sherlock talked. Sherlock looks annoyed as a paramedic keeps putting an orange blanket on Sherlock's shoulders. Then he saw Sherlock walked towards him. John couldn't help but ran his eyes over Sherlock's body for any signs of injury. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a black car parked by the road and Sherlock's brother standing beside it. When Sherlock was in front of him, they stared at each other in silence. John was starting to feel angry. How dare this man put him through that?
"Good shot," Sherlock praised quietly. And just like that, John's anger disappeared. He frowned confused. He didn't say anything in response. Sherlock frowned and observed John carefully.
"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" John said as he looked at Sherlock in the eyes.
"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up," Sherlock responded calmly.
"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever," John told Sherlock annoyed. Sherlock tilted his head to the side.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you're an idiot," John said annoyed as he turned and walked away. He wasn't able to take more than a few steps before his right hand was grabbed. John's heart raced when he realized it was Sherlock's hand he was holding. He turned to face the detective when he noticed the bright golden light surrounding them. He saw Sherlock's eyes widen as he felt a fiery sensation encircling his right wrist. The sensation grew stronger as his soul mark started to burn as well. He gasped in pain and looked down at their hands. He saw a symbol started to darken around his wrist. It was starting to get too painful and yet Sherlock didn't let go. The light around them grew brighter and his head was starting to hurt as well. He could hear Sherlock gasped in pain. Slowly, the pain started to go away and the golden light dimmed. He looked up and saw Sherlock's eyes were shut as he clutched his head in pain with his left hand. John gaped when he saw the golden symbol around Sherlock's left wrist. He immediately looked down at his right wrist and saw the same symbol on it. Sherlock is my soul mate! John thought in amazement and disbelief. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John. His eyes were filled with surprise. He looked down and saw the symbol on John's right wrist and turned to look at his left wrist. They were quiet as they tried to wrap their minds around it. Sherlock let go of his hand and took his left one gently. He pushed the jumper sleeve up and they both saw that John's previous black soul mark was now a lovely gold color. He didn't think his soul mark could ever be this fascinating. The gold color seemed to be alive as the angle changes. The feelings he felt towards Sherlock made sense now. The longing to touch him, the fear of losing him, the fascination towards the man's quirks- everything made sense now. He already knew that deep down Sherlock was his. How lucky! John thought in wonder.
"Do you really think so?" Sherlock asked quietly. John looked at him confused. Sherlock smiled shyly. Do you want me as your soul mate? Sherlock thought to John. John smiled proudly and without hesitation, answered, Oh God yes!
Sherlock smiled widely before returning his attention back towards John's soul mark. He gently ran his thumb across it. Your soul mark describes you perfectly, Sherlock sent to John. Confused, John asked, what does it mean?
Sherlock looked up shocked, you don't know? John shakes his head. It's called Akofena. It's the Adinkra symbol for courage, valor and heroism. In English, it means 'sword of war'. John's eyes widened, I always wondered what it meant. I didn't know it had a name. What about our matching mark? Do you know what it means?
Sherlock smiled and nodded. He let go of his hand and gently picked up John's right wrist with his left hand. When their marks touched, a pleasant shiver ran up their spines. The mark consisted of two hands cradling a heart with a crown on top. The hands wrapped around their wrists. The outlines were a darker shade of gold, so the symbol could be seen perfectly. It was beautiful.
It's the Claddagh ring. It's the Irish symbol for love, loyalty and friendship. The heart represents love, obviously, while the hands represent unity and promises, the crown represents loyalty and the heart on the hands represents belonging and sacrifice, Sherlock explained.
How do you know all these? John wondered. Sherlock blushed lightly, I just wanted to know what my soul mark meant and then I got fascinated with all the symbols I found that I retained all the information. John smiled warmly at the detective. Sherlock, suddenly, looked serious; the Claddagh ring also means something else, John.
What?
I come to you with my whole heart, Sherlock thought seriously. His eyes were intense and heated. John's heart speeds up. Warmth started to spread all over his body as he smiled adoringly at the man.
I come to you with my whole heart, John repeated to Sherlock. The man's eyes softened as he smiled affectionately to John. Sherlock then intertwined their fingers together and placed their clasp hands in his coat pocket making John step closer to him. John just smiled in response. Both men then noticed the silence of their surroundings. They looked around and saw everyone watching them with a mixture of disbelief and jealousy and disgust. Lestrade, however, was watching the two of them happily. He walked up to the pair.
"Well I can't say I'm surprised. Although, I'm surprised at the color since a gold colored bond is beyond rare," the DI said. Sherlock stayed silent as he looked away. At the back of his mind, John felt Sherlock's surprise and annoyance. He turned to his mate and saw that he finally noticed his brother. How do you know he's my brother? Sherlock thought in surprise. John just smiled and turned to face Lestrade. He could feel Sherlock's gaze on him.
"What do you mean?" John asked Lestrade, who had a knowing look on his face.
"You were always watching him adoringly, John," Lestrade answered, making John blush. He could feel rather than see Sherlock's smirk. "And Sherlock acted differently around you." It was John's turn to feel smug as he saw Sherlock's smirk fell from the corner of his eye. Before John could say anything, Sherlock was walking towards his brother and pulling John along. Lestrade laughed and followed after them.
