A.N.- Hi! Yes, I'm back! And I can hear you all collectively groaning at your screens. I've decided to start one more installment of the DBS franchise (it's a franchise now- I got a publishing deal!). However, this book is pretty much for me therapeutically. I still want to hear praise/ criticism from you and I'll still take what you want to happen into account; but I need something to write, something to do until everything at home gets sorted out. The CPS was called last week, divorces and swear words are flying, and the only way I can escape it is by writing. Things have gotten pretty rough around here, so this is my release. Please be fully prepared for this to not be as good as DBS or DMG (which is saying something because my God those sucked). Anyway, you're stuck with me now, so hold onto your belts because here's more pain, murder, romance, and British accents.
Enjoy!
The Dame of Baker Street 3: Logic Impaired, Ch. 1
"Wake up."
"No."
"Hey, wake up."
"No." Madeline growled out of frustration and debated smothering the detective lying beside her with a pillow, but instead hit him over the head with it.
"Sherlock Holmes, wake up." She demanded. The man rolled away from her, pulling the sheets up to his ears and not bothering to open his eyes. Madeline huffed at him and decided to switch tactics.
"If you don't get up in the next ten seconds I'll throw those Petri dishes you've stored in the fridge out the window." She murmured into his ear. Sherlock quickly sat upright and stumbled out of the bed with a frown affixed to his face.
"I'm up," He groused. "If I recall, I didn't ask to be woken up so rudely." Madeline rolled her eyes and hopped off the bed they'd been sharing.
"We're headed to John's." She reminded him. The detective furrowed his brow as Madeline tossed her pillow at him playfully.
"For which occasion?" His fiancée rolled her eyes.
"His daughter's birthday party? For her second birthday?" Madeline asked pointedly. "You know for someone who 'doesn't sleep' you really do sleep hard." She commented, sashaying past him with a grin on her way to the bathroom.
"At least I don't snore." Sherlock called after her meanly.
"Yeah you do," She responded before shutting the bathroom door.
By the time she left the bathroom Sherlock had collapsed back onto the bed. Madeline frowned at him and made sure to jostle one of his legs as she passed. He cracked his eyes open and glared at her.
"I'm heading for your Petri dishes next." She told him.
"I moved those." Sherlock grumbled. Madeline scowled at him.
"Then I'll toss that spleen you've stowed in the cupboard into the street." She threatened. Sherlock threw her a cold glare.
"I don't feel like going." He complained, "Being surrounded by screaming children isn't my idea of an ideal afternoon."
"Too bad. We promised we'd go." Madeline said firmly; she tugged on his sleeve until the detective rolled off of the bed again and got dressed, then they stepped out of a door emblazoned with 221 on it and made their way to the Bakerloo Tube station.
. . .
Sherlock's phone rang when they were getting off of the Brown Line at Paddington to transfer to the Pink Line en route to White City. The detective pulled it out of his pocket and glared at the caller ID, then gingerly answered it.
"What do you want?" He asked. Madeline looked at him out of the corner of her eye and tried to listen in on the conversation. She could hear the rumbling of the voice on the other end of the line but couldn't make out any words. Sherlock cut his blue eyes to her when he saw her staring.
"No, I'm currently busy." He snapped into the phone, "Why would that involve you?" Madeline recognized the expressly clipped tone Sherlock used when speaking to his brother, Mycroft. It was obvious the older Holmes brother had phoned to request another favor, and Sherlock wasn't in the mood. He listened for a few more minutes in silence until his eyes widened and his mouth curled into a grin. Madeline felt herself wince.
He'd gotten a new case.
"I'll be there as soon as I can." He said shortly, hanging up his phone and stuffing it into his pocket. He turned to Madeline with an excited gleam in his eye.
"No." She said.
"Miss Carver-"Madeline shook her head.
"No, you're going to John's." She told him sternly. He scowled and walked with her to the connection to the Yellow Line. Madeline leaned forward a little bit when she heard the train approaching, then leaned back from the gust of wind that pushed itself down the tunnel as the train slowed to a stop. She turned around to grab Sherlock and board the train; but he had disappeared.
