Chapter 15: Forgetting The Term "Druggie"

We arrived at the crime scene a few minutes after Sherlock. To say I was surprised that John allowed me to be present is an understatement. However, Mrs Hudson had gone to visit her friend in Bristol and was unable to take care of me. And John still had trust issues, resulting in the extreme improbability of him ever letting a baby-sitter take care of me. But I wasn't complaining – I wanted to see Sherlock in action!

I gave a cautious look toward the orange tape, then toward the adults. The darker-skinned girl appeared to be rather occupied – she was focusing all her willpower into killing Sherlock with her eyes. It wasn't working, to my utter (non-existent) surprise. The same went for the rat-faced man. Well, it might have been a rat. I couldn't particularly tell. The grey-haired one, who seemed to be in charge, was currently being distracted by another officer. I grinned and, releasing John's hand, ducked under the rope.

At the time I entered the cleared-off zone, Sherlock had knelt down over the body, examining the corpse's fingers. Upon hearing my footsteps upon the asphalt, Sherlock looked up and smiled. Actually smiled.

"So, Kayla," he said, his baritone voice silky, "What can you deduce of this man?"

The grey-haired man gave a start at his voice, though it may have just been the fact that he had addressed someone that he most certainly didn't know. He was about to interrupt, I was sure, but Sherlock shushed him with a glance and gestured to me to 'go ahead'.

My eyes flickered over the body. He couldn't be older than 35 but his hair was receding – obvious drug use. And if that wasn't enough, the splodgy bruise-like marks on his face were a dead give-away. Tobacco stains on his fingers, smoker, he hadn't today, his clothes were clean.

Caught a train here, ticket stub in his left pocket, probably the early one, judging by the eyes – he'd probably died sometime early this morning. Phone in his pocket, hand by said phone, he was expecting a message, not from a wife, he was unmarried. Most likely from a sibling.

He worked in road-works, there was a tar residue on his shoe. Going by the wound in his chest, he was shot, aiming to kill. It wasn't close up, either – whoever killed him was a master marksman and sniper. Most probably in the army. And, it was hard to see on his pale skin, but was that a watch tan? He owed someone money, then.

I nodded, my brain completed in terms of its humming-bird-like movements.

"He caught a train here, one of the early ones. Called by a sibling saying it was an emergency. He's a smoker and a..." I faltered before remembering the word and continuing, "druggie but he's been clean for what appears to be the last six hours. He's in roadwork's, unmarried and owed someone quite a bit of money. He's had to sell his watch, probably a gift, to pay it off. The people he owed weren't satisfied with the amount but wouldn't have had him killed, not while he still owed them," I explained, my voice child-like in the silence.

Sherlock was looking at me with what appeared to be pride and I felt a burst of happiness before frowning internally. When had his opinion begun to matter so much to me?

The others, however, were staring at me with something akin to shock. Upon further examination, I deduced that the grey-haired man had marriage problems – I assumed he was Lestrade - and the black-haired male was in a... sexual relationship with the dark-toned woman with erratic hair. I raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, as if to ask 'Why are they in the police force?'

He replied with an almost indiscernible shrug. John looked on with no small amount of shock but had a ridiculous grin on his face. Upon catching my eye, he gave me a tiny thumbs-up. In that moment, I was perhaps the happiest I had been since I Fell. But then, of course, someone had to ruin it.

"So, ignoring the brat showing off, he was mugged," the black-haired man stated in a high-pitched nasally tone.

Had I been Above, he would be in a world of pain. Unfortunately, I no longer had that power. I was no longer of high birth – I was trapped, sealed inside a ten-year-old's body. My wings unfurled in anger and I wished I could do more.

"No, Anderson, but thank you for your opinion," Sherlock spat sarcastically, "It was his sibling."

I nodded, smirking at Lestrade's reaction to 'Anderson's' insult. John gave a soft 'oh' of realisation.

"Had the man not been able to pay the fine, they would have gotten his sibling to do it, right?" John stated as well as asked, something I had not thought possible until that moment.

"Yes, much easier to have him killed, don't you think? The sibling exploited his love for his parents, brought him here and had him killed by an assassin. Case closed," Sherlock said in a matter-of-fact tone.

He straightened up and smoothed his amethyst top, his wings ruffling slightly before stilling, then walked to the rope and holding it up. John ducked under it and I followed, bowing my head to avoid the yellow-orange tape. Sherlock continued on and I grabbed John's hand, once again marvelling at my lack of body heat.

We could have gone back to 221B to finish lunch without any further incidents, had the dark woman not spoken up.

"Who's she, freak? Someone like you enough to give you a kid?"

I stiffened, as did John. Sherlock had already turned and his wings unfurled so fast I barely had time to duck in order to avoid them, their plain of existence threatening to collide with mine through the Between. Lestrade watched my sudden movement with confusion but I didn't see John's reaction.

Sherlock was too angry to notice, not that his expression held anything other than feigned disinterest and disgust. The dark woman was in for it now, I thought sadistically, and released John's hand so as to see Sherlock's movements, a grin forming on my face. The ex-army doctor had yet to turn fully but he was shaking in barely-restrained fury. Suddenly I was glad he'd left his gun at home.

Edit: 25.2.16