I don't own Sherlock...obviously.
.
.
.
"But where-is-the-weapon!" Holmes spat pointedly, his thin lips peeling back from his teeth as he leant across the rickety interrogation table. The already pale man that was the object of Holmes' verbal attack grew even paler as he tried to meld himself into the back of the chair.
"W-weapon…what-"
"Oh, don't give me that Mr Green…" Sherlock mused, leaning away with a smug smile etched onto his features, his eyes shining with content, "Or should I say… the car thief killer."
"Err…Sherlock…this is only the first suspect…" John piped up from the corner of the room to which he was so strictly situated, his arms folded, legs crossed and back leaning against the harsh white of the wall. The typical image for any noire side-kick, only minus the fedora and tan trench coat; and maybe dock a few inches in height as well.
"No, it's him." Sherlock snapped back, not taking his luminescent eyes off the man, working, analysing…being Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock…"
"No, it's him John…"
John sighed and allowed his eyes to look to the ceiling, trying to think of the most suitable response.
"Okay…how do you know it's him, Sherlock?" he couldn't believe he was asking this question. Asking Sherlock Holmes how he 'deduced' something was like giving candy to a child who was already in a very intense sugar rush. Sherlock straightened his back from the table and threw John a disdainful look, his eyebrows coming to knit together in his forehead,
"Oh, come on John, you know…just THINK!"
"No, Sherlock," John stressed, "No, I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."
Sherlock sighed and to any other man it would seem that Sherlock was annoyed at him, but John wasn't 'any other man' and he could clearly see that behind the façade, Sherlock was grinning like a little school boy. That bastard he thought, he was just waiting for his time to shine; always waiting for John to admit that he actually had no clue what he was talking about.
"Clearly it's him, look at his fingernails…" he scoffed rather pointlessly.
The man in suspect suddenly became very awkward and fidgety, hiding his hands under the table.
"Now, now, now let's not play like that…" without warning Sherlock yanked one of the hands in question from under the table and held it in an iron grip. The man yelped but was evidently too nervous to pull away; instead he just stared up at the tall detective, who has manoeuvred himself by his side, in utter fear.
"Sherlock…" John warned, but Sherlock was already on a roll.
"Not very neatly kept, bitten, But bitten recently, you were nervous. Possibly about coming into here, possibly about that job interview you've got tomorrow. Most likely for coming in here. The nail is bitten very low down, still traces of salvia under the skin so you were deep in thought, again, more of a reason to think that you were nervous. Now why would someone like you have any reason to be nervous? Most likely if you've been abducting young girls off the street and killing them in brutal ways.
'There are traces of dirt still under your nails- what's left of them anyway- you've been digging, but you were in a hurry, you had no spade and so you used your hands. No time to clean up, you've probably been traveling all night…But why?" he took a moment to think (and breathe) as he orbited the pink, chubby hand around in his long fingers. John didn't even try to figure out how he knew he had a job interview tomorrow; he just stood there trying not to look too impressed. That would just give him the fuel he needed, plus he couldn't just sprout compliments while he was thinking, god knows what would happen to him…
The suspect's fat face was aglow with sweat and his hand was trembling in the detective's hold.
"Maybe you were burying evidence…but the driving…" his attention spanned from his hand for a second, his (for now) diamond blue eyes scanning over the man's torso.
"There's traced of grime still on your shirt, yellowing patches…you smoke but you haven't had one for a while. You haven't been able to get home and you have no money on you…
'Or at least you did, but that's all gone now isn't it?" he smirked as he encircled the shaking man, suddenly crouching down to inspect the man's trousers.
The man squealed and tried very much not to move, John could see it was taking a toll on him. Sweat was drenched down his back, masses of it spilling from under his arms and rolling off his balding head.
"Signs of spillages -petrol- on your trousers from where you were in a hurry and slipped the nozzle from your car…easily done, well…" he raised his eyebrows and looked up at the man, standing to his full height and never once breaking eye contact, "If you've got something in the car that could or could not wake up and escape…something you didn't want the security cameras to catch."
John had all but lost track a while ago and was now looking at Holmes as he walked back to his end of the table. Pulling up his chair, he sat down on the rickety wood with arrogance.
