One mysterious hit and run case brings Sherlock and John onto the scene. Another car accident gives John more insight into Sherlock's relationship with his Irregular's
Just a little something that has been making itself heard. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer as always. I own nothing of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes and BBC's Sherlock.
"There's someone here." Donovan's voice. She started to move into the alley.
Sherlock's head snapped up as faint rattle then metallic clang caught his attention. He moved into the dark alley a few steps behind Sally Donovan, the beam of his flashlight playing along the wall. The light seemed to hesitate in one spot but only for a very brief moment.
"Donovan! Don't chase him!" The detective was off and running.
Lestrade and John where hot on his heels.
"Suli, stop! No one is going to hurt you!"
Sherlock had caught up with Donovan and was blocking her advance. His focus was on a figure a few yards ahead, back lit by the street lights of the alley's open end.
"It's fine, Suli. Don't be afraid. These people just want to talk to you. You don't have to run." The baritone had softened as he slowly advanced. His left arm out towards the police officers behind him mutely demanding them to keep their distance. His right hand was outstretched to the figure he had put the name "Suli" to.
"You know me, Suli. You know my voice. I work with these people. They mean you no harm."
The figure was bent forwards, hand resting on his knees as if trying to catch his breath.
"Freak..."
"Shut up. Just stay back, all of you. And don't speak."
Sherlock's voice remained soft, moderate, but was now measured. From back down the alley Sherlock could hear the sound of running feet. Flashlight beams danced off the walls and the ground.
"Keep them back, Lestrade. Suli..."
The figure spun and sprinted for the open street behind it, Sherlock followed. "No...Suli! NO!"
The squeal of a car braking hard and the heart stopping thud of flesh and bone meeting an immovable object echoed off the brick walls of the alley way.
"John!"
John, Lestrade, Donovan and the other Met officers spilled out onto the sidewalk. "Donovan, Weymouth! Get that traffic stopped, Now!" Then Lestrade spun and sprinted back down the alley.
"For God's sake, hurry up, John!"
Sherlock was kneeling in the light of a stopped car's headlamps, phone out as John joined him. "It's fine, Suli. This man is a doctor. I've` called for an ambulance. "
John started triage the best he could with little to work with when Lestrade ran out of the alley carrying blanket's and a first aid kit. These he dropped at John's side. In the beams of the stopped cars, the person laying on the pavement looked to be no more then 12 or 13. He was shivering, his eyes locked on Sherlock. Dark eyes blinked and the boy's brow drew down, his right hand reaching. Sherlock took it in his own.
"Hurt?"
"Yes, I know. Suli hurt. But you're in very good hands."
"Sleepy now."
"You cannot sleep. You must stay awake. You must stay with us."
"So cold." It was barely a whisper.
"Soon. You'll be warm soon." The baritone was as soft as John had ever heard it before.
The ambulance edged to a stop and the paramedics gathered around Sherlock and Suli. John stepped back to give them room to work. Sherlock and the boy stayed locked together, eyes and hands.
Lestrade moved up to join John, his eyes on the tableau. "Sociopath, my aunt fanny. What is it about these street kids that opens him up?"
John could only shake his head. John knew that Sherlock probably had Asperger's. He certainly showed many of the classic clinical attributes. But then, if Sherlock and Mr. Mycroft Holmes were a fair representative of the whole Holmes clan, how much was environmental conditioning? He wasn't about to touch that subject with the proverbial ten foot pole. But why he could show his Irregular's a less sarcastic, scathing, cold and clinical side then his clients and would be colleagues was a true mystery.
Sherlock was giving the paramedics space and maneuverability without breaking contact with the kid. When Suli was prepped and on the gurney, Sherlock walked beside it towards the ambulance.
Lestrade tapped John on the arm. "Come on, we'll follow."
The two men booked it back towards Lestrade's car. They climbed in and Lestrade maneuvered out to be near the ambulance. Pulling out after it as it took off, siren's wailing through the night. The drive to the hospital took a little less 15 minutes. As the emergency vehicle pulled up to prepare to unload it's precious cargo Lestrade parked and got out. John disembarking at the same time. They approached the ambulance to meet Sherlock. The ambulance driver got out and trotted to the back to open it up. John watched as Sherlock was allowed to step down first. Instead of waiting for the gurney or even moving towards the hospital entrance, he simply walked away, hands shoved in his pockets.
Lestrade blew out a breath. "Damn. Sherlock? Sherlock!"
The tall man paused, his body swinging slightly in their direction.
"Want a ride?"
"Thank you, no."
"What was he doing in the alley this time of night?"
"He wasn't your killer, if that is what you are asking."
"Then that doesn't answer my question, does it."
"He was painting. Didn't you hear the rattle of the spray can when Donovan startled him?"
