A.N - Second chapter while its still flowing from the ol' brain! Once again, i have no Beta, so if anyone spots a mistake, please point it out.
I pinched a tiny bit of dialog from the show, i may do so in other chapters.
None of the characters ( or bit of dialog i nicked ) are my creation , my mind could never think up such brilliance.
Reviews/follows are hugely encouraged!
Chapter 2
Surprisingly he had slept, not in the bed of course, but on the sofa. His neck ached. He must remember not to sleep on the sofa.
The shops must surely be open by now? He needed the phone, he needed to set up the number and make a plan. How is he going to distribute his new number among the needy? Maybe the homeless network could help?
Yes, that was it, he could give the number to the homeless network and they could hand it out when they say people who needed it!
He checked his phone for the time and realised he had another two messages.
12.014am – It wrked! Sleep ow. Tanks JW
6.30am – Got one that might interest you. Call when you're ready. Lestrade
A case. He hit number 1 on his speed dial and waited for Lestrade to answer.
"Lestrade, tell me everything!"
" Yes, hello Sherlock. I'm well, yes it's been a rough night thank you for asking."
"Facts. Now."
A sigh from the other side of the line, "O.k you impatient twit. You'll like this one, abandoned house, room locked from the inside, female body, no noticeable cause of death. Fancy it?"
Of course he did, did they not realise it had been an age since his last case? "Is Anderson going to be there?"
"actually no, we've got a new one, starts today. A Dr. Watson I believe."
"text me the address, I'll be there soon."
Less than 20 minutes later the taxi pulled up outside the abandoned house. The police tape was like a beacon, drawing him closer until he arrived at the door. He gave a small smile of anticipation. The game was on!
The house was in disrepair, the dust all unsettled from the idiots from Scotland Yard. How did they expect to catch anyone when they can't even avoid basic mistakes.
"Freaks here" He glared at Donovan, she scowled back. Hmph, bad mood from absence of Anderson. When will she realise it will never work?
"Sherlock! Over here, we had to break the door, but I had them take some photos for you beforehand, just in case you needed to see it. The body is just over here see? Bit of an odd one isn't it? Thought it would be right up you're street. Doctor Watson can't find an obvious cause of death but we've not moved the body so he's not had chance to do a proper examination. He did put her time of death to be around 11-1 last night and her age as between 20 and 25."
Sherlock just nodded, not looking at Lestrade or the man he presumed to be Doctor Watson, he entire focus was upon the wonderfully dead girl in front of him.
The new Doctor was right about the time of death and the approximate age. No obvious sign of death either.
Fingernails were bitten, nervous habit maybe? Chapped lips, chewed a little actually, another nervous habit. Messy hair, dull complexion, no make up, spotty skin around the hair line, thin, too thin for her build, few stains on her clothes.
He sighed, not a new case after all. "Lestrade you bloody idiot. Next time let the Doctor move the body a little before calling me. It's an overdose" He turned and strode out of the room. Pausing when he heard the Doctor mumble something to Lestrade.
"What's that Watson? I didn't hear you?" Lestrade sounded a little annoyed.
"I said I told you so. Skin was a dead give-away, the sweat too." The voice was warm, friendly. A little pinched with pain. Why pain? He crept back to the door and peeked in.
Doctor Watson was turned slightly away from the door. He was short, a little under the national average hight. Back straight, shoulders back a bit, short dirty blonde hair, tending towards a few hints of grey. And he was gripping a cane. Standard hospital issue, recently acquired if the grip on the handle was to be believed. Psychosomatic limp, he wasn't leaning on the cane properly. Stiff shoulder, injured. Oh! Oh of course!
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
The Doctor shifted his gaze to Sherlock, "Sorry?"
"Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Afghanistan. Erm... Sorry, but how did you...?" He glanced at Lestrade who shrugged.
"Just don't ask mate. It's just how he is, bloody nightmare if he's bored. I've seen him reduce grown men to tears in a matter of minutes." He clapped Watson on the back, "Come on Doctor, let's get back to the station and get all this written up. Then Molly will want to meet you too over at the hospital."
Sherlock moved out of the way as they passed.
"Mr Holmes? Are you not coming with us?" The Doctor was watching him. His eyes are not quite blue and not quite grey. Need to be closer to compare them to the colour wheel in his mind palace. Best not to though.
"I didn't plan on it no." He rarely went to the station, he had planned on going to go get the new phone.
"you not going to the morgue Sherlock? Would've thought you'd want to have a once over the body,?" Lestrade pulled Sherlock's gaze away from the Doctors eyes. He had decided on somewhere in the Bl:0.87 area of his iris chart. Any less and they would be verging on green, any more and they would be too blue. He needed to be closer to see if they had flecks of colour near the pupil. But he wouldn't.
"Later. I need a new phone first." Lestrade looked puzzled, so he elaborated "I have an experiment to run. Need a new number for it"
I didn't seem to help. Lestrade still looked puzzled, but shrugged and lead the Doctor outside.
...
Later that night Sherlock was waiting for the new phone to receive a text, surely by now his homeless network will have found people to give his number to?
It seemed the longer he watched the phone, the more it mocked him. He was bored. Extremely bored, he needed something to do. Anything.
His eyes wandered over to his bookcase. His fingers twitching as he thought about what he had hid there. A new hiding place that not even Mycroft would find. He could. Just a little bit, no one would notice, especially if he stayed indoors. Or he could go to the warehouse where some of his homeless network stayed. They wouldn't mind him crashing there for a day or two.
He found himself drifting towards the shelf, fingers lightly tracing the spines on the books. Just a little bit wouldn't hurt.
A loud beeping dragged his attention to the table where his phone sat, he dived on it eyes hungrily looking for the message. It wasn't there.
Oh! His normal phone, maybe it was Lestrade? A case? Even a cold cae would be welcome now.
5.30pm – So how did you know that would work last night? JW
Should he reply? Might break the boredom for a while if nothing else.
5.33pm – I just did. You should have too. SH
There. Done.
5.35pm – What sort of explanation is that? JW
5.40pm – A short one. Why are you still messaging me? SH
Maybe the eyeballs in the fridge will have grown mould by now? They might grow it faster if he put them on the side rather than in the fridge. But he was sure the condensation inside the plastic tub that housed them would accelerate the grow rate.
He was tipping the tub slowly back and forth. The liquid was unexpected, it was almost slime like in its consistency , making it difficult to see if there was indeed mould on the eyeballs. His phone beeped its annoying message alert again. He set the tub down on the windowsill, maybe the evening sunlight would show something.
5.55pm – Does it bother you? Me messaging you I mean? JW
Well. This was interesting. A stranger interested in exchanging messages, just for the sake of it?
5.57pm – You are relieving my boredom. So for now no. Why are you messaging me? SH
Surely this JW had friends to message? He mentioned one didn't he? Mark?
6.00pm – You're interesting. What's you're name? JW
He paused before he wrote the reply. It wouldn't do for someone to be running around telling who knows who that he's messaging the worlds only Consulting Detective. Fake name? A fake name would work, but what?
6.10pm – Sam Hughes. And yours? SH
6.13pm – Hi Sam, I'm Joe Wilkes. JW
