Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.
Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take
Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship
Warnings: Language, Death.
Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.
Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.
Chapter 1: Revelations
Location: The Berkeley Hotel, Chelsea Suite
Time: 7:30 pm.
"What time did you last see your wife Mr Kingston?" Detective Inspector Lestrade asks the shaken American in front of him as his team processes the scene.
"I uh-" Kendrick Kingston rakes a hand through his hair, visibly upset. "Around two this afternoon. I just finished the deal and everyone was going to celebrate. Adrianna complained about her stomach and head. She hadn't been feeling-" He pauses, takes a breath, and exhales. "She hadn't been feeling well since we came here. So I walked her here, told her I'd come back around seven to check on her."
"Do you have any enemies Mr Kingston?"
"Plenty, but none of them are here. All of them in the states, rivals you know? But I can't see them- see them doing this.. not to her. She is a good person." He pauses. "Was a good person."
"So she had no enemies that you know of?"
He shakes his head. "Everyone home loves her," he flinches, "loved her. I thought that maybe coming to London would be good. She lived here for a few years before coming to the States."
"What the bloody-"
Detective Inspector Lestrade looks up sharply at the sound of Donovan's exclamation, which she cut off wisely. He frowned as she was looking at a mobile. Mrs Kingston was clutching her mobile in her hand when she was found.
"Apologies Mr Kingston, I best go see what Sgt Donovan found." He turns to another Sgt on his team and nods to him, letting him finish with the question of the husband.
"Donovan!" He hisses. "What on Earth?"
"Sorry, Detective," she says sounding properly abashed. "But we got a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"You'll want to see what's on this." She holds up the mobile.
Quickly Lestrade gets his gloves on and takes the phone from her.
"Look at the two sent messages. And the one that she received minutes before she died," Donovan says, her tone neutral, although her expression is hostile.
Lestrade checks the messages. And each one makes his heart sink.
Sherlock. It's me. I'm in London. We need to talk.
Bloody hell, she knows Sherlock.
Talk about what though?
And how did he know her?
No response to this text. He checks the second, sent twenty minutes later.
Please Sherlock. I need help. You're the only one.
There's a response to this one.
NO. Help yourself. I'm not going to get caught up in your games.
SH
Okay.
So.
Sherlock knows Adrianna Kingston.
Adrianna Kingston knows Sherlock.
Adrianna Kingston knew her life was in danger. She texted Sherlock.
Sherlock refused. And from the message, he thought it was one of her games.
There was some sort of history between them, and not a good one it seems.
"Bloody hell," he mutters.
"I hate to say this, Detective Inspector," Donovan speaks up, sounding like she really hates to say it, "but you need to call him and bring him here."
"He's still not completely recovered from the blast," he murmurs. Last time he saw Sherlock, his arm had almost completely healed. It had broken, and was supposed to be healed completely in July, but due to a complication, the healing took a bit longer. The man no longer had the cast on, but it was in a sling.
"He can walk and talk, he's recovered," Donovan says annoyed. "She texted him before he died. He has to be brought in."
"What have you done with Sgt Donovan?" Lestrade asks curiously. "I would like to have her back."
She sighs impatiently. "Look, he's a Freak. We all know he is. He's an arrogant git. But I'm not blind sir. I saw how he was after he and John Watson escaped that blast at the pool. He hasn't shown up at any of our crime scenes in ages, and I doubt very much a broken arm would have stopped him. But he can't stay away from this. It's either you bring him in, or someone else arrests him for being an accessory."
Time: 8:25 pm.
oooOooo
"Ridiculous," Sherlock mutters as John gets out of the cab, holding the door open for him. The tall consulting detective straightens as John shuts the cab and pays the fare.
"What is?"
"Being blackmailed into coming to a crime scene."
"He didn't blackmail you Sherlock. He told you that it would be best if you came due to the apparent connection to the victim," John counters. He and Sherlock had this argument in three different ways since the DI called them.
"And left the implication of what would happen if I did not, hanging," Sherlock adds as a door is opened for them and they enter the hotel.
"Well it's about time we came to a crime scene," John murmurs. "The summer's been long."
