So this is... one of my first stories. I have written a couple others before, but took them down because I wasn't liking them. This one, I am enjoying and I actually have a firm idea on how its going to go. I'm still looking for a Beta, so all mistakes are mine. Keep me posted on what you think of it, and if you think it is worth continuing. My writing may need a little work, but practice makes perfect!
-Kezi
Chapter 1- This is just the beginning
"NO! I completely and utterly refuse."
"Sherlock, it's not healthy to have never done it."
"Damn my health!"
"Now, now, is that any way to talk to a friend that is helping you?"
"Help me?! He's trying to torture me!"
"You know, most people like vacations."
"You know very well by now that I am not most people."
"Yes, because most people don't parade around town in a sheet."
Mycroft and John were sitting in 221 Baker's street trying to convince a sulking Sherlock to go on vacation, a task that was proving to be a difficult feat.
"I had to get some fresh air to think. It's not my fault that people were walking outside." Sherlock defended.
"No, but it is your fault that they all had to witness you being too lazy to put any clothes on," injected Mycroft with a sigh.
"I wasn't being lazy! I was just-"
"Please, just both of you, be quiet." John almost shouted, "You already had this argument after the palace incident. Sherlock, you are going on a vacation weather you like it or not-"
"Not."
"Because the country air will be good for you and you will be able to give that marvelous brain of yours a break." He continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"Flattery will get you no where." Sherlock sulked.
"I was hoping it really wouldn't have had to come to this…" Mycroft trailed off. Sherlock's eyes snapped towards his brother's.
"You wouldn't dare." Sherlock said in a dangerous tone and fear in his eyes as his brother nodded at his assistant, who was continuously typing away at her phone.
"Oh dear brother, you know I would." He said right as the door burst open letting in about ten bulky men in black with ropes, a gag and some tranquilizer if needed. They tied Sherlock up, gagged him and carried him to the helicopter waiting outside with a greater amount of difficulty than expected giving the dark haired man's almost scrawny stature. All the while, John was sipping his tea and ignoring his friend's pleas for help. Once Sherlock was practically chained to the seat of the helicopter (how it found room to land, no one would ever know) Mycroft looked to the former soldier and gestured to the door.
"Shall we?"
Dr. Anderson,
I am speaking on behalf of Mycroft Holmes who is in need of your help with a case that he cannot solve. It is imperative that our usual detective does not know about it. It is of utmost importance that the case be solved as soon as possible and the criminal captured. I have sent a PDF of the details.
Mr. Anderson
P.S. This is merely a professional work-related letter and I am still not talking to you.
Dear brother,
By writing that little note at the end you have officially talked to me. My you must really like this "psychopath" (although your descriptions make me think more of a high-functioning sociopath) of yours for you to still be mad at me. The only thing I did was put the pieces you gave me together and come out with a result. What ever you do, please maintain a somewhat pleasurable relationship with your wife. She is the only person I can have a moderately decent conversation with at the family holiday dinners that I am (unfortunately) required to attend to.
Your ever loving sister
P.S. Have you washed your hair at all, or does it still have that gross greasy look to it? It makes you look Asian in certain lights.
My sarcastic sister,
How many times do I have to tell you that I in no way, shape or form, have anything but hatred towards that man, and, I, will say it again AM NOT GAY. Also, please don't pretend to have sisterly feelings towards me, it sickens us both you smart-arse.
Your all-knowing brother
P.S. WOULD YOU SHUT UP ABOUT MY HAIR!
Sherlock was completely and totally furious with his brother. Lestrade had an important case to be solved and he didn't consult Sherlock because Mycroft insisted on a vacation. Sherlock strongly believed that the major reason his brother had more or less kidnapped him was because of the case he had refused to solve. Now he had to rush to the crime scene to hopefully capture the criminal in time. Sherlock was almost at the crime scene when he heard voices; more importantly, a voice that he didn't recognize.
"And how can you possibly be certain that the local pool will help us?" Sergeant Donovan asked; a sneer in her voice.
As Sherlock entered the room unnoticed, he saw a woman whom he had never seen before. She was about five-foot, five inches, had curly dark hair, held back in a low ponytail, swimmer, American, non-smoker, probably hasn't slept in a few nights… or maybe even insomniac. She was standing over the newest victim; a woman who had been stabbed in the stomach.
