Chapter four
London England
5:30 A.M
January 6th 2014
"Angie," the man scolded as he walked down the street. "I need to pick up my grandpa's medicine and then I'll be home."
"Be careful James," his wife reminded him.
"I will be, now I have to go," he said rather harshly and hung up the phone.
He walked by the pharmacy, where he had no intentions of going in the first place. He unlocked the door to the hotel, where he was a manager. He knew they were shut down for a reason, to protect guests. Nobody could get in, because he had the only key and they had no reason to now.
"Hey baby," James smirked and turned to find Penny sitting where he had left her two hours earlier.
"I was lonely," she scoffed and turned her head.
"I know Penny," he replied and kissed her softly. "I hated to leave you here, but we couldn't be seen coming in together."
"I poured you a drink," she said anxiously and when you've finished it, meet me in room 321."
"Alright," he shrugged and watch her make her way towards the stairs.
She opened the door to the room, where twenty five confused men sat or stood, staring at her wide eyed.
"Hello boys," she grinned maliciously and held up a package of 26 balloons. "We're almost ready, I'm just waiting for one guest."
London England
8:00 A.M
January 6th 2014
"Run that by me one more time," Emily groaned from her pounding head.
"The reason you favor your left side, is not because it's stronger it's because wherever you go you keep your right side facing away from others, telling me that you were facing that way when your mother left and when your grandmother died. You associate the right with loss, therefore by keeping to your left, it means no one gets in and no one can hurt you." Sherlock stated for the fiftieth time, since they strayed off of topic of the murder.
"How do you-,
"Prentiss please," he scoffed and turned to the photos. "I could tell your mother's life story, your grandfather's and your seconds cousins parakeet's life story, do not question, merely agree."
"Fine," she moaned and ran her fingers through her hair in a frustrated demeanor.
"Hey genius," Watson called out from across the room, with bloodshot eyes. "Show her how to make a bottle."
"I can make a bottle," he rolled his eyes and walked towards the sink.
He unscrewed the top and peered into the bottle questioningly. The powder smelled so repulsive, that he had no idea why John would put his best friend or his daughter in the middle of such a unfathomable mixture. He threw the spoon to the side and dipped the entire bottle into the container, filling eight ounces of pure formula. He held it under the water, loosing his grip on it several times. Once filled to the brim and overflowing with a baking soda type of appearance, he screwed on the top and began to walk through towards John, before firing five rounds into the formula container, causing a mass explosion, of white powder and terrified screams.
"What did you do that for?" Watson asked, as he took the bottle from his hand.
"The container had it coming?" He replied and turned to the agents, who appeared in too much shock, to speak to him.
"Sherlock," John scolded and turned the bottle upside down, showing how what he was expected to feed his daughter, had formed into solid rock. "I wouldn't give this to even Mycroft," he replied, before they stared at each other and burst into childish giggles.
"Whose laughing," Reid asked, as he walked from the room, rubbing his head.
"Alright, here's our genius," Morgan said proudly. "You don't wake up to being pushed out of bed, screaming, being kicked against the wall, a baby's screams or gunshots, but the psychopaths over there start giggling like school girls and it disturbs your sleep."
"Who was shooting," Reid asked and sat down beside JJ.
"Never mind kid," Morgan rolled his eyes.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson shook her head, as she walked into the flat. "Was Sherlock shooting at the wall again?"
"Formula," Watson sighed, "luckily I prepared for the bomb which is Sherlock to go off, so Mary and I have backed up everything."
"Is this normal around here?" Garcia whispered to Mrs. Hudson, as she shook with her fear.
"Oh no dear," she smiled, "it's not usually this quiet or calm."
"Oh," she gasped.
"I'm going to meet with the funeral director," she announced with a frown. "I guess you'll want to get to the crime scene, so I'll take Isabelle with me."
"Wait, he's coming to the crime scene?" Morgan asked bluntly, not at all masking his shock and frustration.
"Where else would I go?" He shrugged, "well let's be off - Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.
"What is-
"Shut up," Sherlock scolded and leaned his ear towards the window. "They found twenty six more bodies."
"How can you tell-
"Listen to the engines, they are following each other, each sounding alike, which means they are all coroners vans. I hear twenty six of the engines, one for each body."
"Are we sure he's not our unsub? Morgan whispered to Rosse.
"Let's just say," Dave replied, "I wouldn't be surprised."
London England
10:00 A.M
January 6th 2014
"As usual my presumption came to be known as a fact," Sherlock smiled, just after running his finger along a corpses mouth.
"In what way?" Hotch cringed, knowing he would get yet another, long winded wordy answer.
"They killed each other, but not before dressing themselves like mimes," he replied.
"How can you tell by her mouth?" An officer piped up from the background.
"The balloon in her throat, it was blown up from inside her mouth," he explained. "Look tip is sticking out, which means it was blown up by mouth."
"How do you-
"Know he didn't blow up the balloon? I know, because she's lazy," Sherlock laughed.
"She," Greg asked, feeling unconvinced. "First how do you know it's a she?"
"How else could you get twenty five straight men to follow you willingly and get them to accept a drink?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Before you ask, how I know, I will save you time. She doesn't want to do the work, she wants them dressed as mimes, to hide the yellowing of her homemade drug."