"The semen crusted on your trousers proves that you have just recently-"however he was interrupted by the door flinging open and Greg Lestrade appeared from the door way. Panic was flushing his normally tired and exhausting features.
Sherlock didn't even bother to turn around.
"Yes, I know he's just killed again, we were just getting to that now, !" he hollered, his nose wrinkling in anger as he spoke through gritted teeth.
Lestrade stood helplessly in the door way, mouth hanging ajar and his sentence slowly falling from his tongue. Closing his mouth, he looked around, nodded and then quietly shut the door behind him.
"Sherlo-"
"Bad habit isn't it?" he continued, cutting John off who sighed in annoyance. "Necrophilia…" he smirked, leaning back in his chair. His eyebrows knitted once more.
"So where is the murder weapon, Mr Green?" Holmes hissed at the fat man, interlocking his fingers on the table and leaning forwards.
Mr Green looked as if he was going to collapse onto the floor at any moment, he was in spasms and his face was a milky grey colour.
"How does a man…an ordinary man…get five young women into his car and then leave them with massive holes through their bodies…no struggle…no drugs…just a car" Sherlock bit his lower lip gently as he thought, his eyes practically swimming with the images inside his head. He glared at the man.
"You look like the antique kind of guy, judging by your clothes, your hair…and those terrible shoes…" he said more to himself than anything, "A guy like you would be into the old fashioned way of-OH!" the raven haired man triumphed "Oh…of course!"
"What, Sherlock…what 'of course'?" John puzzled, trying to wrap his brain around the situation.
"Oh, that's brilliant" he smirked and John could've sworn that the already white face of Mr Green got a little whiter "I should have known, you drive an old car, a man like you would go for no less, probably insisted that it 'ran in your family'." he snorted, adding a little hand movement to heighten his sarcasm.
"The girls, or should I say students, that you picked up all had one thing in common when it came to interests…antique electronics." Sherlock smirked, wavering his head a little " You didn't drug the girls, Mr Green, they got in on their own accord. There was possibly no chance on earth that any girl- or person in that fact-who was so obsessed with such things would ever turn down the chance to ride an old car such as yours…" he laughed, more to himself than anyone else, and rose from his chair, "Come on John, we're done here" and without warning he had left the interrogation room.
John took one last look at the poor Mr Green, and then set in pursuit of Sherlock…as always.
When John made it out of the room he could see Sherlock discussing something with a very bewildered Lestrade.
"But, Sherlock…" he could hear the very distressed man saying, staring up at Sherlock's frustrated expression with a lock in his muscles that john recognised as the "I'm-trying-so-hard-not-to-punch-you-in-the-face-y ou-prick" restraint. He should know, he used it often.
"But Sherlock…" he repeated, changing his stance to doubly make sure he wasn't about to punch this man, "Where are you going? We still have loads of people to question-"
"No need." Sherlock interrupted him with his usual arrogance, "The very man you need is in there." he made a half-hearted point towards the interrogation room.
"Yeah, dying of a heart attack." John added pleasantly before following Sherlock who had started to walk off. Lestrade stood there dumbfounded for a second before pulling his senses together enough to shout after them,
"But…what about the murder weapon!"
"You're looking for an old car parked out here somewhere…maybe a 1961 Deville" Sherlock replied, not bothering to turn around or even stop as he exited the building.
"So…" John started, finally asking the inevitable "What…how did he do it?"
"Oh, come on John, I always took you as stupid, but not this stupid." Sherlock snorted, a smile dancing its way across his cupid bow lips "THINK! What do new cars have that old cars don't?"
John thought for a second, he hardly knew anything about cars. In fact if you were to present him with a Rolls Royce and a Mazda he'd probably just call them both a car and not give a second thought as to which one was 'worth' what.
"I…" he sighed, not sure whether he wanted to admit this or not "I… Don't know Sherlock, and anyway, what do you know about cars?" John questioned, his face pulled into a perplexed frown.
"Oh, that's not important, John." Sherlock snapped, his face falling to a grimace as he searched the road for oncoming taxis. John opened his mouth to speak but thought against it, letting a frustrated puff of air escape his lungs instead.