"I've been able to keep myself occupied."
Oh yes. With endless research on Moriarty.
John's leg twinges a bit at the thought of the man and he forces himself not to limp. He's recovered fully from the few cuts and burns and the cracked ribs he got, and Sherlock would have recovered fully too if he had bothered to properly take care of himself. As it is, once he can have the sling removed permanently, he'll have to have some physical therapy to get his arm back up to shape, and John sees that is going to be an uphill battle.
"What floor are we going to?"
"Chelsea Suite," Sherlock says as they get to the lift. He presses one button. "Already know what floor," he adds, pressing the button.
"So how do you think you're connected?"
"No idea."
John raises an eyebrow. "What, no theories?"
"Not enough data to work on a theory."
John doesn't push, knowing that pushing will just make Sherlock more irritable. It doesn't take long for them to get to the required floor, and they are soon met by Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"Doctor Watson," he greets him. "Sherlock. Glad you could make it."
"Of course," Sherlock says with exaggerated politeness. John shakes his head and puts on the coveralls.
"The husband has been taken to another room, and I've had everyone be careful where they step, and no one's touched anything, well except for the mobile," Lestrade says as they enter the large expensive suite.
oooOooo
"Mobile?" Sherlock asks as his gaze zooms in on the bedroom just fifteen feet away.
"Yeah, her right hand was clutching it."
Sherlock hears the differences in Lestrade's words, tone of voice as he talking about the mobile. Ever since he got the call to come here, he's had a very uneasy feeling in his stomach.
"Sherlock, about the mobile-"
"Who is she?"
"Adrianna Kingston, the wife of billionaire Kendrick Kingston. They've been married for two and a half years. They were here because of some sort of big business deal that Kingston's company was doing with another computer company here."
Sherlock nods, and heads into the bedroom, noticing Donovan, who looks away from him. No remarks from Donovan, although as Anderson passes him he hears the usual muttered remarks about his character.
But all thoughts on Anderson's lack of morals flee through his mind as he sees the woman in front of him, laid out on the bed, dead.
And Sherlock knows why he was called in. Her mobile.
She texted him.
They would have seen the texts.
Logical assumption one would make is that he had a hand in her death.
"What time was she found?"
"She was found at seven by her husband. Time of death however puts it at quarter to six."
Sherlock runs his eyes over the scene, the manner in how she is laid out on the bed, the closeness of the gunshot.
No self defense marks.
She knew her killer.
And she didn't fight back.
She did not try to run.
"Sherlock-"
"Yes, I know, you saw the texts," Sherlock interrupts before Lestrade could ask his insane and boring questions.
"Texts?" John. "What texts?"
Sherlock turns to face his friend and colleague. "She sent me two texts earlier. I ignored the first, and replied to the second."
"And she was killed a few minutes after your reply," Lestrade says bluntly. "Those texts make it seem like you two knew each other, Sherlock."
"We did."
"You do?" John asks curiously. Then Sherlock sees the sympathy and he feels irritated at first by it. "I'm sorry Sher-"
"Don't," he says quickly. "We knew each other, but there is not liking between us."
"If I was anyone else, I would take that as a confession," Donovan speaks up. Sherlock ignores her.
"She knew her killer. And was apparently resigned to her fate. No self defense marks, and the expression on her face is of one who knew what was coming."
"Sherlock-"
"How do I know her?" Sherlock interrupts again. He sighs. "It's a bit tricky, but the first thing you must know is Inspector, is that this is not Adrianna Kingston. If you do the proper research you will find out that all her documents stating who she is are false. When you run her fingerprints you of course will find out her real identity."
"What? Are you telling me that this woman-"
"Was a con artist. A very good one. Well was a good one."
"If she's not really Adrianna Kingston," John speaks up then, and Sherlock focuses on him. "Then who is she Sherlock?"
Sherlock closes his eyes. Detach yourself. Remain detached. Do not get emotionally involved. Cannot do the job correctly. Remove emotions.
"Irene Adler."
Author's Note: For future reference so no one gets confused:
When I change the pov to someone else during a chapter this will be shown: oooOooo