Just the next installment thanks to my procrastination being at a all time high this weekend.
(I don't own anything by BBC or CBS)
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
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"So, your last roommate turned out to be a convicted dealer?" Ella Thompson repeated slowly. It was the finally time for John's next appointment with his therapist, and as much as John usually dreaded these monthly meetings, this time at least he had something interesting to talk about.
John readjusted himself in the blue chair that sat across from Ella's before he nodded affirmatively. "Yes."
"Then you shot him?"
"It was to prevent him from getting away, and if you recall he shot at Detective Bell first." John reminded his therapist. Ella raised a fine brow as she continued on down the more recent events of her client's life.
"So now you're living with Mr. Holmes, a consultant detective? Have to say I've never heard that one before."
John rolled his eyes a bit. "Yeah, you probably wouldn't. The only one in the world since apparently he's invented the position."
"John," Ella placed her notepad down, looking at her patient seriously. "This all sounds very exciting, but are you sure this is the best thing for you now? You nearly got settled into the hospital and now you're becoming a detective? What about your medical training, you're just going to let that all go?" She asked in concern.
John shook his head. "No, no. I'm not giving anything up. Just taking a break. I'm still not entirely sorted after…well, you know. Maybe it'll be good for me to get some distance from my old self for a bit. You know, try something new." He told her, and she nodded in understanding.
"There's nothing wrong with trying something new. I'm actually glad you're putting yourself out there." She paused for a moment. "You know, if you're keen to move on to trying new things, that would be perfect for your blog."
John made a noncommittal noise as he looked away out the window of her quaint, very pastel shaded office. Ella sighed writing the obvious in her notes. "You still haven't written a word have you?"
John turned back to her, glancing down for only a moment before he cleared his throat and replied. "You wrote, 'still has trust issues.'"
"And you read my writing upside down." She pointed out. "See what I mean John? You will always be a soldier at heart, and it's never easy readjusting to a civilian lifestyle, let alone trying to settle in a different country." She held his gaze, not backing down. "Just try it John, you never know what might happen."
John was about to reply when his mobile's text alert went off. He apologized sheepishly as he pulled it out to turn adjust the volume when he saw it was a text from Sherlock.
Meet me at the Morgue after your appointment. SH
"You know Ella, you just might be right."
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"So is there any reason why you're choking a corpse?" John had found the designated morgue and had gone in, only to find his flatmate on top of a corpse, choking the non-existent life out of it while the attendant sat to the side, seemingly comfortable enough to leave Sherlock at it.
"Bit odd I know," was the reply. "But post-modem bruising is essential in investigative work."
"Uh-huh, and how do you know him?" John questioned, his attention on the oblivious attendant to the side.
"Bruce? We partake in the same bee-keeping chat room; might I say he has an impressive collection of Caucasians—species of bee." He added seeing John's puzzled expression.
"Bees? Didn't know you were into that sort of stuff."
"Mm, I dabble in all sorts of ends. Never know what might be useful on a case." He relaxed his death grip from the corpse and slid off to the side, landing gracefully on the floor. John was wondering what on earth could bees have to do with detective work when Sherlock turned around to the covered body beside John. He threw over the tarp to look at the elderly man lying on the table. "Now, hand me my riding crop on the counter. I need to see what bruises form in the next twenty minutes."
"I'd go with a different one if you are planning to look over something like that." Bruce called over to them.
Sherlock glanced at his associate before inquiring as to why that would be the case.
"The funeral home is about to come pick this one up, only died about an hour ago though."
"Strange, has it been autopsied yet?" Sherlock questioned, looking the body over again.
"Nope, he just died of a—."
"Heart attack?" the detective offered.
Bruce paused for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, he did. But how did you know?"
John offered the explanation, having already seen the obvious detail earlier. "There's a tiny blue dot, just above the patients hairline," he explained pointing towards said marker. "That's a tattoo used to target radiation treatment, which most likely means this patient had brain cancer. And with that, blood clots are a common complication. So, he pulled a clot, which led to a pulmonary anabolism, which led to the heart attack." He finished with Bruce's amazed stare, but with Sherlock analyzing the deceased's fingertips.
"What is it Sherlock?" The detective stood quickly after taking several snapshots of the fingers.
"We are on agreement of the heart attack being the cause of death, but as too how it occurred you are off base." He turned to Bruce. "Quickly, what room was he in when he died?"
Startled by the sudden change in manner, Bruce fumbled with the clipboard next to him to check. "It was, ah, room 704?" With that Sherlock turned about face and quickly left the morgue, leaving a stupefied John and Bruce in his wake.
"Um, well good luck with those hives, Bruce. Good to meet you." John nodded towards the attendant's direction before following his crazy flatmate through the hospital.
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"This is ridiculous, they're wasting time." Sherlock practically growled as he watched Captain Gregson talk with the hospital administrators.
"Just be glad the Captain got here when he did, otherwise you could of ended up in the psych ward." John hissed. "What were you thinking?" That referring to Sherlock's brilliant idea of locking them inside the dead patients old room where, John admits, Sherlock brilliantly deduced it was murder, not a natural death. What he had found was ischemia on the man's fingertips. Someone had actually used epinephrine, a drug normally used in cardiac codes, to cleverly cause the actual event.
