Hello everyone! I just want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter, really. I've gotten a new laptop so I've been putting my files onto here, (including this story and others) and not really that I lost inspiration for this story, just that I've had somewhat of a bit of trouble writing this chapter. But… it's all written now. Thank you for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! It means a lot! And I hope you enjoy Chapter Nine!
Review Reply:
turtle-sloth-gal: I do watch NBC's Hannibal! And I know how the first case may seem alike to the one you are talking about (Except for the other details with Jacob Hobbs' murders, since he was a cannibal killing and eating girls like his daughter. Though with the other similarities that you've seen, I honestly did it without realizing it), however as you read the case the similarities are almost meaningless because it may look like it on the outside, but really, it's not the same (if that makes sense, because I did mention that the father wasn't the serial killer at all, it just looked as though it was). And also, I don't think I incorporated the name Jacob Hobbs. I have a thing with that, I don't like naming characters after others and when I looked back to see if I did, I couldn't see where I incorporated that name. I know incorporated Garret, but that has no relation to the show at all (since Captain Garret really came before I even began watching the show in the first place, I was a Fannibal toward the end of the show). So, I hope that answers your question and that you see this answer!
Chapter Nine: The Sweet Smell of Murder
Meet me and Lestrade at St. Bart's now. We have a case. –MW
It's Lestrade and I, not me and Lestrade. –SH
Arse, I think, looking over at a stoic faced Lestrade. He is staring pointedly at the speckled blonde, his brow furrowed and he almost looks like he is deep in thought. My phone goes off with a text and I look down, opening it to read.
This is John on Sherlock's phone. Don't mind him, what sort of case? –JW
Great, I would rather talk to John if Sherlock is already acting like an arrogant dick today. I type out why quickly, briefly looking up at the blonde before looking back down at the phone. I describe the small red dots, how there are no clear, or any kind of signs of struggle, there are no allergies that the victim has that would have caused this, and an unknown poison was found in her blood stream.
I show it to Lestrade to check if I haven't forgotten anything. He glances at my phone, but it almost seems like he barely reads it. He gives me a nod and then I take my phone back, pressing the send button. Lestrade looks over at me, "He's not going to come." Lestrade's tone almost sounded bitter as he spoke. He has been bitter ever since the autopsy has been sent to us. I glance over at him before he adds, "I still think this is incidental."
"I disagree." I tell him, turning my head forward. My eyes find Molly walking into the morgue, carrying a carton containing two coffees and one tea. I find myself smiling at the petite woman. "I was beginning to wonder where my coffee has been." I tell her, still smiling. I like Molly. She is a sweet girl, very innocent-like. Her light brown hair is tied back in a side ponytail and she wears little make-up on her narrow face.
"Sorry for the wait, Mere," Molly is the only one that calls me Mere in London so far. I love it. She takes out my coffee cup for me, handing it over. I take the cup in my hand, letting the steam lift up and touch my nostrils for a moment. Coffee is needed on an early morning like this. "The line downstairs was ridiculous."
"Don't worry about it, Molly." I tell her, taking a sip out of my coffee. The searing hot liquid spills into my mouth and I give a slight tremor. I have forgotten that the coffee here is stronger than what it should be. She hands the tea to Lestrade, who reluctantly accepts it.
The phone goes off after Molly places her cup of coffee on the table close by. I look down to open the message.
That sounds dull. –SH
"He's not coming, right?" Lestrade asks me. I glance over at him before I go to the phone.
The girl doesn't have any allergies and an unknown poison is in her system. Hardly dull, it actually sounds like a challenge. –MW
"He's coming, just needs some convincing." I tell him honestly. Sherlock would jump at the chance. It will be a challenge for him, I feel anyway. It would either be a challenge or child's play.
Lestrade shakes his head at me, "He can't even deny that it sounds like a reaction to something."
