A/N: Hello hello people people! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but don't worry, there are still many more to come!
Anyway, enough with the rambling. You left your theories in the reviews, and now it's time to see if you got it right!
Hereeeeeeee's chapter 7!
Rossi knocked on the door, and John shifted his weight from one leg to another. This situation was strange to him – he was used to having people come to him for help and not the other way around. It was just he and Rossi, Seaver had volunteered to go alone to one of the other families to save them some time.
A brown haired woman with bloodshot eyes opened the door. "Are you from the police?" she asked, and the men could easily smell the alcohol in her breath.
"Yes, I'm John Watson and this is David Rossi. We're very sorry for your loss. We won't be staying here for long, we just need to ask you a couple of questions. Is that alright?" John answered before Rossi could.
"Come in," she said with a snuffle and took a step back.
John gave her a small nod as they entered, and she shut the door behind them.
"Do you know who did this to my brother?" she asked, and tears flooded her eyes.
"Not yet, but I can assure you we're doing everything we can to find the person that did this," Rossi answered sympathetically.
The woman frowned a bit. "You're not from here. Who are you?"
Rossi suppressed a sigh. He should have expected this question, as he knew it was going to repeat itself a lot of times. "I'm from the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI," he explained, "We were called in to assist the local police to find the killer."
"Oh," she said flatly. "Please, sit down," she gestures to some chairs which were scattered in the living room of her flat.
The two men sat down and exchanged looks – each had different questions, and they weren't used to cooperating with an, in their minds, an outsider.
"Miss Phillips, when was the last time you've seen John?" Rossi asked eventually.
"We weren't that close," she said as she shook her head slowly. "He texted me once in a while, and once a month I phoned him. We've had our issues."
She didn't need to explain them the problem she had had with her brother – the strong smell of liquor that was in the room told them everything the needed to know.
"What was he like?" John asked.
A sad smile spread on Miss Phillips' face. "Sweet. Whenever someone needed help, he was the first to offer it."
After a moment, she added: "At least, that was how he used to be."
"What do you mean?" Rossi questioned.
"Well, he used to have this friend, can't remember his name. They were inseparable, John admired him. He was all that he could think about."
"And what happened?"
She sighed. "He died. I don't know how, John never really elaborated about it, but ever since he was not the same. His texts became shorter and shorter, until they simply stopped coming. I think he was depressed. Maybe it's good, then. Someone stopped his suffer," she barely managed to finish her sentence before she broke into loud sobs.
"If we'll have any more questions, we'll give you a call. Is that alright?" Rossi asked tenderly, and the woman nodded.
The two men got up from their seats and left the flat quickly. They both felt bad for leaving her there alone, but the only thing they could do to make her feel better was to find the person that killed her brother, and in order to do that they had to leave.
Rossi sighed heavily as he closed the door behind them. "This never gets easier, you know."
"Yeah," John mumbled back, only half listening. Everything that woman said made him think about Harry. If something bad would ever happen to him, he didn't want that the only thing his sister would have from him to be an occasional email. He made a mental note to give her a call as soon as the case is solved. "Where are we heading now?"
"Back to the station. The second victim didn't have any living relatives, and Seaver went to the first victim's family. We need to start working on the profile," Rossi replied as they got into the SUV, without even noticing he got into the wrong side. In order to not make himself look like a fool, he asked John: "You know the way, right?"
"Yes, of course," he answered, pretending he didn't realize Rossi meant to be the driver but forgot that in England the driver sits on the right hand side of the car.
But when he started the car, John smiled to himself. They aren't so bad, these agents, he thought, I almost feel sorry that they have to work with Sherlock.
Sherlock scanned each body carefully. He used his small magnifying glass occasionally, to study the cut wounds and even the inside of the victim, to Aaron's dismay.
"Shut up," he said abruptly.
"What?"
"You're thinking so hard I can actually hear it. It's distracting me," he explained bluntly without even turning his head to look at Hotch.
Hotch was beginning to see why Morgan hated Sherlock so much. But he had expected this kind of behaviour from him. So he walked to the corner of the room, and turned out the lights.
He could almost hear Sherlock's glare. "What the hell are you doing?"
Aaron didn't reply. They both knew why he did that, and he was going to let Sherlock figure it out himself.
The consulting detective groaned. "Fine. I'm sorry for being rude," he said in a childish intonation, to stress how idiotic he thought Hotch was. "Can we go back to work now?"
Hotch turned on the lights, and as soon as he did Sherlock was already with his back to him, studying the corpses. After a minute, he took a step back, wordlessly telling Hotch it was his turn to examine the bodies.
"How did you get the coroner to give us a room to ourselves and leave?" Aaron asked as he approached the bodies.
"She likes me."
It was almost impossible for Hotch not to ask why.
"There are no hesitation marks on either of the bodies. The Unsub opened him up and made a very precise cut above the heart," he thought out loud.
"And what do you make of that?" Sherlock asked in disdain.
