No reviews last chapter? That makes me sad :(. But that didn't stop me from updating and being inspired, reviews are never required for one :). Anyway, here's chapter six, I hope you enjoy it. I stopped writing the story along with the case I started it with... you'll see what I did, but I thought the story was going slow because of it. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and thank you to those who favourited and alerted the story :) Oh, also, I'm going to stop with the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. It's hard looking for quotes for each one!
Chapter Six: Ignorance & Warnings
Two weeks later
The case came to a close on a Wednesday afternoon. Sherlock eventually figured it out after receiving a care package delicately wrapped with a bow that he only allowed I and John to look at came on his doorstep. There was no murders committed by our lovely serial killer, but he gave up when we were just beginning to close. There was no actual father of 'Beth,' we fell for the red-herring so easily that it was almost sickening. Sherlock had his doubts after we both searched Jeremy's flat, but we didn't figure it out until I got the IP address of where lmancaster registered his email. The IP address was Jeremy's.
The list of keywords were real and in pairs. I had a night in Baker Street, an exhausting night that I would rather not talk about because I had the slightest temptation to strangle Holmes, and Sherlock and I used each pair of keywords to decode with. We finally settled on Heaven and Earth, since they actually made the most sense and it was the only one that composed an address, Thirty-One Montague Street.
We found two other girls there, in a basement, locked up in cages but otherwise well-fed and bathed. The cage thing was unnerving for me and I almost felt sick looking at them. Though the serial killer took care of them like a father would a daughter, they were touched. But not so much touched that it would take their virginity. One of the girls wasn't as drugged as the other and she gave us an almost clear description of the murderer and her captor.
It matched the description of Jeremy.
So, long story short, Jeremy Malloy was our murderer. All along. The fact that he had us running around looking for this was maddening. Sherlock was quite impressed with Jeremy, which was scary, but even I have to admit, the kid had us all going. He was bloody brilliant—actually, still is—through and through.
So, what became of me through all this? Well, I was stated as a Detective in Scotland Yard a few days after I have searched through Malloy's flat. This was only so I could interview him with Lestrade (I even interviewed this bloke and had not a bloody idea that he was the man I've been looking for) since I already had a lot of insight in the case, more so than Lestrade actually. And, I got paid a good salary like the other detectives. So, say hello to the newest detective of Scotland Yard, Detective Meredith Wilder. Mrs. Hudson was right, now that I'm saying it in my head, it sounds like it belongs in a film. I think I may introduce myself in a James Bond sort of way. 'The name's Wilder, Meredith Wilder.'
Uh, so what else to tell my imaginary audience within my head who are probably thinking that I am insane?
Oh, yes, I am only a detective, below Lestrade and Sally. Sally actually is my superior before Lestrade. As a lower grade detective, my salary is lower significantly, but higher than the officers in the Yard. I am only working with Lestrade, but if any other DI wants me to help him with a case Lestrade isn't assigned to, I'm allowed to help them.
But for right now, on the Thursday morning after the case, I am with Lestrade at the station. My eyes peer around to see the press gathering in a room.
I nearly find myself cringe at the sight of it. "You'll do fine." Lestrade says noticing my coming anxiety. I look over at him and take a deep breath before glancing outside again. I don't like talking in front of people but I know sometimes I'm required to. In New York, Garret has had me talk at conferences and I wanted to kill him afterwards too. My chest begins to tighten and I see a camera being directed at the long table that is supposed to seat Lestrade, Donovan, and I. There are also some journalists with cameras to take pictures of me with, great. So my face may be plastered all over The Sun. Fucking brilliant.
It is what every fugitive dreams of, at least my appearance has changed, enough for me to not be recognized anyway. "I hope I do fine. Is this really necessary for me to do?" I ask Lestrade, maybe there is a slightest chance I can get out of this. I can tell just by looking into his eyes that it's not possible. I sigh grudgingly before saying, "Fine then, let's just get this over with." Lestrade nods to me before allowing me to go first.
Almost immediately the cameras go off, flashing their pictures at me as I walk to the seat nearest the exit. Lestrade walks past me and ignores the cameras like he is used to it. Sally follows us and sits at his other side. When I feel my bum hit the seat, my eyes avoid everyone else's, especially that video camera that is shooting all three of us sitting together. I furrow them to my hands fiddling with each other underneath the table. The press' chatter dies down as Sally gives her address.