"How can that be possible?" I ask him abruptly, not getting over the fact that he is being too thick to realize that something isn't quite right. "She has no known allergies, and she has something in her system. That doesn't seem like an accident to me."
"She could have been bitten by something." Lestrade tries to reason with me.
"And not have known to be bitten? I'm sorry, Greg, but I think this girl wasn't stupid. If you were bitten by something, you would feel it. Especially if it is poisonous." I have never been bitten or stung by something (knock on wood). But I have seen situations on television where someone gets bitten or stung by poisonous creatures. It looks like it bloody hurts, like your body is convulsing with searing pain and your blood is boiling inside of you, you have the feeling like you are about to explode.
It may not actually feel like that, but bloody hell, it must feel something equivalent to that.
Molly interjects though, "Actually…" Both Lestrade and I look away from each other, my eyebrow raises to see Molly walking to the blonde on her table. I take a sip of my coffee, ignoring the phone as it beeps again, and follow her. Lestrade isn't too far behind. "I've seen something strange on her ankle that you both might want to have a look at."
Lestrade and I exchange a look before we follow Molly's hands at the bottom of the girl's body. She pulls the cloth slightly up, letting us view the body's feet and she points to something that we seemed to have both missed initially. I narrow my eyes to see bite marks just above her ankles. "Bite marks…"
"I was right… she was bit," Lestrade murmurs, looking over the wound, I could feel his head just over my shoulder. "But by what?"
I swallow thickly, thinking that I may actually believe Lestrade and that this may be a reaction. "Well," I start, shifting to get a better look at it. Molly steps aside to give me just enough room for both Lestrade and I. We examine the marks almost together and quietly I try to match an animal with it. I observe out loud, "They are too far apart to belong to a spider. I want to say snake, but how many snakes are there roaming around in the streets of London?"
I look up at Lestrade for the answer. His eyes are really just focused on the bite mark. He answers a minute later, "She may have a couple as pets, or her step-father might."
"Have you seen her room?" I ask him incredulously. "That is not a room of a person who keeps snakes as pets. That is a room of a person who doesn't keep anything as a pet." Her room is the neatest room I think I have ever walked into. The carpet hardly has a hair or speck of dirt on top of it, and her dressers are dusted to a shine that it's almost unbelievable. "The whole house doesn't look like a place where they keep snakes."
"One could have gotten in, escaped from a zoo." Lestrade tries to reason with me still. "We can't eliminate that."
"That sounds ridiculous, too. No one would have noticed a snake slithering in and out of a house?"
"Are you suggesting that this could be something else then?"
"I am suggesting that this could very well be murder and not an accident," I tell him, walking away from Lestrade to check my phone. I can feel Lestrade's eyes follow me as I do so. Grabbing my coffee off of a lab table and taking my phone in my hand, I add before taking a sip of my coffee, "If there is a snake involved, someone must have planted it there, but I don't think the cause of death is the snake, the cause of death is the unknown poison in her body."
"You think the poison has nothing to do with the actual snake bite?" Lestrade inquires to me like it is the strangest, most improbable situation ever. Of course not! Why would it be strange?
I shrug my shoulders at him before putting my coffee on top of the table. He shakes his head at me before an incredulous half-smile comes on his face as he scoffs at me. I ignore him, checking the text I've received from Sherlock before.
This better not be a waste of my time, Wilder. –SH
A smirk shows on my face. He's coming. So far, I think Lestrade isn't looking between the lines right now. I'm trying to look between the lines, and this just doesn't add up to me. After what I have seen from Julia Stoner's room, meeting her sister and her step-father, I can tell that what Lestrade is telling me isn't true. There is something missing, I know there is, but what? Nothing is adding up. If Lestrade gives me a clear understanding of how the snake has gotten into a house coincidentally and biting her and then leaving undetected, I will get a plane ticket for him and make him go somewhere on holiday.
