WATCH THIRD STAR.
A case came around three days after the phone calls. Seven days since the hospital, three weeks since he became mute. Exactly a week of no cases. This case better had to be a good one.
Sherlock barely had to even move to solve the case. It was simple. Her husband was cheating on her causing her to, kill the family dog, and subsequently persuade his boss to fire him from his job. Sherlock didn't need Anderson's help in any kind of way. Simple texting and emailing was fine. Of course, these are only easy cases.
Another week passed and three more cases were solved. All three didn't require the help of Anderson. Why? Because Sherlock doesn't need Anderson's help. He's fine alone. Alone is what protects him. But he couldn't vindicate the fact that the cases were easy. Effortless. And boring. Lestrade just wanted to keep him busy. Not left out. But the truth is… nobody needs a mute to solve cases.
The fact of Sherlock being an aphonia was beginning to die down. Scotland Yard was especially taciturn about it. Everything was going quite adequately. John's baby's due in around two to four days. Mrs. Hudson's coming back from Cardiff tomorrow. Mycroft left London today for some governmental business. That's when Sherlock got a call from Lestrade. Triple murder, he declared, you should probably come.
It was 11 pm that time.
Three dead, all killed in the same room yet with completely different backgrounds. Every man told a different story, thus despite all that, they were killed in the same way. Blood loss. Each body had something craved on his chest. However what was interesting wasn't how the killer decided to spill blood all over the bodies creating a halo, or the words on the victims chests. It was the parenthesis, encircling the words. As if spoken in… silence.
(Miss me ?)
It's undeniable who did it. Terrorists like Moran are terminal. The questions is… where?
He knelt down to examine the blood circling victim. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a print of a shoe. He move forward in inquisitiveness .
"Found something?" Lestrade asked. He saw the footprint that Sherlock was examining. "It's obvious who did it, right?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, but we need to find out where they are."
He took out a cotton swab to collect the blood then placed it in a clear cylinder container.
"The murdered is obviously male, knocked out all three victims then craved words on them, died of blood loss. I'll have to bring this to Barts to analyze. Perhaps I can find out where the Moran is currently staying like the Hansel and Gretel with the factory and chocolate." Sherlock quickly said, moving up to go.
Lestrade stared at him as if he was speaking another language. Then it hit him.
Oh, I can't speak, Sherlock thought as vexation filled him once again. Typing will be too slow, which means…
He gazed at Anderson absentmindedly then raised an eyebrow. Lestrade seemed to get his point.
"Anderson!" Lestrade called. An irate voice floated back to them.
"WHAT!" He yelled across the room, snooty face stuck up in the air. "Can't you see I'm working?"
"I need you to translate something for me!" Lestrade shouted. "Get your butt over here!"
Sherlock heard a groan as loud as a rusty train as Anderson shuffled across the room, gloved hands still slightly bloodied from the bodies.
"What," he bluntly repeated again.
Sherlock began moving his hands at a rapid speed, fingers flying through the air, spelling out a full sentence.
"You are rather repetitive today, A-N-D-E-R-S-O-N," Sherlock's hands said, motioning each letter of his name.
Anderson sneered. "Wai-what did he say?" Lestrade asked.
"That I am repetitive," he scoffed. "which I am not."
Lestrade smiled. "Well, he's back to himself, hmm?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He then made a motion with fingers walking then a fist, hitting his palm repeatedly. Then he pointed a finger above and made a whirling motion, then an open palm, fist, crossed fingers, and lastly, a snapping motion in a fist.
"He says he needs to go to Barts, something about last case and analyzing the blood to find out where…"
Sherlock made five more hand motions.
"…Moran is," Anderson concluded.
"How about the killer, what do you know about him so far?" Lestrade inquired.
Sherlock burst into another flurry of hand motions.
"Uh… man, well fit, experienced killer, how do you even know that? tall enough to knock victims unconscious, trademark kill of killing victims with blood loss, a bit like you, one of Moran's best man, henchman perhaps, shoe size is large, the man is big, tall, around one point…eight seven? I hope you're done by now, and, he tells you to search on the information that you have so far on Moran's men, the man should be a bit bulky judging by the cuts on the body, what? and… now he needs to go to Barts goodbye," Anderson said as Sherlock turned and left in a flourish, coattail swishing behind him.
"Molly's are Barts just to let you know!" Lestrade called after him. Sherlock made no indication to reply.
Anderson and Lestrade stood side by side at the scene, watching Sherlock disappear into the darkness.
"Well, that's that," Anderson said with a sniff. He turned and left without another word. So Lestrade was left standing there, staring into the darkness. The case is closed, one of Moran's men. They'll have to pinpoint the location. A soft ding woke Lestrade from his thoughts as he pulled out his phone.
Will send you the results. -SH
Lestrade grinned. Sherlock will be fine.
—
Sherlock walked down the dark passage, dim street lights eliminating his only path forward. The ground was still wet from the rain yesterday, reflecting off strands of light here and there. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, fingering the plastic tube containing the blood. He felt a nagging sensation in his mind, like he was missing something, something important that almost has nothing to do with the three murders. Something about… forget about it, pinpoint Moran's location first. Sherlock turned and made a left down the corridor.
Suddenly, he felt a tiny pinprick at his neck. Perturbation lit up inside him like fire and his mind swam, dread filling every single cell in his body. But before he can turn around to find his culprit, the world began to tilt around him and his knees startled to buckle. A sense of deja vu washed over him as he spun in a circle, unable to stand straight.
No, he thought wordlessly as the ground rushed up towards him. Before long, he let his body give in as he collapsed into the arms of a stranger.
Hey guys, Izzy here. Yayaayyayaya first cliffhanger! I learned some sign language in fifth grade or something like that so yeah…
Updates now every Wednesday! Ciao :)