The first chapter of my first ever Sherlock fanfiction. I hope everyone enjoys it! Reviews are welcome. No flamers please. Be kind.
Disclaimer: I only own Sam Bennett and any other obvious OC's.
Today wasn't ordinary by any means.
Then again, when is it when your bestfriend is the infamous sociopath Sherlock Holmes. A man who had been supposedly dead for two years? John Watson sighed heavily as he sat at the table typing away at his laptop.
Sherlock was once again, as he so delicately put it, was bored. He had a tendency to become bored very easily, if not exceedingly easily. So there he was working on some sort of experiment.
Yet again.
He needed a case and he needed one badly. The last few that had been brought to the man had been dismissed before he had even finished reading them. They were apparently less than a five. He had been begging His former flatmate for a cigarette all morning.
John Watson rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. When a sudden beep from his phone caused him to pause. He looked down and saw that he had a received a new message, and the name Lestrade was present.
'There is a God' John thought as he began to read the message. The further he read the more it caused his brow to become knitted together before they raised in what could only be known as a shocked expression. His eyes left the screen of his phone to look into the kitchen. "Sherlock?" Slowly he stood "Sherlock I..." He stopped when he entered the kitchen doorway.
Sherlock Holmes stood there in his normal house attire. Consisting of a dressing robe, dark blue this time, with a blowtorch in his hand. His eyes were staring off into God knows where while he traipsed around in his "mind palace" once again. His hand was still in the raised position just above what was his experiment, flames still on. "Sherlock?" He called out again watching as Sherlock finally blinked.
"Oh," He looked up at John "When did you come in?"
John only shook his head "Lestrade has a case for us."
The blowtorch finally was turned off "Ah, brilliant. Well let us hope this one isn't boring."
"Its a cold case that recently had I suppose, new evidence come up."
Sherlock looked back at John and stared. "Cold Case?"
"Yes."
"We haven't done one of those in a while." He paused before taking a breath "This could mean only one of two things. Either the case was of massive importance involving someone in the public eye. Or, the case has been re-opened due to the new evidence being so profound-" He stopped and looked at John directly in the eye. He noticed a change in his companions demeanor. It was stiff and slightly off as though he didn't want to think about something. Something like... "a body has surfaced." He spoke in a definite tone having now figured it out. John did not need to say anything at that point. Then again he didn't have to his body language gave Sherlock all the answers. "Whats the case John?" He asked stepping closer to him.
"This case involves the abduction of approximately ten children over the span of seven years."
(images begin to flash in Sherlock's mind. the images of all ten children from the file he had read four years ago.)
All being under thirteen the youngest was a boy age four went missing a few years ago..."
(He remembered the boy. He remembered...her face.)
"Mother is a nurse at...oh she works at-"
(Her face...how could he forget her face. Stained with tears as she sat before him.)
"Barts Hospital..." Sherlock muttered under his breath as it all came rushing back to him. He knew this case. How could he forget it? Even over the two years he had been "dead" he was still thought about it.
John looked up hearing the hushed tone in Sherlock's voice as he whispered the profession of the last victims mother. "Yes...how did you know?" The shorter man's curiosity was peaked as always. 'How does he always know?' He would often ask himself. Was Sherlock Holmes a bloody psychic?
"I merely have read this case before..." He said almost dismissively as he removed his house coat while he walked into his bedroom. Only to return moments later with his suit coat on and scarf in hand. "Come along" He grabbed his wool trench coat as he walked out of his flat.
"Sh-Sherlock?" He grabbed his own coat following Sherlock down the stares as the man pulled on his overcoat. "Wait so you are taking the case then?" John was slightly stunned at how quickly he had taken the case. Normally there was this process of reading over the facts. Determining the scale to see if it was less than a seven or a six or whatever it had been. Yet, this one definitely seemed to have Sherlock on his toes already.
"Of course I am." Sherlock took a breath as he stepped over the threshold. He would be returning to the case that had always baffled him. The one that, well to put it lightly, was close to him. But he dare not tell John all this just yet. He had more important things to do first.
