This is my first Sherlock fanfic so this should be interesting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, only my OCs and this storyline.
Hope you enjoy.
The Invitation
Our story begins on an ordinary day, and to Sherlock this meant boring. Where was the excitement? It had been twelve hours since their last solved case and he was itching for some action, almost tempting to begin the search for his cigarettes. John had hidden them again, somewhere. His eyes scanned the apartment looking for anything out of the ordinary but he quickly shook his head, refocusing on the cup of tea in his hands.
He watched as the liquid in the teacup swirled around, boring. Finally he decided to put it down on the side table next to his armchair. He had stared at the tea for so long that it had become cold and he no longer desired to drink it. Deducing a cup of tea wasn't the kind of excitement he was looking for on this boring day.
"I'm going out to get some milk." John said, coming into the sitting room. "Need anything?"
To John it was a very nice day; a good break from all the running about they had done on the last case. The sky outside was nearly cloudless and the warm breeze came in through one of the windows, filling the flat with the nice smells of summer.
Sherlock wasn't fazed by the niceness of the sky or the smells that to him were just another thing to deduce, but as boring as the tea. He barely even noticed that John had asked him a question.
John simply shrugged, nothing out of the ordinary about that, and headed out the door. He sucked in a lungful of air and exhaled, letting himself relax, a rare occurrence when sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes. It was a short walk down to the shops. The bell on the door jingled as he entered the store where they usually bought their milk. By now John could make his way to where the milk was kept blindfolded, but for some reason he decided to take a different root then he usually did.
He took the long way round and found himself passing by the newspaper stand. The front page of the paper on top caught his eye. The headline read "15 Year Old Case Reopened". Next to the article there was a black and white photo of a young girl, around fifteen. She was dressed in her school uniform and her wavy hair fell to her shoulders. She wore glasses and her grin gave off the feeling that she was a very kind person. Or had been a kind person.
John picked up the paper and read a random line from the article. "There is sufficient evidence that she may still be alive but the chances of finding her are still slim." He read quietly to himself.
"Tragic isn't it?" A voice said from behind him.
Startled he turned around to come face to face with an elderly man. "You know her story?" John asked, getting a hold of himself.
"Do I know it?" He said it as if it were obvious. "Unfortunately I know it far too well. She was a nice girl, got in a few fights but she had a kind heart. Very protective of her friends."
"You knew her." John concluded.
"Yes." The old man got a far off look in his eye. "I knew her. I'm surprised they're reopening the case now, after so long. They must have found something."
"Yes, they said there's evidence that she might still be alive." John gestured to the paper in his hands.
"Fools." He scoffed. "She's been missing for fifteen years. I keep thinking back to it but I can't find anything out of the ordinary about the last time I saw her. The next day she was just gone, vanished without a trace. We searched for weeks, even months, nothing."
"You don't believe there's a chance she could still be alive?" John was surprised. Anyone would jump at the chance that someone they cared about was still alive.
"They're chasing a fairy tale. There is no such thing as happy endings. At least, not this time." He lowered his eyes. "They may find her, but I doubt she'll still be alive."
"Maybe they know that the chances are slim." John paused. "Maybe they just want to burry their daughter."
"Maybe." The old man nodded. It looked like he was about to say something else when someone called from the front of the store.
"Grandfather!"
"Oops." He realized. "Must have wandered off without telling them again."
"It was nice talking to you." John said goodbye to the old man as he watched him weave his way back to the shop door. John peered around the corner to see him leaving with a young woman who was holding the hand of a little girl. The old man must have wondered what would've happened if it had been his granddaughter, the young woman with him, who had gone missing.
John hurried back to 221B after that with milk in hand and the newspaper under his arm. The mail had come while he was out so he stuffed the letters and small parcel under his arm as he entered his flat. He went upstairs to find Sherlock in the exact same place, his cold tea still on the table next to him.
John went straight past and into the kitchen. He hesitated before opening the fridge, all manner of possibilities came to his mind as to what Sherlock could be keeping in there this time. Taking a deep breath, he quickly opened the door to the fridge and stuffed the milk inside, shutting it again.
He came back into the sitting room and went through the mail in his hands, forgetting the newspaper for the moment. Most of them were just bills or advertisements for restaurants. Then he came to the small parcel. It was a cube sort of box shape wrapped in brown paper. It was addressed to a Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
"Sherlock he said." Not looking up from the parcel. "You have mail."