Across the terminal she saw the detective grinning at her as the doors to the Green Line closed in front of him. Madeline felt her mouth drop open in a mix of astonishment and anger as the train pulled away from the platform. She sprinted past the stairs to the Green Line terminal and watched the train vanish down the dark tunnel with the accompanying sound of squeaking wheels and sparks. She felt her phone buzz and she pulled it out of her pocket.
Tower Bridge. You're welcome to join me. –SH Madeline scowled at her phone and texted him back.
John, Mary, and I are going to kill you. She responded. The detective didn't text back, but she knew he'd read her message. The Yellow Line train had already departed, so after a second of hard deliberation she sat down on one of the benches to wait for the next train on the Green Line.
. . .
John Watson checked his watch absently. Madeline and Sherlock would have been due at the party ten minutes ago. His wife, Mary nudged his shoulder gently while she bounced their giggling daughter Amelia on her hip.
"You should know you can't count on him to make it." She reminded him gently. The doctor huffed and glared at his watch.
"Yeah, but I'd expected Madeline to get him here no matter what." He groused. Mary smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Amelia took the opportunity to reach up and try to grab the almost extensive moustache John had been growing. Mary stepped away, still bouncing Amelia and scolding her in a loving voice as she returned to the room filled with screaming toddlers, cake, and exhausted housewives. John's phone made a notification sound, and he dug it out of his pocket quickly. His face lit up when he saw that he had a text from Madeline, but his expression quickly fell flat when he read it.
He got a case. We'll be there as soon as possible. John frowned and pocketed his phone. He had to wipe the scowl off his face when he stepped back into the room with Amelia and Mary. His daughter couldn't know that her godfather had chosen to look at bodies over her birthday.
. . .
Madeline pulled her gloves farther onto her hands. The leather hid the pale "M" on the back of her left hand as well as the faint but mottled acid burns on both hands. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and exhaled a cloud of white in front of her, then breezed through it and kept walking up to the looming skeleton of Tower Bridge. The traffic had been stopped and diverted, and the bridge was lifted. There was a strict line of yellow police tape running around the outer perimeter of both sides of the bridge, and Madeline hesitated for a minute before advancing towards the scene.
"Ah, Miss Carver." Detective Inspector Lestrade said, inclining his head for a bobby to let her pass when he spotted her.
"Where's Sherlock?" She asked cautiously. Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and turned to squint up at the top of Tower Bridge. Madeline followed his gaze.
"Why, you plannin' on following him?" He asked amicably. She gave him a tight smile and shook her head.
"Yeah, no. Why the hell is he up there?" She asked, pulling her coat a little closer around herself in the bitter cold. She was starting to lose feeling in her nose, even though she'd only been exposed to the brisk air for a few minutes. Lestrade sighed.
"We got a report this morning from a repairman who went up on the top of the bridge. Some bloke was strung up on a cable underneath the glass walk, frozen solid." He said. Madeline pressed her lips together and tried to see what Lestrade was talking about. She could see something dark dangling from the iron beams supporting the glass catwalk spanning between the two spires of the bridge. A hard wind blew down the Thames, making the body swing wildly on whatever was connecting it to the bridge. Madeline winced.
"So you did join me." Sherlock said smugly. She spun around and saw him exiting the lift that had taken him to the top of Tower Bridge.
"How could you ditch me like that?" She hissed, stepping incredibly close to him and looking him in the eye. Lestrade fought a smirk and backed away, and Sherlock sidestepped Madeline and headed after him.
"You were more than welcome to continue on to John's. My invitation to you was merely a suggestion." He said coldly over his shoulder as he approached Lestrade, who was feigning being distracted by the sidewalk.
"Lestrade, I need to break a pane of glass on the catwalk." The detective said nonchalantly. The Detective Inspector gaped at him and then looked to Madeline, who mirrored his expression of dismay.