Sherlock Holmes may see where I am coming from, and personally, for the first time, I am not going to be annoyed by his presence. I am actually excited to see what he thinks of this.
"What are you smirking about, Wilder?" Lestrade asks me curiously as I text him back, my smirk feeling as though it has grown bigger.
You weren't doing anything anyway. But, trust me, Holmes, you're time wouldn't be wasted ;) –MW
I don't feel like giving him a clear answer. I just retort, "What do you think?"
"You got him to come?" Lestrade says, sounding almost shocked. A moment later, I receive a text from Sherlock. I glance over at Lestrade to nod my head before opening it. I catch a glimpse of Molly actually revealing a small smile at the question before it quickly disappears. "How?"
"I convinced him." I tell him simply before I open the new text from him. It actually only took a sentence to convince him.
You mean your*, and don't ever do this ;). It makes you look like an idiot. –SH
Just to get under his skin, I text back, ;) –MW
To which, I do not receive anything back.
Soon, we are all in the morgue. Molly is standing near me as I am sitting in the corner with my cup of coffee in my hand. Lestrade is by the door, him thinking that this is a waste of his time and thinking that this case is already to be closed. I try to keep my smile to myself as I watch Sherlock examining the body we have found the other day, his light blue-green eyes searching her body for anything interesting. John is looking over the body too, his eyes catching the series of spots on top of the girl. Sherlock has his magnifying glass and is using it. "So, what do you—?" I start to ask, but Sherlock's voice actually cuts me off.
"Do people actually read your blog?" Sherlock asks. My face falls off and I look between John and Sherlock. Blog? What in the world is he talking about? I share a look with Molly, who doesn't seem as confused as me, before I look back at them.
He is talking to John though. John mutters back to him, "Where do our clients come from?"
"I have a website." Sherlock states to him, making me roll my eyes. No one, well, very few can even understand Sherlock's website. Assuming they are talking about John's blog, every twit who comes across it will understand it a lot better.
John retorts, still observing the girl's small spots, "In which you numerate 240 different types of tobacco, I should think no one is reading your website." I nearly choke on my coffee before spitting it back in the cup. My eyes look up to see Sherlock now not looking at the body at all. His eyes are now looking straight at John as he straightens his back. "All right!" John says, clapping his hands. Sherlock still is looking at John; he actually seems hurt by John's words.
My eyes go between Sherlock and John. John doesn't even notice how Sherlock is looking at him. He states what he believes, "Dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death, except for these speckles." John points at a few of them before his eyes meet mine. Lestrade moves slightly away from the door, fully attentive now. "Whatever they are," he adds to us before he finally looks up at Sherlock. I glance over at Molly, who is watching this quite eagerly (but also worriedly) before I look back. "Wha—?"
And before John could even ask what is wrong, Sherlock turns around with his long jacket billowing behind him and walks out of the morgue. My eyes actually widen almost in shock as everyone watches the door to the morgue swing shut, Sherlock disappearing behind it. John and Lestrade stare after it. Molly awkwardly looks down at her own cup of coffee and I slowly take a sip out of mine. "Did I say something wrong?" John asks all of us, but he looks directly at me with his brow furrowed.
He didn't notice Sherlock's face? No, I just think, maybe, he doesn't understand why Sherlock's face actually seemed hurt by the comment. And why exactly does he look straight at me? I shrug my shoulders, "I think you may have offended him."
"I have offended him?" John asks me. I guess it does sound pretty strange that it is Sherlock offended this time around. I nod my head slowly before I shrug my shoulders again. John almost seems like he is at a loss with what to do. It's safe for me to presume, I guess, that this doesn't happen often. John looks up at the ceiling as if asking it what to do. There is a silence that surrounds the four of us as of right now. "Maybe I should… go talk to him?" John says to me, sounding unsure.
I shake my head no, letting my feet be controlled by a force I am barely aware of. "No, you stay where you are, John. Look the body over, I'll get Sherlock." The words come out of my mouth so quickly that I could barely stop them, just like my feet.
