Hello again! This chapter is a bit later than I thought it would be, because I went to Montana last week and didn't have it done after that, then I went to the lake this weekend, where I only just finished it. This will have to tide you over for a while, because I'm going on vacation with my mother for the next week. I'll try to work on the next chapter over that time, and I'll have it up sometime after that.
"Hello Mycroft."
"Hello, Jane. How are you?"
"Fine," I say coldly.
"Why the attitude?"
"You offered to help, then left me to fend for myself," I shout angrily at him.
"Jane, you were perfectly capable of finding work-"
"It was the middle of winter, I had no money or food, and had nowhere to sleep at night. And I was injured, for Christ's sake! You betrayed me, Mycroft."
"Now, Jane, we've talked about this. We agreed that this is behind us."
"Us!? There is no us, Mycroft. YOU left me on the streets, YOU offered your help but didn't interfere. It's your fault." I look him in the eyes, but he can't keep my gaze.
"I brought you here to offer you money," he tells me, but I just scoff.
"Too little, too late."
"It'll be a large sum-"
"Why?" I interrupt.
"I need you to spy on my brother for me, I worry about him constantly."
"No. You own the government, use it." I stare silently at him until he looks to the floor. Without another word, I walk back to the car and climb in. Anthea still sits, on her phone, in the exact same spot I last saw her.
"Take me to 221 Baker Street please." I tell the driver, who nods in response.
I get out of the car quickly, happy to separate myself from Mycroft as much as possible. I trudge up the stairs, suddenly feeling very drained. I open the door to the flat to find Sherlock laying on the sofa with his hands steepled to his mouth.
"What are you doing?" I ask tiredly as he checks his watch.
"One hour, twenty three minutes, seventeen seconds late. I had expected you to be the first back, did you walk all the way from Laureston Gardens?" He asks jokingly, but sits up to look at me. "What's happened?"
"I've just been talking with someone, someone you know very well. He offered me money to spy on you."
"Did you take it?" He interjects.
"No."
"We could have split the fee, think it through next time."
"I did, that's why I said no." He looks at me again before smiling slightly. "So, the case?" This snaps him out of his trance, bolting over to the pink suitcase on a chair.
"I need to borrow your phone," he says as his sits down next to the case. "My number is on the website, it might be recognized." I hand my phone over silently, watching him type his message quickly. He hands it back a few moments later. "So, what's wrong with the case?" He asks, looking up at me. I glance over at it before I answer.
"Her phone's missing, and making a wild guess, I'm going to say you just texted it."
"Yes and yes." I plop in the chair, sighing and closing my eyes. "Hungry?"
"No, Sherlock. Today has been emotionally draining for me, please let me rest for a moment," I tell him without opening my eyes. This manages to keep him quiet, at least for a while.
"Now are you hungry?" He asks a few minutes later.
"What the hell," I say to myself, standing up. Sherlock stands by the door, waiting for me to get up. "Lead the way, then." He turns on his heel and walks briskly out the door.
"So, why are we here?" I ask Sherlock as we sit down at a table.
"I told the murderer to meet me there, across the street at 22 Northumberland Street. The staff here owes me a favor," he says simply, staring out the window.
"For what? Figuring out the cook was screwing the boss' daughter?" His face breaks into a miniscule smile at this statement, catching my eye. Quickly, I look down at the menu to prevent any further staring.
"Sherlock!" Someone calls, drawing my attention to him. A server walks up, his jovial attitude radiating off of him. "Anything on the menu, free. For you and your date."
"No, I'm not his date," I try to tell him, but he just ignores me.
"He got me off a murder charge."
"I proved he was across town house-breaking at the time," Sherlock corrects.
"He saved me from going to jail."
"You did go to jail."
"Anyway, I'll go get a candle. It'll be more romantic."
"I'm not his date!" I shout after him, but he sets the candle down on our table anyway. "Well. What are you having?" I look up at him, and see him glance my way before looking away again silently. "Are you going to eat?" I ask finally, as the waitress steps up to take our order.
"I eat when I have time," he responds, his eagle-like eyes staring out the window. I shrug him off and place my order, and a few short minutes later, I'm stuffing my face with food, barely even coming up for air.
"I take it you were hungry, then." Sherlock states, looking at me. "It's almost cannibalistic."
"I didn't eat breakfast today," I respond innocently, properly chewing my food and swallowing. "So, you have a girlfriend then? Or boyfriend, I don't judge."
"Not really my area of expertise," he responds, turning a light shade of pink. "You know, I consider myself married to my work. Though it was nice of you to offer-"
"I was just asking, you don't need to get all defensive about it. It's just a question."
"Ah, um, well," he stutters in response before clearing his throat. "Very good."
"Thanks." I start to smile before spotting something out the window. "There. That cab's stopped in the middle of the road, why?" Instead of answering my question, he jumps from his seat and runs out the door. I abandon the table to trail after him, almost loosing him a couple times. He stops at an intersection up ahead, putting his hands to his temples.
"Left left left left left!" I shout at him as he launches in that direction. Soon, he runs in front of the cab, making it stop.
"Police! Open up!" He yells, yanking the backseat door open. Californian.