"You can't do that! You'll break the whole thing!" He admonished. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Actually, I've speculated a specific spot on the corner of one of the panels that would cause the least amount of damage. I need to remove the panel to get to the body. If it scares you so, I'll go up and do it alone." He said coldly.
"Don't." Madeline said. Sherlock gave her a look over his shoulder and grinned.
"It's a healthy dose of adrenaline and excitement, perfect to start the day off with." He assured her.
"It's two in the afternoon." Madeline replied flatly. Sherlock shrugged and took the glass breaker Lestrade passed him from a fireman.
"I'll be right down." He said firmly, "Step back a few feet, some of the glass shards might blow over this way." He nodded to Lestrade before climbing back into the lift. Madeline watched the elevator ascend until it stopped. She checked her phone and saw that she had two missed texts from John.
Where are you? It's almost over.
Hello? Madeline hurriedly texted him back.
Sherlock is breaking a panel on Tower Bridge. I promise we'll be there soon. She sent the message, then regretted it when she realized the worry it could cause John. He hated not being included in as many cases as he was before he became a husband and a father, but he tended to tag along with Sherlock on the weekends so Madeline could rest or catch up on work from St. Bart's Hospital.
She heard a small ping ricochet off the metal above the Thames; and small fractals- almost like glitter- rained down as the glass broke. Madeline turned her head away to avoid some of the pieces that fell nearby, and when she looked back up she saw that the body dangling from the bridge had disappeared, and soon the lift touched the ground again. Sherlock stepped out with a bitter look and a limp body in his arms. He caught Madeline's eye above the crowd of bobbies that blocked the corpse from her view, and she instinctively spun around to avoid catching sight of the body.
"Take it to Bart's." She heard Sherlock instruct a paramedic behind her. She waited impatiently until he bumped her slightly as he passed. She matched strides with him as they made their way back to the Tube station.
"The body will be waiting for me at Bart's." He explained before Madeline could ask. She snagged his sleeve after they'd entered the station and pulled him towards the Yellow Line.
"You're not going to Bart's. We needed to be a John's forty-five minutes ago." She said, making sure to keep a firm grip on the detective's arm so he couldn't run away again. Sherlock frowned and allowed her to escort him all the way to White City.
. . .
"And just where've you been?" John asked tersely. "Breaking glass panels on Tower Bridge when you had somewhere to be?" Sherlock shrugged and Madeline glanced at the floor.
"Sorry, John. I couldn't let him just run around unsupervised." She said apologetically.
"You make it sound like you're the parent." Mary said amicably, leading Amelia in behind her. Madeline immediately dropped to her knees with an excited gasp.
"Amy!" She squealed, holding her arms out to the little girl, who wobbled to her without hesitation and stumbled into her arms. Madeline stood up, bouncing the toddler on her hip.
"Did you have a birthday today?" Madeline asked with overt enthusiasm.
"I two!" Amelia chimed, holding up two pudgy fingers for emphasis. Sherlock rolled his eyes while John and Mary watched warmly, momentarily forgetting their agitation with their visitors.
"Two?" Madeline exclaimed, "Did you save me any cake?" Amelia craned her head to look to Mary for reassurance, who nodded her head.
"Why don't you go show Maddy where the rest of the cake is?" She suggested. Amelia grinned, showcasing a few of her small teeth, and squirmed until Madeline set her down. The toddler then scrambled to the kitchen with Madeline right behind her. John turned to Sherlock with an amused grin.
"Amy didn't as much as look at you." He remarked.
"So?" The detective scoffed. Mary prodded his shoulder good-naturedly.
"She'll warm up to you, you are her godfather after all." She said. John frowned.
"And speaking of 'Godfather Sherlock Holmes', what was he doing that was so important he missed the one event he was required to be at?" He asked. Sherlock scowled and resisted the urge to check his phone.
"There was a body suspended beneath Tower Bridge." He said, "I thought Madeline had informed you." John and Mary didn't even bother to feign surprise or horror. They took the news in stride with calm expressions. Mary asked the first question.
