Chapter 21
John
A/N: I had some extra time (crazy, I know, right?) this weekend, and I started working on this. New, original case! My first attempt at writing mystery. Please enjoy this! Tell me what you like/don't like, even if you think it's horrible and I should redo it.
Let's see if you can identify the geeky reference in this chapter! I think I might add more references, how does that sound? Just to be clear, this is NOT a crossover, I just think it would be fun if there were subtle hints to other various fandoms. Review and tell me if you find it!
To Sherlock's surprise, he thinks that caring isn't awful. It's certainly not as bad as he'd thought it would be. How interesting. Sherlock studies the teenager in front of him, contemplating his feelings.
Rose has three more nightmares that night. Sherlock plays his violin to calm her down without waking her. It works. Rose stills herself, and she becomes calm and peaceful every time Sherlock's music wafts it's way into her ears. He tries not to play loudly, because he knows that John is attempting to get some much-deserved rest, but after Rose's second nightmare, John stomps down the stairs.
"What do you think you're doing?" John whispers loudly, trying to not wake Rose.
Sherlock gently places his bow and violin on the desk. "I was playing violin."
"Yes, I bloody well know that! It woke me up! Can you be a bit quieter?" John asks. Sherlock nods yes, and John retreats into his bedroom.
God, he plays his violin at four in the morning, when some normal people are trying to get some sleep! It's bloody annoying! I'm gonna talk to him about that in the morning, when I'm well rested and can yell at him properly.
But John finds that he can't get to sleep after that. He's wide awake, unable to fall asleep. He stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours. Suddenly, he hears Rose calling out.
"No!" she cries in panic. John springs out of bed. Nightmares? Oh, no. He hears her cry out again. John prepares to wake her up, but he stops before he reaches his bedroom door. He hears Sherlock's violin play a quiet song. Rose calms down, because he can't hear her shrieks of panic and pain. John puts two and two together, and he chuckles to himself.
Git was playing the violin for her. He could have told me, John thinks indignantly. Then I wouldn't have gotten mad at him. That's not Sherlock, I guess. Sherlock is still playing.
Oh well. I might as well fall asleep to his tune. John crawls back into his bed and falls into a peaceful rest.
oOo
Rose awakens later that morning, around eleven. She opens her eyes and finds Sherlock reading the paper in his leather chair.
"You let me sleep," she sighs, letting her eyes slip closed.
"Obviously."
"Why?"
"You are still young. You need to sleep," Sherlock says. Rose's eyes snap open in fury.
"Sleep? Do you know what sleep means, Sherlock, to me?" Rose says in a dangerous voice. The detective rolls his eyes at the girl.
"Is it nightmares?" he asks belittlingly.
Rose stands up. She inhales a deep breath to keep her rage under control. "No, Sherlock. It means that I have to relive the worst moments of my miserable life. Do you understand why I wouldn't want that? Every time I close my eyes, I see them! Every. Single. Time!" Rose can't stop herself from shouting the last part. Sherlock snorts.
"Get over yourself."
The teenager's eyes widen fractionally. "Excuse me?" she asks incredulously.
"I said 'Get over yourself'." Sherlock sneers. "You've dealt with this for so long. You can handle it by yourself."
John speaks at that. "Sherlock. Room. Now." He uses his military voice for saying that. Both geniuses swivel their heads to stare at the army doctor. Neither had heard him come downstairs.
Sherlock gapes at him, then grimaces. He folds his arms and is about to protest when John says, "Now." He doesn't yell. He doesn't shout. But Rose has never seen any man look so intimidating in only a nightshirt and boxers.
Sherlock meekly goes to his room, and John follows him. Rose grits her teeth and aggressively opens the window to the roof, almost cutting herself on broken glass. She scales the fire escape and paces the roof of 221 Baker Street, only seeing red.
"Who does he think he is? He doesn't know what I've gone through. Can't expect him to understand. God, why is so infuriating about it?" she asks herself. She continues to pace the roof. "Funny. I thought he actually cared."
oOo
"What was that?" John asks the taller man angrily.