"Okay, Sherlock…what do new cars have that an old car doesn't?" John quizzed, knowing full well that it was pointless. Sherlock threw him a grin from over his shoulder and then he erupted into so much pure energy and excitement it would put a five year old to shame.
"STEERING COLUMNS!" He shouted as he picked up pace and hailed a nearby taxi.
"Oh, right…" John muttered under his breath "Steering columns, fantastic…" as he took off after Sherlock who had ducked into the taxi and was waiting for him. His hands were placed neatly on his knees that came up to about his chest in the rather small taxi cab. He looked about as content as a puppy who had just mastered the art of chasing his tail. Only this time it was John chasing Sherlock's tail, and Sherlock wasn't catching on.
Sherlock watched john as he stooped into the car and got himself settled on the seat. They were quite close together and as the taxi took off their knees jostled. Sherlock seemed to take the contact as some sort of 'on switch' for him to start talking.
"I know what you're thinking John…" he started
"When do you not?" John sighed, interrupting Sherlock. Sherlock's face suddenly turned almost dire.
"I didn't mean it like that…" he pouted, turning his head away from the army doctor in a way that resembled a teenager sulking. John sighed once more and turned to look out of the window, at the grimy faces and buildings whizz past as they travelled through industrial London.
The taxi went over a bump and their knees brushed against each other once more. John noticed how this time Sherlock tried to close his legs together, however it wasn't working out. It was a terribly small car.
"What I meant to say is…" Holmes continued, not sounding as enthusiastic as before "…I know what you're thinking as in it's, the idea, of the steering column was…"
"Yes, I understand, go on." Dr Watson encouraged, turning his attention back to his friend. In that second he could practically see the spark and smug demeanour bleed into Sherlock's face once more.
"Well, yes, steering columns John!" he blurted, as if the past mood swing had never existed. John nodded in a way that displayed he held no knowledge at all (a nod he had come to perfect from living with Sherlock Holmes so often) and he could almost taste the amusement that drank up Sherlock's features.
"Oh John, I do envy you sometimes…" he fixed the doctor with one of his famous lop-sided grins, his cyan eyes practically emitting their own light, "How you can keep your mind so simple?" chuckled the detective, turning away from the army doctor as if to wallow in his own arrogance.
This however was blotted out slightly if you took in the detective's long frame hunched up on the car seat, his knees barely reaching his armpits. Even John had to admit (and, not holding back here, but John wasn't the tallest man you could ever meet) but even his knees were beginning to get cramp from being hoisted up.
Holmes eventually turned his attention back to John, giving him another flash of white.
"Visualise it John…" oh god… "Just imagine…" oh god no, don't tell me to 'imagine' you know I'm bad at that, "You're driving a, let's say a 1960s Deville, the wide, wooden steering wheel is stretched out in front of you, both hands grip it tightly, your knuckles are white due to burning your brakes out two minutes ago. You've been speeding down a hill for all of those two minutes, the open top allows you to feel the wind slamming into your face, suffocating you. Your senses are filled with burnt rubber. Nothing but the whistling of wind fills your ears and the clank, clank of your dead brakes.
'But that's not what you're worried about anymore is it? No, now you've spotted it, the tree. You can't steer, power steering wasn't invented. A rush of brown as the bark nears closer, closer, closer. SMACK!"
John flinched, his pulse had raised a good three beats as he imagined himself slamming into this tree.
"Oh, of course…" he wheezed breathlessly "No-no collapsible steering column…that was…that was brilliant." he laughed a little, still a little bit terrified. Sherlock smiled a little too sweetly despite the words that just came out of his mouth.
"The metal bar, because it would most likely be metal—well aluminium if you want to be specific, would make you into the most human looking sheesh kebab anyone had ever seen since the police pulled the last one from the steering column…which they would have to do a lot, here we are!" the detective suddenly sang, in an oddly good mood.
That is before John remembered that this was Sherlock Holmes, he was always in a good mood when he'd just solved a case.
"So…five girls…just lead into cars because they couldn't resist and then…what? They drove themselves into trees?" John puffed, floundering out of the car as Sherlock paid the cabbie. He had to make double sure to duck under the door or he might be even lighter headed than he already was.
"No and yes." he replied, walking towards the 221 flats, John tagged after him.
"What do you mean, no and yes?"