"I was getting to that Sally, now please be quiet." said the stranger with a sigh. "I swear, the police force gets more incompetent every year by hiring people like you. Alright, I'll spell it out for you. This woman here is around the age of twenty five and a swimmer. She is fit, but not overly, indicating that she either doesn't have that much time or just is too lazy to really work out. I say the former because of her high-stress, high paying (now former) job, just look at what she is wearing. Designer clothes that fit her perfectly and all from the same brand, perfume that only rich morons buy and freshly manicured nails; the type of manicure that she has usually goes for around 75 pounds. She is a personal assistant, to someone of high importance no doubt. Just look at her hair. Perfectly wound up and has a pencil tucked in. It is not for fashion because there is a hair band that keeps its form, so it must be there for convenience, so she can quickly grab it when needed. Furthermore, the giant bags under her eyes indicate stress, so she must have a boss from hell who makes her do everything for her-"
"Hold on. How do you know that her so-called boss is female?" Interrupted Donovan again.
"She obviously doesn't care for fashion that much, or her looks. She is playing a part. People who wear designer clothes and have expensive manicures don't swim as a sport. They are usually too worried about what the chlorine will do to their hair, skin and nails; therefore, her style and clothes are picked out for her and obviously only a woman would take the time to make sure that their assistant is always looking the part."
"Alright, but how can you tell that she is a swimmer?"
"As I said before, she is toned, but not overly. You can see that her arms and legs are the most toned, but if you look closely, her back and abdominal are also in moderate shape. She doesn't have much free time so she wouldn't want to make an effort of toning each muscle individually, so what ever she does must tone the above accordingly. Now, what sport works on the arms, legs, abs and back? Swimming, she is a swimmer. Also, I've seen her at the pool when I go swimming." So I was right Sherlock thought. No surprise there.
"Couldn't you just tell us that from the beginning instead of showing off?" Lestrade complained.
"I could've, but that was more fun." The American said with a smirk. She continued. "By the way her hair looks, she had just left the pool in a hurry, unable to fully wash out the chlorine, but enough that it doesn't smell unless you know what you're looking for, and was on her way to work. We need to know when she left so we can figure out how long ago exactly she was killed. Her body is still warm, so the killer must not have gotten far. And can you please tell that person in the corner to stop acting like a creeper and just step out of the shadows? I prefer everyone to be in the light when I speak to them."
It was only then that Sherlock realized she was talking about him and had probably noticed him the second he walked into the room.
"Sherlock! I thought you were on vacation. Why are you here?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes, yes, hello, hello." The newcomer said dismissively. "It would be nice if we stayed on topic here. I would know more if someone would give me her purse; this is the third time I've asked for it. Where is it?"
"There was no purse." Lestrade said.
"No purse?" she asked in a distant voice, as if she was thinking hard about something.
"No and if you had just-" He never got to finish his sentence because the mystery woman was already rushing away. Lestrade let out an annoyed sigh.
"I told you that she was worse than our freak, but you didn't listen." Commented Anderson from the side, whom had been surprisingly quiet during the whole discussion. Usually when Sherlock is pointing out evidence, he interrupts his ever other word.
"Would anyone mind telling me who that was just now?" Sherlock asked.
"That would be Dr. Lillian Anderson. She is the most accomplished detective in the United States and is here to solve a case so that you could continue with your holiday. I should have known that Mycroft and John wouldn't have been able to keep you away for long. Speaking of which, where is your little friend?"
"Tied to a chair hanging from a balcony, but that's not important. Did you say Anderson? Is she at all related to-"
"Yes." Anderson interrupted. "She is my little sister. Now anymore questions, or should we see if we can't catch up to the little twit?"
By the time Sherlock had found Lillian (he hated that woman already), she seamed to be already almost done with the case. She was at St. Barts. Of all the places she could have gone, she had to go where Sherlock worked, in his room no less! When she asked Lesterade where she could analyze some… "samples", he had the audacity to offer Sherlock's workspace. No one is supposed to go in there unless I say they can! I'm the only consulting detective around here and no one, especially a girl, is going to but in.
"Have you figured out that all the murdered are connected by-"
"Their accessories, yes. That part was so glaringly obvious that even my brother picked up on it." She interrupted without looking up from her- HIS scope. Sherlock tried again.
"And that-"
"The killer is just a normal man, yes."
"And that-"
"They are all connected to the death of his wife, yes. Every time he saw a woman with an accessory that she had worn, somewhere in his mind, it connected to them having stolen it from her dead body. Because she was a woman of fashion, there are unfortunately lots of the same, or very similar pieces around, plus she mostly got her accessories from one company. With each kill, an accessory is taken back to her grave. The next part was easy. The man was smart enough to not keep the items of the people he killed in his home, incase he was ever suspected, so he brought them to his late wife's grave; an endearing but stupid move. More people are likely to wonder about a disturbed grave than woman's accessories in a man's house. Anyways, all we had to do was look for either upturned dirt and/or accessories next to or on the grave. I also figured out where the killer lives, his name and what he does for a living, or did because by now the police already have him."
