Death by Misadventure by Zanna

Disclaimer: Sherlock and all the characters does not belong to me. The story doesn't contain any spoilers and is placed after a Study in Pink and before the Reichenbach falls. Please don't sue me.

Rating: Some naughty language, some allusions to sexy times. I'll have to see how it develops!

1/?

There comes a time in every person's life when they come face to face with death. It can come with a near-miss in your car, or a falling piece of scaffolding or even something as small as a fishbone. After you've had these near misses there is this feeling of being alive that no amount of adrenaline-rushing sport can compare with. Because this time, death came to you unasked and you walked away.

I can still hear the sirens in my mind. I know I am in my bed, that the ambulances have left hours ago. I slowly run my hair across my scalp and feel where the glass from the display window had peppered my hair, leaving tiny scabs behind. My palms hurt from when I hit the road, hands first to protect my face. There is still a faint ringing in my ears from the blast. The cheap cotton sheets feel like plastic to my sensitive skin and I finally make peace with the fact that I won't be sleeping for a good while yet.

A click, a whirr and my ancient laptop boots up. The BBC website has a short story on the events, and I eagerly slurp up any additional news.

Police investigate cause of appliance shop explosion

London – Scotland Yard still doesn't have any firm leads on why a small appliance shop on Becher Street exploded this afternoon. The blast, which could be felt from more than a mile away, ripped through the shop and two neighbouring buildings, killing 5 and injuring 1 person. Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard has declined to comment on why the explosion occurred but nearby residents had recently complained about sharp chemical smells coming from the area. No terrorist groups have taken credit for the explosion.

That is the bare facts. I was there; I was the one injured person. Rachel Templeton survived when five other people hadn't.

I go to the mirror to peer at the face of someone who has faced death. It doesn't seem extraordinary; washed out blond hair scraped into a ponytail, short, non-descript. A perfectly ordinary person. Curves in the right places, chipped manicure, nothing that would make me stand out ever.

What had made me worthy of survival? I kept on peering into the looking glass, hoping for answers. Sleep stays away for the rest of the night.

Chapter 1

"You know Sherlock, if you hadn't decided to try and boil the kettle without any water in it, we would've been able to make tea at home and not pay almost 2 pounds for some watery Earl Grey" John hands Sherlock a small paper cup. His nose wrinkles in disgust when he peers into the murky depths.

"Well I need to know what would be the least amount of water needed to get a kettle to boil. The answer was simple."

"You couldn't read the manual for that?"

"Kettles come with manuals? Add water, plug in, and enjoy? That would be a riveting piece of literature, no doubt."

It was Monday morning and the whole of London was on its way to work. Sherlock stood outside the small patiserrie, glancing random facts from strangers while John wrestled with accountants, PR-agents and other office drones for their morning fix of tannin. It was just around the corner from Baker street and John had to resist every urge to get a croissant with the tea. Until a new case came along, money would be tight.

"We can go to Ashton's a pick up a new one for a fiver or something, I'm sure"

"We can't"

"Is this about money? I'm sure I have a fiver in my coat" Sherlock grunts and starts rooting about his pockets. Triumphantly he slaps a 10 pound note in John's hands.

"Where did that come from?"

"Mycroft. Don't ask."

"We still can't go to Ashton's, it blew up last week"

John treasures each moment Sherlock looks surprised.

"God, how I wish I can take a photo of your face right now."

"Blew up? When? How could I not…"

"You were in Wincanton, looking for Mrs Norris' missing painting."

"Yes, that was rather challenging, I agree. Not often that I have to go digging through an actual rubbish dump. Do they know why Ashton's blew up?"

"The coroner ruled it as death by misadventure, seems that the culprits blew themselves up trying to make their own methamphetamines. Pity they had to take the upstairs neighbours with them."

"No survivors?"

"Only one, girl who walked past the shop when it exploded."

"Do you think she has a kettle?"

