Her Majesty's Secret Service Chapter 29.

Honeymoon case-fic!


John tucked his hands into his armpits and stamped his feet in the snow to get warm. This was not what he had been thinking of when Sherlock had said 'honeymoon in Italy'. The train ride from Dartmoor to London and then to Paris had been head-spinningly fast – they didn't even stop off at Baker Street on the way through. (Why John? Our bags are packed already aren't they?)

Then they had caught the Euro rail train through France and Switzerland direct to Venice, which had been a gruelling eleven hours, although the countryside was beautiful. When they arrived in Venice, John only wanted to put his head down and rest for a few days, but Sherlock was still soaring on his case-solving high. And the other kind of high which comes from the discovery of sex, which was of course the other reason John was so tired.

After a few days of bickering and one all-out fight, they finally agreed that John would sleep in the mornings while Sherlock explored, then in the afternoons Sherlock would show John the highlights of what he had discovered. They would have dinner and go to bed early, but not to sleep. Hence John's need to sleep in again the next morning.

Sherlock was disappointed to find that as the HOUND drug wore off, he had to put up with a more normal refractory period, but he was managing well despite it all and still routinely giving and getting at least three orgasms most nights. This was a drop from his peak of eight, but he shrugged it off. John was mostly relieved and a tiny bit disappointed to note that the bite marks from his false heat faded completely and there was no scent blend left from it at all. He still thought they had rushed into it a bit, in the excitement of Sherlock's return to sexuality. Sherlock never mentioned it one way or the other, though he obviously enjoyed scenting John thoroughly every morning. According to John's calendar it would be another three weeks to his next heat, so they had plenty of time to enjoy Italy before choosing a spot to go to ground for a few days.

At first John was a bit worried about what Sherlock would get up to while completely unsupervised in a strange place, but he reassured himself that Sherlock had no contacts in the Italian police force and no contact with the Mafia, and John needed to sleep sometime since he wasn't getting much sleep at night.

So John was completely taken by surprise one morning when Sherlock dragged him out of bed and told him to dress warmly.

"Sherlock! I thought we had an agreement! I need to sleep, and if there's nothing more urgent than a 200 year old escape route from the local prison, it can wait until this afternoon!"

"John, it's much better than that! It's a hexa-murder! Quick, get dressed. The Italian authorities are sending a driver for us in fifteen minutes!"

John groaned quietly. No time for tea, then. And what the hell was a 'hexa-murder', assuming Sherlock hadn't just made up the term?

Sherlock filled in the background for John as they were driven high up into the mountains. "Apparently a group of hikers were attempting the Pordoi Pass on foot."

"How high is that one? Two thousand metres, round about?" John was trying to recall his lessons about Alpine passes, but he'd concentrated on the ones in France, not Italy.

"Just over actually. 2,200 metres above sea level and incidentally, well above the snowline."

"In February?" John was aghast, "Were they experienced hikers, at least?"

Sherlock made a face, "No. Quite the reverse. Apparently the three men were friends and quite good hikers, but this was a trip to introduce three other friends to the 'joys' of hiking through the Alps. So they decided to attempt the highest paved pass in the Dolomites." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the stupidity of hikers in general and these six in particular. Rather redundant, in John's opinion, since this little adventure had obviously ended in the death of all of them.

"Bloody hell. So I guess the lot of them got caught in an avalanche and froze to death – what's so mysterious about that? Surely that rates about a two at best?" John was thinking of his warm bed and how soon he would be able to climb back into it.

"Ah John, let me point out one other interesting little fact. Six people died on that mountain – but two survived. The starting group of hikers was actually eight people. The two who returned (incidentally the most experienced hiker and his bonded) were immediately held on suspicion of murdering the others. Which just goes to show that the Italian police are just as stupid as those of New Scotland Yard." Sherlock made a face of exasperation. "Why would the two returning hikers immediately call for a search and rescue party if they had murdered their friends? Why would they give the details of their friends' campsite and allow their crime to be uncovered? Why even admit to going hiking with them at all? No, John. The obvious solution is a great deal too obvious, and is clearly impossible. I have interviewed the two returned hikers, and they are clearly distraught – one of them is a blogger and had heard of me."

Sherlock shot a glance across the car at John, "I mean, he reads your blog and had heard of us. He contacted me through the blog and begged me to get involved, to clear himself and his bonded, and to find out what really happened to his friends. It has taken me the last three days and a call to Lestrade to convince the Italian authorities to give me access to the crime scene."

John frowned, "So what makes anyone think this is anything more than six inexperienced hikers getting caught unprepared in bad weather? The fact that two of them split off and made it out doesn't make them murderers."

Sherlock rubbed his hands with glee. "I haven't told you the best part. The six bodies were found naked, scattered around their campsite as if they were fleeing when they were killed. Both of the women were raped. Four of the hikers had crushed skulls and fractured ribs, but no defensive marks or signs of a struggle. Not only that, all six of the bodies were dyed orange and their tongues ripped out."

"Ew." John was suddenly glad he had only had a cappuccino in the car and nothing more substantial.

"I know, isn't it wonderful?" Sherlock was grinning. "Who paints bodies orange after ripping their tongues out? Is it a fetish murder? It can't really be called a serial killer since all six bodies were found at the same time, but if it is? Will the bodies be dyed a different colour next time, or is there something significant about the colour orange? I can hardly wait!" Sherlock was leaning forward in his seat, as if by doing so he could make their car go faster.

"Hang on, if the women were raped someone must have run DNA tests – did the DNA from the sperm samples match either of the surviving hikers?"

"No, nor did it match anyone in the Italian criminal database. They are currently running an international search, but I doubt it will turn anything up."

"So it was the Yeti then," joked John.

Sherlock looked confused. "It was human DNA, John. Even if another species were loose in the Italian Dolomites, it is highly unlikely to be interested in mating with… Oh, John!"

"It had better not be interested in mating with me!"

"No, no. Mating John! That's it!"

"Well, yes, that's a very interesting subject but how about we deal with the murdered hikers first?" John elbowed Sherlock in the ribs.

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "Their gender and bond status may be relevant. I will text the Italian Crime Scene Examiner, she's sure to have the information in her files." Sherlock pulled out his phone and started sending messages while mumbling under his breath something that sounded like "better than Anderson, anyway…"

Which was how, two hours later, John was standing in the middle of a snow-bound campsite looking at six rather oddly brown-orange bodies lying mangled in the snow, while Sherlock crawled around examining and even scenting the dead bodies. John felt this was taking his newly discovered senses just a bit too far. Their Italian driver had elected to stay in the car, leaving the engine running to keep the heater going. The Italian police looked as if they wished they could do the same, instead of following around the obviously insane foreigners who liked to smell dead bodies. The higher-ups of the police force were comfortably awaiting the final report from their snug and warm offices.

"John! Come here and tell me what you observe about these bodies!" Sherlock was strangely excited. Well, it would have been strange on anyone else.

John reflected that this was his life now. His honeymoon was spending a week following Sherlock through snow and over mountain passes in search of either a Yeti or a murderer. Either way, it would be an interesting discovery.

Dear God, was he starting to think like Sherlock? Yes, it appeared he was. John jogged over to Sherlock to take part in his honeymoon hexa-murder investigation. Mmm, that would be a good title for the blog post…


A/N: This chapter is a bit short, but I didn't want to rush straight through to the conclusion. Next chapter is half written and should be here by the end of the week! If you can solve the case, don't give the answer away in your review!