A longer chapter this time. The length of this chapter won't be consistent from here on out, don't hold your breath guys. Writing this is more complex than it seems :p
Hope you enjoy it,
Love & Hugs, Ari.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting, things.
On the Fourth day of Christmas, My true love sent to me,
Four calling birds, Three French Hens,
Two turtle doves, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.
"Lestrade! I need to look through your cold cases!"
The Detective Inspector looked up from his desk with a frown as the voice gradually made links in his brain. He had never expected John Watson to barge into his office, demanding to look at cases and wondered for a moment if the man had finally snapped living with Sherlock.
Taking in the man before him, he concurred that he wasn't far off the mark, although to a passer-by John seemed perfectly normal Lestrade knew that compared to normal John looked a positive mess.
"If this is another of Sherlock's-"
"Damn it Greg, he's bored and I can't take it any more; I need access to your cold cases, or I'm going to kill him"
"He's been bored before, I'm sure-"
John sighed and the tone made the Detective pause and frown as John pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation
"He's played his violin all night, for three nights straight... He's blown up the microwave, I don't even want to ask him what's on the inside of the oven, I order food and it gets used in his newest experiment that he then looses interest in, when I left he was drilling a hole in the ceiling through to my room, now are you going to help me or not?"
The Doctor was desperate, and Lestrade had worked with Sherlock long enough to know that if even John was desperate for help, the consulting genius was at his worst.
"All right, come with me"
"What are you looking for exactly?" Lestrade asked softly as he swiped his access card. John had flown through the visitor sign in procedure, obviously desperate to get home with something to distract Sherlock before their entire flat had been destroyed
"Anything complicated, cold cases are all unsolved by Scotland Yard... Oh don't glare, it's true, and he'll get a kick out of it" John sighed wearily, wiping a hand over his eyes again "I'm too tired to be polite Lestrade, I'm sorry... I won't really know till I see it, I sort of know what cases he likes now so I'll just have to … browse, I can take photocopies home, right?"
"Yeah, you'll have to get one of the officer's to do it for you, but I know you're not gonna try sneaking evidence out like Sherlock"
John sighed again, and offered the other man a weak grin "Thanks, I won't be in your hair long"
The Doctor was left alone with a quick acknowledging nod, and a basement full of files. The single computer was obviously used to look up cases, and then John would have to navigate the shelves upon shelves of cold cases that Scotland Yard had sitting around.
With a tired groan, and the horrible feeling he was going to end up with another splitting headache, Dr Watson sat at the computer and waited for it to boot up. The things he did for his lover, honestly.
He was scanning through various case files for much longer than he'd planned to leave Sherlock alone for, and was starting to worry about what, exactly, he'd be returning home to when some details he's just skipped past caught his eye.
Four women. Murdered. Sniper rifle. They'd been shot while on the phone, and the checking of their phone records after the event suggested they'd been on the phone for a long time. Police were stumped, and had no leads as the bullets had shattered on impact, giving them precisely nothing. They hadn't even been able to find a link between the women.
Perfect. John looked up the files number and went to find it. To be honest, from the sounds of it, he couldn't understand why Sherlock hadn't been called in at the time, it was relatively recent series of murders, barely 2 years old.
He must have looked worse than he'd thought because no sooner had he accosted an officer to photocopy the files for him, than they were being pushed back into his hands, along with a cup of Police strength coffee.
Now to face whatever Sherlock had done to their flat while he'd been out. John stared at the coffee, and thanked the young officer profusely, leaving without even stopping to see Lestrade, he'd have to remember to buy the Inspector something rather special for Christmas.
The flat was silent when John got home, and he immediately began worrying. Moving slowly up the stairs, the tension in his body mounted as he advanced.
John carefully pushed the living room door open with his foot, ever wary for pranks, traps, or half finished experiments his lover was prone to leaving about, but the sight that met him almost stopped his heart in his chest
"Sherlock!"
The man in question was so surprised by the Doctor's entrance that he promptly toppled off the chair he'd been standing on in the middle of the living room and managed to let himself fall onto the soft sofa
"John! You're back! Gods I'm so bored my brain must be shutting down, I didn't even hear you come in-"
"You're damn right it's shutting down, what the hell did you think you were doing?" The Doctor shouted, waving an arm at the length of rope Sherlock had hanging from the hole he'd been drilling in the ceiling before John had left.
It had been fashioned into a crude looking noose and Sherlock glanced at it from his sprawled position on the sofa "Oh relax! It's just an experiment, and perfectly safe now you're back, if you'd just..."
"No, Sherlock"
The detective had let the first interruption go, but the second was getting annoying and he scowled at his partner, and began cataloguing his appearance;
Tired eyes, violin. Clothes don't look as neat as usual, well he did leave in a hurry this morning, his short hair looks a mess, is it windy outside? A quick glance and no, so he didn't bother brushing it before he left, the appalling scent of police coffee and a folder of paper under his arm...
"You went to see Lestrade?"
John wilted, too tired to bother continuing the argument over Sherlock's latest experiment and merely passed over the files.
"You genius, John... These are old, the cold cases? He won't let me in there, probably worried I'd embarrass him... hmm..."
"Worried you'd steal files more like..." John muttered, moving to the kitchen to make up the biggest mug of tea he could manage, knowing that Sherlock would be absorbed for a little while at least. In the time it took John to make them both tea and return to the living room, Sherlock was pulling on his coat
"Come on John! This is fascinating, I need to see the locations of the murders..."
"See you later then, Sherlock"
If he hadn't been so tired, John would have found the look of shock of his partner's face hilarious, as it was he simply curled into his chair, and sipped his tea.
"You're not coming?"
Sherlock almost looked like an abandoned puppy, and for a moment John felt guilty, but he was falling asleep where he was sitting
"You don't need me, and I got the file to keep you occupied Sherlock... You go and be brilliant, and I'm going to use the short time it will take you to solve the case to catch up on the sleep you've deprived me of"
Sherlock flushed once at the compliment, and once again before ducking his head at his lover's reference to his three day stint of violin playing. He finished tying his scarf round his neck and moved to stand in front of the seated half-sleeping John and gently replacing the tea mug with a soft kiss
"Sorry"
John blinked, and watched Sherlock's long coat swish from the room. Had he imagined that soft murmur? Unlikely... but he wouldn't mention it, or the warm glow it had drawn. It almost made the sleep deprivation worthwhile.
It had taken Sherlock a little under 24 hours to solve the case. Swift visits to all four murder locations had helped his mind sort out locations of the bodies and possible trajectories for the shooter. He'd missed John's warmth by his side, but at least his thoughts were distracted. How dare the criminal class take a vacation just because of a bit of snow!
Through more than a few of his underground contacts, and one or two unsavoury characters who owed him favours, Sherlock had managed to determine that all four woman had been employed by a business that offered phone sex, which is why they'd been on the phone at the time of their murders.
Two years after the fact, and with nothing for ballistics to go on, there was very little chance of catching the murderer, but Sherlock's theory was that their killer had been on the other end of the phone with them at the time of the shootings, and the length of the phone calls suggested that the victims had been toyed, subjected to mental torture, before being executed.
They weren't serial murders after all, the consulting detective had explained in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious, they were serial executions.
Case… well as closed as it was going to get.
John sat in front of his laptop, staring at his blog. He'd written up the case for Sherlock, as he always did, but hadn't found a title yet. Then he suddenly remembered Mycroft's text at the beginning of the week and the poem he was trying to complete for Sherlock by Christmas day, and grinned, shaking his head softly and setting fingers to keys.
Case Notes; Four Calling Birds, by Dr. J. Watson.