"Would you like something to drink before we start?"

Rachel glances up at the police officer. She'd rushed over straight from work to the police station, wanting to get the whole thing over with. It was Friday night and she had a hot date with her telly – Pride and Prejudice was waiting and there was nothing like Colin Firth in a wet shirt to cheer her up. She still didn't know why they wanted a second statement from her; she'd told them everything she remembered. The interview room didn't look anything like what she'd seen on the telly; it was warmer and friendlier than she thought. There was even a motivational poster on the wall, telling her that something about challenges being opportunities in disguise.

"Ms Templeton?"

Rachel starts, from the look on the officer's face she realizes that she's been staring into space for a while.

"Nothing for me, thank you. I drink too much coffee at work."

The officer nods at sits down across from her. Rachel notices the lavender stains underneath the officer's eyes and the ink stains on her fingers. Clearly she isn't the only one having a rough day.

"Ms Templeton, do you know why we called you back in today?"

"I was told you have to retake my statement."

"It is a bit more complicated than that, I'm afraid. Do you recognize any of these men?"

The officer slides two photographs over to her. They are full colour, glossy and were taken in a morgue. It takes Rachel a few minutes to realize who she is looking at. It feels like she's been punched in the gut and the officer says nothing as Rachel fights to remember how to breathe.

"The man on the left, that is? Was? My brother. Paul."

"And the other man?"

Rachel glances over to the other photo. She is still in shock about Paul, her baby brother Paul, with his downy blond hair and goatee beard that refused to fill out. His face all bloated and covered in blood and is surprised to see the tail end of a tattoo on his chest.

"I don't know who he is."

"Ms Templeton, I am sorry for your loss. Your brother, Paul and his accomplice Trevor Bledlow were found in the back of the appliance shop that exploded. It would appear that they were manufacturing methamphetamines, used a wrong dose of ammonia and their whole lab blew up. "

"I lost contact with Paul after our parents died. I hadn't seen him in over four years. I never realized…"

"Ms Templeton, I know this is a shock to you. We would like you to come down to the morgue and identify your brother."

Rachel slowly nods. "Are you sure about the drugs? Paul, he wouldn't, I mean I know I haven't stayed in touch with him…"

"Family members are usually the last to find out. Are you able to come down with us now?"

"Yes, yes of course…"

"Are you sure that police said that Ashton's was blown up by incompetent drug manufacturers?"

Sherlock picks up his violin and starts plinking away at random notes, knowing that it would annoy John.

"Yep." John doesn't glance at Sherlock, engrossed at the statistics of the website. "Did you know there are people from China reading my blog?"

"Why would they manufacturer drugs in a high occupancy area, in the back of an appliance shop? They would've known people would complain about the smell and that it was too risky."

"Why do drug dealers to anything Sherlock? Who knows? Greed? Maybe their brains had rotted from their own products?"

"I'm going for a walk. " Sherlock pulls his coat on. "Something about this doesn't make sense. What was the name of the woman who survived the blast?"

"I don't see how that is relevant. Sherlock, there is no mystery there. It's an open and shut case, incompetent people playing with dangerous chemicals go boom. "

"I'm not so sure. Are you coming along?" Sherlock cocks his head expectantly. "I can't possibly go without my favourite blogger."

Ten minutes later Sherlock stared at the burnt out remains of Ashton's Appliance Store. The front façade had some damage to it, and the neighbouring buildings look scorched but it seemed the explosion was much smaller than what the press had reported. Sherlock glances at the blue and white Police tape and deftly steps underneath it. A soft rain had started and he pulls his coat up around his neck. He hates the feeling of rain on his neck. John mutters to himself about tea and usefulness of umbrellas as Sherlock paces around the wreckage. Ignoring the soot caking around his ankles he crouches down and slowly runs his finger over a piece of exposed cement.

"John, call Lestrade. There wasn't a meth lab in this building, it was a bomb factory."