CASE TWO- THE CARDBOARD BOX

CHAPTER NINE- CRUSHING In which John and Sherlock finally resolve their issues, and admire some ears.

John was a little more than irritated. It had been two days since he had gone to see Harry, and he hated that Sherlock had won the argument. Granted, he usually won, but that was beside the point. John knew he was being childish in giving Sherlock the silent treatment, but after the first few hours, Sherlock had joined in, so that was besides the point as well.

They were both sitting, reading, and drinking tea, but due to the argument, John was doing this in the kitchen. After realizing that he had read the same sentence more than five times, John slammed the newspaper down on the table and glared at Sherlock, who seemed perfectly at ease with the situation. 'This is getting silly,' John thought.

"You're right."

John jumped. It took him a couple seconds to realize it was Sherlock who had spoken. "What?"

"It is getting silly," Sherlock replied.

John sat up. "Did you- did you just read my mind?" He whispered.

"Its written all over your face, John. I can read you like a book," Sherlock said, without looking up from his paper. John was about to reply when his phone and Sherlock's dinged at the same time. It was a text message from Lestrade.

'I have some ears for you to look at.'

John stood up and put on his coat while Sherlock grabbed his scarf. "I'm afraid to ask," he muttered.

...

After a good fifteen-minute ride in a cab, John and Sherlock arrived at a brick house, which had a generous lawn and gardener trimming the rose bushes along the picket fence.

They rang the bell, and it was opened by a little girl in a My Little Pony t-shirt. She turned around and yelled down the hallway, "Mummy, two strange men are here!"

John turned to Sherlock, who had wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Its a good thing you're not going to be a father someday," he said.

"Who told you that?" Sherlock replied.

"It's written all over your face, Sherlock."

It was then that Lestrade came to the door. "Come in," he said impatiently. "I don't think I can stand this woman a second longer."

He led them inside a beautifully furnished living room, where a young woman was sitting, hands folded neatly in her lap. "Have you come for them? They're in the shed, the dreadful things. Just take them away, will you?"

"You would be talking about the... ears, I suppose?" John asked.

She shuddered. "Of course. Now please, just take them."

Lestrade sighed. "Of course we will, but I wanted Sherlock here to see them first."

"Why here?"

"In case he wanted to ask any questions."

"I don't know anything!" She sobbed. "I just want to get them off my property."

Sherlock didn't seem to notice her outburst. "Well then, we'll just have a look at them," and left the woman crying into her hands.

Lestrade led them out to the shed in the backyard, and took out a cardboard box, brown paper, and the string the box must've been tied with. Sherlock examined to box, paper, and string very closely for a minute, before taking a seat on the edge of the shed and turning to John. He held up the string. "Tell me your observations, John," he said.

John looked the string closely. "It's tarred," he said. "And the knot is peculiar. Like a sailor tied it."

"Good," said Sherlock, and held up the paper, "and this?"

John looked at it the same way, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He shrugged.

"Smells like coffee," Sherlock said, sniffing it. "The address- here- not very neat handwriting, and the name of the city has been incorrectly spelled-i instead of y- and then written over. So were dealing with a man, limited education, not familiar with this town."

He took out the ears as he spoke, looking them over. "Not a pair. Double murder, then."

"How do you know it's a murder?" Lestrade asked. "It could easily be a practical joke, some medical students sending them from labs."

Sherlock smiled. "Oh, but its not, see? If these ears were from a lab, there would be preservatives in them to keep them from rotting, which there isn't. And they're also quite fresh, and cut off with a blunt instrument, which wouldn't happen if a student had done it."

John felt a thrill run through him at the excited tone in his friend's voice. 'Dear God,' he thought.

Sherlock started talking, and John realized the beginning of one of his rants. "We know that this woman has led a quiet and respectable life here. Why on Earth, then, should a criminal sent her proof of his crime, because, unless she is a rather talented actress, she knows even less of the case than we do?"

He picked up the ears once more and studied them. "One of these is female, small and pierced. The other is a man's, sunburnt, but also pierced. Obviously dead, or we would have heard about them before now. Today is Friday, the packet was posted on Thursday, and therefore, the murderer happened on Tuesday or Wednesday, more likely Wednesday, judging by the freshness. We can take it that the sender of our lovely package is our man, but he must have had some strong incentive to sending her this package. It must have been to tell her the deed was done, but why? To hurt her? But in that case she would know who it was, and that wouldn't make sense, because if she wanted to shield the murderer, she could easily get rid of the ears, and if she didn't want to save him, she would've given a name," About halfway through the rant his voice had lowered to a mutter, and John had to lean in to hear. Suddenly Sherlock jumped up and started walking quickly towards the house.

"I have a few questions for our client."

As Sherlock and John walked in the back door, the woman was telling a police officer, "You can stop questioning me! I'm convinced the package wasn't meant for me!"

"I'm coming to the same conclusion," said Sherlock, making the woman jump and spin around in her chair. Sherlock sat down next to the woman, and John watched his face get even more joyous as he watched her profile. "You have two sisters?"

"How do you know that?"

Sherlock jerked his thumb at a picture over his shoulder of the woman with two women who were unmistakenly related to her.

"Why, yes, those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary."

"And this," said Sherlock, pointing to another, smaller frame, "Is the youngest, with a sailor, by his dress, who is her...fiancée?"

"You're quick to observe."

"Its my job."

The woman sighed. "You're right. That's Jim Browner. She was married to him, I think... two months after that photo was taken. They used to be very close, but now I think they're on the verge of divorce."

Sherlock frowned. "Why is that?"

"Well, he drinks. Or he used to, they never call anymore."

"And your other sister?" Sherlock asked. "I'm guessing you don't live together?"

"Oh, no! We tried, but she has an awful temper and she had to move out."

Sherlock thought for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something, when Lestrade rushed in.

"We've got bodies."