"I don't understand why you need me to come along, Sherlock. I've already missed the beginning of this case." John said as he tried to keep up with Sherlock's quick steps, the pair marching along the street.
"Then I'll explain it to you." Sherlock responded. "Margaret Bailey was found dead in her home three days ago with a bullet through her forehead. Death was instantaneous."
"So why has Greg called you?" the doctor asked. "Seems pretty mundane, God rest her soul."
"Locked room." Was the only answer he was given.
"Ah, your favourite." he smiled. After a beat of silence he asked another question. "How come we're going back to the crime scene?"
"Lestrade has finally asked me to check that the forensics team has not missed anything." Sherlock said with a sniff. "Of course, he should have asked me as soon as the body was found but he seemed to be under the impression that his team was more than capable."
"Leave him alone." John chided as they separated to make way for a woman with a pram. "From what I've read in the papers, this lady was a politician, right? So Greg's boss and the press are probably putting a load of pressure on him right now to find out what happened."
Sherlock didn't respond, he merely kept his eyes ahead as they walked, looking off into the distance. He kept his gaze on one fixed point long enough for John to notice, and the doctor tried to see what it was Sherlock was focusing on.
"What are you looking at?" he asked. Sherlock pointed slightly to the left, above a row of houses.
"There appears to be smoke where Margaret Bailey's residence is." he said, and now John could clearly see the plumes of black smoke tinting the sky, rising in a gentle swirl. "Or should I say 'was'." the detective corrected with a small smirk.
"Not funny." John said as they began to run to the crime scene. They turned the corner onto Margaret Bailey's driveway to see a number of fire officers darting in and out of the house, which was no longer on fire but thick, heavy smoke was pouring from every crevice.
"God." John muttered at the sight of the remains of what was a large manor house, but most of it had crumbled and only a bit of the structure was still upright.
"Now how am I supposed to look for evidence?" Sherlock asked, and John couldn't work out if he was actually as distressed as he sounded.
"Forget your evidence, Sherlock." John said, spotting Lestrade a few metres away and walking over, ignoring the affronted look on the detective's face.
Lestrade had heard the pair talking and faced John with a grim expression as he neared, arms crossed. "Twenty minutes earlier and you would have had your evidence." he said to Sherlock, who didn't respond.
"What happened?" the doctor asked.
"Got a call about fifteen minutes ago saying a fire had broken out at a victim's house. We're currently trying to figure out what had started it but so far there's been no luck." he said.
"You suspect that Bailey had a lover, yes?" Sherlock asked suddenly, eyes on the smoking house.
Lestrade frowned at him. "Yes, but there are rather more pressing matters at the minute." he replied. "Like who set her house on fire."
"If she was in a relationship with someone it's likely she had some sort of memorabilia to remind herself of it." the detective continued.
"If she did it probably got destroyed in the fire." John said.
"Not necessarily." Sherlock countered. "If, for example, the item was metal, depending on the fire's temperature it might not have melted."
"Does this really matter right now? And anyway, what item would she have that reminds her of her lover that's made of metal?" John asked.
"Jewellery." Sherlock stated. "Gold melts at around 1000°C and silver melts at approximately 960°C, so it could be possible that the fire didn't melt it."
"Unlikely." John countered.
"But possible." Sherlock responded.
"Gentlemen, can we please focus our concentration on trying to work out who started this fire that might or might not have melted your jewellery, and why they did?" Greg interrupted.
But John was watching Sherlock suspiciously, who was still scanning the house avidly. "No." he said.
"No?" Lestrade echoed, eyebrows raised.
John turned to him. "Not 'no' to you, Greg, sorry. No to him." He gestured to Sherlock with his thumb, and the detective frowned at him.
"I didn't say anything."
"I know what you're thinking, though." John replied. "And the answer is no, you cannot go into the remains and look for some sort of memorabilia."
"But those idiots will probably pick it up and discard it as unimportant!" Sherlock whined, gesturing to the fire and police officers poking about the rubble.
"Inspector Lestrade," A fire officer walked over to the trio, scowling at Sherlock. "My idiots currently believe the fire was deliberate, most probably set alight with the use of petrol."
"Thank you, Chief." Lestrade replied.
"And can I just add, under no circumstances are you to go near the house, Mr Holmes." the fire-fighter said. "Some of the structure has been weakened and is liable to collapse, something which we're expecting to happen during the next half hour, so stay away."
"If you think I am unable to tell when parts of a house are about to collapse, then you are sorely mistaken." Sherlock responded icily, disgruntled at being talked down to.
"Not to mention that if you do decide to stupidly go in, smoke inhalation could cause you to pass out, the surfaces could give you first degree burns and Mrs Hudson will undoubtedly bash you over the head with your skull." John added. Sherlock merely glared at him.
"Anyway, so far there have been no reported casualties." the chief fire-fighter continued. Lestrade nodded at the information, having been already told that by one of his officers.
"Any witnesses?" John asked, looking from Lestrade to Chief Fire Officer Rodger Johnson, as he later introduced himself as. "Someone who might have seen the house set alight?"
"None so far." Lestrade answered, and Johnson nodded in agreement.
"Don't suppose the suspect left their shoe or something as they ran off." John muttered.
Johnson shook his head. "We've already questioned Cinderella; she claims she's innocent. I'm not so sure."
