Skivvies

The reward for her night's work was a spa day at Rita's Relaxing Spa and Beauty Bar. John had never heard of it, but she had never really been to a spa before either. A part of her suspected it was a way for Sherlock to get her out of the flat so she could go back to solving Moriarty's puzzle, but John did not mind. Mycroft was paying after all.

The pictures will suffice. Britain thanks you for your dedication. Enjoy your reward. -M

John nearly had a heart attack reading the word 'reward' but doubted he knew about the arrangement she and Sherlock had drawn up. Then again, he was a Holmes who had spent at least ten minutes in the flat without John there.

Either way, it was none of his business.

When John came home, smelling of apricots and feeling like rubber, Sherlock was yelling into her phone. "Just because I am a woman, does not mean I need to be nice!"

John sighed. As relaxed as she was, she knew this was going to happen. Sherlock was bound to tense her back up within five minutes of being home.

"Then you can kiss his posterior if you care so much! Just get me in a room with her!"

John slipped into the kitchen to make her tea but froze, staring at the dishes. It had been two weeks and the dishes from when she cooked were still in the sink. Two weeks.

Not to mention the cock was still on the wall, her destroyed lipstick tube thrown to the side.

John sighed through her nose, trying to ignore it, and pulled out the milk for her tea. The expired milk. She slammed the fridge shut and growled.

Moriarty had cut her shopping trip short so there was nothing fresh anywhere. Sherlock, the pretty princess she was, could not lower herself to do such trivial chores. Instead, she was throwing out orders to the poor peasant on the other end of that phone call, trussing about in her silver suit.

"Fine!" She snapped and charged into the kitchen, her eyes wandering, ignoring the anger that John knew was blatantly obvious. "Not important," Sherlock said, waving her off. "Put on your dress. The green one with the low neckline. We need to go."

"And where are we going?" John asked, grinding her teeth.

"Remand centre," Sherlock grunted, spinning back towards the living room. "Hurry up!"

The centre was bleak and gray with plenty of bored looking officers and workers walking about. They had to pass through three different checkpoints pretending to be reporters, with their fake press passes and a stamp of approval via a forged letter from the lawyer of Chloe Bernet. Of course, John had only just remembered Chloe was the name of the girl who killed her ex-boyfriend Arnold Haywire. No help from Sherlock there. Chloe had also run the pawn shop with Haywire and admitted to killing him within a few days.

Within twenty minutes, and one phone call where John had to distract the guards as Sherlock pretended to be the lawyer, they were sitting across a table from Chloe, John with her notepad and Sherlock with a fake smile. Chloe was a large girl, stuffed into her gray uniform, with her fuzzy, root-showing, brown hair swept into a messy bun.

"Reporters?" Chloe asked, her eyebrows raising. "I don't remember Amy saying nothing about any reporters. Shouldn't she be here?"

"Must have slipped her mind," Sherlock hurried to say around her pained expression. Lack of basic grammar was her pet peeve. One of many. "We have a few questions for you, about what happened."

"I haven't even had my trial yet." She said, slipping back into her metal chair. "What am I supposed to tell you?"

"We know you have admitted to killing your lover and business partner, Arnold Haywire, by shooting him through the head. So much you confessed to the DI in your statement."

"You read my statement?" Chloe asked, her eyes darting between Sherlock and John. "Didn't think the press could do that."

Sherlock shrugged her off. "We at Mentior News believe you should have the opportunity to tell the world why. Statistically, women are less likely to use a gun and you were not in legal possession of one at the time of the shooting. You stole it from your pawn shop, correct?"

Chloe's eyes widened, "How did you know that?"

John quickly interjected, "We do our research."

"I want to know-" Sherlock began.

"As do our readers," John tagged on.

"Why you decided to do it then." Sherlock continued, "A client called about selling paintings from their attic. You chose to steal the gun and bring it with you to the sale. Why shoot him there?"

Chloe froze, stuck like a deer in the headlights.

"Was there an argument?" John prompted. "Did he do something to upset you?"

"She shot him," Sherlock intoned. "Of course he did something to upset her. He cheated on you, yes?"

Chloe shifted, her eyes darting between them again. "And stole all my money, yeah."

"Then why?" Sherlock asked.

"Well he cheated because he was a right prick," she answered, misunderstanding Sherlock's intention. "As for the money, we were both short on funds after buying the shop together. Fifteen years I gave that tosser."

"What did he do with your money?" John asked, writing down notes for appearances sake. She knew Sherlock was probably recording the entire conversation, ignoring the guards requests that they leave all devices off.

"He blew it all on his stupid video game."

"Video game?" John asked, glancing at Sherlock who was busy glaring Chloe down, trying to force smarts into her brain, no doubt. But John could not recall a video game from Haywire's bank records.