"She didn't want to go to sleep earlier. I played my violin, and she fell asleep. She was mad at me this morning because of it," Sherlock answers.
"Okay, but why was she screaming at you?" John asks, eyebrow raised.
"She seemed to think that explaining to me that she sees every person she's killed every time she closes her eyes would extract a sympathetic response from me. Or at least tell me to shut up."
"And did it?"
"No."
"What did you say to her?" John asks, mentally face palming himself. He isn't handling this so well. I need to show him how to do this right.
"I told her to get over herself."
Now John's jaw drops. "You told her what?" he asks, shocked that even Sherlock would be so uncaring.
Sherlock sighs dramatically. "I don't like to repeat myself, John."
"So you actually told her to get over herself?" John clarifies.
"Yes!" Sherlock answers exasperatedly. John shakes his head in disbelief.
"Why would you do that, Sherlock?"
"Well, she needs to stop whining about it."
"Sherlock, she never whines about it! If anything, she won't speak to us about it! Before that stupid Game started, when did she ever bring up any mention of her life before us, Sherlock?" The detective doesn't miss a beat.
"Never."
"So why are you being so unkind to her?"
"John, she needs to learn to control her emotions. She can't function properly in this line of work if she looses control every time someone is brusque to her."
John is properly mad now. " 'Function properly in this line of work'? Sherlock, she's a teenager! Not a bloody robot!"
"But she can get hurt if she lets it get to her! If I can get her to deflect the comments and isolate the pain, then she won't be hurt! Don't you see?"
And the pieces click in John's mind. "So you want to prevent her from getting hurt?" Sherlock nods.
"Yes, if she's not hurt, then she can function just fine. She will have the brainpower to figure out cases and puzzles without feeling anything."
John almost smiles. He almost had it there. He just covers his concern for her with the excuse of the cases. As if I couldn't tell.
"Okay, Sherlock. You want to prevent her from getting hurt. But I don't think being icy to her is going to help. She's hurt right now, and she's been hurting. If you don't want her hurt, then you have to heal her first."
Sherlock looks amazed that Rose might be hurting right now, at the current moment. So she can hide her feelings even from the consulting detective.
"Okay, I understand your motives, Sherlock. But you're grounded. You can't come out of your room until I say otherwise. Think of other ways that you can help Rose."
"Grounded?" Sherlock is confused. "What does that mean?"
John has to bite back a laugh at the look on Sherlock's face. He straightens his mouth into a frown and says in his military voice, "It means that you can't leave this room. Mobile." John holds his hands out for the device.
"But-"
"Now!" John says with emphasis. Sherlock grumbles and defiantly drops the phone on the floor, making John have to bend down and pick up the mobile.
"Thank you. Pound on the door if you need anything." John exits the room and shuts the door, cell phone in hand. He looks around for Rose, then spots the open window. He sticks his head out and shouts, "Rose! Come down! He's grounded!"
Rose scrambles down and back into the flat after she's heard those words. "What?" she asks with a grin on her face.
"Yes. He's grounded. We have the flat to ourselves," John says, smiling because Rose is smiling.
"Alright!" Rose says. She heads into the kitchen. "Would you like some food?"
"Actually, yes. Anything is fine. I've got to get changed." John looks down at his boxers. Rose giggles, pointedly looking anywhere but John's boxers.
oOo
A couple hours later, after a delicious meal of reheated pizza, with John clothed in jeans and a T-shirt, the buzzer rings. Rose answers it to find a young man on their doorstep.
"Hello, can I help you?" she asks courteously.
"Yeah, I have a case for Sherlock Holmes," the boy answers in a politely arrogant tone.
Rose grins. "This way, please." She leads him upstairs and explains to John, "Case." Rose motions for the boy to take a seat in John's chair, while she takes Sherlock's seat and John sits at the desk.
"Now, tell us your name and your case," Rose says, leaning slightly to the left and folding her hands over her left thigh.