I barely listen, catching bits and pieces of her quickly explaining the conclusion of our case. Her words are meaningless, because when I glance up at the press to see if anyone is writing anything down, none of them are. They are most likely waiting for Lestrade and I to talk. Bloody brilliant.
Sally's address is long and dull. Though we are sort of friends now, I want to pull my hair out because of the boredom that's consuming my every being... I might be being dramatic, but it's almost to that point. I only start to pay attention when I hear her say, "Our new detective, Detective Wilder and Detective Inspector Lestrade are now ready to take questions concerning the previous case."
I look up from my hands and try to look attentive as the cameras now are focused on Lestrade and I. Sally is no longer a part of our picture. I gulp to myself as I see several hands rise up and look to Lestrade, let him start it off for me. He gives me an unnoticeable nod as if he can feel my anxiety just rising before picking a hand. The hand belongs to a large man with glasses over his light eyes and light coloured beard. He has a beard but lacks hair on the top of his head. It's a horrible look for him.
"Was there going to be more victims of the serial killer before you have caught him?" What a weak question. I'd have fired him.
Lestrade answers while I remain silent, "There were two more women in the basement that would have been his next victims." Like me, Lestrade doesn't sound like he's a fan of these press conferences either. "If we haven't figured out where he had them hidden in time, they could have been murdered."
A woman immediately raises her hand after that. She looks like she belonged with these pack of vultures. Perfectly manicured hands, a bright coloured dress, and bright lipstick brings the attention needed for her question. Lestrade takes her next. "If he had other victims, why do you think he didn't murder them like the others?"
I quickly glance over at Lestrade for permission to answer. I have a rude answer already lined up because who asks a question like that? Be thankful that he didn't! Lestrade gives me the nod before I lean into the microphone. "Though I think your question is stupid, I will answer it for you." The woman almost seems appalled that I've called her question stupid but I continue on, "Because of us being onto him and he knew his every move was being watched, the killer was cooperating with us. It would have been too much of a risk to be committing murders when he was right under our noses. We are thankful though that he didn't take the risk and that those young women are safely with their families."
I didn't notice as I was talking Lestrade's glare when I called her question stupid. It was though. I don't even look over at him, I think that's why I don't like doing these. I'm incredibly rude with my answers.
"What would you say his motive was behind his murders?" Another one asks without even waiting for Lestrade to choose him. He looks directly at me too so I think it is mine to answer.
"The motive isn't very clear to us as of right now. But we are thinking that he may have just been doing this for the pleasure of killing or avenging his younger sister." I answer him accordingly. I think that answer was more polite.
Lestrade takes another question from them, I'm beginning to count the minutes until the end of this. The next question is from a woman with a tight blonde bun. "What would you say brought you to Jeremy Malloy to be the killer?"
"Mr. Malloy had evidence we found in his flat and was giving us cryptic messages that led to him." Lestrade begins to her. The question seems reasonable enough to answer. "Some of these messages were meant to throw us off his path, like making it look like a father was doing to avenge a daughter's death. But from the valid evidence that Detective Wilder and I have gathered and a clear description from one of the women he kept, we were able to bring him into custody."
The woman with the tight bun has another question so Lestrade has her ask us, "Since there wasn't a clear link said before between the murders, what would you say would be the exact link between them?"
"Detective Wilder, do you think you would answer this question?" Lestrade enquires to me.
I nod before going to the microphone. I am the one who, sort of figured it out. The man who actually did is not here with us. I tell the press, "The link between them all wasn't clear because he wanted to throw us off like Lestrade has said. The similarities between the victims were small and hardly noticeable to a careless eye. The similarities, except for three, weren't shared with all the victims. The one that all of them shared was where they have gone to school, their age, and that they were all virgins, which he drugged each of them to check."
My answer causes everyone in the room to discuss amongst themselves, after my answer my jaw locks and my eyes furrow to the door that opened. My eyes nearly widen when I see John Watson and Sherlock Holmes walk into my press conference. John smiles at me and gives me an encouraging wave, I actually told him about this conference the night before. Sherlock avoids my eye contact completely and looks almost sullen. Did John actually drag him to my press conference? It seems like it, Sherlock has a frown on his face, he is avoiding contact with almost every person in the room, and his eyes are focusing on the exit sign that is above his head. I don't blame him, I'd kill someone to leave.
