Some Things are Meant to be

A BBC FanFic Sherlock/John Story.

By Geak, The Madnose

PART 2 – Motive and Reason

Chapter 1

Back Pains

"On the left; the psoas muscle, it is the biggest and strongest player in a group of muscles called the hip flexors. Together they contract to pull the thigh and the torso toward each other. On the right: the quadratus lumborum muscle, it contributes to the stabilization and movement of the spine and the pelvis. As well as side to side flexion and extension of the lower back. These guys are the top contributors to back pain or soreness. Except what he was feeling wasn't actually pain in his back, it was in his liver." Molly lectured.

John was listening but he could see from the look on Sherlock's face that he was discarding information as fast as it came out of her mouth. His eyes darted to John's face and then back down to the cadaver lying flat on the table.

"He was describing soreness and back pain three days prior to his death." Sherlock said, puzzling.

"There was nothing that anyone could do?" John asked.

Sherlock handed John the report. "Came in to Barts in the middle of the night, dazed and yelling nonsense. Then fell to the floor and was dead in minutes."

"His toxicity report is ready." Molly said, tilting her head as she smiled up at Sherlock.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked blandly. John smiled at how unfazed he could be by her longing expressions.

"You'll probably think so." Molly continued. "First off, there's heroin. A balance that suggests he was a regular user."

Sherlock squinted. "Sixty eight years old and enough heroin in his system to support the theory that he was a frequent drug abuser. He should have been very sick and in considerable pain for days before that if he was suffering from liver failure. However, the heroin numbed the pain and kept him from realizing that something was seriously wrong. He was seemingly very healthy a week prior, regularly rode his bike, active in his church, active with his family, a gardener with a flourishing greenhouse and sells his products at Denio's farmer's market on the weekends."

John picked up the clipboard, scanning it for answers. "Autopsy report says official cause of death was_ an intracerebral hemorrhage? Really?" He asked Molly, scanning the documents again.

"It was the stroke that killed him but his liver was also failing. At the rate it had been failing, he should have been in the hospital days ago. It could have been handled. Oh, Sherlock, his screening revealed extremely high doses of acetaminophen as well as heroin." Molly said. Sherlock stared at the ceiling.

"Well. We know what caused the liver failure then. Tylenol poisoning." He drawled.

John flipped through the report again. "Hang on, Sherlock how do you know about the gardening and all that?" He asked, looking over the body thoroughly.

Sherlock spoke very quickly. "Mainly from his belongings. He had nice deep pockets full of interesting things. Current, hand laminated photographs of his wife, children, and grandchildren in his wallet tell me he's close to his family. There were a few open packets of seeds in his back pockets and he must have a greenhouse to grow the plants because none of them could survive without a controlled temperature and humidity level. He has Denio's vender receipts in his wallet among other receipts and he had three small paper pamphlets for Goodall's church, wherever that is. He wouldn't have more than one if he didn't hand them out. Finally, the distinctly shaped leg muscles indicate regular exercise on a bicycle." He paused for a breath.

"What doesn't make sense is that he was dying of liver failure caused by having enough acetaminophen in his system to numb a horse's tooth ache, he was not a drug user but he had been ingesting an ample amount of heroin and he actually died of a stroke. Isn't it fun?"

John grimaced, feeling inappropriate because he wanted to smile. He was staring at Sherlock's right shoulder. There was a fine layer of orange powder all over the arm of his coat, reaching down to his wrist. Squinting at him a little closer John noticed a fine dark blue powder over the other arm and all down his back.

"That's all brilliant. He was dosed by someone and just happened to make enough of a scene as he died to interest Sherlock Holmes. Ill luck for whoever was poisoning him… Er, what've you been doing all night? What is all that on your coat?"

It was currently six o'clock in the morning, the sun was not fully up and neither was John. He had been sound asleep when Sherlock called, telling him that a cab was secured below for his departure to St. Barts.

"Homicide Experiments with chalk." Sherlock smiled, clearly very excited about it. John raised his eyebrows.

Sometimes he thought back to the days before he had met Sherlock. What had he been doing with his life? It seemed like a hazy dream that he was missing long pieces of in his memory. He has just existed, suspended in boredom and discontent.

"I needed to use the lab when I was done with my experiments and happened to stop in just before Jason McKinney died. I wasn't there to see it unfortunately or even aware of what happened until he had been dead for almost three minutes but the circumstances were unusual enough that I thought we'd have a look at him. He was obviously murdered in an interesting enough way and I asked Molly to lay him out for me."

"I was about to leave for the night." Molly muttered as she covered the man back up.

"You're sure he was murdered? It sounds like he was possibly in a bad way with drugs and killed himself."

Sherlock shook his head. "Please John, think about it would you?" He flourished a hand impatiently. "He was old but dedicated to a strict routine for self-preservation. His lifestyle tells me was certainly not a frequent drug user. He never would have ingested so much Tylenol on purpose that his liver would be failing and somehow he had been receiving enough heroin in his system to keep up with numbing the growing pain prior to his death. Everyone knows not to take more than four thousand milligrams in a day and he was getting almost seven thousand somehow. He died of a stroke because he panicked when he began to feel the pain from the acute liver failure, which means that the heroin wore off. He realized that something was desperately wrong with him. He wasn't at home when this happened and he did not own a cell phone. It was late evening which begs the question of what he was doing out when he must have been in bad condition all around. It must have been important, whatever it was."

Sherlock paused for a moment, considering the thought. "Of course, when he started feeling in pain, he panicked." He threw up his hands, making John jump. "He ran until he reached St. Bart's, not his usual doctor's office but obviously the closest medical facility to him with an emergency room. Whoever he was visiting was close by. At his age it would be easy for extreme stress to cause him to have a stroke. In the time that it took Molly to do the autopsy I was able to get in contact with his nurse and care physician and obtain his medical records."

"Obtain? You mean you stole them." John said, with voice thick with reproach. "Sherlock_"

"What does it matter? He's dead."

"Oh never mind. What about his family?" John asked.

Sherlock paused, making a face. "They haven't been told yet. I was wondering if_"

John cut him off. "No. What? No! Absolutely not."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You would like to get breakfast?"

John almost gasped with relief. "Yes. Good. I'd love to." Behind him, Molly frowned. Sherlock was prone to ignoring it but John couldn't help feel mildly embarrassed when her jealousy became plain.

"What did you think I was going to say?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought_ you were going to ask me to tell the family that Jason McKinney was killed."

Sherlock laughed. "No, of course not. The hospital is not going to inform the family of his death for exactly six more hours."

John stared at him. "Huh, what? Why?"

"It took some persuading but in the end they condoned to it. This is an investigation. We need information from the family first. We'll get more reliable information if they believe he's alive."

John made a face. "Is that even allowed?"

Sherlock spoke quickly. "For his age he was beyond healthy and took a lot of precaution to stay that way. He would have lived to be a hundred and ten easily if he kept it up and someone apparently didn't want him to. I've spoken with the doctor and for now they are preparing to inform the family that he died of natural causes. We need to see who benefits from his death. It will most definitely help if they don't know he's dead for a few more hours."

John looked thoughtful and Sherlock knew he had won. "Okay. So we're looking for the motive." John said.

"Yes. It could dramatically change the dynamics of the case if the murderer knew that we were onto him or her. Come on."