"In the dark."
"He was a savant in that area. If you like I can show you his work in the morning."
"I'm heading back there now. Will you come?"
"I'll be there in a bit."
John moved away the car to stand near Sherlock. Lestrade gave a nod in acknowledgment, climbed in and drove away. Sherlock led the way out onto the sidewalk heading back towards the crime scene. John was praying that the tall consulting detective hadn't taken it into his head to walk all the way back.
"How old was he?"
"As far as any one could tell, he was at least 16."
"He looked younger then that."
"Delayed development. A genetic disorder. Any more questions?"
"No." John half expected some kind of comment. Something snarky involving the words sentiment and dull, maybe even stupid but there was only silence so John decided small talk was not on this little outing's agenda. John figured they had walked a couple of miles when his companion suddenly stepped off into the street and hailed an on coming cab. John thankfully climbed in. Sherlock gave the address and they were soon walking out of the alley to join Lestrade and his officers.
Lestrade met them with latex gloves and shoe protectors which they both slipped on then followed the Detective Inspector towards the gently fluttering police tape.
"What has forensics come up with so far?"
"Tire tracks, two sets of footprints. The victim bled out somewhere else. Throat slashed, not cleanly either, I might add, but very little blood." Lestrade moved outside the police tape to where the eye could make out two faint tracks in the dry soil and sparse vegetation. Anderson and his team had set up markers inside the tape barrier. Footprints being measured. The sole tread being photographed. Sherlock slipped under the tape his companions following. They walked carefully in the middle of the two trails. Anderson glanced up and pulled a sour face but there wasn't anything he could do so he turned his back them.
When Sherlock was parallel to the body he stopped and studied the area. It didn't take a genius to see that the victim's shoes didn't fit either set of footprints. He painstakingly stepped over the tire tracks and footprints and crouched beside the dead man. He had been laid out on his back. His head, face and throat showing signs of lacerations and bruising. His short hair was matted with blood and it had dripped down over his face.
"Any other bruising?"
When Anderson didn't answer Sherlock gave him a hard look. Finding himself ignored he gave a huff.
"Fine. I'll check..."
"Lower abdomen and lower extremities." Anderson clipped out.
"Anything in his pockets?"
"We found a wallet, but nothing in it along the lines of ID. No mobile.." It was Lestrade that answered this time.
Sherlock started to examine the man's fingers, hands, wrists, arms, and clothing. When he was finished with that he stood and moved back to the tire tracks, studying the ground from different angles. He sometimes knelt and touched the ground lightly. Barely using his fingertips.
"Anything at all, Sherlock?" Lestrade was watching him expectantly.
"The vehicle was traveling in this direction." He stood facing the body indicating a left to right motion. "It stopped here."
"How can you tell all that?" Lestrade asked the question. John prepared to take the notes.
"The position of the body and the footprints of the passenger and driver tell me which way the vehicle came in. Probably a car, smallish. Not a SUV or truck. The bruising on his body is low. So the grill is not high. Plus the momentum of the hit sent him into the windshield with enough force to put him head first through it. But he is here. Both sets of footprints are parallel to him. They did not approach the back doors so bonnet it is. The windshield will be broken on the passenger's side. I know this because the driver got out and walked around the front of the car to help the passenger extract the victim from the windshield. Because there is little blood on the victim indicates that he bled out into the interior.
Sherlock then moved to the tire tracks. "The tire tread is more distinct here, here, here and here. Indicating the car was at rest. The weight of it pressing the imprint of the tread deeper into the soil. When it started to move, the traction for forward movement would be more pronounced, soil spraying back away from the front."
"So...you're saying this was an accident? That they...what...panicked and left him here?"
"Yes. Or a cleverly staged murder. But you won't know that until you find the car and it's driver."
"Sher-lock!"
"You have all the evidence before you, Lestrade. I cannot give you anything more."
"What about the guy in the alley?" Donovan had moved to stand near Lestrade.
"A potential witness, nothing more."
"You're sure?"
"Oh please. Do you see a car? Why drive away only to come back and start to paint? You will check his foot ware, of course. It will not match, his feet were to small to make either of these prints. Besides. He wouldn't have had time to take the car far and come back before the body was found. Suli couldn't drive anyway. He certainly didn't own one."
"He could have stolen it"
Sherlock spun on Anderson but before he could react Lestrade stepped in.
"That's it. Donovan, Anderson, pack it up. They can have the body now. We'll come back in the morning so leave the tape up. I need two officers to stay here and make sure this isn't disturbed until then. The rest of you can go back to the station or go home." He gave John and Sherlock a meaningful look.
Sherlock turned away and holding the tape for John, passed under. They headed for the main road, a taxi, and back to Baker Street.