"Any more?" Lestrade asks the press.
I hear Sherlock's dramatic and bored sigh from across the room but I don't think any one seems to notice. Another with a question, "Is this your first case working with Scotland Yard, Detective?" Oh, for once this is addressed to me specifically. I look at the young woman carefully, she has to be twenty-six at the very least, my actual age. She has her brown hair let down on her shoulders and she has that pen ready to write.
I lean toward the microphone, "This is the first case I have worked with Scotland Yard as a Detective, so yes."
"But this isn't the first case you have worked as a Detective, is it?" She asks me again.
I tilt my head at her before I say in the microphone, "I was a NYPD detective for three years before coming back to London, so no it is not."
"Have you seen worse cases than this one in New York?"
What does this have anything to do with the case? The lot of the press are vultures. I tell her, "I have, but I don't think that your questions have anything to do with the conclusion of the case. If this was a press conference about myself, I would not be here. So, if you please have any other questions concerning the case and not me, then go on. If you don't, then please leave." I didn't mean to nearly snap at her, but I thought it was called for. Lestrade sends me another look of disapproval, but I really don't care at this point. I'll deal with it later.
"If there is no one with any more questions about the case then we are done." Lestrade says to them, finally. The press conference had to be—what? Ten minutes or more already.
"Yes, because we have massive amounts of paperwork to get to right now." I add to them jokingly, actually cracking a fake smile. Some of them laugh at my humour, but some, like the two women I may have insulted, did not. Lestrade and Donovan look around the press, seeing that there is no one with a question. "So, then we are finished. Thank you for your time." With that, we all get up. I fix my skirt and turn on my heels to walk out into Scotland, of course, the press decide to take a picture of my annoyed face when I turn to leave.
When the presence of the station comes to my view, I am relieved and I head to my desk. Lestrade joins my side, "We have to work on your conference skills."
"Why? I thought that went well." I tell him almost sarcastically, it could have gone better. But what was I supposed to do? Be fake? Yes, the voice in my head answers. Lestrade doesn't say anything, he gives me almost a reprimanding glare that a father gives a daughter and I find myself nodding my head to him. "I'll try to."
"That's what I like to hear," he flashes me a smile before he pats me on the shoulder. "Now get started on that massive amounts of paperwork."
"I have to unload my desk onto my... desk and then I'll start it."
"Okay, well it'll be in my office waiting for you." Wait, does that mean I'm doing all of it by myself? I turn my head, stopping in my tracks before I go to ask him, but he's already disappeared. It was almost like a magic trick. Well, it happened just as fast as one. I sigh before I go to my desk where there is a big cardboard box on the top of it that I brought this morning. My goal was to unload it before I have gone, but they had different plans. They even made me up for the press conference.
I take a deep breath through the nose before I stop in front of my empty desk, which only has a dated computer on the top of it. The contents in my box are all of what have been on top of my desk in New York. From picture frames, bobble-heads, souvenirs, everything. I never really got to looking through it, so I guess I will do that now. I take out one of my bobble-heads, Count Dracula, and place him delicately next to my computer. Then I have my Frankenstein and Mummy bobble-heads and place them promptly next to each other.
I even have my own plaque from New York. I take out the gold name plate slowly, fixing it in front of my desk for passers to read my name. "That was an interesting press conference." I hear someone say. I turn my head to see John standing behind me with Sherlock standing behind him, clearly he still doesn't want to be here.
"Well, you only caught the end of it." I tell him, smirking. "I called a woman stupid for asking why the murderer didn't kill the other two women." John laughs at that, before shaking his head at me in disapproval. Why does everyone disapproves of me telling them off in little ways? "They both deserved it. The press is a pack of vultures as far as I'm concerned. What are you guys doing here?"
"We're here to show some support," John says to me, he glances at Sherlock who grunts at that. This is the most quiet Sherlock has been in my presence before. John looks back at me before stating, "You were so nervous about it yesterday that I thought it would be good. But you seem to have handled your own out there. And I would like to congratulate on your new job."
