I recently came home after doing the weekly shop for me and Sherlock. I could hear a reminiscent song playing throughout the flat "This Guy's in Love with You". I could hear traces of the lyrics floating through the air
"…I need your love…I want your love…"
This was very un-Sherlock behaviour, who only listens to classical sparingly or plays his chords on the violin.
"Sherlock!" I called out, wondering what had happened.
"I said, could you turn that off." was the curt reply.
"Turn it off? Sherlock, I've been out for three hours." I trudged into the sitting room, the plastic carrier bags biting into my fingers.
"Yes, and you left the radio on." He looked up at me pulling a sarcastic expression "clearly." This did irritate me a bit, I had just walked around finding the specific shopping Sherlock had asked for, and I knew it was likely he wasn't going to eat any or much of it.
"My hands…are shaking…don't let my heart keep breaking…"
"You know you do have legs, Sherlock, and hands. You could've gotten up off your deducing-sofa and turned it off." I put the shopping on the sideboard, as Sherlock had cluttered the table with his test tubes and ominous liquids again.
"Say you're in love, and you'll be my girl…I'll just die." I turned the radio off.
"Much better." Sherlock sighed, repositioning himself, sliding his back down the sofa and his hands placed together towards his face.
"So, what's the big mystery today then?" I said, unloading the shopping into the fridge and cupboard, trying to find spaces around the chemicals and body parts.
"Hmm?" Sherlock called back, his eyes not leaving the focus point on the wall.
"The mystery," I called back, coming up behind him. "The one your trying to solve?"
"Oh," my companion replied "That mystery? Well, wait a minute how did you know I'm trying to solve a problem?"
"Because you're doing that moody, slouchy-on-the-sofa pensive look." He looked a tad annoyed at this, "What's wrong?"
"Lestrade. Won't let me near this one."
"Why?" I had returned to unpacking the bags and was putting a jar of strawberry jam a tad higher than I could reach. Suddenly, I noticed Sherlock was behind me. I jumped, and the jam slipped. Sherlock caught it without looking, his long white graceful fingers wrapped around the glass. Still not looking at the jar he opened it, dipping his fingers in and licking them.
"I have differing opinions from him and it's made him angry." Sherlock continued.
"I'm sorry what?" I was confused, after the jam-catching display not realising where this train of thought came from.
"You really are very short John, you know that." he said observing my size looking me up and down.
"What? Where is this coming from?" He looked confused, like I should automatically be keeping up with his million-miles-a-minute thoughts. "Yes, I'm aware that I'm short…" I trailed off muttering "I actually got bullied at school…"
"Why?" Sherlock asked, again, looking confused.
"Because I was…am…short." I blushed looking away.
"Oh." Sherlock said, he looked annoyed, but more at himself like he was angry for upsetting me. "Right, are you done here?" He gestured to the bags of shopping.
"Yes, pretty much, why?"
"We're off to bully Lestrade into letting us take a look around the crime scene." With that he left the kitchen and put on his "swoopy coat" (the one that he likes because it makes him look mysterious and cool) and his blue scarf. I hurried behind him.
"Sherlock…Sherlock…"
"Yes?" He said turning, trying to look innocent.
"You know," I huffed trying to catch up with his long stride "Lestrade may not take kindly on you barging in."
"I never barge John, barging is far too...inelegant."
"Right. Well Lestrade-"
"Lestrade can deal with it." He silenced the matter until we had arrived by cab. We were outside a quaint looking house, quaint except for the 'POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS' tape.
"Sherlock-" Lestrade said, before Sherlock interrupted him
"Yes Lestrade I am aware that you do not want me to take a look around nevertheless, you know my methods. All I ask is five to ten minutes and of course you can have all the credit."
"Sherlock, I was about to say, thank God you're hear, we're lost, we can't seem to find any more leads on this murder."
"That is because, I think it isn't a murder."
"How could you possibly know that?" spat Donovan already despising Sherlock having arrived.
