Chapter 7

John noticed Sherlock accompany him all the way back to his room, and feeling too exhausted to ask any questions, figured the bloke would spend the night there. He crawled into bed with his clothes still on, and sure enough, Sherlock curled up like a cat on the floor.

"So Mycroft was right," John chuckled to himself sleepily.

Sherlock cracked an eye open. "About what?" he demanded, voice muffled from the collar of his coat.

"Said we'd be moving in together by the end of the week," John started to explain, but dozed off halfway through the sentence.

John was woken to an announcement the next morning of an assembly at six o'clock all students were to report to.

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

John glanced at the clock. 5:57. He had time.

He lazily got up to brush his teeth, and was immensely grateful he was still wearing his clothes from last night, eliminating the problem of having to rush to get dressed.

John walked down to the dining hall through a crowd of other students, some still in their pajamas, and saw all the police officers from last night. Most of them were guarding the doors while a few stood at the front of the room with the detective inspector.

"Everyone, calm down. Quiet, please. We've just a few announcements to make and then you may resume your Saturday," the DI shouted over the crowd.

The students seemed to settle a bit, but there were still currents of hushed chatter sliding through the crowd.

"Ah, there you are," came a deep voice from behind John.

"Sherlock! You snuck out before I woke up," John whispered.

A girl standing in front of him turned and gave John a wide-eyed look. He flushed when he realized what his words implied.

"Where were you?"

"I had... work to attend to," Sherlock responded, surveying the crowd.

By now the detective inspector had finished introducing himself and was in the midst of explaining why he was present.

"And we're sorry to say..." he began, looking over the students with sympathy, "that last night, one of your classmates, Matilda Briggs, was found... dead outside the school."

The volume of chatter in the audience exploded, as well as several horrified screams breaking out from students who had just now heard the news.

"Yes, I understand. This is a shock to us all. We're doing everything we can to find out how this happened," the DI once again tried to calm the audience.

"They know she was murdered with a lethal injection, they just don't want to scare the students," Sherlock muttered.

"I suppose that would make sense. How do you know that, exactly?" John whispered, turning to face Sherlock.

"Stole their file." Sherlock patted something under his jacket with a smug grin.

"You know you really shouldn't- ah, bugger it, you wouldn't listen to me anyway. But this is really something you should let the Yard work out, Sherlock."

"The Yard is full of imbeciles. We've got to get out of here, I need to investigate the crime scene."

"They're not letting anyone out," stated John. "Can't we go after?"

"When there are others around? Of course not. It has to be while everyone else is occupied, now think of an excuse."

"Say we have to use the toilet."

Sherlock shook his head. "It's not enough; they'll still turn us away."

"Can you fake tears?"

He looked offended. "Of course I can."

"Well," said John, "just pretend you're overcome with emotion or something and need to be excused."

"Not a chance. Look around; everyone's crying. And if I cause a disruption we'll be escorted out, with a chaperone, so even worse."

"Bollocks."

Sherlock's face lit up. "I've got it!" he announced. Sherlock took off his coat and bunched it in one hand, grabbing John's sleeve and pulling him along with the other. The two pushed through the crowd of students, towards a doorway guarded by a young police officer.

Sherlock concentrated on the floor until his face flushed beet red, then (to John's confusion) covered his groin with the wadded-up coat. He and John approached the police officer.

"Erm... sir. I need to, um, go to the toilet... urgently, please," Sherlock said, his voice a full pitch higher than usual.

The officer looked from Sherlock to John, then strictly answered, "I'm sure it can wait. No students are allowed out until the assembly is over when you're dismissed."

Sherlock flushed brighter. "It can't wait, really. I, uh... n-no one can see. Y-you must understand," he stuttered.

John caught on to the act. "He can't control it mate, it's early... and at a time like this! You've got to let him go, or it's bloody distasteful." He glimpsed Sherlock's smirk out of the corner of his eye.

The officer glanced down at where Sherlock was tightly clenching his jacket, and a flash of understanding passed over his face. He sighed and looked around, then lowering his voice, said, "Fine. But make it fast."

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered hastily before running out. The officer caught John before he could follow.

"Why do you need to go?"

John gulped, searching his head for an excuse.

"I... need to help him; he's having a bit of a... hard time," John answered, dashing out the door after Sherlock before the officer could stop him.

They ran down the hallway together until they could no longer hear the panicked murmurs and booming of the microphone from inside. Sherlock's face had regained its normal lack-of-color, and he put his coat back on.

"That... was brilliant," said John, slightly out of breath.

They were quiet for a moment, and John looked back up at Sherlock, whose eyes were amused.

"What?"

"...'Hard time'?"

They held each other's gaze. Then simultaneously burst out laughing.

"It was the first thing I thought to say!" John tried to explain between giggles.

Sherlock and John stood there for a full minute trying to regain their composure, which was hard because once one of them looked at the other the laughter started again.

"We should go, we don't have much time," Sherlock finally said, wiping his eyes.

They took off out the building, and as John suspected all the evidence had been cleared away.

"Not much to investigate," he said, "it's the same right now as it's always been."

"We're not looking for tangible clues, John."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I mean-" Sherlock began, then looked over his shoulder and glanced around to make sure no one else was present. "Lay down," he commanded.

"What?"

"Down. On the concrete, parallel to the school, exactly how the victim was found."

John chose to ignore how quickly Sherlock could refer to a classmate as a 'victim', and consented, carefully lowering himself onto the concrete.

"Alright... now what?"

"I need you to get up."

"Sherlock! Ah-" John winced as he pushed himself up, shoulder injury responding to the strain.

"Now," instructed Sherlock, "I need you to face me, away from the school, then drop to the ground as if you've been stabbed."

"Sherlock, I don't see what you're getting at here. Why should it matter which way she was facing? We should be figuring out why she was killed, not how."

"Ah, yes, but I'm getting there," Sherlock smiled. "You ask, why would someone want to kill her? Let's go over the possibilities. First off, they could have been out to get her. Unlikely, she was in a public setting, and it obviously wasn't arranged, Tilly Briggs was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So she either saw something she wasn't supposed to, or was an obstacle that needed to be removed. Now, her body was found later in the evening, so she should have been entering the building rather than leaving it-" Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and spun him around to face the school- "and was either attacked from behind for being in the way, or needed to be disposed of as a witness. In other words, either someone was entering the school who wasn't supposed to be, or exiting with something they shouldn't."

"That's brilliant," John remarked.

The statement seemed to take Sherlock by surprise, if only slightly, and John could tell he tried to mask it.

"Now," Sherlock began, positioning his fingertips together under his chin and turning away, "what could someone possibly want so badly from inside Saint Bart's-"

"that they had to kill for it?" finished John.