The Adventure of Sydney Pageant

The phone rang at the front at Scotland Yard, Sergeant Sally Donovan briefly manning the line.

"Hello? Scotland Yard," she introduced. Her eyes started to widen, and she clutched the phone in both hands. "Whoa, slow down. What happened?" A long pause ensued as the person on the other line described what they'd found. Donovan straightened her face from its previously shocked form. "We'll be on our way," she remarked, hanging up the phone. She dashed into Detective Inspector Lestrade's office. "Sir! There's been a murder at a community college. A messy one, too, from the witness' account," she informed him. Without a moment's hesitation, Lestrade gathered his badge, notepad, mobile, sidearm and coat.

"Let's hurry," was all he said and the police rushed to the scene.

Outside the den, the girl was still shaking her head in disbelief, shocked that something like this could really happen at her school. Sure, she'd seen a horror film or two, but that's all they were, right? Fiction? Murders like those couldn't happen anywhere near her, could they? Obviously, they could. She was expressly relieved when the police arrived at the scene.

"In there... someone's dead... blood... lots of it," she stammered.

"Right, then, let's have a look," Lestrade said, peering into the den window as she herself had done minutes before. He looked back and forth at the apparent corpse and his face twisted into a knot. He knew this was a tricky one. Lestrade sighed and pulled out his mobile. He began to text someone.

"You really think this requires the freak's help?" Donovan asked incredulously of her superior. Lestrade gave her an annoyed look as he hit 'send' on his phone.

"His name is 'Sherlock,' and, yes, I believe we do," he said rather frankly.


"Sherlock, your mobile buzzed!" John Watson called from the sitting room. Sherlock Holmes himself was busy with yet another experiment in the kitchen, this time centering around the effects of household cleaners on bloodstains. He'd tell John later that he'd "borrowed" one of his lesser-worn jumpers for the test.

"Pick it up for me. Who and what?" Sherlock asked staring intently at his work.

Murder at a community college. Victim doesn't look normal. Need your help with this one. -Lestrade

"It's from Lestrade. Says there's been a murder at a community college. The victim looks funny, so he wants you to have a look," John answered.

"Did he actually say that it looks funny?" Sherlock queried doubtfully.

"No, I was just summarising."

"Next time, word for word," Sherlock requested, whipping his coat and scarf on. "Ask for the address. Let's go."


"Say, didn't get your name," Lestrade said to the girl as he walked her to her belongings.

"Sydney. Sydney Pageant."

"Nice to meet you, Sydney. Lestrade. Wish we could've met under better circumstances, but I wish that of all witnesses I meet," Lestrade told her, offering to shake her hand. She gingerly took it and shook once. The two strode over to her things when she saw a couple things were amiss: The man with the umbrella was gone, and, worst of all...

"Someone doodled on my drawing!" Sydney cried in disbelief. She couldn't believe it, not only was she the sole witness to the aftermath of a crime, but her art suffered as well. "Why would anyone do that?" she asked no one in particular as she clutched the now ruined sketch to her chest.

"May I see it?" Lestrade asked her, thinking the defilement might link to the crime somehow. Sydney, red in the face from becoming so upset, turned her pad around to see that someone had indeed scribbled all over the picture in red pen in a long continuous line. The image could still be made out, but the picture was hardly presentable anymore.

"I worked so hard on it, too. I just finished it when I heard the commotion in the den," the saddened artist explained. Lestrade took notice of the man on the bench she drew.

"Who is the model?"

"I don't know. I just saw him sit down curiously with his umbrella. Thought it was an interesting and funny sight, so I started sketching. Boy, did he keep still. It was like he was waiting for something..."

Lestrade was about to comment when Donovan called from the scene.

"Detective-Inspector! The freak's here!" she cried.

Lestrade sighed, hoping one day she'd stop calling him that, and led Sydney back to the crime scene. Once they arrived, they noticed their numbers increased by two men. One was a few inches shorter than Sydney was, but not by too much. Somewhat stocky, beige-ish short hair, haggard face and dressed very plainly in his cable knit jumper. The other was a tall man, very pale and very thin. Dark hair and the most brilliant eyes she'd ever seen. Oddly shaped, bright blue-grey, but perfectly unique. She recognized the two right away.

"Dr. John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes, I presume?" she asked. The two held different expressions, the shorter one of shock, the taller just raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm John. He's Sherlock. How did you know?" the shorter one now known as John asked.

"I've glanced at your blog, Doctor. Saw the photographs you posted of you two in response to a case of mistaken identity," she replied.

"There's a picture of me online?" Sherlock asked, slightly turning his head toward his flatmate.

"Plenty," Sydney answered for John. "You have quite a fan base." Sherlock cringed at the word "fan base." She remembered reading about "The Great Game" and how that psycho called himself Sherlock's fan. "Er, the good kind," she added in response.

"Ah," was all Sherlock said. He then turned to the window of the den. He gave the body a quick glance-over and then opened the door. He went over and crouched next to the dead young man.

Confirmed: no pulse. Definitely dead. 5 feet 11 inches tall. Early to mid twenties. Around 200 pounds weight. Right-handed. Bleeding from chest... No. From behind. Sherlock gently propped the corpse up a little to look at his back. No. No wound on his back. It's clean. He placed the body back in its original state. The blood is not his. But why would there be so much? The culprit must have either injured himself or planted the blood on the victim. The victim is freshly dead, though. But the cause of death... Sherlock beckoned for John to join him in the den. "What do you make of this?" he asked his friend.

"Well, the blood's not his. No apparent wounds for it to have come and it's only on his front."

"Good. How did he die, then?" John stared at the dead man's face intently. The eyes looked unfocused and shocked.