"Why?" Sherlock decided not to roll his eyes but still delivered a cold retort.
"I don't know, yet. Why would I? The body was just taken to the morgue, and Molly Hooper should have an identification soon. It's been a very impressive and eventful morning." He said. Madeline walked back into the room with Amelia trailing behind her. The little girl had pink icing smeared all over her face, and Madeline had garnered some on her cheek and hands.
"You made a mess." Sherlock observed as Mary quickly gained a smile and knelt down to wipe some of the cake from her daughter's face. Madeline wiped the cake from her cheek and grinned, but sobered up when she saw Sherlock's flat look.
"You could stand to have a little fun, Uncle Sherlock." She jibed.
"I hate that name; that and the 'Godfather' title." He said shortly.
"Don't say hate." Madeline reminded him, nodding towards Amelia discreetly. The detective gave her a hateful glare and John frowned.
"Maybe you and Madeline should go home, Uncle Sherlock." He suggested in a voice that wasn't angry but left little room for argument. "It's almost time for Amelia's afternoon nap. We'll bring her by to visit soon, does that sound alright, love?" He said to Amelia. His daughter cheered and waved her hands around enthusiastically.
"Un-Sock!" She chimed happily. Madeline and Sherlock bid the Watson family farewell, and then caught a cab back to Baker Street.
"That was one of the most awkward visits we've had yet." Madeline commented. "Never been kicked out so quickly, do you think we set a new record?" Sherlock nodded and watched the buildings step by quickly. His phone buzzed, and he checked it briefly before a grin stretched across his face.
"Take me to St. Bart's." He ordered the cabbie, Madeline sat back in her seat as the cab swung around a sharp turn and headed East instead of North. "Miss Hooper has found something interesting on the body." Sherlock informed her.
"Ah."
"You're welcome to come with me." He said offhandedly. She grinned and stared at the ring on her right ring finger, watching the sunlight glint off of it as the cab sped through the less crowded side of London.
"I think I'm good." She said after a second. "I've got files I need to work on at home. Thanks for the offer, though." When the cab pulled to a stop by St. Bartholomew's Hospital, Madeline pecked Sherlock quickly on the cheek before he climbed out.
"Let me know what you find," She said, "I'll keep a plate out for you." Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and headed inside, only the tiniest bit flustered.
"Back to Baker Street, please." Madeline told the cabbie, who felt very pleased with the massive cab fee he was racking up and wasted no time in gunning away from the curb.
. . .
"Madeline, Madeline wake up!" She rolled over, careful not to lay on top of her temperamental cat, Sherry, and squinted as the bedroom lights flickered on. Sherlock stood by the light switch with a giddy grin on his face; obviously he'd made some progress on the case, and Madeline debated just rolling over and going back to sleep. Her eyes drifted to her alarm clock, which read 3:34 AM.
"Oh my God, it's three in the morning. Why'd you wake me up this time?" She asked, not really trying to iron the irritation from her voice.
"Miss Hooper and I identified the cadaver." Sherlock told her, "It's one Joseph Maynem, with time of death at about four yesterday morning. There were marks about the-"Madeline sat upright in bed, not caring when Sherry rolled off the edge and landed on her feet.
"Joseph Maynem as in the Parliamentary speaker?" She asked incredulously, rubbing her face to make sure she was fully awake. "Oh God…." The detective grinned at her and whisked from the room. She could hear him grabbing his violin from the spot behind his armchair and knew that once he started playing it she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
Madeline rolled out of bed with a groan, determined to find some towels to stick under the entrance to 221B so the landlady downstairs, Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't be disturbed. She finally gave up and stuffed a couple of shirts in the gap between the door and the floor as soon as Sherlock started to play loudly on his violin. Madeline frowned and trudged back to the bedroom, resigning herself to an early wakeup and getting her day started before the sun rose.
A.N.- Ughhh, a terrible start. Please do keep in mind that the OOC-ness of Sherlock has been developed over two different stories, and I'm trying to keep it to a minimum. Please let me know if it becomes annoying or gets out of hand.