"Are you sure?" John asks me with his eyebrow raised. I find myself muttering a yes before following where Sherlock has left. I can feel Lestrade's and John's eyes following me as I near the door.
When the door swings behind me, I look down the hallway, the quiet, lonesome hallway before I see Sherlock sitting on the furthest bench from the morgue. I allow a smile to show before I walk down the hallway to see him. Sherlock barely even looks up at me as I decide to sit down next to him. I lean back, crossing my legs over one another, and look over at him. He has a stoic expression on his narrow face and is staring at the wall.
I don't say anything, he doesn't say anything, and for some reason, I am perfectly content with it. But soon I break the silence, "You are such a child." Sherlock doesn't reply to me. I actually add, "Just because someone insults your site, does not mean that you are allowed to walk out like you're five years old."
"I don't get it," is all he replies to me, giving me a brief glance.
"Don't get what?" Sherlock likes to elaborate himself, why isn't he elaborating on what he means right now?
"My website shows the actual science of what I do, it is not to be romanticized like he is making it to be," Sherlock starts to me. I cross my arms over my chest and turn my head, biting my bottom lip. "His blog is making it seem like one big adventure. His titles to each entry are so simply put and he goes on saying 'and then we went here and then we went there'. It is appalling. He makes me sound like a character from a children's book rather than an actual person. He doesn't even show how I work it out!"
"Sherlock, not everyone understands what in the world is going through your head when you solve a case." I tell him honestly.
"People are so simple-minded." He says to me, sound exasperated. I tilt my head to listen to what this man has to say. "They don't think, they don't understand."
"Are you really that upset that people prefer John's blog over your website?" Sherlock narrows his eyes and glares over at me. I take a deep breath, why did I choose to come out here? Why didn't John come out instead of me? Because I just had to open my big mouth, a voice answers. "John has a point, the people who are your clients read his blog, if they understood what you did, how you did it… that will… take away the mystery of it." What in the world are you going on about? Sherlock's glare softens, making me assume that means I'm going on the right track.
I go on, "It's like… you're a… magician," Seriously, what in the bloody hell? I ignore the voice in my head, "if everyone knows your secrets, then they wouldn't think you're bloody brilliant with what you do because they know what you do already." I ruined it. That was an awful, awful analogy. A magician? Really? That's what I thought to compare him too.
"A magician?" Sherlock repeats. The analogy, though is awful, wouldn't have worked anyway. He's far too literal. "I am a consulting detective, I am not a magician. What I do doesn't involve illusions, it involves observing."
"I know," I shake my head, close my eyes, and admit again, "I know, that was just a really bad analogy. I'm not usually good at this sort of thing."
"Who was the one that sent you out to fetch me?" Sherlock asks me, with his brow furrowed. At least the hurt expression is off of his face, him pouting (although it was slightly cute), is an image that I would like out of my head.
I chuckle softly and say to him, "I actually came out voluntarily. John was going to, but I told him to keep looking at the body."
"You… came out voluntarily? Why?" For someone so smart, he is actually asking me why I had come out. But… honestly… I don't even know why myself, but I figured that he would be able to figure it out.
My face falls. Wow, why did I really come out here? I thought in there he was acting like a child, being over-dramatic and yet I, me, came out here to actually bring him back instead of letting John do it. I sit back and slump my shoulders, confused, starting to stare in front of me. I can still feel Sherlock's blue-green eyes staring at me, waiting for me to answer. Then I come up with a realization. I glance over at Sherlock briefly before looking forward again. When I left the morgue, I actually felt like I was obligated to. Obligated? Like I actually had to come out here to bring him back. Just like John wanted to do, go out and bring him back.
John is Sherlock's friend. This will mean that… we are past being acquaintances. I eventually tell him, "I think it's because I'm your friend."
"Friend?" Sherlock asks me incredulously, as if the idea of having me as a friend is repulsive.
