I don't own BBC Sherlock, they are the creative works of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and of course the wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Well, here is another new story. It's half way finished already. So I do hope you enjoy it.
Fated Meetings
Chapter One
Sherlock Holmes sat across from Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, staring at him and making the other man slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. The older male had called him in earlier that day, to come and look over some of the notes for a case he was working on. Sherlock had read through them quickly. He went over the photos with an air of distaste as he realised exactly who had taken the slightly out of focus pictures.
"Anderson really needs to learn how to do his job, especially in how to take a proper picture. You should send him back to University, though maybe nursery would be more on his level." Sherlock said as he looked up from the notes he was re-reading and the pictures he was glancing through.
"Sherlock," Lestrade said in exasperation, "just tell me what you think?" he prompted him, leaning on his desk as he looked at the young man sitting across from him.
"I need to see the scene first and to talk with the son about the victims." Sherlock told him, ignoring Lestrade's question. Sherlock hadn't even bothered to look up from the notes he was once again going through.
Lestrade shook his head and sighed. He should be used to the young mans attitude and stubbornness by now. He had known him for four years, and had worked with him for just as long, "Sherlock, I'm not going to let you talk to him, there is no way that I will let you do that to the victims son."
Sherlock finally looked up from the notes and said, "I need to talk to him to know what he thought about his parents during the time leading up to his discovery of his parents bodies. And what his parents were like during the times that he was in contact with them. I need to know if there was anything that was different about them. What they told him before their deaths could be important. Sergeant Murray will be able to give me that, you can't because you don't ask the right questions. At the moment, I have nothing but a break in gone wrong, and I know that there is more to this than meets the eye." he finished in a huff.
Lestrade shook his head again, sighing, "Sherlock. There is no way on earth that I will let you go and see him. You're not good with people, witnesses, victims, or anyone. Just look through my notes instead." He shook his head, "If you have a specific question you want to ask, just tell me and I'll be the one to ask it," he then suggested.
Sherlock jumped up and began to pace the office, "Not good enough. I need to talk to him personally, to see his reactions. I need to see the scene for myself as well. There is most likely things that you and you incompetent officers have missed, and that goes treble for Anderson. I have no doubt that a lot of the evidence has been ruined thanks to Anderson's blundering ways." He then paused for a moment and looked to him, "And caring does not help me investigate crimes. It does not help me in catching the criminal."
The Detective Inspector sighed and rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, empathy helps get what you need from people. Try it some times. As for the crime scene, well, maybe in a day or two. I'll go back and you can come with me, I have some things to do before hand."
Sherlock huffed in annoyance; he looked to Lestrade and then looked to the notes once last time. He turned around and then without another word, he left the office. Sherlock wondered what he could do next, it was still early in the day. First he needed to check on one of his experiments back in his flat. He called out for a taxi and headed home for a while to take care of it.
XxXxX
After an hour of messing around, his experiment was back on track for the third phase. The recent result written down, ready to join the previous ones. Sherlock got ready to leave once again and opened the front door of his flat and looked round the door. He grimaced when he saw his next-door neighbour standing outside her door. The woman lying in wait for the young man to leave the flat.
"Oh Sherlock," she smiled as she walked over to him. Her smile was faked, as always, and the perfume she wore was over powering, and not a pleasant fragrance at all.
"Miss Franks," he said, keeping the revulsion off his face, but only just, "sorry I can not stop, I have work to do today." He added as he side stepped around her and quickly made his way towards the stairs. It had been like that for Sherlock, since the moment he had moved into the block of flats. The woman hounded him, asking him out for coffee and dinner dates. Not only that she had taken to knocking on his door whenever she noticed he was at home to bring him food. It irritated the man and he hoped that he would be able to get out of there soon.
He took the stairs two at time as he rush away from her, ignoring the shout that she was bring him some dinner for him to eat later. Sherlock came to the ground floor; happy he was away from her. He then sighed when he saw his landlord at the exit to the flats. He stood right next to the exit for the flat. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to get away with the man seeing and catching him.
"Holmes!" came the angry call from the man as soon as he spotted the world's only Consulting Detective.
"Tibbs," Sherlock nodded as he walked towards the man.
"I'm getting complaints about you again. You playing the violin at all times during the night. And the smell coming from there as well. Just what the hell are you doing in that blasted flat!" he yelled, as he looked Sherlock dead in the eye.
"It is important for my work." Was his only answer, trying to move around the man, only to stop when Tibbs moved as well to stop him.
"I don't care. If you want to stay the rent is going to go up." Tibbs told him, his brown eyes narrowing.
"Fine," Sherlock sighed, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get going. I have work to do."
"Fine Holmes, I'll post the new rent though your door later on. Just make sure to pay, and try and keep the noise and smells down. Open the fucking windows for a start!" Tibbs called after him as Sherlock once again rushed off.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the drama and walked out of the flat and to the street. He put up a hand as he shouted "Taxi!"
It didn't take long for a black cab to pull up. He gave the driver the address of the barracks that he needed to go to. He would be talking to Sergeant William Murray first. The case that Sherlock was now working on was that of Anita and Scott Murray. Their twenty-nine year old son had returned home on leave, only to find his parents beaten to death in the living room of their home. Sherlock wanted to know what he could about the man, about his parents and what was going on around the home.
Sherlock looked out of the window as they started to head out of London. He wondered a little about what he might be able to learn from William Murray.
Well, another first chapter. I do hope you have enjoyed it. I shall be posting this every week, as long as I get the chapters edited.
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