Sorry so very late with this.
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked down at the body. After the time stuck in 221B he was trying to readapt to life outside where he could hear and see the evil. He knew he had to ignore the evil or he would never be well again. John took his hand and put the other hand on Sherlock's elbow to give the appearance of helping him walk, not holding hands for comfort.
"Are you sure you're ready?" John whispered, not taking his eyes off the body as he and Sherlock looked down.
"You said yourself, this is the only way. Well, the hardest, longest lasting, and healthiest way." Sherlock smiled sarcastically, almost in his normal way. It was strained and forced, like someone tired of hiding something but continuing to do so anyway.
"Well, let's get to it then." John smiled and Sherlock started to read the corpse. He studied her for a good fifteen minutes, a little longer than normally needed.
"What have you got, Freak? We haven't got all day." Sally Donovan growled.
"Leave him be." John muttered.
"Alright, alright." Sally put her hands up in defense. Without preamble, Sherlock started telling his findings.
"She is a blonde, in her early twenties or even late teens, leaning to the latter. She has a boyfriend, not yet fiancé hasn't said yes to him. She's a psychology major and is in her second semester of her prerequisites. She fought and lost, obviously. Made to look like a suicide, and might have gotten away with it if the murderer hadn't lost control. Check into local colleges and see if anyone has been reported missing with that description." Sherlock stood up and smiled.
"Where did you pull that out of? John's …" Sherlock cut her off with a wave of his hand as John stiffened in anger. Sherlock moved away from John, tapping his hand to signal that he was alright.
"Nobody is born with pink hair so she has to have a natural color underneath. Pink of this color shows up best in blonde hair. She may have had it dyed blonde beforehand, but based on the damage being only in the dyed area, the small percentage of blonde roots is her natural color. As to her age, the worry lines suggest stress because the rest of her feature screams younger than thirty. Who is underage and stressed to this point, an outcast college student, remind me of that later." Sherlock paused. As if he needed reminding. He knew they would.
"Remind you of what?" Sally asked.
"Outcast college student, now, too much work, not enough play. Normally stops after first year of prerequisites. Normally that comes back around last year of school, first year of work. To the fiancé, she has an engagement ring on her right ring finger and her high school ring on her wedding finger. She is still young and clinging to her childhood, so she is struggling with the decision. "Sherlock nodded and looked back at the body.
"You are brilliant." John muttered.
"Or he is a loon with a lot of lucky guesses." Sally said.
"Guesses lead to conclusions. I guess that if we put these shoes with this shirt then they will sell to the middle age female in London with exuberance." Sherlock grinned, gesturing to Sally's outfit.
"Shut it, Psycho." She snarled.
"Not a psycho, socio." Sherlock grinned then turned to Lestrade, "Must she be here?" He asked.
"Yes, she must. Please continue, and Donovan, shut it. How do you know she fought?" Lestrade unfolded one arm, gestured for him to continue.
"Her finger nails." Sherlock said.
"They look normal to me." John said.
"If you look close, she has six layers of polish on that are seeable. Different colors. She probably paints them daily, since her nails weren't dry when she was attacked, the paint curled back. As she fought." Sherlock pointed.
"Alright, that means DNA." Lestrade said.
"No. Her nails were long before and are now raggedly cut, not broken off." Sherlock rubbed his eyes and inhaled sharply, "The murderer saw that she was not going to stop fighting for life long enough to bleed out, so he strangled her. Look into missing girls at colleges in the area." Sherlock nodded.
"Wait, you told us to remind you that she was an outcast." Sally said. He smiled, knowing he had peaked her interest.
"Outcast, yes. This gives us evidence of her major." Sherlock started.
"How do you even know she was an outcast?" Sally asked.
"Don't interrupt! You're getting as bad as Anderson. She was definitely an outcast. Her hair color looked cool to some people but it is not natural so either she thought she was gorgeous and it didn't matter what she looked like, or others looked down on her and she didn't care what she looked like. Latter since her nails also are always vibrant colors that do not match her outfits. That was not the point I was trying to make." He shook with anger and mental exhaustion.
"Come on, Sher. You need to hurry so you can eat." John muttered.
"Yeah, Sher, hurry up." Sally chuckled. John stepped towards her and Sherlock's hand shot up and clotheslined him across the chest. Sherlock gave John a look and John stepped back.
