Chapter 9: Suspects

Irene Adler, 221B Baker Street's newest resident, was thoroughly enjoying herself. Sherlock's dowdy little landlady had a keen eye and a quick wit, contrary to Irene's expectations. In fact, Irene found herself dropping by 221A more and more for conversation and a cuppa. After all, her work was mostly in the evenings. And Mrs Hudson rarely seemed very busy.

It helped that she and the landlady were both rather lonely, Irene reflected. Though Irene would never admit her need for human companionship, she still liked a little company now and then. She wasn't Sherlock, after all. And Mrs Hudson was a good friend. Most women had never cared much for Irene, viewing her as competition; most men only desired her. Which she encouraged, as it was her job. But it didn't make for very many lasting friends. Mrs Hudson, on the other hand, never seemed to want anything from her save her company.

At least, Mrs Hudson didn't want much from her.

"Dear, you are going to move out… I mean, if John…"

Irene smiled and laced her hands around the teacup. "Don't worry, Mrs Hudson. I would never do anything to keep John Watson from returning to his proper place at Sherlock's side."

"Oh good. I worry, you know, that if John ever did want to move back… Though of course he doesn't seem to…"

"Mrs Hudson, we both know Sherlock's not an easy roommate."

"Yes of course, but John…"

Irene sighed. "I meant that I'll happily move out once my financial situation is a bit more secure." She could kick herself for spending money so freely a few years ago. The limousines, the designer dresses, the capacious flat with its marble mantelpieces. She was determined to put a bit away now. At some point, after all, she'd be forced to retire.

"Oh dear," said Mrs Hudson. "If another flatmate runs out on Sherlock…"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere until we get John to return."

"You sound so sure of yourself, dear."

Irene leaned forward. "It's clear that Sherlock and John belong together. But Sherlock's social skills aren't the greatest. I've no doubt he'll need our help to lure—I mean, invite—John back."

Mrs Hudson poured more tea. "I like the way you think, dear."

Sherlock was rudely awakened by the raucous ringing of his mobile. He'd been rudely awakened by a lot of things recently. Alone in 221B save for Irene's occasional and acerbic companionship, he found sleep far more appealing than ever before. It turned out, somewhat to his surprise, that little sounds could be quite annoying when one was trying to doze off. Yesterday afternoon he'd been up and halfway across the room, handgun at the ready, only to realize it'd been merely a backfiring bus that had awakened him.

Stupid, thought Sherlock, and picked up his mobile.

It was Lestrade, which was good, since Sherlock would probably have thrown the phone across the room otherwise.

"Hello."

"Sherlock! There's a lead!" Lestrade was breathless.

"Oh?"

"They found another body."

"And?"

"There was DNA on this one!"

"All corpses contain DNA, Lestrade." But Sherlock could see what Lestrade was getting at, and it made his heart quicken.

"No—DNA from another person. We think it's the killer but there's no guarantee, of course. The sample's just gotten back from the lab!"

"Well, and what did the lab have to say?" Sherlock was up and pacing, only belatedly realizing that he ought to tie his dressing gown closed, or else put on some pajamas.

"The DNA belongs to a Caucasian woman between the ages of 25 and 35. We can't say more than that without further analysis."

"Ah," said Sherlock. "I'll be at Scotland Yard directly."

He hung up and sat down slowly, with the unnatural stillness of one who has suffered a sharp shock. A white woman between the ages of 25 and 35. He was leaping to conclusions— it was ridiculous— just because she had moved in with John didn't mean— goddamned sentiment— but he couldn't deny it. He suspected Drew Sanselle.

It was just a hunch. He no evidence to back it up save his own dislike of Drew. It was weak of him to even suspect her, he knew, and the knowing tore him apart. There was a leak in the roof of his mind palace, and sentiment had seeped in with the cold London rain. He loved John—he did—whether as friend or brother or lover, Sherlock couldn't say. And therefore he hated Drew. Where did this leave him now? Suspecting an innocent woman, a woman who doubtless had committed no crime besides being more charming and lovable than Sherlock was, and luring John away. But even that was a falsehood. There had been no luring. John had left of his own free will, before he even knew Drew. Quietly, Sherlock placed his head in his hands and let the enormity of what he'd lost engulf him. It was only a moment before the tears came.

It was a quiet and grim Sherlock who made his appearance at Scotland Yard, some hours after he'd told Lestrade he'd be there.

Sherlock arrived midway through the questioning of a suspect. Drew Sanselle was in her element, prowling to and fro, eyes focused on the young woman before her in the interrogation room, while John Watson loitered in the periphery as per usual. Sherlock's outburst of emotion back at 221B had left him oddly calm and empty, and so it was no trouble for him to walk right up to John and say hello. Only the teensiest bit of pain bled through his voice, and John thankfully did not seem to notice.

"There you are!" said John with evident relief.

"Here I am," said Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, I just— There've been so many murders lately, and I— When Lestrade said you'd called several hours ago, I just—" And to Sherlock's intense surprise, John Watson burst into tears.

"There, there," said Sherlock, patting John awkwardly on the back.

"I'm sorry," John repeated. He pulled himself together and stepped away from Sherlock. "I've just… been rather tense lately. Anyway, Drew's combing through the suspects."

"So I see."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I tried to get Lestrade to wait but—"

"For God's sake stop apologizing, John. It's not your fault I'm late. And besides, there's only so much damage that Drew woman can do."

"What was that?" said Drew Sanselle with a flirty smile as she stepped out of the interrogation room. She was overdressed as always, this time in a long black dress that revealed altogether too much neck. Sherlock watched with grim detachment as John hastened to dry his tears. When Drew placed a hand on John's shoulder, Sherlock was hardly able to quell a faint roll of his eyes. She was just so obvious, all of her little tricks, her un-subtle subterfuge. In fact, she couldn't be more obvious if she threw herself at John. And yet John seemed to be falling for it. A knot welled up in Sherlock's throat, and he coughed to distract himself.

"Well," said Drew. "Unfortunately, all of these suspects appear to be innocent." She smiled, cat-like. "Lestrade says I'm to accompany you next time you go out investigating."

"How lovely," Sherlock deadpanned. "Tomorrow at noon, then? Shall we make it a date?"

At his side, John coughed slightly.

"Works for me," said Drew. "But you ought to be ashamed of yourself, two-timing on that lady you're living with."

"Huh?" said John Watson.

Drew's smile widened. "Give him a good sniff, John. Don't his clothes smell faintly of perfume?"

"Oh yes, Irene Adler moved in a while ago," said Sherlock, absent-mindedly. Something had occurred to him. If they all were going searching tomorrow at noon…

"A while ago?!" said John.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Drew said. "Aren't you best mates supposed to share things like that?"

For a split second, Sherlock treated her to the full power of his glare. The pitch of her voice, the hand on one hip—she was teasing, trying to get a reaction. He hadn't had to bother with something like this since that little girl had pestered him back in grade school. Then again, maybe Irene Adler had spoken to him this way once, long ago. No doubt the normal people called it "flirting." In any case, Drew's peculiarities with regards to him were of insignificant importance compared to her peculiarities with regards to John Watson.

And even that was of less significance than the case.

"Forget tomorrow at noon," said Sherlock. "We're going investigating right now."