Before Sherlock's brother could say anything, John said, "Hello again, Mr. Holmes."
"I see that Sherlock already told you about me," the man said with an eyebrow raised. John shakes his head and says, "Nope, I figured it out by myself."
"Oh?"
"The same smirk and deductive prowess and the same dramatic flair and superior attitude and similar features- you could only be Sherlock's brother. Am I wrong?" John asked. The man stayed silent as Lestrade laughed. Sherlock smiled proudly. John could feel happiness and pride coming from Sherlock.
"Well, it seems you're a match for my foolish little brother. Someone's got to keep an eye on him," the man said nonchalantly. "My name is Mycroft and it seems I was right." John immediately blushed and looked away, tried to block his thoughts from Sherlock. Sherlock was confused and a little jealous and John can still feel that through their bond. He thought about all sorts of things just to keep that certain memory from Sherlock. The detective's annoyance grew.
What is it? Sherlock thought as Mycroft smirked knowingly. John stayed silent and avoided looking at Sherlock. Sherlock's grip tightened.
"John," Sherlock said quietly. John stiffened. Sherlock was getting angry.
I am angry. Tell me! Sherlock thought loudly. John sighed in defeat and looked at Sherlock. Stormy blue eyes stared back at him. He completely opened his mind and showed Sherlock the memory.
/
"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him... yesterday."
"And since yesterday, you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
/
Sherlock blushed lightly as he looked at John. I see. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, John.
If that's true then why are you blushing? John challenged.
Well, it is a happy announcement. I'm just annoyed that my brother was right. He'll be so smug about it! Sherlock thought. John just chuckled and turned towards Mycroft and Lestrade. He noticed that they were standing too closely to each other. Remembering Mycroft's mark on his left wrist, he started to wonder if Lestrade was Mycroft's soul mate. He felt evident joy coming from Sherlock.
You're right! They are soul mates! Sherlock confirmed. I'm surprised and happy you were able to notice. Though, I shouldn't be surprised. You are quite observant.
Thanks! Not a match for you though, John thought back. Before Sherlock could say anymore, John turned towards the other pair.
"Sherlock and I better get going. We can give our statements tomorrow, Lestrade. It was nice meeting you again, Mr. Holmes." John said. Lestrade smiled knowingly and said, "I'm sure you're both tired. I'll stop by tomorrow and, John, you can call me Greg." John smiled and nodded.
"Likewise, John, please call me Mycroft," the posh man said with a smirk.
"Thank you! Good night!" John said as he and Sherlock walked away.
Dinner? Sherlock sent to John.
Starving, John thought a reply.
End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle, Sherlock stated with a bit of humor. Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies.
No, you can't, John giggled. Sherlock looks down at John with a soft smile. John felt content. He finally found his soul mate. The emptiness in chest disappeared as it fills up with love for the eccentric man beside him.
They got back to their flat at around midnight. Sherlock reluctantly let go of John's hand in order to remove their coats. After which he immediately grabs John's hand and held it tightly before walking into Sherlock's room.
"I thought we will be needing two bedrooms," John said.
"If you think that I'm letting you sleep away from me, you're crazy, John," Sherlock answered. John smiled widely. He couldn't remember the last time he was this happy.
"My clothes are upstairs though,"
"Use mine," Sherlock answered simply. Sherlock grudgingly let go of John's hand again so that they can prepare for bed. As they were changing, John noticed the golden mark on Sherlock's right shoulder. It consisted of many lines and rectangles. It didn't seem to resemble anything.
What does it mean? John asked. Sherlock turned towards John and saw him looking at the mark on his shoulder.
It's the Nea Onnim No Sua A Ohu. It's the Adinkra symbol of knowledge, life-long education and continued quest for knowledge. In English, it means 'He who does not know can know from learning', Sherlock answered. John lifted his hand to trace the mark gently.
"It suits you," John said simply. Sherlock smiled and John felt Sherlock's happiness through the bond.
A few minutes later, both men were lying down on the bed with their arms wrapped around each other. John's head was buried in Sherlock's neck, memorizing the scent of the man. Something spicy and masculine and undeniable Sherlock that it made John's head spin. John sighs in content. He felt Sherlock's arm tightened around him as he cuddled closer to the man.
John could feel Sherlock's mind buzzing, although he can't seem to make anything out of it.
What is it? John thought.
Moriarty, Sherlock responded.
What's Moriarty? John questioned.
I've absolutely no idea, Sherlock said. John sat up lightly to look at Sherlock. They stared at each other for a while.
"What else?" John asked out loud. Sherlock chuckled before saying, "I'm curious as to what our bond can do. A gold color bond does happen only once every century."
John nodded in agreement, "That's true. However, we have plenty of time for that tomorrow. For now, just sleep." John lay back down.
Sleep is boring, Sherlock thought grumpily. John smiled and raised his hand to softly play with the detective's curly locks and started humming. He could feel Sherlock relax as his brilliant mind calm down. Sherlock hummed in content. John continued as they both fell asleep.
Tomorrow is a new beginning for both of them after all.