"How-"
"Did I finish solving the case thirty minuets after the last kill? Because I am amazing. Any more questions? If not, please leave." I thought for a moment.
"Not possible. People never go that mad when loved ones die." She sighed, still not looking up from her work.
"Sometimes they do, especially when they are convinced that it is their fault and believe themselves to be a murderer. In this particular case, that was exactly what happened."
"How do you know that he believed to have killed her?"
"Because of the way she died."
"And let me guess, you figured out that too."
"I didn't have to. She had died last week, her death was in the newspaper. She was cooking and her husband surprised her. She tripped and fell on her knife, hence the reason all of his victims were stabbed with a kitchen knife. Now I'm going to ask you kindly one last time to please leave me alone."
"No. This is my workplace, you are using my equipment, you are stealing my job, and I see no reason why you still have to use it when the case is already solved."
"Wrong!" Lillian exclaimed loudly, finally looking up from the scope and glaring at Sherlock. "This is a public hospital, I am using the hospital's equipment, I was asked to come because their top detective wasn't available and I happened to be in town. I am using the hospital's equipment to find out more about Kevin, or the killer. If you aren't going to leave, then the least you can do is stop talking." She said turning back to her work.
"Why do you need to keep investigating him? The case is over." Sherlock asked.
" Because otherwise I would get bored too quickly. Anymore questions?"
"Yes, one more in fact, what are you finding out?" She sighed and looked back up. She seamed to be a little less annoyed than before. Lillian obviously enjoyed talking about her work.
"I am finding the gene that makes his susceptible to going mad and what may trigger it. I am then going to find out his heritage from as far back as ten generations and what genetic advantages and disadvantages he has."
"Ahh a geneticist. Not a bad profession, but I personally prefer chemistry."
"I don't see why. A chemist quickly runs out of things to do because once you know the reaction of something, it will never change unless you add something new. With genetics, every gene is different, and there are millions of people out there so you never run out of anything to do, and if you do happen to run out of people, or are just looking for a change, you can always study plant genes. Carrots are a lot more interesting than you would expect, and don't even get me started on grapevines." She said this with a shine in her eye.
"But doesn't always working with genes get a little tedious?"
"Yes, that is why I have a minor in neuroscience and solve mysteries for fun. Serial killers are always my favorite, with them, there is always something to look forward to and they are challenging until they make a mistake."
"Now where have I heard that before?" Said a voice from the door.
"You escaped rather slowly. The flight over takes about an hour and twelve minuets and assuming that you came straight here after checking the flat and not finding me, you left about forty-three minuets after I did." Sherlock stated.
"Yes, I would have been quicker if I hadn't been hanging twenty stories up from a balcony three stories above me, but we'll talk about that later-"
"But I hate talking about insignificant things from the past" His flat mate whined.
"You mean you hate talking about something that you've done that was wrong." John
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Later." He turned to Lillian. "Sorry for my rudeness, my name is John Watson. And you are?" He asked raising a hand.
"Lillian Anderson, but everyone just calls me Lilly. By, the way, when you see the Molly girl again, can you tell her thank you for showing me where all the equipment was? She ran off before I was able to do it in person." She said taking off her gloves and shaking John's hand then started cleaning up.
"Oh, so you try to make me leave so you can continue analyzing Kevin's saliva, but when John comes in you happily drop everything and shake his hand." Sherlock said bitterly, then internally shook his head; where had that come from?
"Yes I tried to make you leave because you are annoying, whiny and too cocky for your own good. I had already finished analyzing a hair and was just about to leave when you barged in. And it's just because I like him better than you, Sherlock Holmes."
"Ahh, so you do know who I am." Sherlock exclaimed, choosing to ignore the barb at the end.
"Yes, my brother never stops complaining about you. What ever you two do together, please try to keep it confidential, I happen to like his wife." John burst out laughing. Sherlock frowned.
"Tell your brother that I'm flattered… no that's a lie. Tell him I'm married to my work and have no intention of ever tying my self down to anyone." Sherlock said stiffly. Lilly giggled.
"I'll be sure to tell him that." She said grabbing her coat and purse. "It was a pleasure to meet you John Watson, and thank you Mr. Holmes for so graciously allowing me to use your workspace for my experiment."
"It was a pleasure meeting you Lilly." John said in reply.
"Don't mention it, and call me Sherlock." Sherlock.
"Sherlock it is then." She replied, and left, closing the door softly behind her.
"Well she's a nice girl." John said after a few moments.
"Woman."
"I'm sorry?"
"I could only have a conversation like that with a woman, not a girl." It was then that Sherlock realized that during the conversation, he had somehow lost the majority of the malice that he had felt towards her in the beginning. It dawned on him that the conversation he had with Lilly was the first intellectual conversation that he had had in a long time.