The boy raises an eyebrow. "I'd like to speak to Sherlock Holmes, please. Not his assistant, and certainly not some teenaged girl. Don't you have some romance novel to cry over or something?" And that's when all pleasantries go cold with Rose. The smile freezes on her face, and she narrows her eyes slightly. John shakes his head. Bad move.
"Sherlock is preoccupied at the moment. And that is John Watson, not Sherlock's assistant. And I am not merely a teenage girl. If you want Sherlock to work on your case, then you may talk freely to us," Rose says icily.
The boy crosses his arms. "I brought this important case to Sherlock because he can figure it out. I won't have some amateur attempt to solve it, because only a genius can."
"Well then, you should tell us," Rose keeps her calm demeanor.
"Sorry. I only want the best on my case," the boy says snidely.
Rose finally rolls her eyes. "Your name is Matt Stewart. You are eighteen years old, a student at uni, studying finance. You have a girlfriend, but I would break up with her; it will save you time and heartbreak. You had a small meal before arriving here, consisting of fish and chips. You are an only child, and you just visited your parents. That jacket is old, so you had it when you were younger. You haven't been sleeping well. One of your friends has died recently. I'm sorry for your loss, but get out." Rose stands and opens the door for the arrogant sod.
Matt looks at Rose with amazement. "You figured that out?"
"No, I observed it. Again, out," Rose says in a calm tone of voice.
Matt slowly stands up. "Yes, you're right. The whole bit. My friend died, but I think it was murder. Will you take the case?" Rose bites the inside of her cheek, reluctant to help one so full of himself.
"Describe it to me, and I'll let you know."
Matt sits down, relieved. "Thanks. I'm sorry for being really awful. God knows I've had a rough week. Good idea not to piss off the people who are trying to help you, right?" Rose nods slightly.
"My friend died last week. His name's Jared Iron. We were supposed to go to uni together, but he died before we could."
Rose sighs. "Okay, I'm very sorry for your loss, but can you please just skip to why you think his death was suspicious?"
"Well, Jared had a girlfriend…" Matt began.
Rose's expression turns to one of disinterest. "Oh, joy. A crime of passion," she deadpans.
"Maybe. I don't know. But I know that Jared was planning to break up with his girlfriend on the night he died. I thought it was a little fishy."
"You have no actual evidence or proof of this? Just 'I thought it was a little fishy'?" Rose asks, incredulous that he would come to a detective without proof.
"I know, I know. Doesn't look good, does it? But it just seemed so weird. I mean, Jared was as healthy as a horse. He played football, and rugby, and he wasn't a bad swimmer. It was strange that he just died without any cause."
"Wait, you said he died without cause? That doesn't happen. No wounds, no marks, nothing suspicious?" Rose asks.
"No."
"Was there an autopsy?" Rose asks.
"Yes, it's being performed now."
"Hmm. I'll be right back," Rose excuses herself. She knocks on the door of Sherlock's room, then enters without permission. "Sherlock?" she calls out to the figure lying motionless on the bed. She receives no answer. "Sherlock? I think we might have a decent case here for you." Sherlock still doesn't move. "Sherlock!" Rose screeches at him.
"What?" Sherlock mumbles.
"Case. Doesn't sound half-boring. Dead man, no identifiable cause of death. No mark, no wound, nothing."
"Has an autopsy been performed?"
"In the works right now."
"Wait for the autopsy. It'll be something dull."
"Sherlock, I have a good feeling about this one."
"No."
"Sherlock! Come on, at least hear him out," Rose protests.
"I just did, based on what you told me. Boring." Rose stomps the carpeted floor, upset that Sherlock won't listen to her.
"Fine."
Rose stomps out of the room, mad at Sherlock. She texts Lestrade.
Hi Greg. Does the name Jared Iron ring any bells? –RS
Matter of fact, it does. One of the cases I'm working on. Why? –GL
Client for Sherlock. Says he thinks the death is suspicious. –RS
Yeah. He just dropped dead for no reason. I would have told you sooner, but then the bomber business started. –GL
Autopsy didn't pick anything up? –RS
Working on it now, but so far, nothing. –GL
Interesting. Sherlock doesn't want to take the case, but I think I might. –RS
You serious? You going rouge on Sherlock and John, now? –GL
Not yet. :P –RS
Well, come on down to the station. Stuff from the case you might want to see. –GL
Kay. Thanks. Be there in a few. –RS
Rose announces to the two males in the room, "I'll take the case." Matt grins.