"Well, the girls would have most likely been driving the car, which explains why Mr Green was so keen to avoid security cameras. Being so enthusiastic-" he spat the word in a sarcastic tone as if he had never felt 'enthusiastic' in his life before, "They would definitely never turn down a chance to drive such a beautifully old model." John nodded and watched as Sherlock bent slightly at the knees in order to fit the key into their lock.
The door swung open with a click and Sherlock stepped inside, immediately descending on the staircase and removing his blue scarf as he did so. Leaving John to close the door; again.
One of these days, I won't be here John thought, I won't be here to close the door, and we'll get burglars and I will do nothing but laugh because you had it coming.
John could here Sherlock carry on his conversation in their flat, as if John was still behind him. It was all but a little funny and endearing at the same time. As John made his way up the stairs he could just hear a muffled,
"…And so you see, John, that's exactly why it-oh." He tried very hard not to find it amusing.
"Where did you go? I was just talking to you, that's rude you know?" The detective's rumbling voice hit him as he walked through the door and he fixed the taller with a look.
"No Sherlock, I was locking the door like you always forget to do, remember?"
"I don't forget, I just simply leave it to you because I know you'll do it, problem?" two eyebrows rose on a pale forehead as the detective stripped from his heavy coat and suit jacket, leaving both of them on a crumpled heap on the floor.
John sighed, nope he thought, no he just wants you to pick that up. John Hamish Watson, you are not going to pick that coat and jacket off the floor.
There we go, all hung up and nice. John smiled as he patted a crease from Sherlock's coat and jacket as they hung neatly on the coat racks. Cold realisation flooded through him…shit, I just did that…can I not do anything this man wants me to do?!
"John, come here a second, I want to finish explaining" a voice sliced through from Sherlock's bedroom.
"Okay…hold on." no, apparently John could not refuse anything this man told him to do.
When John approached Sherlock's room, he hesitated at the door. He had never really been in Sherlock's room before and on the rare occasions he did have to plunder in here, he was always looking for items of his and so never paid attention to much.
Clothes mostly, Sherlock seemed to have the I-don't-care-who's-clothes-they-belong-to-so-as-lo ng-as-they-fit-me-even-slightly output on the washing—well, on life really. At least that's what it felt like for John. That and they both had the same white shirts. Over too many times John had slipped into a crisp white shirt to find it two sizes too big.
"Well, come in then, what are you doing?" Sherlock's velvet voice cut through the atmosphere and roused John from his thoughts.
"Oh, nothing…I was just…" daydreaming? He didn't really know how to finish that sentence.
"-daydreaming" Sherlock finished it for him, apparently unaware that he even did so. That was the thing though, John couldn't help but think as he walked into the detective's cluttered room, they had been sharing a flat for so long now that they even finished each other's sentences.
Just like a mar- John stopped himself from thinking the rest, already cringing.
The detective had apparently flopped belly up onto his bed and was now laid ridged on his covers with his hands pressed together under his chin, the typical pose for Sherlock Holmes thinking. John tried to imagine what was going through that massive intellect of his but failed every time.
He was quite surprised to see how tense the detective was. Perching himself in front of the window sill he leant back on it. Sherlock's neck muscles were flexed fiercely enough so John could see a blue vein standing out and snaking up to his jaw line where it seemingly disappeared to reappear again on the detective's forehead.
"Sherlock…are you…?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine!" Holmes spat before Watson even managed to get his sentence out. John knew what it was of course, the great Sherlock Holmes was tired. He was always like this whenever he had just finished a particularly mind straining case.
This case wasn't mind bending as much as just a thing to pass the time…the case before this however was a different breed of case altogether. Too many times the thin detective had had to go running around in the London rain and smog, too many times he had to crawl around on the floors of freezing hospital rooms looking for hints, too many times he kept himself awake thinking through details and staring nonchalantly at his research specimens.
So, yes Doctor John Watson could really see why his friend was exhausted and Doctor John Watson would really appreciate it if said detective would shut up about that worthless case and go to sleep.
Never the less, Watson of all people knew it was dangerous- if not life threatening- to order the man around in this state of mind, especially when he was desperate to share his deductions with someone.
