Hey! Glad you stuck around for chapter 3. I know I said I would make the chapters shorter, but I made it longer... Tell me how long you'd prefer the chapters? Please leave a review and give me good criticism. Did you like the chapter? Did you hate it? It'll make my day if you leave a review.
"What did you want to show me?" I said, my eyes roaming around the building catching glimpses of cobwebs. With no response, I shifted my gaze finally noticing him up close. I could see his usual kept hair disheveled, and distinct creases in his clothes. Did he go to work in the clothes he slept in?
"Are you alright?" I asked, walking up to him, forgetting about the case as concern welled up inside of me.
"Yes, I'm fine. Listen Sherlock I– am going on a holiday, and I didn't want you to make a mess of the crime scene." He said, rubbing his head anxiously. Something doesn't add up here, I've seen Greg before his holidays, this isn't like him?
"Greg, since you walked in here, you've anxiously tapped your left pocket and kept slipping glances behind you. Tell me, what's wrong."
"Am I that easy to read?" He said, emitting a loud sigh. "No Sherlock, this is a personal matter that I'd prefer you stay out of."
"Greg, let me help," I begged, my eyes planted on him. He approached me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.
"You've helped me enough Sherlock," he mumbled. I hesitated my hands out in the air, Surprised by the sudden action before I returned the embrace.
"Greg?" I questioned, as he held on longer than necessary. All of a sudden, I felt a painful jab in my neck, making me push away with a yelp. "WHAT was that? what did you give me!?" I demeaned, my eyes landing on the used syringe in his hand.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock…."
"No Greg– DON'T," I stammered, my heart racing as I noticed my legs begin to wobble under me. I looked up at him in my confusion, as I couldn't control them, my body felt like a heavy boulder I couldn't hold. "Greg?" I choked out, my legs buckling under me. Falling into his arms I grasped his coat, holding myself upright long enough to see his face. My eyes met his, silently pleading for him to stay.
"It's alright." He reassured me, setting me down gently against the wall. I fought to keep my eyes on him, but they felt like heavyweights. I could hear him, his voice sounded so distant, mixed with his footsteps, echoing throughout the building as he walked away.
"Ger-Greg, don't." I pleaded, but he didn't stop.
"Greg!"
I sat up clutching my chest, forcing each breath in, my brow damp with sweat. My mind erupted with questions, but I pushed them aside as one name lingered on my mind. "Greg," I muttered as I remembered the events. Fighting my way out of my bedsheets, I sprinted out the door, emitting a yelp of surprise as I collided with something soft. Making my whole world spin. Two arms wrapped around me, keeping me from the impending fall. A familiar warmth: John.
"Sherlock, what are you–"
"Greg! Where's Greg?" I asked, frantically looking in every direction.
"Greg, no one seen him, he– Sherlock?"
I shoved him and ran, ran until John was out of sight. His shouts slowly fading away. I stopped, my hands rubbing my temple in frustration as I tried to think. Where would Greg go? what's he running from? I could see Greg, he was walking further and further away. My voice echoing in the background, begging him to come back. Then, It's all a blur…
"Sherlock!"
John's voice snatched me out of my mind palace, making me realize I was no longer in my flat. Instead, I was blocking the road, gathering strange looks and angry comments from the drivers. Panting, I looked in every direction hoping to find him, until John pulled me aside, shooting the drivers an apologetic look. He scolded me, grabbing my arm with enough force to hurt.
"John, where is he?" I asked, thankful that his tight grip loosened on me. He got quiet, his face unreadable with emotions. It made me almost regret asking, seeing John so distressed.
"I'll tell you everything, come on. I made breakfast," John said, leading me upstairs.
He laid an omelet before me, and to my surprise, I felt my mouth watering. John watched me as I hesitated in grabbing my fork. I chewed a piece of the omelet, my mouth watering for more (strange as I don't eat breakfast) I took bite after bite of the omelet until John's pleased smile turned into concern, telling me to slow down. After lingering in silence for what felt like hours, John spoke.
"Katy Scott, Forty-three-years-old," John said, making me put down my fork. "She was found dead in her flat with a knife through her chest. They said there wasn't a struggle, she died instantly." He paused a minute, lingering on his words, almost as if he was trying to believe them.
"Why are you telling me this? Where's Greg...John?" I gulped, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
"During the investigation evidence had been tampered with or had gone missing. Her laptop and cell phone had been wiped clean of every contact, every email, and text." John said, his voice rising in intensity.
"John, what are–?"
"He KILLED her Sherlock!" John said, slamming his fist on the table. Lestrade's missing, and his fingerprints were found on the knife."
"No, he wouldn't," I said, my thoughts going to the Greg I know. The same Greg that scolds me for being rude, that Greg? I sat there looking at John in desperation to say something, anything. He remained silent. "He was framed."