"Great!"
"What about Sherlock? Is he coming?" John asks.
"Nah. I'm going solo on this one. Relax," Rose says when she sees the apprehensive look on John's face. "I can handle this." She turns to Matt and says, "What's the best way to contact you? I'll try to give you updates on the case, and I might ask a few questions every now and then. Please answer everything truthfully and immediately, it makes things go a lot quicker."
"Um, my mobile is the best way to contact me, but email comes a close second." Matt gives Rose his number and email.
"Thanks so very much, Matt. I'm headed off to Scotland Yard now. See you!" Rose says as she waves goodbye. She hails a cab and says, "Scotland Yard, and step on it!"
oOo
"Hey, Greg. So, what do we have?" Rose asks.
"Well, he was nineteen, at his house. Only other person in the house was his girlfriend. Date at home, I guess. According to her, they ate around five and were watching a movie. He started feeling peckish about three hours later, and started to munch on some snacks. They had a couple of beers. Around nine, Jared started to complain about dizziness and fatigue. He went to bed, which was really early for him, the girlfriend said, but she chalked it up to the football tournament he had played in the past few days. He kept waking up during the night, sweating and vomiting, probably due to the alcohol. The girlfriend slept in the guest room, and when she tried to wake him up to say goodbye, he wouldn't move. When he didn't respond, she called 999," Greg reads from his notes.
"Why did she try to wake him up?" Rose asks.
"She had an early shift for work."
"Okay. What is the girlfriend's name, is she a suspect, and is she around?" Rose inquires.
"Um, girlfriend…" Lestrade rifles through his notes. "Yeah, well, she was held for questioning, but I don't know if we can call her a suspect. She was really shaken. Jane Martin. Address is 34 Wall Street."
"Okay." Rose logs the information in her phone. "Anything else I should know? Does Iron have any friends or family besides his girlfriend?"
"Yeah. His parents are divorced, but still alive. His little sister and his football team, but that's really it. Only one of his friends from school saw him in the week before he died. His name is Matt Stewart."
"Yeah. Met him."
"Oh, is he the one who called you in on the case?" Lestrade asks.
"Yeah, actually. What's the family's address?"
"Let's see…Mother lives at 86c South Park, and the father and sister live at 42 Hitchhiker Way," Lestrade smiles. Rose types the information into her phone.
"Anything on the autopsy?" she asks.
"No. Well, there's a lot of calcium oxalate acid in various muscles and tissues, and that's odd, but that's about it."
"Thanks. I'll get back to you as soon as I have a lead," Rose departs. She hails a taxi and says to the cabbie, "42 Hitchhiker Way!"
oOo
In the cab, Rose receives a couple of texts.
Rose, are you okay? –JW
Fine, why wouldn't I be? –RS
Well, you're chasing a killer. I think I have a right to be worried. –JW
Relax, John. Seriously, I swear you were a worrywart mother in a past life. ;) –RS
Haha. Where are you headed? Maybe I can convince Sherlock to come join you. –JW
If you can do that, I will eat the ears Sherlock is keeping in the fridge. –RS
You're on! –JW
I'm headed to 42 Hitchhiker Way. –RS
Are you serious? –JW
Yeah, why? –RS
Nothing. –JW John can barely control his laughter at the flat.
Don't tell me it's nothing, I can detect when you're trying to hide your laughter, even over text. –RS
Oh, I'm going to have to introduce you to some more geeky culture after this case. –JW
Looking forward to it. –RS
A/N: There! I did it! Whoo-hoo! Now you have something to look forward to in the next couple of chapters. My own original cases might only be 2-3 chapters long, FYI. But they'll reveal some more aspects of Rose, Sherlock, and John's character.