"Yes, a job you acquired a week and a half ago." Sherlock adds coldly, his arms crossed over his chest and he has a sullen look that belongs to a child. Much like the look he had in the room before. John scolds him with a look as Sherlock turns his head toward him. Clearly not noticing it. I grin amused. "Can we go now?"
"Why did you come, Sherlock?" I ask him curiously, leaning my back against my desk. "You don't seem to want to be here."
"I don't," Sherlock says to me. "I was dragged here."
"You were dragged here?"
"Well, does it look like I actually want to be in a place with too much stupidity in the room?"
"Well, you don't really seem the type to actually be dragged somewhere, Sherlock." I tell him with my grin growing wider, "I think you were just bored and needed something to do. I think you just happened to use John dragging you here in order to do something." John smirks in my general direction at what I said, it's probably true. I wouldn't doubt it. Sherlock rolls his eyes at me before I ask him, "Is what I said to you not true then?"
"Believe it or not, I have better things to do than be here."
"If you count microwaving eyeballs or analysing different types of perfume, then Sherlock, I fully understand where you are coming from." I tell him sarcastically.
"Those are ongoing experiments, how do you know about them?"
"Your very informative website." I actually did look it up in an internet café the night before out of curiosity. Before I only looked at one of his messages and the front page, but the rest of his site I didn't see. I also read the case of the serial suicides that was on John's blog. As for which one I like more... John beats his site single-handedly.
"Wait, you actually read his site?" John asks me sounding surprised.
I nod my head to him, "Of course, but of course I'm not an avid fan of it like one he seems to have." I look over at Sherlock and he inclines his head as if he's actually interested that I know of the hidden message. "How long did it take you to decipher that message you received, Sherlock?" Sue me for being curious but I have been waiting to ask him this question for a long time.
"Less than five minutes to figure out the type of code and what it said."
"Same." I tell him almost immediately, he doesn't bother to look really impressed by this and neither am I. I think we both expected it out of each other. John's smile actually falls and he looks between us. I narrow my eyes at Sherlock with a smirk actually growing, Sherlock's face never changes. I almost forgot about John being here until he clears his throat awkwardly. Both Sherlock and I turn our heads at him simultaneously.
John says, "We have to get going, I'm sure you have a lot to do." John actually looks uncomfortable standing between us, why does he look uncomfortable? I chuckle lightly at him.
"Unfortunately, I do. I'll see you around." I tell him before going back to my box. John nods to me before looking at Sherlock. John walks around my desk while Sherlock follows him. I catch him from the corner of my fixing his navy blue scarf as he walks away. I pick up my head, allowing my smirk to stay as I say, "Until next time, Holmes." He's not getting rid of me for a very long time. Sherlock acknowledges me, turning his head. I bring up my hand to wave at him with twinkling fingers and a wink. Sherlock's face once again doesn't change until he turns his head. I think for a moment, I have just seen the beginnings of a smile form on his face.
I've cracked him—I think. The smile could have been a part of my imagination.
My smirk disappears though when I look in my box to see the only two photo frames that I have with the only two pictures that I own. I frown at the top one and take it out of my box for a moment. I wish I have threw this one out. I bite my bottom lip, putting the picture of Paul and I back into the box where it belongs. I don't even want to look at it. I take out the other picture in its frame to see that it's Carter and I. I smile at it softly before I put it by my name plate, facing toward me. It's of us at the NYPD benefit a year ago. Paul didn't want to come so I had Carter escort me there.
We danced and the picture is merely proof of that. In it, I am kissing Carter on the cheek while he makes a face like he is some sort of goof. His nose is scrunched up and his eyes are nearly closed. It describes our friendship perfectly. "Who's that there?" I hear Sally's voice next to me, I turn my head to see that she is looking at Carter on top of my desk. "A boyfriend?"
I shake my head no, taking out my New York Giants mouse pad. Yes, I have become a fan of American football during my stay in New York. "He was my partner in New York, sort of like a brother to me."