Sam...(He was now in his mind palace staring at her. Just as he remembered at their first meeting. She was dressed in her nurse scrubs. Her favorite coat clutched tightly around her frame as though it were protecting her. She looked up at him. Her face was still stained with tears and her eyes bloodshot from the agony and the constant shedding of salty tears.)
"Um why?" John's voice invaded his mind causing the memory to vanish as quickly as it came. He inwardly growled at the invasion.
"I have always been fascinated by it. Four years ago after the last victim went missing and I have a chance to find out why these children went missing."
"...How?"
Sherlock hesitated before fully slipping on his coat "I don't know but I shall."
I have too...
Detective Lestrade stood at the crime scene, his face was blank it held no emotion but his eyes were filled with sorrow. The body of the little boy was laying beneath a white sheet at a park. A bloody park was the place where his had been discarded as though he were nothing. And yet, someone had wanted this body to be found. Sympathy? No...couldn't be...the kidnapper now turned killer wanted to mock them. But why now? Why after all this time...
His head turned to look up as a taxi came into his sights. Stepping out was Sherlock and John causing him to sigh. He had to look away from the boy. His heavy feet carried him to the two consultants "A young boy. Age 10. We still don't know which of the children he is due to the fact that he has aged." He looked up seeing Sherlock texting on his phone. "Sherlock for once can you put that bloody thing away?"
He looked up in a slight annoyance at the detective but upon seeing his emotion over the boy, he put it away. "How was the boy killed?"
"We can only assume strangulation due to the bruising around his neck. We will know more when we get him to the morgue."
"I want to see the boy." He stated bluntly in his usual manner. Earning a wide eyed look from his companion.
"Sherlock I don't think..." John tried to convince him otherwise.
"John, no matter if its a child or an adult a dead person is a dead person." He said "I must see the body to deduce how he died."
John had become flabbergasted at his friend words "How can you be so cold?" Sherlock looked directly into his friends eyes not even blinking.
He then looked John square in the eye, and spoke in a sharp tone. "Because, if I weren't, I wouldn't be able to do what I do best. John Watson."
He walked forth leaving John to brew over what he had just said. Sherlock kept his mind focused as he approached the body of the boy. A detective pulled the sheet back and Sherlock hesitated a bit when he saw the child's face.
His skin was almost gray in color with patches of purple and black where bruises now rested. The boys lifeless eyes stared up at him. They were now gray and yet still held a glimmer of the terror he must have experienced. His lips were purple from the lack of oxygen.
It sent a chill down his spine, he hadn't dealt much with child murders. And, to be perfectly frank, he was thankful for that. Sherlock Holmes may have been a cold man, but he wasn't that cold.
He then began to do his job and deduce the evidence that was before him. Bruises around neck strangulation. Eye sockets slightly sunken dehydration. Dirt under fingernails as well as dirt on cloths held somewhere underground. Dust on cloths hasn't bathed in some time. Body thin malnourished probably near starved.
"Detective Lestrade." He called out before standing "this boy had been held somewhere underground." He declared walking back to the two "He was near starvation probably as a form of torture to try and break the boy. His clothes are dirty suggesting no source or the lack of being allowed to bathe."
"God," Lestrade cursed running his hand over his face before taking a deep breath.
"Greg are you alright?" John asked noting the distress of the detective.
"Just thinking about the look on the parent's faces when I have to tell them. We will have to do fingerprint identification to find out his name. Don't know how long the poor lad has been missing."
Elsewhere
Sam Bennett was just getting off yet another thirty-six hour shift at St. Bartholomew's. Her body ached from head to toe from the long hours of being on her feet and lack of sleep. The muscles in her shoulders and back were screaming at her as she slipped on her coat. "Samantha?" She groaned as she heard her superior call out to her as he entered the locker room.
"Yes Sherman?"
She knew exactly what he was going to tell her, and she didn't want to hear it. His lecturing was the last thing she wanted to hear right now. Sherman Collins sat down on the bench with his arms crossed. "How many hours have you been pulling these last couple of days?"