"The Unsub probably has knowledge of the human anatomy," Hotch explained him seriously. "The tox screen shows, like you said, traces of a benzodiazepine in her blood. That means that the Unsub has knowledge of chemistry too. That narrows down our list. The lack of hesitation marks tell us this Unsub feels no remorse, so it is likely he's a sociopath. You use your deductions to look for the person who committed the crime, but the first thing we use our profile for is to narrow down the suspect list."
Sherlock tilted his head a bit and frowned at Hotch. "You're different than the rest of your team," he began with his deduction and took a step forward towards Hotch, which didn't move. "The rest of them show emotions, but your face is a blank mask. There are two types of people who conceal their emotions. The first type is sociopaths, in which case they don't conceal their feelings, they just don't feel them," he continued as he took another step forward, so their faces were centimetres away from each other. Again, Hotch didn't even flinch. "The second type is people with secrets. So tell me, Agent Hotchner, what is your secret?"
Aaron was quiet for a moment. He knew he shouldn't be quiet for too long, but he also knew that he couldn't answer too quickly. But he was concerned – it was only a matter of time until Sherlock realized he was hiding something, but how long would it take him to find out what? If Sherlock would find out about Emily before the rest of the team would know, they would probably never forgive him. He made a mental note to talk to JJ about it.
"Do you want to know what my secret is?" he replied, finally.
"Very," the detective said with his cunning smirk.
"I want to find this killer without getting you killed in the process."
"That's not a secret," Sherlock snorted.
"The secret is that at the same time I hope you would get killed in the process," he said sharply. "We're going back to the station."
Sherlock watched Hotch walking away from the room in mild surprise and a bit of frustration. As long as he couldn't get to the unit chief, he wasn't superior to him, which meant he still had to listen to him. And that was something Sherlock couldn't bear to do for long.
Just before they started to present the profile, Morgan wondered if they had brought in the entire police force – the room they were standing in was absolutely crowded, and it genuinely seemed as if all of the Scotland Yard was present. John was there too – he had asked to come to learn about the profile. Morgan thought he seemed sincerely curious. Sherlock wasn't there, John said he'd mumbled something about getting a drink and then hurried away. He then added that it was very like Sherlock to disappear like that, which made Morgan wonder for the hundredth time how does John tolerate him.
Hotch cleared his throat loudly, and soon the murmurs of the crowd were hushed. Without bothering to introduce himself or any of them, he began to present the profile.
"The man were looking for is in his late thirties. He is 6ft tall, and he is very arrogant. He probably has a job that allows him to show off his skills and knowledge," Aaron began.
"Because of his arrogance," continued Morgan, "He will try to inject himself in the investigation, if he hasn't already."
"He has knowledge of chemistry and the human anatomy, so look for doctors who might fit the profile," Reid said.
"So we're looking for a mad doctor?" one of the officers asked.
"We didn't say that," Rossi explained. "But anatomy and chemistry are fields doctors excel in. It might as well be anyone else with this kind of knowledge, but it is likely that our Unsub is a doctor."
"This man is a sociopath," Seaver continued with the profile. "Most of the times, when a man turns out to be a murderer, his friends and neighbours say that there's a mistake, that he wouldn't have done it. This case is different. This Unsub doesn't have many friends, if any at all, and his colleagues will describe him as unfriendly and egotistical."
Reid opened his mouth to continue with the profile, but then a low chuckle came from the crowd.
"I'm sorry, is this funny to you?" Rossi asked in irritation, expecting the amused man to come clean.
Lestrade scanned the crowd until he found the person he was looking for. "Anderson, be quiet!" he growled at him.
"Sorry, it's just that…" Anderson said with a small smirk on his face. "A tall, arrogant sociopath that would inject himself into the investigation?"
"If you're suggesting anything…" Lestrade warned him, now genuinely angry.
"He's right, though," a feminine voice called, and the heads were turned towards Donovan. "He fits the profile perfectly. He has knowledge of pretty much everything, he even told us once he is a sociopath."
"You don't honestly think Sherlock did it," John half-said half-asked.
He glanced at the team to make sure they were siding with him, but when he saw their thinking frowns, he realized he was on his own. Well, almost on his own – Reid was looking at his team the same way John was.
"No, he didn't do it," Spencer insisted.
"It's a possibility we must consider," Rossi said.
"Look, there's no reason to make a fuss just yet," Hotch tried to calm everyone down. "He's with us anyway, so let's see what he thinks about it."
Everyone looked around for a second, and then realized the detective was nowhere to be seen.
"I bet he's off killing someone else as we speaking," Donovan blurted, and got a deadly look from Lestrade.
"John, try to call him," Hotch ordered, and the army doctor nodded and already dialled his friend's number.
Lestrade's phone rang then, and they all knew what that meant. Lestrade took the call, and soon enough gave Hotch a small nod.
"We have another body," the DI said tiredly. "Care to guess who found it?"
A/N: So there you have it! Did you like it? Did you hate it? Was it completely obvious that Sherlock will come up as a suspect, or did it catch you by surprise?
Which side do you think the team will choose? Leave your theories in the reviews!
Even if you won't review, you're all still the best, because you've decided to spend time on reading my story, and that's something I'll never be able to thank you enough for. So thank you!
Have a magnificent day :)