Title: Inception, Obituary
Author: Arisprite
Summary: It was bad when John was the bored one. But a mutual acquaintance in the obituaries catches both John and Sherlock's eyes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Inception
It was a relatively quiet day at 221B Baker Street, and hours ago, John would have said he'd love for it to stick around. However, that was hours ago, and Sherlock had yet to get dressed, or leave the sofa for any reason save the most necessary. John had cleaned the kitchen (a monumental task on the most ordinary of days, and Sherlock had been experimenting lately) and posted up the conclusion to their last case. He was now mindlessly surfing the Internet, bored. It was days like these that he wished he did work full time, and so would have an excuse to get out of the house every day.
Sherlock was staring intently at his own laptop, headphones in, and taking furious notes on a yellow legal pad. John sighed, and clicked to a new page. There wouldn't be any cases for now. Sherlock was surely occupied, and so wouldn't be bugging Lestrade for anything and eveything. Therefore, Lestrade would only text if there was something particularly intriguing.
John told himself that it was very very wrong to wish for a clever murderer to strike.
He rolled his eyes at himself, and started reading the international news, for lack of anything better to do. There could be something interesting...
His thought trailed off as he realized that he knew the names listed in a tragic news article.
Research Heiress Commits Suicide?
Mallory Cobb, daughter to the renowned Scientist and Professor Stephen Miles, was found Monday evening dead from jumping off a window ledge of an unnamed hotel.
John took a breath, feeling shocked. Mallory Miles. That vibrant, soft spoken french girl with a back bone of steel. Jumped to her death?
"Hell..." He breathed, and Sherlock jerked up.
"What?" He asked tersely. John looked up at him.
"I just found a news report. Friend of mine from Uni, committed suicide a few days ago." John started reading the rest of the report. "No, hold on. They think it was murder."
Sherlock seemed interested in spite of himself, and he got up to come read over John's shoulder.
"Do they have any informa..."
Sherlock fell silent, and when John looked up at his friend, he saw that his face was white, eyes wide and glued to the page.
"What's the matter?"
"It can't be..." He whispered, and then grabbed John's laptop from him, and typing furiously on it.
"Oi!" John protested, but let him take it, leaning forward to see what Sherlock was looking at. News reports, case files, all regarding Mal's case.
"Sherlock, are your seriously hacking into the LAPD? What's going on?"
"It's not a murder."
"What? How do you know?"
Sherlock, still pale as death, pursed his lips.
"I just know."
John sat back in his chair. That didn't sound like Sherlock. He doesn't get hunches, he gets proof. He huffed a breath, and let him type, taking a moment to mourn the girl who'd sat by him in classes, and shared her lunches with him. The one who'd run off a few weeks before graduation to get married instead of finishing her degree, leaving behind miles of broken hearts.
John was snapped from his thoughts by the slam of his laptop lid closing.
"We're going out."
John stood gratefully, wanting something to distract him now more than ever.
"Right. Er, you might want to get dressed first."
Sherlock took a look at himself, and then swept into his room in annoyance, emerging minutes later in his normal attire. John handed him his coat with a smirk.
In the cab, John surreptitiously watched Sherlock. He was agitated, that was clear; Face pale, and drumming on the door handle. He knew it had something to do with Mal, since this behavior had started after he read that article.
"You knew Mal too." It wasn't really a question. Sherlock gave him a glancing look, eyebrow raised.
"Using my methods on me, now?" John shrugged, turning a bit more towards his flatmate. Sherlock looked out the window.
"Yes, I knew her and her husband."
"The one who's supposed to have killed her?" Sherlock gave him a sharp look.
"He didn't." He said curtly.
John blinked again at Sherlock's uncharacteristic adamance, before they'd gathered any evidence. He decided to drop it for now.
"So, where are we going?" John opted on a safer question.
"Mycroft."
"Mycroft?" John sputter. They never visited Mycroft, not of Sherlock's own free will, not without much snarking and bribing to even be civil.
"Oh, you can stop looking at me like that. Unfortunately he's the only one even capable of getting the information we need.
A/N: There may be more in this cross over, but I can't promise. I do like the idea of a string of connected pieces, since I can't be bothered to plot anything longer than a inch. But I'll try.