"He's pretty cute." She comments to me. I shrug my shoulders, though I do know it to be true. I had a crush on him for two months after we first began to be partners. To think that I used to have one on him now is sad, because I would never look at him like that ever again. I close my box and put it under my desk. "So, I've seen you talking to freak before." Freak... freak... oh, she means Sherlock. The fact that she called him a freak unnerves me but I try not to let it show. I nod my head to her before plopping in my chair, swivelling it around to face her. Sherlock does have his strange habits, I learned, but I wouldn't call him a freak.
Sally says to me carefully, "Be careful around him." When I look up at Sally, I see her looking down at me with concern and like I'm a little naïve... like I'm a child. I raise my eyebrow puzzled. Why is she giving me a warning? And about him? I cross my arms over my chest and incline my head up at her. Sherlock is arrogant and cold at times, but I think he's harmless from the two weeks I have worked along his side.
Plus she is giving me a warning? She's not my mother, is she? "Okay..." I start to her, my puzzlement leaks into my tone of voice. "But why?"
"He's a psychopath," Sally says to me like it's obvious. Anderson said the same thing to me, and I didn't believe it then. Sally looks down at me with seriousness edged on her face. I frown at her. He doesn't seem like a psychopath to me. I know, I have seen plenty. Sociopath, though? I can see.
"Is he?" I ask her. "I just thought he was a man with an ego bigger than Gordon Ramsey." I chuckle almost coldly at my own joke. She doesn't find it really amusing, so I awkwardly stop. I tell her after a short moment of silence, "Sherlock may lack emotions, be extremely intelligent, and sometimes get into the minds of killers that we may think that he is the killer himself, but I hardly think that calls for him to be called a psychopath, Donovan. Perhaps a sociopath, but not a psychopath."
"Both are the same thing, Wilder." Sally tells me almost sounding annoyed. I swallow my dignity and don't bother to really speak up for myself. She's lucky that's she's my superior. "I've told Lestrade this over and over again and I've told John," she starts to me. I try to make it seem like I care for what she is saying. "It doesn't matter if he is a psychopath or a sociopath, they both get bored. And one day, we are all going to be standing over a body and Sherlock Holmes would be the one who put it there." I stop myself from logging into the database and look up at her slowly.
She is right. Psychopaths and sociopaths do get bored easily, but to actually say that Sherlock will commit murder at some point... is something I cannot even fathom. It also puts me off. I don't know if I really want her as a friend for even thinking that. Sherlock has a brilliant mind, but he does have emotions, a lack of them, but they are there. He's not a completely a machine all of the time.
I try to act that it doesn't bother me the slightest, but my head is still whirling from her warning. "You bring up a point, but I can't avoid him." I tell her, making it seem like I'm not offended that she is scolding me like a child. I don't need a lecture. I'm twenty-nin—twenty-six years old. I don't even see my parents any more because of their constant lecturing. I don't need it here.
"None of us can unless Lestrade sees what I said." She says sounding irritated. "I don't mean to be talking to you like this though," she starts to me, suddenly sounding like a friend more than a mother. I'm still not a fan of her right now. "I just want to warn you so you don't get hurt down the line when it happens."
"That's very nice of you to, uh, care like that." I say to her with a small, fake smile before looking up at her. "But can I be a little bit frank with you, Sargent?" Sally raises her eyebrow and faintly I hear that voice in my head actually groan as I stand up from my seat. Once again my mouth talks faster than my mind can even comprehend. I cannot hold the disdain I felt before. That's not me.
"You may be my superior and I may be just the new girl in Scotland Yard, but that does not give you the right to talk to me like you are my mother and talk down to me." Her eyebrows knit together as I pause. "If I want to befriend Sherlock Holmes, I'm going to do so no matter what you tell me. Thank you for your advice, I appreciate it, but next time you decide to give it, don't. I can take care of myself."
Her eyebrows do knit together like she is puzzled at what I said, but I can see she understands. She moves away from my desk with her eyes narrowed at me. I think I may have just been put on her shit list, like I really care about that. "Don't say that I didn't warn you though." She tells me.
"I won't." I say to her shortly before I watch her stalk away from my desk. My eyes follow her before I look over at Lestrade's door that is wide open. I still have my job to do. I glance back to where Sally has gone before I go to Lestrade's office to take some of the load out of it. Might as well get this started.
So I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Like I said, I thought the story was going a bit slow with the case going on... you know? I don't know, it could have been just me who felt like that. Thank you for reading and see you next time :)