"The other victims
"Tox screens came back clear," he interrupted, "precisely. Which is why this drug is not anything anyone has ever known, which means she's a scientist."
"How can you possibly tell that?" Greg shouted, trying to get in a word.
"Tell me Lestrade," Holmes didn't even look up, "when is the last time you saw a librarian concocting a cauldron of a mysterious subject? Didn't think so, she'd need a lab, but her own, so doesn't risk revealing herself and Grant if you daresay in her home, I will stick a balloon down your throat myself."
"Wouldn't home be the most plausible?" Greg spit out.
"No, she's married and her husband doesn't know?" Sherlock hissed, feeling tired of all the questions.
"I'm not even going to ask how you know that?" Lestrade huffed.
"Good because I would tell you that she appears as the average woman, very beautiful, judging by the body count, she wants to blend in and a husband would put her right in the other faces in the crowd."
"I told you, he's brilliant," Watson jumped in. "Let me guess, if her husband knew he would help her.
"You're learning John and in answer to your other question. She's lazy, because she doesn't abduct these men, she makes them walk to her. They aren't retrained, which once again restraining twenty five men takes effort, showing she's from a wealthy home where everything has been handed to her from the time she was born. The most ever does is slip her poison into their drinks and they do her bidding."
"Alright genius, tell us why?" Morgan scoffed from behind him.
"Why, I thought it would be obvious," he snickered. "She's had power her entire life, one day her father made a bad investment and everything was gone. She's showing she's still superior."
"Why the balloons though?" Reid speculated.
"You're the supposed me of your team, you tell me," he insisted.
"She's celebrating," Reid gasped.
London England
7:30 A.M
January 7th 2014
"John," Sherlock said, in a surprisingly gentle tone. "The funeral is not until three, why are already awake?"
"Isabelle has a fever, I called the doctor and he said as long as it stays low, she'll be fine?" Watson replied and held her against him.
"Here John, give her to me, you haven't slept since it happened," Sherlock insisted.
"I don't want to-
"Here take my gun and we'll have no incidents, not that either of you have anything to fear." He replied and laid his weapon on the couch.
"I know, I just don't want to be away from her," John explained, as a tear escaped his eye.
"Well, that's when Uncle Sherlock comes in, so that her father doesn't fall over while carrying her." He smiled and placed his hands around her gently.
"Alright, I just fed her, but just to be sure I put some bottles in the fridge, in case we ever had this disaster waiting to happen occur," he sighed, "will wake me at noon."
With much hesitation, Watson handed her to Holmes with a gentle hand. He walked back to his room, where he eventually cried himself to sleep.
"So, Isabelle," Sherlock said awkwardly, "you'll have to excuse me, I'm not too good with babies, well adults either, children love me though, well no actually they run away screaming and I get pepper sprayed by angry moms. How can John talk to you so easily, it's not as if you understand. Oh this is hopeless," he groaned, "I do not know what to do you with you. My entire life I've always known what to do and how to do it. Then you came along and for the first time in my life, I found someone I can't dissect. Your mother though, before you were even born, she knew. She would talk to you and sing to you, as if she had known you her entire life. Oh if you only knew how much she loved you. Now me it took a while. I have to admit, I wasn't very fond of you for your first nine months. John was so focused on you, well would you like an example.
London England
9:00 A.M
September 1st 2013
"Sherlock put down the uterus," John warned and attempted to take it, causing a very childish game, of can't get it.
"Oh John, if only you weren't such a hobbit, you could put this back where it belongs," Sherlock teased.
"Sherlock-
"Oh sorry, am I interrupting," the doctor asked, as she entered the room.
"Yes thank you," John said calmly and walked to his wife's side.
"Who is this?" The doctor asked curiously.
"Hello I'm the father," Sherlock said in all seriousness, causing the doctor a look of concern.
"Ignore him" John rolled his eyes, "I'm the father and her husband."
"Alright, well Mary everything looks good and you're actually about four months along, two months earlier than you thought." He explained, "You're due date is January 1st rather than March."
"Oh wow," Mary gasped.
"Are you two interested in knowing the sex of the baby?" He said, in a very routine tone.
"No, we want it to be a surprise," John answered for her.
"Carrying high, along with too many other symptoms to list, it's a-
"Sherlock," Watson warned. "I have told you a thousand time, we don't want to know."
"John, I have told you a thousand times, I don't listen to anything you say, I thought you knew that by now."
"Go home Sherlock," Watson snarled.
"I don't understand," Sherlock gasped and slipped the uterus into his pocket.
"Go home, if you can't understand how important this is to Mary and I, then go home," he hissed.
"Fine John," he snapped and opened the door, "I told you wouldn't need me around now that you have a baby on the way."
"Go home Sherlock," John shouted, as the door closed behind him.
London England
8:00 A.M
January 7th 2014
"I still have it by the way," Sherlock whispered and pulled the uterus from a drawer. "Anyway, after that, your father didn't want anything to do with me, until you're mother was about six months pregnant with you, but that is most certainly a story for a day when we we're not to bury her body. I wish you could have known her," he smiled and found that a tear left his eye. "Please do not tell anyone you saw that, I have my reputation after all.