Two officers were stalking the church night and day, everyone who had been in touch with the young victims shortly before their untimely deaths were taken in for questioning, autopsy reports were re-read and Molly Hooper the pathologist who had performed most of them was called to give her opinions once more. Scotland Yard was a busy beehive of activity and everyone could practically hear the clock ticking.
…
The man's hands were twitching as he heard her beg for him to leave her alone when he was removing her clothes. It seemed harder this time somehow. The voice in his head was louder than ever before and it seemed so distracting.
"Please don't, I… Please!" she sobbed as he was struggling with unhooking her corset. She froze completely as his hands worked on removing her skirt and then her underwear leaving her naked on the clammy and grimy floor. She was shaking violently as he bound her hands.
"Let me go, please" her eyes were wet and the makeup she was wearing was running down her cheeks. She was reduced to a sobbing infant. "I won't tell anyone, I promise… please" she continued to plead as he hung her from the water pipe.
…
Holmes' Mind Palace session ended abruptly at the voice of his landlady, Mrs. Hudson.
"My wall!" She shrieked and Sherlock groaned. He had her on a semi-permanent mute. Why could her silly attachment to the bloody walls take him right out of it? Not like this particular wall was even in a good state… bullet holes, spray paint and what not had damaged it over the years.
"I'm trying to work!" he looked at her with annoyance painted on his face. She shook her head and smiled.
"I know, must be good to be back at it! Ooh you have a picture of that sweet girl there". Mrs. Hudson pointed to the wall she had been so concerned about before. "What was her name again?". Sherlock was rarely in the mood for her goings on, this time he couldn't stand for it.
"Mira Jensen, she's been murdered. If you'll excuse me!" he pointed at the door, wanting to be left alone. The elderly, kind lady turned white as a sheet.
"Such a shame, and she seemed so fond of you too" She knew when to leave him alone and dashed off. Sherlock was re-entering his mind palace but couldn't find Mira anywhere. He was searching high and low.
…
Not long after he had left the damp basement he made it to St. James Church. He was shivering as he kneeled and began praying for God to have mercy upon the poor misled young woman.
The voice was almost instantly turned down to a whisper as he entered the building. He gasped a sigh of relief.
…
The minister had nothing to add and the people who were photographed and recorded entering and leaving the church didn't seem out of place, if only they had something to go on, anything… not even a strand of hair did they have.
Celia Yellow grunted as she added the newest victim to the profile. She found herself nervously awaiting Molly Hooper's report as soon as she would be finished in the morning, and even more so what Sherlock Holmes could add to it. If he could? She knew how much she struggled seeing her daughter's best friend… but then again, Holmes certainly wasn't most people.
…
Sherlock's hands were shaking as he got the old shoebox out from under his bed. He was internally cursing his body's betrayal and only nearly managed to stop the shaking as he heard the items inside the box rattle. He brought it to his kitchen; or rather his lab. Especially when he was on a case. He opened it and sat himself down as he carefully placed the items on the little table space that was left among his mess.
A vial of blood, a phone, a note, a high heel in pink leather, a purple plastic hairbrush, an old teddy bear, and a rusty razor blade in a zip bag. His hands began shivering again as he looked at the items lined up before him. He hadn't looked at them for 4 months now. They were hers, Mira's, and he had collected them after she left him so suddenly only leaving a note telling him not to look for her. Which he of course did… and yes he found her but he couldn't make himself contact her or make it known that he kept tabs on her. Not after what happened.
He didn't hear John coming down, wanting a glass of water as he, too, couldn't sleep. John leaned against the sink as he drank his water; watching his friend carefully.
"Are those her things?" John's voice was rusty and that along with the slightly puffy eyes and the red mark on his cheek which was from a nervous tick also known as self-comforting. Sentiment, something Holmes had always been strongly against. It was good for nothing. Told Sherlock John had been crying.
"Yes" Sherlock's voice was lower than he intended.
"Are you okay?" John stepped closer and put the glass down.
"Yes" Sherlock repeated his previous answer in the exact same tone. "You seem to care an awful lot though" his greenish eyes looked up at his friend, again making his deductions "You're the one who's been crying so I suppose I should be asking you?" there was a spite and a distance in his voice.
"I'm not the only one, mate" John's face softened as he swallowed. He looked directly into Sherlock's wet eyes.
In that second Sherlock felt it and it infuriated him. He was wiping his cheeks with slightly shaky fingers; his face contorting in disgust. John handed him a tissue and he ripped it out of the doctor's hands and dried his eyes furiously. Water softly trickling down his pale cheeks from his eyes, dripping onto the table. What in the bloody hell was going on?
"I got some of the dust in my eyes, I've been successful at hiding this box from Mrs. Hudson…" he dismissed the cause of the waterworks. Most of all to himself. This didn't happen. This was not him. Had he been drugged? Was he ill? His mind was going into overdrive trying to find a likely cause.
"Mira is dead, Sherlock, you're having an emotion" John told him walking over to him "This is normal, it's part of the grieving process" he now stood right next to the world famous consulting detective who was shuddering, cringing and still had tears in his eyes.
"Normal…" Sherlock grunted, the brim of his nose crinkling in frustration.
"Come here, you machine" John had used that word before but this time it was a soft, caring chuckle from him as he opened his arms. Sherlock looked at him confused. "I know I need a hug after today, it's going to help stop the tears" John was careful as he said this. He understood Sherlock's reservations and boundaries but he also knew he needed a friend right now.
Sherlock reluctantly got on his feet slowly, still shivering as he let the shorter man put his arms around him. He wanted to push him away somehow. Hugs. Oh how he hated that gesture of sentiment. But he was desperate, he wanted the water to stop running down his cheeks. It had to stop!
He closed his eyes and felt John practically cling to his taller frame, gently rubbing his back.
"I think it's enough now…" Sherlock whispered and patted John on the back. John was reluctant to let go but he did out of respect. Sherlock's tears had stopped at last.
"Mira hated hugs too" John bit into his lip. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he glared straight into John's.
"You hugged her?" he snapped
"Well, yes… but not like that" John Swallowed. "I thought you had figured that out, about the hug by the way… Thought you'd seen it on her dress or my shirt or something…" John was still smiling softly at his best friend.
"You had feelings for her" Sherlock tilted his head.
"I was worried about her, as a doctor and as a human being. She was in a bad way" the army doctor shrugged. "How did you feel about her? Or should I say think" he rephrased himself. He knew Sherlock wasn't a fan of feelings…
"She was an asset" he let him know dryly.
"I think it was a bit deeper than that" John was treading the ground carefully
"Are you… jealous?" Holmes frowned. John gasped.
