(A/N: Sorry about my absence. Insert usual excuses here. Insert sincere apology for being such a lazy ass here. Another change in perspective to give a new twist to the same old story. Still not sure if this one is going to be straight up Johnlock or not. Probably will, if I'm being honest. It's hard for it not to be. I mean just look at the show. :P Hope you enjoy the latest chapter and again I'm sorry for the wait.)
Mrs. Hudson heard Sherlock's heavy steps as he raced up the stairs, the young man always seemed to have somewhere to be, and thought nothing of it. At least not until she heard a second set following slowly. This was the first time since he'd moved in that Sherlock had brought someone to the flat. Sure, a few times people came in looking for Sherlock's services, but never before had Sherlock actually brought someone.
Perhaps this was a potential flatmate. Mrs. Hudson almost danced at the prospect. Sherlock was a lonely soul that simply needed more attention and affection. She always hoped that he would find himself someone that could keep up with his mind and help calm it. The poor boy always seemed to be flitting about, never standing still in one spot for too long.
In any case, Mrs. Hudson cared for the excitable young detective and wasn't going to let him invite a stranger into her home without meeting them. So up the stairs she went, careful of her hip; it had been giving her issues lately. "Hoo-hoo," she called out, alerting Sherlock to her presence. Mrs. Hudson didn't want to catch the man in an unsavory situation. Especially if he wanted to make a good impression.
As Mrs. Hudson ascended the steps, still calling out questions, the living room slowly came into view. She easily saw Sherlock sitting in his leather chair, leaning back and very at home. As soon as he saw her, however, he leapt to his feet and moved to hover by the window overlooking the street. Curious, she hurried her pace till she cleared the doorway. Glancing about, she noticed the mess first, then the new mark on the kitchen table, and quickly checked to ensure the spells she renewed had held. Mrs. Hudson was anything but a powerful witch, but she was no pushover sorceress. Her specialty was protection spells and when she struck the deal with Sherlock, she made sure to refortify the already laid spells in the flat.
Finally Mrs. Hudson's gaze came to rest on the man occupying the normally empty red armchair. The man silently looked back up at her with calm, blue eyes. Mrs. Hudson withheld a gasp. This man, whoever he was, was practically glowing. Hovering only centimeters above his skin was an all-encompassing shine that Mrs. Hudson had never seen before.
When she was a child, Mrs. Hudson's grandmother had always told her bedtime stories to help her sleep. One of the most frequently told, and personally Mrs. Hudson's favorite to this day, was a love story about two beings from very different worlds: one human and one fairy. She could still remember how her grandmamma would tell it, her welsh accent pulling on the vowels.
It was a fantastic tale with enchanted forests and mystical creatures and how true love wins all, but what Mrs. Hudson remembered the most is after her grandmamma finished telling the story with the usual "happily ever after", she would then lean in and promise to one day share a secret: what happened beyond their happy ever after. Mrs. Hudson would always wait for the end of the story to see if that night was the night and each night that passed left her more and more disappointed. Until one night her grandmamma sat down next to her after finished the story and gently brushed her fingers through Mrs. Hudson's hair.
"After they wed, they had children," her grandmamma began slowly. "And eventually their children had children and so on. But can you guess where their family is now?" Mrs. Hudson had shaken her head, eyes wide. Her grandmamma drew closer. "Right here in this room. You and I are descendants of a fairy." Mrs. Hudson, at the time, and smiled and shrugged the confession off. But as she grew older and her body matured, she began to notice something odd.
All around her she could see colours hovering just above people's skin. When she mentioned it to her father, he sat them down at the table and answered any and all questions she had. That night, Mrs. Hudson learned that they did indeed have fairy blood in their family and it manifested differently for each generation. Her father could tell when somebody was lying. Her grandmamma could speak with animals. And apparently she could see people's auras.
But it wasn't their auras, not really. Mrs. Hudson found that out when her husband let her try on an amulet, a family heirloom that altered the sight to see people's auras. The colours that appeared were completely different than the ones she observed. As it turned out, Mrs. Hudson was seeing people's very souls. Their colour reflected their personality and their shine revealed the strength of their heart.
And this man, this prospective flatmate, had the purest colour and strongest shine of everybody Mrs. Hudson had met so far. Looking back towards Sherlock, she noticed that his normal grey was a touch lighter, if not calmer, as pale blues and faded purples swirled about. Mrs. Hudson's attention turned back to the guest in the chair and, remembering herself, she smiled.