That caught his friend's attention. Sherlock looked up and eyed the small brown parcel in John's hands. In one movement he stood from the chair and had taken the box from John. Carefully, he turned it over in his hands, examining every side. To John it looked all together quite normal, but he waited patiently for Sherlock's analyses.
Sherlock was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. Usually it wouldn't take him very long to deduce what was inside but something about this one stumped him. It even puzzled him.
"Why don't you just open it?" John suggested. The suspense was killing him.
"Fine." Sherlock conceded and started to carefully unwrap the brown paper from around the box. The brown paper fell away to reveal a smooth black leather box. He turned it over in his hands looking for more clues.
"Oh for goodness sake just open the lid." John was impatient. So Sherlock opened the lid and his breath caught in his throat. "What is it?"
Reaching in, Sherlock carefully retrieved a small red chess piece from the box. "A pawn."
"I thought chess pieces were usually black or white." John pointed out.
"Yes, but you see John, the original colours for chess pieces were white and red." Sherlock explained. He turned the pawn over to look at the bottom side of it and he stopped, his hand shaking.
"What?"
Sherlock turned the pawn so that John could see. The bottom of the chess piece was covered in green velvet but there was a hole punched through it and a small orange ball was stuck in the hole.
"Is that a Beebe gun pellet?" John asked.
"One of her cousins put it in there. Never knew why." Sherlock said absent-mindedly.
"Whose cousin?"
"An old friend of mine." He said without looking at John.
"Friend? I thought you didn't have friends." John didn't mean to sound cruel and Sherlock didn't take it that way.
"She was my only friend back then." He clarified. "May I see that newspaper?"
"Oh." John had forgotten about the paper tucked under his arm. "You might be interested with the front page."
"I know." Sherlock said, taking the paper from John.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment as he read through the article. His eyes lingered on the photo of the girl, remembering it from his old yearbook.
"She never liked that photo." Sherlock laughed to himself. "She always said it looked like she was standing in front of a bus. I disagreed and she punched me in the arm. Mycroft agreed and she hit him too."
"She was close with you two? What was her name?"
"Clover Pawn, like the chess piece. She was the only one who could stop us fighting, if only for five minutes." Sherlock got a far off look in his eyes. "She went missing about a week after this was taken."
"You looked for her I presume." John came over to stand next to his friend and look at the picture.
"Yes." Sherlock answered simply.
"Find anything?" John asked.
"Nothing." Sherlock spat the word and John took a step away from him. "Not a single clue. She was just…gone."
"Well it seems they've found something now."
"Yes, they did." Sherlock held up the box with the chess piece inside. "They found this to be specific."
"Oh." John said, looking closer at the small chess piece, trying to see if he could deduce anything from it himself. "Why is it a clue?"
"Because John, this was her favorite chess piece. She carried it with her everywhere." Sherlock explained. "So why are they just finding it now? It's been fifteen years."
"And why are they sending it to you?" John added.
"Its an invitation." Sherlock deduced. "They want me to take a look at the case. After all, I did know her."
"Will you accept?"
"Well there's nothing else to do." Sherlock didn't let on how personal this case was. "It will subside the boredom. Come along John get your coat. We have a case to solve."
"Wait, we're going now?" John grabbed his coat and followed the consulting detective downstairs and out the front door. "We don't even know where to go?"
"We don't need to." Sherlock gestured to a car waiting out front. A young woman stood next to it wearing a long forest green woman's trench coat and an old chauffeurs hat.
"Is the car for us?" John was surprised.
"They knew I'd say yes."
The young woman next to the car looked up as they came out the front door and stood up straight to meet them. "Mr. Holmes I presume."
"Yes, and you are?" After the Study in Pink case he was a little more suspicious about the people driving the cars.
"You may call me Ms. Percy." She didn't smile. "Who's this?" She asked pointing to John.
"Dr. John Watson will be accompanying me on this case."
"Very well." She said and went to open the car door for Sherlock and John. They got in and she went over to the driver's side and got in herself, looking in the rearview mirror. "Your seatbelt Mr. Holmes."
"I don't usually wear my seatbelt." Sherlock stated.
"Now Mr. Holmes." Her voice was strong and authoritative.
Sherlock looked like a child as he unwillingly put on his seatbelt. "May I ask who you are taking us to see?"
"You'll find out soon enough." She said, pulling out and driving down the road.
"Well that's comforting." John stared at the window, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
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