Hi, I was going to wait as I have so many stories on the go at the moment, then thought what the heck, so here you go. I'm hoping that this is going to be the first in a series, but it is all down to you.
I apologise if you feel it is a little slow at first but I hope things quicken up at a later date.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, disappointingly, but I thought the series was outstanding and cannot wait for more. I really hope they do a christmas special as I think it will be hilarious to see christmas dinner at the Holmes'.
It was late. She needed to get to bed soon or she'll just fall asleep the desk. She knew that, but this was more important.
Her eyes slid over the same sentence three times before she realised that she hadn't taken in a single word. She put the paper down and rubbed her eyes with a groan. Could this wait until morning?
Then she thought of Billy Grubbs' body as they had carried it through the house. They had carried it right past the children, stupid of them. Half the kids had had nightmares for weeks after. Some of them still had them. Even she sometimes saw a blackened hand or his piecing screams, not that she let anyone know.
She stared at the paper, willing for the answer to jump out at her. Nothing happened. With a moan, she decided that it really could wait until morning.
As she put the papers back in the file, she noticed a small A5 slip that she had overlooked. She picked it up and read it. Of course! How could she have forgotten? Her jubilant smile faltered.
If this was true, the death, all of the deaths, "accidents, terrible dreadful accidents" to quote her boss, weren't accidents at all. They were murders!
Her thoughts immediately flew back to the children sleeping in their beds. Which one of them will be next?
Or, she thought with a gulp, as one worker had already died, will the next one be her?
John Watson ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to remember the details of the murder case Sherlock had recently solved. He had named it "A Study in Pink"; he thought it was a good title. He turned in his seat to ask Sherlock for a detail about the murderer, only to see his flatmate stroll past in the direction of the bathroom with the toaster.
'Sherlock?' John said, momentarily taken aback and completely forgetting what he had been to ask, he said, 'what are you doing?'
Sherlock looked at him as if it should be plainly obvious and said simply, 'the microwave is still broken.'
'Well, whose fault is that?' John muttered, 'it was all because of you and those stupid eyes.'
Sherlock sniffed and said huffily, 'it was an experiment.'
'And what are you doing with that?' John asked.
Sherlock ignored the question. 'I still have some left over,' he said, pulling a small jar from his pocket and showing John the contents. John noticed, with a mixture of disappointment and relief, that this jar was a lot smaller than the previous one. 'I didn't see the point in keeping them in the old one,' Sherlock said, as if he could read John's mind, 'it made it look like they had nearly gone.'
John thought for a moment trying to get his head around this, failed and so asked instead, 'where did you put the other jar?'
'In the sink,' Sherlock said airily and moved off again.
It was then that John realised that Sherlock had completely failed to answer his previous question. 'Hey, hey Sherlock.' Sherlock stopped with his foot in the bathroom doorway. He spun round the see that his flat-mate had moved so that he could see him and was frowning at him. 'You still haven't told me what you're doing with the toaster.'
Sherlock considered the point, before deciding he might as well give an answer. 'I'm testing what happens when I drop human eyes in water containing an electric current.' He took another step inside the bathroom.
John looked puzzled for a moment. 'How are you…' he trailed off as understanding hit. 'No, Sherlock! No! You can't drop the toaster in a bath full of water!' John exclaimed, taking two strides forward and wrenching the toaster out of Sherlock's hands.
Sherlock's lower lip twitched forward slightly. 'Why not?' he asked stubbornly.
'Sherlock,' John said, with the voice of a parent explaining something to their complaining toddler, 'you can't create an electric current by dropping the toaster in the bath because you'll electrocute yourself. And it will ruin the toaster. You remember how Mrs Hudson reached when you blew up the microwave!'
'If I didn't experiment, I wouldn't know how it would respond.'
'You suspected though.'
There was a pause. 'Yes.'
'Well, then,' John said. The finality in his voice was obvious. 'I don't want to have to pay to recreate the bathroom, thank you very much.'
Sherlock merely scowled, pushed past John as he plugged the toaster back into the socket and threw himself onto the sofa, where he folded his arms and scowled out the window. John turned around, saw Sherlock sulking, sighed heavily and ambled back to his laptop. His eyes took a while to focus on the screen. Once they did and he had realised that he had forgotten to ask Sherlock about the murderer, he'd given up on it being answered. When Sherlock was having one of his turns, nothing but a gruesome murder could distract him.
John saved the "Study in Pink" case under drafts, intending to finish it once Sherlock was back to his arrogant, irritatingly smart self, rather than the Sherlock lying on the sofa imitating a stroppy four-year-old.
Then Sherlock's phone beeped. John felt it through Sherlock's jacket material. Sherlock didn't even look up. John waited a moment to see whether Sherlock was going to move to check it, but when his flat-mate didn't make a move, sighed and fumbled in the jacket for the phone.
When he finally extracted it from the pocket, he was slightly disappointed when the number was unrecognised. Despite himself, the doctor had been hoping for a message from Inspector Lestrade needing Sherlock's help on a murder. Anything to get Sherlock out of this tantrum mood.
His curiosity now caught, John opened the text. He had enough time to only read the first word when Sherlock, who had moved without John noticing, snatched the phone out of his hand and scanned the text. He put the phone back on the desk, frowning.
John read the text upside-down. There was now a churning feeling in his stomach, nothing to do with the fact that he had no eaten since eight that morning.
I need your help! 23 Westward Grove. Please come!
John's hopes were raised momentarily before Sherlock deleted the text. John opened his mouth to complain, but Sherlock waved his complaints away. 'If it's important, they'll text again.'
He had barely taken a step before the phone beeped again. Both men stared at it, and then John reached to receive it. Sherlock knocked his hand away and John watched his jaw clench as he read it.
'I'll think about it,' Sherlock said as if the sender could hear him, dropped the phone back on the desk and stalked out of the room. John waited until he heard Sherlock's bedroom door slam before reaching over and finding the text in the inbox.
Do not ignore. I need your help. Lives at stake. 23 Westward Grove. Please come! L.E.E
Well, thought John as he replaced the phone on the desktop and decided that he might follow Sherlock's example and call it a day, at least he didn't delete this one.
Please tell me what you think!
Reviews recieved with open arms! :D