"No, Sherlock–"
"This has to be a misunderstanding. I said, Interrupting him."
"Was not letting you look at the crime scene a misunderstanding? I held my breath thinking back to Greg's strange behavior, doubt trying to taking hold of me."Oh– and let's not bring up the fact that he drugged you and left you in an old warehouse. If it wasn't for that anonymous call–."
"Anonymous call? Who was it? Did they find this person?" I asked, more questions lingering on my tongue, but I hesitated as John rubbed his temple in frustration. I took a longer look at him, noticing the bags under his eyes. He was just as worried as I was.
"We never found out who it was!" He screamed, letting out a shaky breath as he took a moment to calm himself. "I was worried sick Sherlock, and Rosie– she was terrified. She asked if you were DEAD."
My heart sank at the thought of a terrified Rosie, but I shook the thought away. My eyes met his, and I could see his silent pleas for me to stay out of this. My thoughts ran rampant, forming ways of how Greg could have been framed to convince John. "he didn't," I whispered under my breath. But John couldn't understand, he didn't know Greg like I did. He didn't do it!
"I have to see it for myself," I announced.
I gave the driver the address and closed the small window for privacy, getting a look of confusion from John, who figured our first stop would have been Scotland yard. I had to go back and see the old flat. Tampered evidence, or not. Rosie was in Mrs. Hudson's care, so the two of us were on a case together. It had been a while since our last case together. If only the circumstances could have been different.
Pulling up to the familiar structure, Cable approaches me frantically, relief evident on his face. "I knew I would find you here sir. I tried your place, but no one was answering." I looked over at John who gave me a: I don't know this kid, look.
"You must have heard about Inspector Lestrade. I'm sure you'll prove them wrong. That he's innocent. Won't you sir?"
Ignoring Cable, I made my way into the old structure. ( Cable and John following close behind me) I could see clear indications as I opened the door that it had been tampered with. The body was long gone, it had been moved to the morgue. I would have to consult Molly on the matter shortly. "Cable, what have you gathered so far?"
"There was no sign of a struggle or breaking and entering. So it must have been someone she knew."
"Wrong. It doesn't take much for you to let in a stranger. It could be a plumber or a neighbor, someone she trusted didn't have to be someone she knew." I announced, giving John a look. Noticing my watchful eye on him he rolled his eyes, and he started looking around the flat.
"Sir, we suspected it was her ex-husband because of an affair she had during their marriage. We interviewed her parents, and they agreed that he was cross when he found out. In a blind rage, he threatened to kill her."
"But?" I interrupted, as I inspected both her dirty dishes and fridge.
"But, he was on a business trip, and everything seemed to check out." He said, rubbing his brow, in deep thought.
"And her secret lover?" I interrupted, looking over at John as he inspected the closet.
"She lost contact with him, we don't know who he was. Even her husband never got a look at the bloke."
"She had company on the day of her murder, suggesting by the stains on her plates, it had been a well-prepared meal. With all the quick and convenient meals in her kitchen. She's not one to waste time making fancy meals. She had a boyfriend over." I said, waiting for John to tell me what he found. He glared at me, letting out a long sigh before he spoke.
"The lack of furniture suggests she's moved here not too long ago... in a hurry though, because of the small number of clothes she's carrying.
"Well done John," I cheered.
"Amazing," Cable beamed, watching us both, engrossed in our deductions.
"Did you interview her boyfriend?" I asked nonchalantly.
"What boyfriend? She wasn't seeing anyone." Cable responded.
"I paused for a moment skimming through everything Cable said. Then, it hit me. "That's because she didn't lose contact. She's still seeing her secret lover." I ran to her bedroom rummaging through all of the drawers, examining every edge of them from the bottom of her bed to the back of her closet.
"Sherlock, what are you looking for?" John spoke, still sounding annoyed, but curious.
"She had a secret lover, John. Have you not seen her flat? On top of almost every desk, and all of the walls, what do you see?"
"Pictures– right. She would have photos of him, but Lestrade whipped everything clean. Do you know how this looks, Sherlock?"
"No, she has to have a physical copy, she's sentimental that way. Once I find the photos we can find her secret lover, and start clearing Greg's name." I said, feeling around the edges of her closet. On the top of her closet shelf, I felt something smooth rub against my hand underneath a pile of clothes. I pulled the small photo looking it over. There in the photo was a picture of Katy Scott, next to her was Greg.
Both of them smiling, appearing to be having a nice dinner out.
My heart sank. All the evidence was pointed at him, I've only helped in convicting him for the murder. No no no, this isn't happening. I need more evidence. I looked at the entire flat over and over again, but a part of me was afraid I would find something, I didn't want to find.
"Sherlock," John said, placing his hand on my shoulder. I shook him off, still panting from my excessive search. I paused, pushing away the doubt that crept in.
"I– I have to see the body."