"Skivvies and Lemons," she replied, her face souring. "I don't understand how anyone would have fun playing that shite."

"Oh, it's a video game!" John said, a little too excited. She thought Skivvies and Lemons had something to do with underwear, based off her quick internet searches when it kept popping up on Arnold's statements. An underwear company and a video game. Strange coincidence.

Sherlock spared her a glare, as if hearing her think the word coincidence, and looked back at Chloe. "All your money?"

"Yeah," Chloe grit her teeth. "Arse. He kept promising to pay me back, but he never did. These paintings were supposed to be a big break for us, you know?" She shook her head. "The idiot didn't even ask for a picture first. They were alright, worth a few hundred each, but that wasn't enough."

"So, you shot him?" John asked, her brow scrunching.

"He promised me millions!" Chloe argued, her hands forming fists. "I knew he was exaggerating, but he dragged me to that house off a tip from people he barely knew-"

"How did he know the Millers?" Sherlock interrupted.

"The who?" Chloe cocked her head to the side.

Sherlock growled low, "The Millers. The family whose house you bloodied up."

"Oh," Chloe blinked and shook her head. "I assume they called the shop when I wasn't around. Usually people just bring stuff in but we sometimes make trips if the payoff is good."

"So what happened?" John asked.

"I saw the paintings and we got into an argument and I had the gun on me and I guess I just snapped. The money and him cheating on me, it all just got to me. I didn't mean to kill him then."

"You meant to kill him later?" Sherlock asked, her ears perking up.

Chloe paused with her mouth open and shook her head. "I'm not commenting on that. That's off the record."

"You shot him through the head and not the heart. Tell me, did you get any advice about that?"

Chloe's entire body seemed to still, her eyes glistening. The guard twitched behind her and she squeaked, "What?"

"Does the name Moriarty mean anything to you?"

"Mor-a-what?"

"So," John jumped in before she decided to clam up completely. "When did he cheat on you exactly? Were you still together?"

"Yes," she replied, her tone short, glaring at Sherlock. "We were trying to work things out. He admitted to cheating on me a few months before I shot him, but I think it happened more often than he said. We were going to a counselor. Couples. Though we hadn't gone to a session together yet."

"The counselor saw you separately?" Sherlock inquired and added. "What was the name of your counselor?"

"Um," Chloe seemed to weigh the intelligence of sharing her therapist's name. "Frank, something. Graham, I think? I don't really remember. But I have doctor patient confidentiality with him. You can't get him to tell you nothing."

"He was your therapist, but you don't remember?" Sherlock asked, her patience slipping, fingers gripping her chair. "Was he really that rubbish?"

"He was plenty good, thank you much. He gave great advice."

"And I suppose his great advice is the reason you shot your boyfriend is it?!" Sherlock suddenly stopped and slipped back into her chair, her lips falling into a small o.

"You don't have to answer that," John said quick, pencil to paper once again, her heart pounding. Sherlock was clicking things together. Things were happening. She loved this part. "What happened after you shot him?"

Chloe took a moment, her eyes darting around the room, her arms crossing over her body as she turned to the guard and back again. "I ran."

"With the paintings?" John asked.

Chloe nodded.

"And the lock box," Sherlock added.

Chloe stopped nodding, her head cocking to the side again, her brows squinting together. "The what now?"

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile, before dropping back into a stoic line. "Never mind. You ran and who did you contact to remove Arnold's body?"

"No one," Chloe said, her voice dropping. "I assumed the people who owned the house called the police."

"Did you call anyone else?" John asked. "Contact anyone? Like a banker or an assassin maybe?"

"A what?!"

"Anyone?"

Chloe shook her head. "The next day I went to work, to my therapist, and back home. The cops came soon after. But I didn't tell anyone, obvious, I'm not an idiot."

Sherlock snorted.

"What about the mutilations?" John asked. "Do you have any comments on those?"

Chloe's brow furrowed. "Mutilations? What are you talking about?"

"You don't know about…" John trailed off, shaking her head. Moriarty did not ask permission to turn her boyfriend into a greeting card then.

"Time to go," Sherlock said, standing, no explanation given. She added a quick, "Have fun in prison," and left through the double doors.

"Sorry," John shrugged and ran after her. Even in the presence of a murderer, she could not help apologizing for Sherlock's bad manners.

Once they were safely outside the walls of the center, Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and spun her around. "John!" She yelled gleefully. "Finally! Another piece to this blasted puzzle!"

John smiled wide as Sherlock let go and they sauntered along the drive. "Are you going to fill me in?"

"Later," Sherlock smiled. "Now, I need to go shopping."

"What?" John asked, nearly tripping. "You're going shopping before you solve a case?"

"Not groceries, John. Games."