Story: The Tell Tale Signs
Rating: M for explicit language and mature sex scenes (graphic)
Pairings: Johnlock, brief John/Moriarty/Sherlock threesome scene
Author: Alithe Serafina Cambre and RJK
Intended Length: 1-3 chapters, 5,000- 10,000 words
Chapter One
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SHERLOCK STOOD in the center of the room, his overcoat fluttering around his calves in the slight breeze of the broken window. John held back a sigh; it was hardly the time to be admiring the statuesque, regal form of his flat mate… but sometimes he couldn't help but notice these things. Lestrade had called them in almost two hours ago and they had arrived promptly at the crime scene. John winced at the gunfire in the distant night. It wasn't the best part of London.
Sherlock had taken one look at the body and deduced that she had been strangled to death by a large man as indicated by the distance of the bruising on her neck and the size of the footprint in the drywall dust. He had known that the woman had been a mother of two and an avid reader, lover of all the classic novels and former professor of Great English Literature. But then they'd found the other body. A small blood spatter in the hearth had prompted Sherlock to look up the chimney…
An hour and a half later, they'd finally dislodged the body of a teenage girl. It was gruesome and vomit-inducing but Sherlock had merely stared. And he was still staring, ten minutes later. John and Lestrade recognized the trance for what it was- not shock or horror, but a kip off to his mind palace. He had recognized something about the murder and was trying to remember it.
Suddenly, Sherlock's gaze jerked up to John's face, a delighted smile upon his face. "Edgar Allen Poe!" He proclaimed to his blogger.
"What?" Lestrade asked, half exasperated- half curious.
"Uncultured idiots," Sherlock rolled his eyes. John's brow was furrowed in thought.
"Wait, he's the bloke who wrote about murders, right? So you're saying that this murder is a copycat of one of Poe's stories?" Sherlock beamed at him in pride.
"Yes exactly, John! Thank god one of you people has some sense! Murders in the Rue Morgue." He looked around the bodies and then at the window. On the shattered glass there were several strands of long, orange hair. "In the story a mother and her daughter were killed by an orangutan."
"Spectacular. So we've most likely got ourselves a serial killer." Lestrade sighed.
"Yes. Isn't it wonderful John?" John smiled softly at his flat mate.
"For you, Sherlock. Wonderful for you. The victims, on the other hand…" he shook his head.
"Well, yes. That is a downside. But this is good!" He cackled a bit manically and Anderson (who had just entered the room from the adjoined bedroom) gave him a look of disgust.
"The room shows no signs of struggle and besides the window there is no sign of forced entry. The glass is shattered outwards so it was a point of exit rather than entry. This means that the killer was someone she knew. Perhaps her other kid?"
"As always Anderson, your powers of deduction are severely lacking. She did know the killer and he was let in but it wasn't her son. The young man is actually living in America, currently in training for the Navy. He's lived there for nearly ten years, he was sent off to a posh New England boarding school when his father died ten years ago. His sister was too young to go so she stayed here with her mum. Her killer is an ex-student, probably self-admitted to psychiatric care at least once. Tall, heavyset, ex-rugby player and judging by the weight distribution in these footprints he has a limp. Torn ligament and shattered patella. Not very bright and new to murder, he left footprints, you see. Most likely, he blames his professors for his failures in University. Easy enough to catch but we'll need to narrow the suspects down quite a bit first…" he began muttering to himself and walked over to a table where Lestrade had set up his laptop.
The Consulting Detective hacked the DI's pass code in under a minute and immediately began hacking into a college webpage in order to acquire a list of students who had taken the dead woman's class. John yawned and looked at his watch. 11:15 a.m. He sighed.
"I'm going to kip out for a cuppa somewhere. Meet you back at the flat." Sherlock looked up briefly.
"Get some sleep, John. You haven't been doing much of that lately and you look like hell." John was taken aback at first but smiled a little. Sherlock always noticed.
"Will do, boss." He buttoned his jacket and stepped into the chilly night, walking three blocks before hailing a taxi. He got in the back of the black cab and smiled at the woman driving through the mirror. "Sandwich shop on Baker Street, please." As the car pulled away from the curb and drove along, the ex-army doctor ignored the slight rumble of his stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, he realized. He hoped he wasn't becoming like Sherlock.
THE CAB PULLED over next to 221B and John hopped out. He looked at the 24hr sandwich shop and then at his flat and back again, debating. Deciding that Mrs. Hudson was asleep and he was too tired to make his own food, he walked into the quiet shop. Surprisingly, there were about six other people there. John walked up to the counter. A gum-chewing teenage girl stood behind it with her music blasting through her headphones. She pulled them off when he approached and smiled at him insincerely.
"What can I get for you?" her American accent was tick ad decidedly southern.
"One decaf, black, and peach scone please." He needed fast calories and sleep, he decided.
"That'll be six and a half quid." John forked over the money and sat down on one of the stools by the counter. Before his food was done, a young burly man tapped him on his shoulder with a hopeful grin on his strangely boyish face.
"You're John Watson, aren't you?" when John nodded. Bemused, the man's face lit up with excitement.
"Brilliant! I read about you in the papers and of course in your blog! Is Sherlock here?" John was slightly stunned by this reaction but recovered well, plastering a slightly uncomfortable smile on his face.
"No, he's at a crime scene. Some poor woman killed by a former student, he says."
"Ooo, that's awful!" the young waitress placed John's order in front of him and he promptly devoured it, using it partially as an excuse not to talk. He was too tire to deal with "fans". Much to his annoyance, te kid kept babbling on about his blog and how much he admired Sherlock, how he himself was training to be a detective and minoring in Great English Literature.
As soon as John reached the door of his flat, the prattling student right behind him, things changed. The formerly enthused youngster was now grinning like a maniac, and not in the happy way. "Well, this has been lovely John." The ex-soldier's spine tingled and he whipped around to face the youth fully. "Too bad I have to kidnap you now."
"Wha-" and then everything went black.
SHERLOCK WAS STILL at the crime scene when his phone buzzed.
~John is about to become my Tell Tale Heart victim. Catch me if you can- UNKNOWN #~
"LESTRADE!"