"Ah," Sherlock gave Mrs. Hudson a quick grin. "Mrs. Hudson. This is Dr. John Watson. John, this is Mrs. Hudson, the landlady." John stood as Mrs. Hudson approached and gently accepted her hand with a firm shake and a smile.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hudson," John said. "Sherlock was just showing me the flat while we wait for a call." Mrs. Hudson nodded, smiling knowingly.
"I've been bothering Sherlock about finding himself a flatmate since he began renting the place," Mrs. Hudson began, walking towards the kitchen. "I'm glad he's finally found someone. Oh, Sherlock! The mess you've made!" John hid a grin at the older woman's loud protests to the state of the kitchen. Still she worked around it and found the kettle and a few usable cups. "I don't mean to pry, but whose call are you waiting on?" Mrs. Hudson inquired.
At that moment, Sherlock's phone began to ring. He and John turned to look at the vibrating mobile.
"That one," Sherlock responded softly, smile growing wide.
Sherlock eagerly answered the ringing mobile, but schooled his voice to sound as disinterested as usual. "What do you want, Lestrade?" he hissed, turning away from the living room to face the window once more. "I'm busy."
Sherlock heard the crackle of a heavy sigh. "Sherlock, thank God," Lestrade breathed. "I was half worried that it was you." Sherlock frowned. "I mean, I kind of knew, but being entirely mundane it's not like I could check for myself and you know how useless the forensics team is about these sorts of things. Well of course you know, you complain about 'their incompetence' every chance you get and-"
"Lestrade!" Sherlock interrupted sharply. The detective inspector was rambling and he only ever did that if he had had a late night or was worried over Sherlock's wellbeing, an unfortunate habit Sherlock seemed unable of breaking in the older man. "Slow down. Breathe. Tell me what happened." Sherlock turned away from the window and slowly walked to his chair. "What did you mean that you were worried 'it' was me?"
There was a short silence. Then Lestrade cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. We have another body. It seems to have the same set-up as Tyler Wadden. The thing is-"
"Tyler who?" Sherlock interrupted, eyes flickering from side to side.
Lestrade sighed again. "Tyler Wadden. He was the PA at the fighting ring. The murder that occurred just today. Anyways, the thing is, Sherlock, this body looks an awful lot like you. Scared the living piss out of me, it did," Lestrade muttered.
Sherlock froze, causing John to shoot him a worrying look. "The body looks…"
"Like you," Lestrade finished. "Spitting image, honestly. Well it would be if his eyes weren't the wrong colour. We almost didn't catch it, but with contacts and everything I was still half-convinced." Lestrade paused. "Look, can you come down here? We really need you. This looks like it's going to be a serial killer."
Sherlock smiled, quickly recovering from the newest bit of information. "Of course I'll come; how could I resist." Sherlock glanced over at John who was waiting patiently in the red armchair, looking perfectly at home. He raised an eyebrow and John nodded, answering the obvious question. "I'll have to be able to bring my assistant to the scene, mind. I couldn't possibly work without him."
This caught Lestrade off guard. "Your assistant? You mean the short bloke who was with you at the fight club? He's still with you?" Sherlock frowned and grit his teeth. There was another small silence. "Fine. But he can't be an obstruction to the case and if he contaminates anything in the scene, I won't stop Anderson from doling out punishment."
Sherlock snorted. "Anderson couldn't hurt anyone if he tried, much less an army veteran. Text me the address." Sherlock promptly hung up, turning to John and Mrs. Hudson. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but we'll have to be going now." Sherlock flashed her an almost sincere smile before snatching up his coat and pulling it on.
"What?" Mrs. Hudson squeaked slightly. "Both of you?" She shot John an incredulous look before fixing Sherlock with a worried frown.
"Yes, unfortunately," Sherlock answered, not sounding at all sorry. "Dr. Watson here is a necessity in the progression of this case. He provides valuable insight." Mrs. Hudson frowned a deeper and Sherlock couldn't help but grasp her shoulders and place a light kiss on her cheek. The frown was now a soft smile and Sherlock smiled back. He felt his mobile vibrate from inside his pocket. That was their queue. "Must dash. Come along John," Sherlock called as he descended the staircase.
John couldn't help the silly grin that split his face as he settled into the cab. Sherlock had admitted several times that John's presence was paramount and, despite the possibility it was just an excuse to get permission to be let on the crime scene, the very idea of Sherlock, the most independent and ingenious man John had ever happened upon, needing his help left John feeling giddy. Of course it didn't hurt that this was the most eventful day John had experienced for months. Even his magic was buzzing about with unusual vigor.