"Head trauma?" John guessed.

"Close, but no. Shock. Heart trauma. Come now, man, you're a doctor.," Sherlock affirmed.

"Oh. Well, I don't get everything right. Neither do you for that matter-"

"There will be a head wound, but that was after the fact. He hit his head on something as he fell. Something that is no longer here." John sighed, a little exasperated.

"So, how does that point us toward the culprit?"

"The blood. It's certainly human blood, but where could someone have gotten this much on short notice? There's at least a pint of it here." Sherlock studied the area closely for an answer.

"You could try the forensic's freezer in the next building over," Sydney offered, not being able to help but overhear their conversation. "I think they have a mini blood bank for labs. Some teachers volunteer to give about a pint for testing purposes. It's also where they keep frozen body parts for experiments. Brains, eyeballs, the like." Sherlock's eyes twinkled a little as she spoke. John sighed, knowing exactly where his flatmate's mind was going.


In the forensic's freezer, Sherlock darted for the area with the blood bags. Then he turned to the professor that had let them in.

"Anyone missing?" he asked.

"Looks like there's one gone. The one volunteered by the theatre professor, Prof. Baker. He's an A-positive."

"Thank you, professor, that's all I need to know."

"Is the theatre professor in today?" Sherlock asked the tag-along student.

"No, his class meets tomorrow," Sydney replied to the consulting detective.

"And how do you know that?" John asked her.

"She attends his class. Didn't you see her face as the professor's name was mentioned? She was taken aback, appalled that he could possibly be involved. She knows him, therefore, has his class. Obvious," Sherlock concluded.

The three walked back over to the police standing by the den.

"Well, Sherlock? Any luck?" Lestrade asked.

"A fair amount information has presented itself, yes. No such thing as luck. In any case, John and I'll be returning tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd suggest that your people examine the body for any heart conditions and tool marks on the left side of the back of his head."

"Right. See you later then."

"Good day, Lestrade."

"Oh, before I go, Miss Sydney, any way we could get your mobile number? We may have to call for you again during this case." Sydney pulled her mobile from her pocket and showed it to the detective inspector. He jotted down the number onto his notepad. "Thanks. Take care."

As soon as the police were out of sight, Sherlock glanced at her sketch. He then snatched it from her hands and closely examined it, staring at the man on the bench with the umbrella. He scowled.

"Excuse me, that's mine," Sydney protested. "If you don't like it, give it back."

"Now, what was he doing here?" Sherlock quietly mused to himself.

"Who is it, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock turned his head and grimaced.

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft? Are you sure?" John had a puzzled look to him.

"No doubt. The slight fullness to his cheeks, the crook of his nose, the depth of his hairline, the height, his umbrella, even. It's him. I'd recognize my brother anywhere." Sherlock concluded, handing the pad back to Sydney. "To my chagrin, this is a nice picture. It's a shame someone defiled it."

"Um, thanks. So, you really do have a brother?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Why?" Sydney shuffled her foot a bit and looked a bit unsure of whether she should answer, but decided to anyway.

"A friend of mine, my roommate, actually, is a part of a forum about you, and there's a rather ongoing debate on whether you have a brother or not. She believes you do, even though there's no photographic proof." Sherlock's gaze fell to nowhere in particular. he sighed slightly.

"It's for the best. He's the government. A photo of him would put him in danger. It's better the ambiguity remain," Sherlock advised in a low voice. Sydney nodded in agreement. Sherlock then returned to his usual aloof visage, grabbed her mobile and began typing into it.

"What are you doing? Are you some kind of kleptomaniac?" Sydney demanded.

"Kleptomaniac, that's a new one. No, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Anyway, here's your mobile back. I've taken the liberty of adding my number to your contacts." Sydney stared at him in disbelief.

"What? Why?"

"In case anything else happens, you are to let me know. Text, preferably." Sydney just stood there, completely bewildered by this strange yet uniquely beautiful man.

"Right. Shall I take a picture of you then? A face to the name," Sydney offered.

"Fine," was all he said and faced her with a slight smirk. Sydney pushed a button on the side of her phone, tapped the screen until it made a click.

"Thanks. Farewell." Sydney then turned and headed back to her dormitory.

John just stood there, grimacing at Sherlock. Sherlock glanced right back, straight faced and simply asked "What?"

"You just gave her your number."

"Yes, for the purpose of the case."

"You let her take your photograph."

"For her contacts."

"For God's sake, you posed for it!"

"I have a narcissistic streak, you should know this. And?"

"I have a feeling she's got the wrong idea. God, she has to be ten years younger than us at least," John said, running his hand over his head in exasperation. Sherlock just stared at him. "Do you not get what I'm saying?"

"No."

Really, o ye of the Most Observant Eyes in All the Land? "It looked like you like her and were coming onto her!" John whispered sternly. Sherlock began walking away towards the street to hail a cab.

"That wasn't my intent whatsoever. You want I should apologise?"

"Yes! First thing you do when you doubtlessly run into her tomorrow."

"Fine."

Post-read A/N: What think so far? Again. I admit some of the writing may seem a little odd, spellings and such, since I'm American. Trying to keep straight what's supposed to be a 'z' and what's an 's' is gonna be rough, as is some of the terminology. I confess that only after watching this series did I finally figure out what a "jumper" was. ^_^;;

Just to put your thoughts to rest, I will emphatically state I am NOT in any way shape or form planning on ANY pairings actually coming to fruition. I may HINT at a few, but either I'll shut it down near immediately like I just did for Sherlock and Sydney, or I'll just leave it as just a hint. (There is only one exception to this, and it's entirely one-sided and it doesn't play out as one might think it would.)