"I'm home!" John shouted as he put his bag down and walked through to the living room, seeing Sherlock sitting so casually on the sofa. The minute John walked in Sherlock jumped up and clasped his hands in front of him.
"John, you're home!" He shouted, "Can we go now? I've been waiting ages." He said quickly as he crossed the room, before John could react.
"Okay, I've been texting Mycroft, you said it was a case, not 5 cases. 5 murders, Sherlock." He frowned but walked back to the door, opening it and stepping out followed directly by Sherlock.
"Well no, one case. They were killed by the same person, at the same time and there was no weapon." He said, he walked past John and down the steps two by two.
"Okay, but you never said that there were 5 murders." John replied, following Sherlock out and hailing a taxi. "Sherlock, you know the address?" he asked as he climbed in the taxi that had just stopped in front of him.
"Yeah, 7 Princess Street please." Sherlock rattled off the address to the driver and he sped off in the direction of the house. "Thanks for coming, you didn't have to." He said quietly after a moment of silence, keeping his eyes staring out of the window.
"Well, I thought it's about time I trust you again." The doctor shrugged, "Don't get Mary involved with the cases, that's my one wish. If this case backfires and hurts her then I'm out." He said sternly, looking at Sherlock's face, his profile was flawless.
"Of course I won't unless she wishes to." The taxi stopped as Sherlock spoke so he climbed out and paid the driver. He stood beside John staring up at the big house in front of him.
3 stories high, with old grand windows and an arch around the door. Police cars were lined up out the front and Mycroft stood standing with Greg. The minute he saw Sherlock and John he walked over to them, Greg followed after him.
"Sherlock, brother mine!" Mycroft said excitedly, he looked down at John, "and John." He smiled and explained the case. Family murder, 5 dead. They were friends with the royal family and there was no apparent murder weapons, no wounds, no blood, no poison. The police were stumped, so were the government.
"Okay, can we see the bodies?" he asked, they'd been left on the crime scene, now that Sherlock's name had been cleared he was allowed on the scene of the crime without putting jobs at risk.
"It's upstairs," Greg said he began to walked but he stopped in his tracks, "Anderson is on forensics." Despite many, many attempts to get Anderson fired he still worked there.
"Okay, I guess I can live through, this is an interesting case." His eyes shined and John had a little smirk playing on the edge of his lips as he watched his best friend, former best friend, in his happy place. A murder scene may not be a happy place to any sane person but everyone there knew just how different Sherlock was.
Greg led Sherlock and John inside the big house, the grand entrance opening up to various different rooms, gold wallpaper surrounded the walls, portraits hung loosely on the walls and John recalled a song he'd once heard his mother sing, 'weathered faces lined with pain are soothed beneath the artists loving hand'. You could see their lips upturned slightly as if they are grimacing, but only if you look close enough. John pulled his eyes from the painting and his gaze followed Sherlock and Greg upstairs, they were both taking the steps two at a time so John had to run to keep up. His eyes rested on various objects secured to the wall. A dream catcher with glass beads sewn into the intricate design reflected the sunlight perfectly and, as he touched it, he could hear the light chink of the beads as they rattled against each other.
"John!" Sherlock shouted, he quickly dropped his hand and walked to the room at the end, a kids room. There were bunk beds that contained two boys, both not breathing. The walls were light blue and had shelves lining them with pictures of these boys as they grew. They were identical twins. John could almost hear the cogs whirring inside Sherlock's brain as he stared around the room, deducing everything he could about how they died. "Show me the girl's room." He ordered as he paced to the door. He took another look around before following Greg to a room across the hall.
"Here it is, she was found over there, toilet door."
Obviously she has an en suite, John thought as he looked around. Where the boy's room had been full of toys and games that 11 year olds play with the girl's room was completely different. She had posters filling almost every inch of the wall, band members and TV show casts, you name it and sure enough she had it. John, who obviously couldn't deduce what could possibly be going on with the death, went over to a cabinet across the room. A mirror was perched on it with pictures of the girl and her friends sticking out at precarious angles. She had make-up and jewellery strewn across the desk carelessly and the name Joanna was painted on the top of the desk. This family wasn't one to buy second hand so the pine table had obviously been made for this particular girl and this particular room. She had pictures of her family on her desk to, stuck to the side more carefully. Oliver&Ben. Her slanty scribble told John her brother's names. They were 11 and she a mere 16 years old. He picked up a photo frame and looked at the weather picture. She was 5 and she sat with her mum and dad, she was on her mums lap holding one of the boys, staring into his fragile face, while the other was in her father's hands. The silver frame was the only one to be regularly dusted and he knew that this one must have been special to her.
John was startled as a voice came from behind him, "Didn't think I'd be seeing you around," Donovan sneered, "Thought you'd have given up on Sherlock." She peered over his shoulder to where he'd put the frame back on the desk, "She's dead now, the mum." She nodded her head to it and folded her arms over her chest. "That's why Joanna liked the picture; it was the only one of the five of them. Her dad got remarried and she misses her mum, she was only 6." Her eyes had a twinge of emotion, guilt maybe? No, she was just upset that someone had lost their mum so young.
"Oh." John had no reply as he glanced down at the frame. "I'm here because Sherlock wants me to be." He shrugged, stepping away from her and walking over to Sherlock and the girls body.
Sherlock, knelt over at her head, was staring intently at the skin above her eyebrows. "She was poisoned, I saw the marks on the boys but thought that it may just be some play toy, play dough or something, but the green tint to the skin here," He pointed at the skin and John saw a slight olive green tan to the skin, "shows that she was poisoned, slow killing poison is my best idea considering that she was making her way to the toilet, maybe she realized And the fact of such high security, it was someone on the inside, one of the cooks or chefs. They might have recently resigned." He straightened up and smiled.
"Aren't you going to examine the parents?" Greg asked when Sherlock got his phone out to call for a taxi.
"No need, I'll examine their bodies at the morgue, get Molly to sort them out and prep them, we'll see what poison they induced." He grinned and his eyes sparkled. Anderson and Donovan stood by the back of the wall rolling their eyes while John just followed him out quietly. They waited on the pavement and when they climbed into a taxi Sherlock gave the address, "St. Barts hospital please." He said.
John shuddered. He hadn't been back there since... since Sherlock's jump and he hated the thought of going back, too many memories. But he kept his mouth shut, he was more confused than he'd ever been before; he loved it.