John chanced a glance at Sherlock and caught the taller man watching him. John quickly schooled his expression and cleared his throat. "So where are we going?" he asked softly.
"Crime scene," Sherlock answered brusquely. "Next."
John rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Not this again. I will not ask questions if you won't give me a proper answer." When Sherlock looked back at the doctor, he saw hardened resolve and gave a small nod.
"The address Lestrade sent me was for an apartment complex in Northern London. Located in a high income neighborhood," Sherlock began with a huff. "There's been another murder and Lestrade believes it is connected with the one from earlier today. He claims there is a similarity between the crime scenes and the condition of the bodies."
John nodded. "That would make sense."
Sherlock blinked and looked fully at John. "Really? How so?"
"Well, for one, after you examined Tyler earlier today," John began, stressing the victim's name, "you paced about muttering up odd phrases like 'not the first', 'much like the others', and 'fake powers'." Sherlock gave John an appraising grin. Not everybody would have caught what Sherlock had said, much less remembered it hours later. "In any case," John continued, "you admitted to having more knowledge on the case than you let on."
"Well done, John. Very well done," Sherlock praised.
John shifted in his seat, sitting just slightly straighter. "Alright then. Spill the beans."
Sherlock shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry?"
"You told me that you would divulge whatever information you had been hoarding. So you'd might as well do it now." John flashed a quick smile.
"I said no such thing," Sherlock bristled and frowned. "And I will do no such thing. I give such delicate information on a need-to-know basis only and you have no need to know."
John's smile grew steely. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I had assumed that you'd be willing to share important details with your potential partner. Especially if you have any desire for said partner to stick around." Sherlock's head whipped around as he fixed John with a wide-eyed stare, rage and surprise swimming in their light coloured depths.
After a minute of silent battles within Sherlock's mind, the detective frown then nodded. "Fair enough."
John leaned back into the car seat once more, settling comfortably with a large grin. "Go on, then. Spill."
Sherlock turned to face forward again, his eyes lingering on the doctor beside him. "Despite what Lestrade may think, these murders aren't the first of their kind; I myself have encountered three others that follow along the same modus operandi, all occurring over the course of five months with the most recent having been only half a month ago."
"So the killer is picking up speed," John murmured mostly to himself. Sherlock nodded.
"My thoughts exactly. As with the last victim, all of these were forced suicides, but the first few were discovered hours after the act, giving the residual magic plenty of time to dissipate. It wasn't until the third murder that the magical influence was discovered." Sherlock paused, staring out the window for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "The fact that one man alone forced these people to swallow the pill indicated additional aid. But knowing what I do about the killer…"
John waited patiently for Sherlock to continue. The silence stretched on. It wasn't until they arrived at the crime scene that Sherlock came back from within himself. They sat a moment in the cab, Sherlock trying to catch up to the present and John waiting for Sherlock to finish his thought.
When it was obvious that he wasn't going to, John quietly prompted, "What about the killer?"
Sherlock shot the doctor a confused look before inhaling sharply. "Ah, yes. Knowing what I do about the killer, this man is financially, and most likely mentally, unstable and probably thousands in debt. There is no way he could afford one amulet to aid him, much less more. And he definitely couldn't afford to purchase an amulet half as powerful."
John frowned. "So that means… someone must be sponsoring him; providing the amulets. Giving him the means to the end."
Sherlock hid a smile as he finally exited the cab. "And therein lies the question, John."
"Question?" John echoed as he followed the detective, grimacing slightly when he found his dependence upon the cane had returned.
"Yes," Sherlock whirled around to face the shorter man. "The question is: who would sponsor a man to murder people in cold blood?" John simply stared up at the detective, no answer coming to mind. Sherlock turned away again, striding toward the crime scene. A slightly manic smile split his face. "The game is on."
(A/N: In all honesty I was gearing up to make that little bedtime story of Mrs. Hudson's an all-out tale. But then I realised it was just unnecessary detail and edited it out. However, I am still contemplating writing it and maybe posting it on Fiction Press. Let me know what you think about the chapter, and the story idea, either via review or PM. Or don't review at all. Honestly it's up to you. :3
Also next chapter we get to meet Sally and Philip for the first time. :D I'm definitely excited.
PS - not dead. Thanks for checking in on me anyways, Sparticus.)
