Silence In Belgravia
Silent Regret
The three of them followed Lestrade as he lead them down a dirt road towards a seemingly abandoned car, the boot open and several officers dotted around the site.
"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday." Lestrade was telling them. "Everyone dead."
"Suspected terrorist bomb." Sherlock commented. "We do watch the news."
John frowned though. "You said boring and turned it over."
Lestrade ignored the banter though. "Well, according to the flight details, this man," he indicated to a man folded into the boot, "was checked in on board. Inside his coat we've got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the plane. Even one of those little biscuits." He flicked through several evidence bags, each holding an item. He uncovered another one. "Here's his passport, stamped in Bern Airport."
"So, this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday." Rose said, trying to figure out how this one could possibly work out.
"Instead he was found in the boot of a car in Suffolk." Lestrade said, trying to piece it together as well.
"Lucky escape." John chipped in. Rose just pulled a face; the man was still dead, either way.
She instead addressed Sherlock, who had already started examining the body and the space it was in, magnifying glass in hand. "Any ideas yet, Sherlock?" She sounded bored but John knew it was put on. It was just one of her little habits when they were at a crime scene.
"Eight so far." He told them, moving around and squinting, mind practically producing steam from the speed at which it was working. "Okay, four ideas." He looked through the evidence bags, examining their contents too. Then he looked to the sky at the sound of an aeroplane flying over them; a very relevant sound. "Hmmm… maybe two ideas."
Back at the flat, the trio of flatmates were in their usual places when Rose look up suddenly at a loud complaint from Sherlock - obviously, John never complained about anything. She then frowned, trying to remember when John had actually complained since he came back from Harry's. Loud complaining brought her out of her thoughts though, rather than helping to speed them along.
"No! No, no, no." Sherlock was telling John. Rose smiled at his appearance trying not to laugh. He had on a large thick coat, thick gloves and a large pair of goggles. In one hand he had an unlit blow torch and in the other, a glass beaker of mysterious liquid; one of the many that Sherlock kept in the kitchen that Rose and John had both learned to just ignore. Asking questions only caused more confusion to them. "Don't mention the unsolved ones!"
John just gave him a look, completely ignoring the existence of the strange liquid. "People want to know you're human."
Rose chocked on her tea slightly but the men ignored her, as always. Sherlock just seemed puzzled. "Why?"
"Because they're interested." John shot back at him.
"No they're not." He replied as though it were obvious. Then he changed his mind. "Why are they?"
John just smiled. "Look at that." He pointed to the screen. "One thousand, eight hundred and ninety five."Sherlock was even more confused, as was Rose now. "Sorry, what?"
"I reset that counter last night." John explained. "This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours!" He seemed quite pleased with himself.
"Nice one!" Rose complimented him; she hadn't realised his blog was so popular.
"This is your living Sherlock." John continued. "Not two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash." He carried on typing, happy that he had won that round.
Sherlock just turned a cold glare an a somewhat innocent Rose. She was used to it by now though. "Two hundred and forty three." He corrected, lighting the blow torch as he made his way back to the kitchen.
Rose just chuckled slightly, shouting out just before the kitchen door closed loudly. "Don't burn the kitchen down, Sherlock!" Over John's typing she heard the good doctor give his own little chuckle at their slightly insane friend.
Two days later, after Sherlock had successfully not burned down the kitchen - though he had burned the toaster to a crisp, just the toaster, nothing else - and the three of them had just left a body behind at a crime scene, making their way out of the building when Sherlock spoke up.
"So, what's this one?" He asked John, referring to the man's blog. "Belly Button Murders?"
Rose thought she'd chip in with a silly one, just to annoy Sherlock a bit. "The Navel Treatment?" Sherlock just scoffed and Rose smirked.
Turning a dark corner, they met up with Lestrade who walked with them towards the exit. "There's a lot of press outside guys." He informed them, sounding impressed.
Sherlock seemed to think he had a better idea of the situation though. "Well, they wont be interested in us."
"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon." Lestrade told him, still walking briskly. "A couple of them specifically wanted photos of you three.""For god's sake…" Sherlock said as they passed a lit room. Ducking inside, he came back with three hats for them, handing a trilby to Rose and a flat cap to John, keeping the deer stalker for himself.
Rose dropped the hat on a shelf as they passed in favour of putting her hood up, covering most of her face.