"I don't know." She said in a tired and sleep deprived voice.
"I counted over a hundred." He sighed "Sam you have got to stop pushing yourself like this. When was the last time you set foot in your house?"
"I'm selling the house." She said bluntly trying to get the conversation over with. She just wanted to crawl onto her couch and go to bed. The place she had been sleeping for the last four years. A simple fold out mattress.
"Sam-"
"Sherman please."
"Samantha. I am not just your boss I am your friend. And I have been since you came to work here. Sam you have got to stop this. You have to get some sleep you have to try and live with this-"
"Live with it?" She snapped "Sherman I have been living with it for the last four years. You really think I don't know the possibilities of-"
"Living with it? When was the last time you looked at his photograph? When did you actually step into his room? When was the last time you slept in your bed?" He snapped as he stood "I get it. Believe me I do I lost my own son-"
"From a sickness. You haven't been paralyzed by worthless hope over the fact that he may very well still be alive somewhere. Not knowing if he is suffering...I have been living with this as best as I can Shermon."
Suddenly her mobile vibrated inside her locker. She tried to ignore it but sighed "I'm sorry Sherman I need to get this." She picked up her phone causing Sherman shake his head before walking away. "Hello?"
There was a pause before a deep baritone voice flowed into her ear. "Do you always answer your Mobile without checking who's calling you first?"
That voice.
Miss Bennett this is Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. He will be helping us on the case.
Miss Bennett I will find your son I promise.
Do you even know what it feels like?!
Miss Bennett please...
I don't know how to survive Sherlock...
Sam...Sam..."Sam."
She felt reality setting in as a deep breath escaped her lungs. "Sam." He called her name again "Come back to reality Sam." The deep baritone voice echoed in her ear "Focus on my voice Sam."
"Sh-Sherlock?"
"Its been a while hasn't it?" He asked bluntly.
"Yes...yes it has. How are you?"
"I am well though I am afraid this isn't a social call."
"What do you mean?"
There was a deep sigh "I am afraid that there has been some...new evidence has arisen."
Her heart started to hurt as it pounded in her chest. "Oh god..." Was it her nightmare come to life.
"Sam stay with me. Its not your son I swear. But...I need you to help me. Can you meet me?"
She sighed and leaned against the lockers "Where are you Sherlock?"
MORGUE.
The words above the double doors stared down at Samantha as though they were her executioner. She didn't know how long she stood there staring at them. This place it was the one place in all of the world she wished to never have set a toe in. All of the nightmares she had of walking down this hall to see her only child lying on a silver slab.
Her mind started to drift, her heart raced and her breathing increased. She had to close her eyes as she felt a pounding taking over in her head. She placed one hand on the windowsill to steady herself while the other went to her head.
Why here? Why?
"Sam?" A voice called out to her but it seemed so far away. Almost like an echo.
She felt her world starting to spin "Sam focus." She felt to two hands jerk her shoulders causing her eyes to snap open and bring her back to reality. When they did she was met with a pair of familiar ones staring back at her.
Eyes that reminded her of a nebula out in space. That was how she always remembered them. The mixes of greens and blues with the brown right around the pupil. " Look at me in the eye Sam. Focus on my voice. You must relax your heart rate and breathing before you slip into a panic attack." She continued to stare into those eyes feeling reality settling in completely.
Slowly she nodded "Now close your eyes and breath with me. Copy exactly how I am breathing." Sherlock inhaled deeply and Sam mimicked him. After five seconds they both exhaled and repeated the same sequence pattern for nearly two minutes. "Better?" Slowly Sam nodded before Sherlock stepped back.
"I swear to you your son is not inside there laying on a slab beneath a white sheet." Again Sam could only nod "I merely need you to see if you know this boy at all. You told me how you and some of the other parents joined a support group. Perhaps he is one of theirs."
Sam nodded again feeling Sherlock's hand grip her shoulder as he lead her towards the doors. Her feet felt as though they were made of lead. "Breath Sam." He told her again.
"Just breath."
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face; You must do the thing you think you cannot do."