"Her major is one that doesn't have very many followers so less likely to make friends. She also may be hesitant to make friends in her major because most people in her major are weird or messed up like she is. Automatically this means two things. Law enforcement or psychology, and guessing by her lack of athleticism, psychology. Check and see if a Blonde, Psychology major with dyed pink hair in her late teens early twenties with only the first semester of prerequisites. I will be at home if you need anything." Sherlock waved his phone, indicating they should text, then turned and walked away. John ran to catch up with the quickly retreating Sherlock.
"Sherlock, why do you let them treat you like that?" John asked.
"Like what? Like I'm a freak? I let them treat me like that because I know humans are scared by things they do not understand. Donovan does not understand how, even though I am a sociopath, that I have such a close friend. Therefore, she tries to run you off by offending you. Anderson doesn't understand how I can work so little and do everything so much better than he can. Lestrade just needs my help and is scared by the fact that he doesn't want to understand. All this is nothing to me." Sherlock inhaled sharply again, "Take me home."
John hailed a cab and Sherlock slept the whole way to 221B then walked up the stairs and fell back asleep. The anxiety that something dreadful was going to happen had drained him. John had pulled his mattress into Sherlock's room so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. He lay there and quietly contemplated Sherlock. They had gone to see a physician about Sherlock's condition and the news wasn't too bad. He was hurt but healing well, in all ways except of the mind. He was unstable and the physician recommended a psychiatrist. John had been taking him weekly without anyone else knowing.
John knew he should tell Mycroft about the psychiatrist but Sherlock had made him promise not to. Mycroft would worry, then tell their mother, then she would call and worry making Sherlock worry. This was a great unhappy wheel that Sherlock did not want to turn. Sherlock flipped over and his hand gently searched the edge of John's neighboring bed. John took Sherlock's hand and Sherlock stilled, lightly snoring.
What was John supposed to make of this? Was it because John had been the one who saved Sherlock? No, Sherlock had saved himself. Was this because John had taken care of him during this time of stress? John shook his head and slowly drifted. His thoughts started to just swirl without meaning, letting ideas leak into the place his mind had wandered to. Maybe Sherlock needed John. From the start Sherlock had been strangely clingy to the fact John was there. Maybe the separation Sherlock went through was being manifested in this new form of clinginess.
"That makes no sense." John whispered aloud. The best, most logical explanation was that when Sherlock was captured, John had been so close. Sherlock associated separation from John with bad things. A matter of bad circumstances. That was it. John concluded, that was it.
Sherlock stirred and opened his eyes to see John sleeping on the bed beside his own. John snored slightly. The first few nights John had stayed in the room things had seemed to be getting better. After the incident with the shower, Sherlock had realized he couldn't go anywhere without John. Couldn't do anything without John. He could probably, loosely diagnose a minor agoraphobia. He feared he would have a meltdown in a public area and John would not be there to help him. He would be vulnerable and his soldier would not be there to fight off the bad emotions and people. Maybe this was more like being paranoid.
John stirred and lifted their intertwined fingers to look at his watch. He moaned and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
"What's wrong, John?" Sherlock mumbled.
"I have to go to Harry's today and make sure she is alright." John huffed.
"Must you?" Sherlock whined.
"I must. She is so reckless that one time I skip out and she'll blow half her block up." John sighed again.
"I'm coming with you." Sherlock jumped up so he was standing on his bed then walked onto John's bed, across John's chest, and to his closet to dress. John was shocked at how little Sherlock weighed as he walked across him.
"Harry hates you, Sher." John said, loudly.
"I know that. I'm not dumb, just dependent. What's the worst that could happen?" Sherlock grinned over his shoulder then glanced out the window, "Going to be cold today."
"Everything can go wrong! She'll either kick us out, or ban us from coming back, or she'll just kill us on the spot." John sat up on the bed, his blanket falling to the floor.
"Well, if you don't want to skip out then I am coming with you." Sherlock muttered to the closet. John sighed and flopped back onto the bed.
Thank you to everyone for the reviews. I know I am awful at keeping up withmy stories. I am trying my hardest. Thanks for still readin if you have made it this far.
Thanks to drjamband, FleStanhope, power0girl, andMclennarrson-1964 for your reviews of chapters 8 and 9! Loved them!