"Cover your face John." Sherlock told him, John just sighing and pushing the hat on. "Walk fast."
"Still, good for the public image, a big case like this." Lestrade said, trying to think positive about it all.
The exit was insight and Rose pulled her hood down a little more, trying to hide better. She could hear the clicking of the cameras, the shouts of the reporters and the overall chaos that awaited them outside the door.
"I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image." Sherlock replied, putting his own hat on his head, pulling his collar up to hide more of his face.
"Oh, you're going to regret those hats." Rose chuckled as they pushed through the doors, the reporters shouting questions that they ignored, as well as the flashes of the cameras.
After they had solved the case about the belly button murders or whatever John was going to call it when he wrote it up, the three of them had gotten in at four in the morning. The men, being tired - even Sherlock, for once - had just gone to bed, but Rose had decided to make a very sugary drink and just wait for the sun to show up in a couple of hours. She took this time to check her emails and her Facebook. After an hour and a half of this though, she was bored and decided to clean up a bit.
She cleaned the kitchen first, clearing out the fridge of its bad food - ignoring the tray at the bottom - and wiping down the counters and the table before doing all the dishes and cleaning the oven and grill before cleaning the sink to get rid of all the muck that it had collected from her cleaning. She wanted to avoid the living room until the guys were awake so she went down to her own room and had a shower, getting dressed for the day in her usual black uniform and jewellery, her steel toe caps on her feet, just like any other day, despite having just finished up a case. After tidying her room up a bit, she went to tidy the living room. Picking up the mugs laying about, she also noted the couple of plates scattered around the room. The living room was by far the worst room and it was precisely why she had put it off for so long.
Throwing herself on the sofa, she thought she may regret the lack of sleep and decided to check the time. Half seven. The guys should be up soon. Well, Sherlock would be, she corrected herself. John could happily sleep all day, but Sherlock would always be up before nine at the latest.
Sighing, she thought once more about the kitchen, more specifically, the fridge. And the large amount of space in it after she had cleared it out.
Deciding to do a quick pop down to the 24-hour shop down the road, she grabbed her coat and a wad of money and made her way downstairs.
Forty minutes later, Rose let herself back into the flat and up to the kitchen where she put the shopping on the side. Putting away the dry food first - dealing with the ever suspicious fridge last - she noticed the sounds of John moving around his room, and Sherlock doing the same in his own. Flicking the kettle on for them all, she turned to the rest of the shopping.
Putting away the milk and the rest of the shopping, Rose's curiosity got the better of her and she looked in Sherlock's separate draw in the cold box. They had agreed early on in the flat sharing that Sherlock could have space in the fridge, but away from the food. So he got the little draw at the bottom of the space. Pulling out a bag, she saw large nails on bloodied lumps, the occasional knuckle standing out from the mass of fleshy mess.
"Thumbs…" She said to herself. "Why would he even…?" But she didn't even bother finishing her train of thought as she put the bag down again, deciding she'd had enough for the day.
Closing the fridge door and turning around she found a rather large and stuttering man who seemed quite out of breath standing right in front of her. "The door…" He started. "The door was…" but that was all he got out before he fell forward, his face hitting the floor with less of a thud than his stomach did. He didn't move after that and Rose concluded that he had probably passed out.
Sighing, she stepped forward and around the limp body on the kitchen floor and leaned out into the hall way. "Guys! We've got another one!" She heard a sudden lack of sound then a lot of bustle. She thought for a minute, then shouted out, "John! May need your expertise too!" She heard John move a little quicker in his room.
Sighing, she went back to the living room, setting out a chair for the man and sat on the sofa waiting for the men to come down.
As Sherlock came down the stairs at a leisurely pace, John rushed past him on the landing, coming to the living room before the consulting detective. Rose just pointed into the kitchen and John frowned, going to see what was happening. On finding the body, he shot forward, turning the man over - with a bit of a struggle - and checked for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded to gently slap the man awake. He stood up as the man came round.
"Hello, I'm John." He said, offering a hand to help the man up. He took it gratefully and the good doctor helped him over to a waiting chair. Rose sat on the sofa and Sherlock paced in from of the chair. "Just relax and start when you're ready, okay?" The man nodded and took a couple of breaths.
Sherlock got impatient however and sighed loudly. "Come on! Tell us from the start. Don't be boring."