"Ahh Donovan, you want to know how I could've guessed that it's not a murder?" Her expression grew progressively sour. "Because I have one of these." He ruffled her hair mockingly. "Now, can I go in?" Lestrade lifted the police tape and we strode through to the sound of Donovan hissing that she couldn't understand why 'that freak' was allowed near official investigations. Lestrade protested that without 'that freak' half the criminals in London would still be strolling around.
We went into the room containing the victims corpse. She was wearing black leather gloves, a long jumper, boats, a woolly scarf and tailored trousers. Pretty much every part of her body was covered. She was facing up the way, her face pulling a horrible, shocked expression the backs of her hands were facing the ceiling.
"Did she have any pets?" Sherlock enquired of one of the forensics team. I noticed it was the much beloved Anderson.
"Yes, a rather rambunctious dog, called-"
"Name's aren't important Anderson, what breed of dog is it?"
"A Labrador." At that moment the dog seemed to take that as an invitation to race into the room, tongue flying behind him. He had a wonderful thick glossy yellow coat and bounced around me.
"Hello there!" I called "What's your name then?" I turned the name tag over. "Sparky? Hello Sparky!" Anderson left the room at this point, leaving me, Sherlock and 'Sparky' alone.
"Dogs. I don't like them?"
"How could the nasty Sherlock not like Mr. Waggy-tail here?"
"There so loud and demanding." Sherlock said pulling a face at the prancing dog. "I'm not one for animals, but I do prefer cats. They're silent, responsible and clever."
"Yes, and snide and arrogant, I can see why you would like them." Sherlock either didn't hear that or ignored it, although I suspected the former.
"I don't understand, there are no visible marks on her, yes she's fairly covered up but what murderer would kill someone then dress them? And anyway, she's been wearing these clothes since before she died."
"How can you tell?"
"They all have signs of being worn, dirt on the cuff of the trousers, crumb around the edge of the jumper. The murderer could've dressed her in these after killing her, taking them out the laundry basket, but that is very unlikely due to the fact they don't smell like they've been rubbing up against laundry, so far there is no laundry basket in sight and there's a packet of biscuits over there with the same type of crumbs as the one of her sleeve."
"Wow." I was taken aback; you'd have thought I'd have gotten used to Sherlock spiels of genius. Sherlock looked pleased, he never seems to care what people think, unless it's me. Then he seems to care an awful lot.
Sparky started going for the biscuit packet in the corner.
"SPARKY!" I called, I didn't think he should be eating chocolate hob-nobs I read somewhere that chocolate is bad for dogs. I turned around, Sherlock had an amazed expression on his face, his eyes darting around as if searching through imaginary files in his head.
"…Sparky…Sparky…OF COURSE! John! You are a genius!"
"Thank you but may I ask-"
"Sparky!"
"Sparky?"
"Yes Sparky, don't you get it? John, the answer has been staring us in the face."
"It has? Could you help because I can't seem to-"
"I was right, this woman wasn't murdered, she was electrocuted."
"Electrocuted, but how, she's wearing head to toe-" Sherlock turned over the woman's right hand, looking at the leather glove. There was a hole on the middle finger.
"She'd obviously just returned from taking Sparky here for a walk, hence the mud on her trousers and the fact she's still wearing a scarf and gloves. She obviously touched something that gave her a fatal electric shock and sent her falling across the room onto her front."
"But Sherlock, I can't find any loose cables in here anywhere?"
"What?" Sherlock said turning around from gazing at the woman's body. "That's not possible." He leapt up "There must be something…" He started a manic search of the room, looking in the bookcase, the wardrobe, behind the curtains. He crouched under the bed. "Aha!" He returned looking triumphant. "There's an iPhone charging under here, it must have been balanced on the back of the bed, which would be a good source of her getting electrocuted as she would have fallen…" he walked over to the body "…here… but how the iPhone get knocked onto the floor." He put his hands up to his face and crouched down surveying the scene. Sparky, seeing this as an invitation bounded up to him and caught him unawares sending him sprawling onto the floor.
"I think you have your answer of what knocked the iPhone over Sherlock."
"Maybe," Sherlock said, trying to pick himself and dust himself off whilst dealing with an excitable dog at the same time. "But I still prefer cats."