"I believe that makes two in your collection."
"You consider me as a friend?" Sherlock asks me again.
I look at him curiously before stating, "And you don't?"
"More of a colleague than a friend." Sherlock admits to her.
"Colleague, friend, same thing." I reply to him, looking him up and down before I turn my head to look straight ahead. Sherlock doesn't say anything after, but I hear him mutter something that is more to himself rather than me. I let it go instead of bringing it up. I do ask him, "So… what do you think about the body? The cause of death?"
"Obviously the spots are a effect of the unknown poison you've mentioned in the blood stream." Sherlock starts, digging his hands in his pockets. "There is no entry marks, so she wasn't injected with anything and she has no known allergies."
"Did you see the snake bites on her ankle?" I ask him curiously, raising my eyebrow. He hasn't mentioned those to me yet. Sherlock glances over to me, his brow furrows. "Molly found snake bites on her ankle and her and Lestrade think that those are the cause of death."
I can see that Sherlock is absorbing that information, taking it in. His eyes go to the floor for a moment as he calculates in his head a new scenario. "Describe the type of house to me, did it look like a house that would have snakes around?"
"No, it was pristine. Really neat, she looked like the type that would get grossed out by snakes rather than keep them around." I tell him honestly. Julia Stoner was not, would have never been the type of person to even keep one. "There was also no cages or no food around the house that would be for a snake."
"What about her family members? Any of them seem the type?"
"Her step-father wouldn't have the time and her sister seems to be like her. They all lived together. She has a fiancé we have never met, but we've talked to him through the phone and he has a good alibi. We aren't sure if he kept snakes because we just found the bites a little after I texted you."
Silence, Sherlock still looks as though he is calculating something logical, but there isn't enough information for him to gather. "Do you think it's an accident?" I ask him softly. All I want to hear is him say what I think. I know there is something that is not adding up with the bites and the speckles. If you really observe, it's plain to see. Sherlock look over at me, my eyes are then locked with his blue-green eyes. I cannot get over those eyes. I don't understand how they even exist. In the blue-green abyss, I could see that he is making his speculations.
Soon, I see the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitch up into a smirk before he looks away. "I see why you wanted me here so badly." He murmurs, his voice quiet. I swallow before I purse my lips. "You wanted me to give my opinion so you can prove a point to Lestrade."
"What gives you that–?"
He cuts me off, "It's obvious. The tension in that room is so thick, you can barely even walk in it. The way you glared over at Lestrade time to time didn't go unnoticed and how uncomfortable Molly looked standing in the morgue with the both of you. Lestrade barely even looked at you. It is clear that you both had a disagreement before I arrived and it's clear that it's about this case.
"Okay… you got me there." I tell him slowly, leaning back on the bench and looking forward. "It was my idea to text you, not Lestrade. Lestrade thinks that this is an accident, I, however, do not."
"Well, anyone who looks at those bites would think that this is the cause of a snake, you don't?" Sherlock inquires to me curiously, but I can still feel his eyes looking at me and I don't really hear an incredulous tone… it sounds like this amuses him.
"I think the victim would have been in immense pain and someone would have heard her. To be honest, I don't think the poison and the snake are related at all." I haven't noticed until then that Sherlock's smirk actually grew. I furrow my brow at him and go on, "Those… those speckles were not there before she went to bed, so that would mean a snake would have slithered its way in the house and then out of the house with no one noticing… why are you smirking at me like that?"
Sherlock locks me again in a certain gaze and I take the moment to let my eyes scan his face to see if I can find the reason. "You are deducting."
"I'm paid to do that." I say to him, almost astonished that I actually heard him sounding impressed.
"But… it actually sounds logical, like you actually put some thought into what you were saying."
I breathe out slowly at the sound of that. "Is that really that surprising?" I ask him, sounding exasperated.