John smiled at the comment and waited for Sherlock's derogatory remark... only it never came. He turned and was not entirely surprised when he was faced with thin air. He spun to face the wreckage of the house and was certain that, through the curtain of thick smoke, he could see Sherlock's sodding coat.
"That bloody, stupid arse." John cursed, and began to run over to the remains, ignoring the shouts of his name behind him. Fire-fighters and police officers watched dubiously as John ran past them, unsure whether they should stop him or wait for orders to do so.
"Give me your torch!" John shouted to a particularly young officer, who thrust her torch into John's waiting hand as he sped by. The doctor knew the smoke would cause little light to filter through the wreckage, and he wanted to spend as little time as possible getting the stupid detective out.
The majority of the left side of the house was still intact, whilst almost all of the right side had crumbled to become rubble and debris. John couldn't see any sign of Sherlock in the rubble so he surmised he must be in the left side, where the ceiling could collapse any minute, the doctor thought grimly.
He slowed as he neared the beginning of the wreckage, and he kept an eye on where his feet were as he stepped through a hole in the exterior. Switching on the torch, he strained for any noise that might indicate Sherlock was around. Behind him, he could hear Lestrade ordering people not to follow him in, and he felt a small pang of guilt at leaving the DI forced to do nothing but wait for the two of them to return, it being too dangerous now for anyone to come after them.
John coughed as smoke invaded his senses and he squinted in the dim light, the torch providing barely any relief. He placed his sleeve over his mouth, hoping that whilst looking for the detective he didn't inhale too much of the toxic smoke.
"Sherlock!" he called, his voice muffled. "Where the hell are you?!"
Surprisingly enough, John didn't receive an answer, but he thought he could hear Sherlock moving about nearby.
As he carefully stepped over loose bits of concrete and wood, John tried valiantly not to focus on the sound of groaning structures above him, signalling that something somewhere was going to collapse soon now that the fire had weakened it.
"Sherlock!" he shouted again, and when he was met with silence once more he softened his voice. "I won't be mad, just come back with me."
There was a deep chuckle to his left, and he turned to focus his torchlight on Sherlock's smirking face. The detective was making his way over to John, and the doctor did his best not to slap the smirk off of him.
"What the hell are you thinking?" John scolded.
"I thought you said you weren't going to be mad." Sherlock responded mildly.
"I was lying." the doctor growled. "This has got to be one of the stupidest things you've ever done."
"The evidence is paramount, John, surely you can understand that. I need to recover it before the rest of this house collapses and possibly destroys it."
"You've got about thirty seconds, then." John said sardonically. "Anyway, you don't even know what you're looking for!" he added, his temper rising the longer they remained there.
"I'm almost one hundred percent certain it's a piece of jewellery." the detective replied, looking about the debris as if the evidence might jump out at him.
"Almost." John emphasised. "'Almost' isn't enough to persuade me, now move before–"
He was cut off by an almighty groan directly above them, and John looked to see a large, dirtied pillar nearby suddenly collapse, having split almost cleanly in half. Seconds after, without anything within the surrounding area to support it, parts of the ceiling began to crash to the floor around the pair.
"MOVE!" John shouted, shoving Sherlock out of the way and in a direction where there were less concrete chunks colliding with the ground. Sherlock stumbled forward and ran as quickly as he could towards the edge of the house, not needing to look for a door as there were plenty of gaps in the wall to use as an exit.
Then, without warning, a giant chunk of ceiling crashed directly in front of Sherlock and John, causing settled dust and debris to jump up around them and clog their already suffering senses. John felt a stinging sensation in his eyes and his hands flew to his face to protect himself from further harm. He tried to blink the dust away but his eyes refuse to open, watering greatly and continuing to sting painfully.
John felt Sherlock grip his wrist and yank him in a different direction and he stumbled clumsily after him, tripping over bits of rubble and cursing at himself repeatedly. All around him he could hear the tremendous noise of the large house crumbling to its foundations, and he hoped that Lestrade had kept everyone at a safe distance.
Finally, John felt fresh air on his face and his feet shuffled against smooth ground. He collapsed to his knees and he heard a thud next to him, presumably Sherlock.
"Stay facing away, John, while everything settles." Sherlock warned, and John decided that keeping his eyes closed would also help.
"You okay?" he rasped.
"Fine." the detective responded with a cough.
They remained in silence for a few moments whilst they waited for everything to settle, and when John could hear the shouts of Lestrade and Chief Johnson looking for them, he surmised that they were as safe as they could be. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked a couple of times as Sherlock got to his feet.
"We're at the back of the house so there's no need to call for them; they'll come trotting over sooner or later." Sherlock said, brushing the dust off himself.
"Sherlock..." John murmured, frowning slightly.
"Maybe we should leave now so I can escape Lestrade's predictably boring tirade."
"Sherlock?" the doctor's voice took on a questioning tone as he held his hands out in front of him.
"Hmm?" Sherlock knelt down in front of his friend and gripped his hands, looking for any serious injuries but aside from a few cuts and scrapes, he seemed unharmed. "What is it?"
John looked up and into his eyes... only he was staring to the left of the detective's face. In a quiet, controlled voice, he said, "I can't see."
A/N: Oh my God it's been so long since I've posted anything and I'm so happy I've finally started doing it! It's a work in progress and I hope to update every week but I apologise in advance if any chapters are late!