Hello everyone. Happy New Year. Sorry I've been ill so it took a while to get back into this. Hope you enjoy the next installment of our story!
I own nothing...etc.
After coming back from the precinct, Watson went for a run. She took a long, leisurely route. Upon returning, she found Sherlock buzzing with excitement. "DJ Ramrod, Watson…he appears to be the connection between the clubs and the dumped bodies. DJ Ramrod was performing DJ duties at each of the clubs associated with a body the night the body was dumped."
"That doesn't necessarily mean there is a connection or the connection you expect," said Watson as she went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She came back into the sitting area where Sherlock worked and sipped the tap water slowly.
"I'm looking for a reasonable pattern in the randomness of living, and this is somewhere to start. And we'll have a chance to work on Artemis Merrill's question at the same time."
"Let me get showered; think about what sounds good for dinner. Call it in if you like, I'll pick it up, then we can get going."
"There is no need for you to go Watson; I can text you every two hours; you can swab me when I get back."
"I'm coming with your Sherlock," said Watson. "It's my job to be there for you; under the circumstances, going to a club, being around people who are dealing or taking drugs, those situations could be a trigger for your own use."
"Nonsense; I walk down the streets of New York daily; drunk, high people, they're everywhere. If I wanted to avoid these things, I'd never leave the house. It will be a long and potentially boring night Watson. Clubs are tedious; watching people at a club compounds that tedium exponentially. However, DJ Ramrod is working Club Conniption tonight, and there may be a new opportunity to catch our killer."
Watson put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled. "I'm never bored when you are around; I'll be ready to hit Club Conniption."
"Dress to impress Watson," said Sherlock, not looking up from the computer screen. "It shouldn't be too much of an effort."
As Watson turned to go take a shower, she broke out in a full grin. She was quick in the shower, and came down to find him in an almost completely black ensemble: black jeans, boots, and button-down shirt. A charcoal gray wool jacket finished the outfit. He'd even combed his hair into place with some product no less. Somehow they had managed to match outfits again without even trying. The only difference in their look was Watson's red leather bomber jacket. "I thought we'd eat on the way Watson; there's an excellent food truck that's going to be stationed about three blocks from the club. Hope you like Korean with a Caribbean twist."
They caught a cab and found themselves in the lengthy Club Conniption line within an hour, full from the unusual but excellent Korean tortas they had at the food truck. Sherlock spent time watching the crowd and the surrounding area. Watson people watched and tried to stay warm as a fog rolled in over the city. After realizing the line would not move them into the club any time soon, Sherlock walked up to the bouncer and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock then signaled to Watson to come over, and like that, they were in the hallway leading to the main club area. Watson put a hand on Sherlock's forearm. "How?" she screamed over the thumping sound of bass.
"The man was a felon and armed. I told him that I'd let it slide if he let us in," yelled Sherlock directly in Watson's ear. They continued walking down the dimly lit hallway and turned a corner to find a large dance floor spread out before them. There were a number of different levels to the dance floor and cages spread out above it. They could see a DJ planted in a booth above it all; "DJ Ramrod apparently", said Sherlock as he took Watson's hand and led her through the crowd. It was a good thing he had her by the hand. The place was packed, and they would have soon lost each other in the madness. The place was dank inside, as many old, converted warehouses tended to be, only becoming warm as you got close to the dance floor. A giant bar occupied one side of the room. Thankfully, there was seating around it, and as people began to leave their seats to dance the night away, Watson and Holmes grabbed a table after an apparently intoxicated couple poured out of their seats and sloshed their way toward the thumping sound of the music.
A waitress came up to take their order. Watson could not hear what Sherlock was saying, but the pantomiming between him and the waitress seemed to indicate he had ordered something for both of them. Sherlock scanned the crowd while Watson covered her ears and gritted her teeth. She hated the thumping base which set the fillings in her teeth on edge. The waitress finally returned with two cups of what turned out to be fresh, tasty, caffeine loaded coffee in fancy paper cups. Watson still had her jacket on and seemed to need the coffee's warmth, using the cup as a hand warmer. Sherlock sipped his as he worked, finally leaning his head in toward Watson, so she did the same.
"Watson, very disappointing news, but there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happening at this club. Are you ready to go?"
Watson nodded vigorously, not even trying to yell over the music.
They left through a side entrance that deposited them near a dodgy-looking alley.
"Feel up to a walk, Watson? I want to examine a two block radius around Club Conniption."
"That's what we're here for," said Watson, pulling the zipper up all the way on her bomber jacket.
Watson struggled to keep up with Sherlock as he walked at top speed. His legs were so much longer than hers; she practically ran to keep up with him. Some of the foot traffic was obviously club goers and other regular people having a night out on the town. But some of the people looked to be in about the same shape as the many burned out buildings. They ran into a couple of folks peddling drugs in a pretty obvious manner with seemingly no regard for police.
"This is really depressing," said Watson quietly as they passed more human misery, trash strewn sidewalks, and boarded up buildings. Sherlock didn't even appear to hear her; he was walking at top speed. "Sherlock, can you slow down just a bit please?" Watson added a little more loudly.
He stopped and turned around, "sorry Watson, you run so much, I just assumed you could keep up."
"Little tough to do walking; you're probably a foot taller than I am." Watson sighed, "I'm still trying to figure out how a man who seems to do very little exercise is in as good a shape as you are."
"My body works like a fine-tuned machine Watson because I do something I love every day," said Sherlock, only slightly slowing his pace as he continued walking.
"You probably just got a lucky ticket in the genetic lottery, Sherlock. You're lanky and muscular and built to be an athlete. You're the kind of person I loved to hate in high school; you're like the people on the cross country and track teams who could skip training, eat crap food, and beat me every time."
"Aaah…but you won the so-called 'genetic lottery' in your own category Watson. Extreme intelligence coupled with a petite but curvy build, and a face that turns heads. I wouldn't complain so hard, if I were you."
"Did you just call me good-looking?" said Watson, but Sherlock was off in yet another direction.
Watson hustled across another street. Sherlock slowed down as they came nearer to what looked like a storefront clinic. The sign, barely lit, was in Spanish with English subtitles.
"That Watson," said Sherlock "is a possibility. I want to finish up our night with a review of our victims at the morgue; maybe we can catch Artemis on duty. And then it will be time to go back home for a good think."
Sherlock took them back to the club, and hailed a cab to take them to the morgue. Watson hadn't realized how late it was; it was already after 2 A.M. She was tired and running around in the cold had set a chill into her bones once they stopped walking. She curled up on the seat, trying to stop the shivering that had set in.
"Excuse me driver, but can you turn up the heat please? My valet is cold," said Sherlock.
"Sorry sir, but it's broken," said the driver.
Sherlock took his jacket off and looked as if he planned to put it over Watson.
"Sherlock, the morgue's across town, you're going to freeze," said Watson, her teeth chattering.
"Not if we share body heat, Watson, would you mind?"
Watson gave Sherlock a questioning look, but shook her head.
Sherlock had her remove her jacket; he buttoned his jacket with hers, turning it into a makeshift blanket. He then moved in close to Watson, putting his arm around her. They then put the blanket over both of them. Surprised and pleased by the toasty results, Watson soon dozed off, leaning into Sherlock's body. Sherlock looked down to see Watson's head slumping peacefully on his shoulder.
"Ten more days," he whispered into her hair. He then pulled her a little closer as they drove on through the night.