"Nowadays, yes, Scotland Yard usually hires the most useless of detectives and for once they hired somebody who seems like she has a slippery handle of what she is doing." Sherlock admits to me. Was that a compliment? It sounded like one, but when someone uses slippery in the sentence that kind of throws it off.
"I'm sorry," I start to him, shaking my head as I look away from him. "Was slippery supposed to be in that compliment?"
"You still called me." Sherlock answers me. I cannot control my eyes from rolling. I cross my arms over my chest as he goes on. "And you've called me because you know that something doesn't fit, but you can't figure out what. Lestrade isn't likely to see it, you are having difficulty to, and Donovan is busy having herself an affair with Anderson to really care."
"That's not very nice," I nearly scowl at him for mentioning Donovan. Donovan now is a friend of mine after her apology to me. We actually have had a lovely conversation together on the way to my flat and I have even have gotten to know her better over a cup of tea that I made in my flat. Apparently, I should never be making tea because I am not the best and the fact that I even made her a cup is shocking because tea sometimes makes me nauseous. Even the smell of it makes my stomach turn.
He ignores me as he goes on to say, "You needed another pair of eyes that can see what you can see, which is why you called me."
"I texted you. I would never waste my time having a phoned conversation with you, texting is a lot more faster."
"Indeed, but you still phoned me to prove a point to Lestrade." Sherlock states to me knowingly. I glance over at him, waiting for a smart retort to bubble up in my throat, but I have none, since that is true. "But, though I think it's strange just like you do with the snake bites, you have to admit that they do have something to do with the girl's death."
"If you say so." I mutter to him before I say, "But I think that is what we are supposed to think. The poison isn't known, if its snake venom we would've gotten the toxin in the test results. But nothing came up."
"So you are thinking that those bites are placed there to throw us off of the actual cause?" Sherlock asks me curiously. I open my mouth to answer the question, but he knows it without me having to say it. Before I can speak up, he murmurs, "Interesting… I'm going to have to see the house and meet whoever is inside of it, and are we going to be meeting the fiancé any time soon?"
"I have his number, I can call him to tell him that he will have to be interviewed in person and see if we can meet him in his home."
"If he really doesn't have anything to do with this he should be more than happy to cooperate." Sherlock states before rising up from the bench, I follow suit, brushing down my clothes. Our talk must have ended. "Call him now, I'll get Jo—."
"Sherlock!" We both turn away from each other in the direction of the morgue. John comes out of it with his phone in hand. He glances down at it several times before he comes over to us. I give him a small smile as he approaches us, Sherlock's face doesn't change. It stays with a lack of emotion. I pull out my phone as John's footsteps come closer to us. "I've found something that should help us with the case."
"I know about the snake bites, John." Sherlock states in his baritone voice, holding little to no emotion at all. I carefully glance at him before I begin to dial Percy Armitage's number. This man… I swear… he sounds like a five year old at times who doesn't get what he wants. I thought I have talked him out of what made him pout like a child. "Meredith was kind enough to tell me." Meredith? That is so nice, he actually didn't call me by my fictional last name. It's strange hearing it from him.
"Oh… okay, well I thought that we should check the local zoos to see if there are any snakes that have gone missing." John says to Sherlock.
"You can do that." Sherlock states shortly before flashing me a glance that either says call the number or something entirely different. I have no intentions on actually ringing the fiancé right now. I'm far too interested in this. When Sherlock turns back to face John, he says, "However, like my colleague," he emphasizes the word colleague far too much, "I think that would be a waste of time."
John looks between the two of us. I think he gets the hint that I am actually the colleague in question. He asks the both of us, "You two… don't think this is an accident?"
"We think it is a murder." I answer the question before Sherlock could.
"The obvious route is that it's an accident, but when you look at the details and think it through, you see that it is murder." Sherlock says a little bit too coldly. "So, while you are looking into the local zoos along with Lestrade, I will be looking into the family along with Wilder."