"He's not the one Sherlock," I tell him breathlessly, eyeing the cabbie. He looks at me, smiling a wicked smile.
"Welcome to London," Sherlock says happily, walking away.
"So sorry to interrupt, have a nice day." I close the door, walking towards Sherlock. "So just coincidence, yeah?"
"Basically."
"Where did you get a police badge?" I ask, grabbing for it. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"
"I pickpocket him when he's annoying."
"So all the time then?" He smiles slightly before looking back at the stopped cab.
"Got your breath back?" He asks, spotting the policeman talking to the Californian.
"Ready when you are."
"I have never done something that stupid in my life," I tell Sherlock, gasping for air once we're back at Baker Street.
"And you invaded Afghanistan," he adds, smiling.
"I didn't do it alone," I say, smiling back.
"And I couldn't have done this without you."
"Yes you could have."
"Probably, but that's not the point."
"Sherlock, what have you done?" Mrs. Hudson asks him, coming out of her flat.
"What?" He says in return, looking worried. She just points upstairs. Sherlock looks at me before we both run up the stairs, finding the whole of Scotland Yard digging through our things.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand angrily, marching over and ripping one of my books from Lestrade's hands.
"It's a drugs bust," he says simply, his eyes moving between Sherlock and I.
"I don't know, he looks clean to me," I spit back at him. "I'm clean too if anyone cares!"
"Are these human eyes?" Donovan asks from the kitchen, paying no attention to my outburst.
"Put those back," Sherlock tells her, annoyed.
"They were in the microwave."
"It's an experiment," we say at the same time, glaring at her. She complies, going back to her search.
"We found Rachel," Lestrade tells us.
"Who is she?" I ask, cutting straight to the point.
"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."
"Why would she write her daughter's name?" Sherlock mumbles to himself.
"Never mind that, we found the case," Anderson butts in. "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we find it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."
"He's not a psychopath, he's a high functioning sociopath, do your research," I inform him angrily. Everyone ceases what they're doing and look at me. "What!?" They go back to their work swiftly, ignoring my hard glare.
"You need to bring Rachel in for questioning." Sherlock tells Lestrade.
"She's dead."
"Excellent. How, when, and why?"
"Technically she was never alive, she was stillborn 14 years ago."
"No," Sherlock whispers in disbelief. "No, that's not right. Why would she do that?"
"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson butts in again. "Yeah, sociopath. Seeing it now."
"She didn't just think about her daughter, she scratched her name into the floor. It would have hurt."
"The murderer makes them take the poison themselves, maybe he brought up the death of her daughter somehow," I think out loud.
"That was ages ago, why would she still be upset?" Once again, everyone in the room went dead silent. "Not good?" He whispers to me.
"Bit not good," I reply.
"Yes, but if you were dying, what would your last words be?"
"Please God let me live," I tell him, unemotionally.
"Use your imagination!" He tells me, not thinking about what he just said.
"I don't have to." A hint of regret flashes in his eyes, but it's gone within seconds.
"But if you were clever, Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."
"Jane, dear, isn't the doorbell working? There's a taxi for you," Mrs. Hudson notifies me from the stairway.
"I didn't order a taxi, Mrs. Hudson," I tell her, keeping an eye on Sherlock. Any moment, he's gonna explode.
"What's this then?"
"A drugs bust."
"They're just for my hip, they're herbal soothers," she tells me as Sherlock throws his hands to his sides.
"Shut up, everybody shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe, I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way your putting me off."
"What? My face is?" Anderson asks skeptically.
"Everyone quiet and still, Anderson turn your back," Lestrade orders.
"Oh, for Gods sake."
"Your back, now, please!" He yells in return, making him turn around.
"Come on, think!"
"Oh!" I exclaim, looking up at Sherlock. "What if she never lost it?" He stays silent before launching over to his laptop.
"Ready," he tells me, holding his hands above the keys.
"Jenny dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk," I recite from the tag on the luggage.
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Lestrade demands angrily.
"She never lost her phone, she planted it on the murderer. She's leading us straight to him," I inform him.
"And all together now, the password is?" Sherlock asks sarcastically.
"Rachel," Lestrade states, finally catching on.
"So we can read her emails, so what?" Anderson asks, irritated.
"Anderson, your mouth is talking, you might want to look into that," I tell him, smiling.
"We can do more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which will lead us to the murderer," Sherlock informs everyone as he waits for the GPS to load.
"Jane, this taxi," Mrs. Hudson says again, still in her spot by the stairs.
"Mrs. Hudson, I'm sorry, but I didn't want a taxi. Please tell them to leave," I tell her, getting more on edge.
"The phone battery won't last forever. We need to move quickly," Sherlock says, rushed. The laptop dings as it finalizes the location of the missing phone.
"Sherlock," I call for his attention, sitting down by the laptop and reading the location. Chills travel down my body as the pinpoint hovers above our address.
"Where is it?"
"It's here," I whisper to myself in disbelief, then louder so the others could hear me. "It's here. It's in 221 Baker Street."
Another cliff hanger! Sorry about that, but once again it's the only place I could stop without unleashing hell, soo...
I'll be back soon with the next one.
xxIshipit24xx
