AN- Hi everyone, sorry for the slow update, things have been crazy with me and my family. I hope to get a few more chapters out to you guys soon. Thanks to everyone who favorated and followed!
AN- to those of you who saw this earlier, there was a formatting issue, hopefully it's fine now! Thanks Belen09 for pointing it out!
Anderson looked at me completely flabbergasted. I could tell that he was going to have a similar reaction to the charming Sergeant Donovan. People really are idiotic. For the year that my husband has been working with the Scotland Yard, he hadn't made any effort to hide our marriage. They just think he's too different to find someone to be happy with. Sherlock is just my little sociopath, or so he claims. I say he is too smart to socialize with ordinary people.
"Your husband? How does a freak like you end up with a husband?" Anderson asks in the most offensive way, which I'm now inclined to believe is normal for him. If he doesn't remove the scowl from his face, it will be like that permanently. I've seen it happen.
"The same way you managed to obtain a wife, though I must point out that John and I's relationship is much healthier, as both you and your wife frequently commit adultery. Come, John, we need to head upstairs before these two numskulls lower the IQ of all Great Britain, with their dull and rather bigoted reactions." My husband ushers me through the doors as quickly as possible. "Besides," he addresses the two officers, "We have an invitation." With a sweep of his trench coat, we come onto a landing, Lestrade just inside the door.
"Sorry, mate, we can't ask the murderers where to dump the bodies. We've got to go all the way up," he says. I look forlornly up at all the stairs I have to climb with these ludicrous crutches. The DI gives me a pitying look as my energetic spouse bounds up the stairs, coat flapping behind him.
Lestrade tells me, "I would have interrupted them out there, but I know Sherlock has been waiting months to do that."
"No worries, mate. God knows how insufferable he must have been waiting for me to get back. I was on my last rotation before I got shot." Even if I hadn't been, I would have been home about now, so not a whole lot of harm done, except that he is a lot harder to keep an eye on with this stupid cast.
When we finally reach the top of the stairs, we found my husband with his hands steepled beneath his chin, the chain of his necklace between them, and a look of concentration on his face.
"When was she found? He demands. The women in question was laying face down on the floor, wearing a rather alarming shade of pink. Scratched onto the floor where the letters R-A-C-H-E. Revenge, in German. Rachel, if you add an 'L'.
"Early this morning. Two teens were looking for a place to get high. The bank owns the house. What do you know? I would say hurry up, but the Superintendent wants this cleaned up, fast. He was the one who told me to call you." Lestrade rambles. "He says-"
"Quiet! Need to focus. John, what do you think?" Sherlock interrupts. I look between him and the floor pointedly..
"Well, she's dead. Probably asphyxiation. Give me a hand here." He helped me to the ground and I examine her swiftly.
"Yup," I confirm, "Choked on her own vomit. Until the lab work is done, it could be anything from alcohol consumption to morning sickness, but my bets are on some kind of drug. It was clearly self administered, orally, as there is residue from where her mouth foamed. Only drugs do that, and not many of those." I state. Before the DI could ask, I continue, "Self-administered because she shows no sign of bruising on the wrists, face, or head. Hands and wrists if he (for 'he' being statistically more likely) held her down, and cranium would be if he knocked her out." My husband, the DI, and all of the officers in the room looked at me as though I grew a second head.
Sherlock, the first to snap out of it, gave me a breathtaking smile before proceeding to rattle off his own deductions. I tuned out, I would surely hear it all later while rants about how he can't think from of all the noise outside the flat. Oh, the flat. I can't wait to get back and just relax. It's just my luck to have a serial killer strike the day I can finally get home after too long on tour and a seemingly infinite hospital stay.
"John… John!" Sherlock got me to come on back out of my head. " And you say I get lost in my mind palace," he mutters. " Come on, let's get going. I've given them enough information, even Anderson could solve the case." He rolls his eyes and gestures for me to lead the way down the stairs.
After Sherlock hails a cab (how does he do it? I can never flag down a cab that quickly.), I say, "That was amazing. Utterly brilliant." He preens like a peacock under my praise.
"So were you!" he laughs triumphantly. "Completely getting under Donovan and Anderson's skin while maintaining societal politeness! I've waited an entire year for that and I didn't even have to tell you to say anything!" He leans over and pulls me into a kiss. "You're the one who's amazing." He murmurs, pulling back. "What do you want to do when we get back to the flat? You must be exhausted."
"Mmmmm. Some good takeaway and a cuppa would not go amiss. I never get tired of London food," I reply.
"How's your back? The crutches are bad for your shoulder, I see you wince every step you take with them." Of course he notices, he's bloody Sherlock Holmes.
"It's fine, " I insist, "nothing a hot shower won't fix. Muscles are a little tense, is all."
"Well, come on then, we're here." Home sweet home. Sherlock helps me out of the cab, pays the driver(for once!), and opens the door to 221B.
After laboring up all 17 worn stairs, I crash onto the couch and close my eyes. I hear Sherlock bustling around in the kitchen, hopefully not starting some crazy experiment to stave off his boredom. Just as I begin to doze off, Sherlock shook my good shoulder and silently offered me my mug (It had been declared mine so it wouldn't and couldn't be used in any of his experiments).
I gingerly sit up, using only one arm because of my shoulder, and accept his offering. After I take it, Sherlock makes me scoot forward so I am sitting between his legs, my back resting on his chest.
I peer curiously into the mug, tentatively giving it a sip. Surprisingly, it's good. Amazing, even. "Sherlock," I ask, "What did you put in this? You didn't drug it or anything, right?"
"Of course not. I simply reverse engineered your tea. It spilled on one of your letters, and I removed a little piece without writing on it." He looks rather sheepish.
"It's perfect, thank you, love. Now, where's that food? I'm starved!"
AN- Hope everyone liked it! Please let me know what you think, either as a comment or a PM. I'm still not quite sure where this is going, so give me some ideas! I would love to hear them. Thanks to my beta AnimeApprentice!:)