"Wait, what?" Both John and I say at the same time. We glance at each other uncertain before looking back at Sherlock who seems not phased at all by our confusion. I have never agreed with that! I have never even thought that he would get a sort of idea like that.
"Well, since Meredith and I are on the same mind-set, it would only seem logical that we both go and look into the family for any possible motives and connections to the homicide. You and Lestrade are most likely convinced this is the doing of an accident, though it is highly unlikely that a snake could slither inside a house and outside without being noticed by the others." Sherlock explains, but somehow I could barely wrap my head around this situation. He is ditching John to go with me and look into this. This is mostly due to the fact that John said something about Sherlock's website instead of praising it like Sherlock thought he should.
Meanwhile, John was actually telling the truth and that no one, except for one or two people maybe, likes Sherlock's website. This would also make the tension between Lestrade and I even greater. I can't even think of a way to get out of this because I know I would just be dragged right into it. John does seem to be taken aback with this, just like this takes me aback, however, I see him reluctantly nod at the idea.
John then states, "Fine… fine then, Lestrade and I will check into the local zoos while you… and Mere will check into the family. But we will meet at the end of today to exchange what we find."
"Oh… we might, we might not. A girl is murdered, there is hardly time to do that sort of—."
"We'll meet at 221b." I cut Sherlock off, knowing that his grudge is taking over his words just a bit. I feel Sherlock's glare at the side of my head. "And we will all have a nice, late lunch with each other and discuss what we have found, won't we, Sherlock?"
"I don't eat during a case." Sherlock says, his eyes narrowing at me. I tilt my head at him and nearly huff at the comment. That is the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard. But, hell, I kind of do believe it. Sherlock is so lean that the coat sometimes doesn't fit him right, especially when we have had our last case. Sherlock's frame thinned out from the first time we have met in the airport parking lot. "Digestion slows me down."
"And just having caffeine with nothing to really back it up will help you?" I retort back to him. He doesn't reply to me. But I do say, "If that's the case then, Sherlock, we will eat and discuss while you just watch us eat until you decide to join us. Is that a good idea, John?" I turn my head to him and he almost seems like he wasn't paying attention to us in that moment.
He's brought out of whatever kept him quiet for a minute once I've said his name. He nods his head though and without really know what I have asked him, he replies, "Yes."
"Good then. So, I will phone you and Lestrade when we're done. Ready?" I look over at Sherlock, who already seems like I've unnerved him. What, already? I didn't even say anything annoying last time I checked. Sherlock nods his goodbye to John before he nods to me to go. I smile at John before I turn on my heel, walking with Sherlock to leave St. Bart's.
"Call the fiancé now and all of her other family." Sherlock tells me, not even looking over at me.
"Will do, Holmes." Then, with that, I dial the fiancé number that I've saved in my phone and wait for him to pick it up. I glance over at him as the phone on Percy's end rings and once I hear a deep voice on the other end, I say, "Hello, Percy. This is Detective Wilder calling. A colleague and I are heading over to your flat right now to have a word. Is it convenient right now?"
"It doesn't matter if it's convenient." Sherlock mutters, I pretend to have not heard it. Sherlock opens the door to the stairs, but doesn't hold it open for me. I dodge it as it quickly closes, almost hitting me in the face while doing so. This is going to be an interesting day.
But when is a day spent with Sherlock not an interesting one?
I feel like I didn't write Sherlock in this chapter right at all. Maybe because I haven't been writing him for a bit? If you see something wrong though, like if he is OOC, please let me know. Like I felt at some points he was, but other points he wasn't. I don't know, maybe it's just me.
Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Don't know when the next update will be, but hopefully it will be soon! I am have to start getting ready for my first year at college! AHHH! I can just feel the anxiety already and I didn't even start the book assignment they gave me (It's an autobiography. If anyone wants to do it for me, I'll honestly pay you).
See you next time!
~Tiana