"Are you listening…?" he muttered, his voice fatigued as John turned away from him to look out of the window. He peered out over London, with it's zooming businessmen in their fancy cars clogging up the roads, and it's the grubby youths wearing hoodies and spitting on the streets and for once wished that he was somewhere else.
With Sherlock of course.
"Yes, yes, go on…although I really think that you should-"
"Nonsense, I'm fine…" there was a slight rustling of bed clothes as his best friend obviously turned his head to look at him, "You really ought to start worrying about yourself, Doctor." he snapped.
"Alright, I was only trying to help…" John hissed back "God…sorry for being…nice!" he shrugged dramatically, at a loss for words really.
The detective turned his head back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling,
"So, these girls were just happily driving along. More than likely with Mr Green sat beside them—even more likely for him to be rummaging through his glove compartment…" his rich baritone voice rang out through the room, slowly picking up it's normal 100mh pace.
"Why?" John inquired, he felt Sherlock turn to him again as he watched the freshly falling downpour that showered London.
"Isn't it obvious, John?"
"No, no Sherlock, it's only obvious to you…" the detective huffed in annoyance and John felt himself prickle despite himself.
"The little rips on his cuff and grease on his fingerprints was enough to say. He'd been inventing. Niggling around in that car until he got what he wanted, something very powerful. Something he used to kill those girls…" he muttered.
"Hey, wait, I thought we agreed that they were killed because of the steering column impaling them?" John was more than a little confused now, and hurt to say the less. Did Sherlock lie to him to make himself seem clever? It seemed plausible.
"YES. John, that's exactly it!" John faced the detective just as he swung his legs around to sit up, his brows furrowed into his forehead. "Urgh! Why are you so stupid sometimes!?" Holmes ran his hands though his hair with frustration.
"Well, explain then Sherlock…" Watson folded his arms across his chest and Sherlock gave him a look from under his fringe.
"The girls just wouldn't drive themselves into walls, John!" he exclaimed "They had to have someone to do it for them, but discreetly so that they wouldn't know what was happening or scream for help. Oh, Mr Green was clever…but obviously not that clever."
"Obviously." John added with a sigh.
Sherlock, relaxed a little now, shifted himself so he was laid on his back again in the very same fashion John had seen him in when he walked into the room.
"he'd fiddled around with the fuses…found the right ones, tampered with them a bit so when the time came just a simple yank and it would do the trick."
"What…what would do the trick Sherlock?" Sherlock sighed melodramatically.
"He would stall the car John!" he snapped.
"Oh, I see, and so therefore throwing the girls forward without warning and…"
"Yes, exactly" Sherlock blinked and John could see he was finding it hard to make his eyelids come up again without his eyes rolling back in the bliss that is sleep.
"So, what about the bodies, the police couldn't find them for days?" he quizzed, leaning back with high amusement to see his friend struggling with 'transport'.
"Mr Green had dogs…a lot of them in fact…" his rich voice was nothing but a mumbled whisper by now, his verdigris eyes half closed on the world.
"Oh, really, do elaborate…" John all but chuckled; Sherlock had got himself into this mess so he wasn't getting out of it too easily.
"He…he buried-" cut off mid-way by a yawn "He buried the corpses a good few feet in the ground, then he…"
John watched as the great Sherlock Holmes stopped mid-sentence to allow his eyelids to close fully, sleep claiming him within near seconds.
The doctor sighed.
"And that was just getting interesting as well." He shook his head and tip toed out of the room the best he could, not that he had to bother. He could make as much noise as he wanted and it still wouldn't wake Sherlock from his "post-case slumber" as John liked to call it.
After every emotionally and physically draining case Sherlock got assigned to, he would always do this; go into this post-case slumber. Sometimes it would last days and leave Sherlock bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and sometimes it would only last an hour and Sherlock would be on his 'man-periods' for a week or so. John hoped it wasn't one of those times.
Well, now it was John's 'me time'. Oh. John hadn't had 'me time' in what felt like years, what does one do on one's 'me time'?
.
.
.
Thank you very much for reading!
If you enjoyed it please leave a comment!
It'll help me write faster I swear!
If you didn't like it, leave me some constructive criticism and I'll sort it!
Follow me on tumblr! ( .com)