The room was an absolute mess. Books thrown around in every corner, on the floor, on the chairs. There were documents of old cases covering the table and John's laptop was on - Sherlock had been using it again (too much bother going upstairs to his computer. Wasted too much time when he could take just a minute to work out his friend's password). A USB stick lay next to the laptop. In the kitchen area there was an experiment going on with flasks and beakers filled with coloured chemicals and stained teeth in a Petri dish by a well-used microscope. The fridge was open by accident, cooling the room, but was empty. No one had been shopping for days now as John had taken to eating with Sarah most nights and Mrs Hudson had refused to pick up any groceries since the incident with the head in the fridge. Most unfortunate for her to find it in there, thought Sherlock. A long, navy coat with red buttonholes and a scarf were the only things where they were supposed to be; the coat hook.
"Take a seat," He gestured to Irene, as he threw tatty books into cardboard box. All the chairs were covered in files, sheets of paper and maps - except one which Irene avoided, for it was covered in a sticky substance that she'd rather not go near. As she moved the papers off a comfy-looking armchair, she took note of what they were about. Looked like newspaper clippings with handwritten notes - presumably Sherlock's - written around the edges. The heading of the clipping at the top of the pile read STUDENT MURDERED BY MASKED KILLER and written in the top left-hand corner was the familiar name, Moriarty, with a bold question mark beside it.
"So, let's start with the basics. Who's been murdered?" He asked over his shoulder, continuing to tidy up as best as he could without apologising.
Irene took a file out of her bag, filled with notes which had been dropped off at her house late last night by one of Moriarty's other associates stating the information of his first murder. She had briefly flicked through it in the cab on her way to Baker Street so she knew the basics. The document was handed to Sherlock as she told him what had happened. He silently skimmed through it as she spoke.
"Mabel Johnson died five days ago in her home in Kensington. Her daughter-in-law, Isabelle Johnson found her lying dead in her room. There were no signs of suicide, no sign of a note, just traces of a liquid that the police presumed was water. The conclusion they came to was that Mrs Johnson had died of old-age, she was eighty-four and had numerous health problems.
"And why is that going to be an interesting case for me to work on, Miss Adler?" Although he was longing for a murder, this didn't seem the most convincing or interesting one, "I assume there is no money involved, seeing as you seem to have picked up this case on your own."
"Please, just call me Irene. Miss Adler seems to formal for my likings," She continued, "I believed that you might overlook the lack of payment,. The suspicious thing is that drew me towards this seemingly normal death was that Mrs Johnson has a rather large fortune which had been long talked about within the family; and I assume that they all wanted the money for themselves. Her son, Samuel, husband to Isabelle Johnson, also went missing shortly after his beloved mother's death. He was first in line to receive her fortune. A few days on, campers in Dorset found a burnt out car - the same one as Samuel Johnson's. There was a burnt body which was later confirmed to be his. I am positive we're dealing with a murder here, but I understand if you're too busy or it's not appealing."
Sherlock changed the subject within seconds, startling Irene, "You're a university student?"
"Yes."
"Studying History and spending every minute of your spare time completing and perfecting your work? You're a perfectionist, I can tell."
"Yes, Sir."
"Then why are you here telling me about a murder - which I can tell doesn't interest you as much as your History, or your music - when you'd rather be completing your essay on 18th Century France?" Oh dear, she thought. His deduction skills hadn't seemed too bad to handle at first, but now it was like he was reading her mind. Irene thought as quick as she could, but it was a pathetic excuse and an unbelievable one, too.
"One is allowed to have free time when she wishes."
Clichéd as it was, the door opened behind her, saving her - for now, that is - from certain scrutiny. She looked over her shoulder. The man who had walked in was an average height, a few years older than Sherlock Holmes and rather more well-built compared to the lean detective. He had not noticed her, instead he eyed up the door.
"Mrs Hudson is not going to be happy about this, Sherlock," He pulled the cleaver out of the door with strained effort and put it down on a nearby table," She'll put it on the rent again. Oh, hello. We haven't met before, I don't think. John Watson." He held out his hand and she took it confidently.
Sherlock beat her to it to introduce his visitor, "John, this is Irene Adler. She has a new case for me."
"Oh, thank goodness for that. I swear Sherlock, if you get bored one more time and wreck this flat again, I am going."
"Going where exactly?" He seemed uninterested, like it was never going to happen.
"Anywhere. Away from here. I'll move in with Sarah or something."
"Sarah doesn't want you to move in just yet. I can tell by her face when she sees you and her body is positioned quite a way from you as if she's not ready for a commitment like that." John's face turned sour at the remark and he stood up taller to look more confident.
"Shut up, Sherlock. Anyone would think you're jealous."
"Not jealous, just merely evaluating the situations before me." Sherlock gave a brief smile at his friend, but it did not raise John's mood.
"She's probably still scared of us since the first date you ruined."
Irene's head moved from John to Sherlock, as if she was watching the ball in a tennis match. Moriarty had told her to ignore the former, but she quite enjoyed hearing them bicker like children. It was like being at home again…
"Sorry, Irene. John's just leaving."
"No I'm not." He said defensively.
"We're out of food. You can use my card again. It's over on the kitchen table." Irene couldn't quite believe how open he was being about his credit cards. She wouldn't even dream of letting her mother use her card, let alone a flatmate!
"I can't find it, Sherlock. Find Mrs Hudson. I'm sure she'll be going to the shops sometime soon." John was nearing the other chair, ready to sit down and read the paper in silence.
"I would, but she keeps on telling me she's not my housekeeper. Can't understand why. It's in between the Petri dish and the Iodine." John sighed, turned around and picked the card up from the cluttered kitchen table, shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans and walked out.
"Bye, Irene. Nice to meet you. Might see you soon."
"She will probably still be here by the time you get back, John. I wouldn't say your farewells just yet." But his friend had already left. They both heard the door slam shut behind him and they turned toward each other. Irene looked at Sherlock nervously. He hadn't forgotten the brief suspicious conversation that had occurred.
"Where are the bodies being kept at the moment?" He asked, grabbing his coat, gloves and scarf.
"St Bartholomew's. They'll be gone tomorrow though. The family want the funeral sooner rather than later and the forensics team have done all they can."
He grinned, "My favourite place. We'll get a cab there now" Irene stood up as he wandered out of the door, not noticing the USB stick that she had picked up and stuffed into her coat pocket.
I had written more of this chapter, but it was getting too long so I decided to split it up into two chapters instead. The next chapter will feature Molly and more John, plus some flashbacks as to how Irene met Moriarty. Thanks for reading and please review if you have any thoughts or constructive criticism to share - it's very useful!