Before Sherlock could reply the door opened and Captain Gregson was calling them in.
"Sherlock, John, if you would come in please?" As they entered Gregson introduced them to the two men he was previously conversing with. "This is Richard Sanchez, the administrator here, and the head of surgery, Mason Baldwin."
"Now, I'm waiting for a legitimate reason as to not press chargers against you for barricading yourself in one of our rooms." Mr. Sanchez spoke irritably.
"Uh-huh, and why are you here, Dr. Baldwin?" Sherlock spoke, ignoring the smaller man's initial remarks. "I doubt it's to reach things off high shelves for this one." He finished smugly. John had to choke back a laugh at the sudden remark, but he covered it up with a small cough; though, going by the look Captain Gregson shot him it might not have been so convincing.
"The deceased was pre-surgical, so that means this does fall under my department." He explained to them.
What quickly followed after was what Sherlock considered the grossest crime of the day—him having to apologize to Mr. Sanchez, for not only the commotion caused due to the impromptu barricade, but also for the short jokes he felt were appropriate to make. But with the apology the NYPD could get the body and room released to them to start progress on the case. Though they still didn't have the patient's name, the consultant's did have the lipstick-stained coffee cup and receipt that they had taken from the victim's trashcan as their only lead to the last person who saw him alive. Which was how they found themselves at the quaint coffee shop listening to the barista talk about the "hot, cleavaged doctor with the great perfume."
"That isn't right," John muttered as they left the shop. "No doctor would wear revealing clothing, let alone wear her lab coat out of the hospital. And she definitely wouldn't be wearing perfume for that matter either; there's too much of a risk it could trigger a patient's asthma attack or their chemical sensitivity." Sherlock nodded in agreement. "But the lab coat is confounding. Who else would be wearing one out and about?"
"Exactly the point, John, which is why we aren't looking for a doctor at all."
The shorter blonde looked at the other quizzically, only to find him typing away on his mobile. "We're not?"
"Nope." Sherlock held the device up so John could see the web page pulled it. It was for some fragrance chain, and the website's banner had photos of their employees in white coats. "There are only two store locations in the city, so we have a fifty-fifty chance at finding our mystery woman at one of them." And with that they were dashing off again.
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
They had found her at the first store location, the one located closest to the coffee shop she had frequented. There they had been told of the patient's—Trent Kelty's— terminal state of the brain tumor. Also, that the young woman wasn't the only visitor Trent had been receiving, a mysterious doctor who, Sherlock believed to be his killer.
"We know that Trent Kelty's killer, this doctor, has some degree of medical expertise." Sherlock spoke as they were picking their way through the throng of people on the sidewalk once they left the shop. "We also know that this 'doctor' cut an adults food into child sized bites."
"But why would a killer do that? John asked, sidestepping a dog walker in the process.
"It reflects a particular mindset, John. Our killer tended to Trent's needs, not out of empathy, but as a craving for his dependence. This killer is one who chooses his victims—ones that are sick and weak; victims that he believes are doomed to die." Sherlock's gestures as he spoke were becoming as rapid as his thought process. "This would be someone who would be drawn to those with a few months to live. Someone who's preferred hunting ground is a hospital—why? Because it has an endless supply of victims." He stopped to look at John, seeing the points connect in the doctor's mind.
"Hold on," John started. "You're talking about some sort of angel of death." The doctor frowned, not liking where this was leading as Sherlock nodded in the affirmative, but failed to keep the sly grin that appeared with his next deduction.
"If I'm right, angels are relentless. Even if Trent Kelty was our angel's first victim, he certainly won't be the last."
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"Wow, all of this just because you made a couple of short jokes." John whistled in appreciation as he walked into the conference room the department was loaning them. "This" was in reference to all the sheer piles of boxed paper work that was now scattered about the room. After Sherlock proposed his 'Angel of Death' theory to Dr. Baldwin, the head surgeon had assisted them with wrestling the medical records, all relating to the in-hospital deaths and of the supply and usage of epinephrine, from Sanchez.
John set the beverage container he had been holding on the desk, taking Sherlock's coffee out to hand it to him where he sat on top of the table. They hadn't stopped to eat since this whole case started and John was in desperate need of the caffeine. "Any luck then?"
Sherlock scoffed as he accepted the hot drink, not looking up from the file he had been analyzing. "Don't be ridiculous John, only idiots rely on luck." He paused though as he brought the coffee to stop at his lips. John rolled his eyes.
"Yes, it is just how you like: black, two sugars, sickly sweet and all that." John sighed sitting down with his. Sherlock simply nodded taking a sip before returning to the work around him. "So I'll take it no leads yet?" He asked. "Maybe I can help, looks like we're in my house now." He grinned. "Over a decade of training remember? What I lack in detecting skills I can compensate for with my medical."
Sherlock nodded as he slid from the table to stride over to the blackboard John had failed to notice early. It was already covered in names and dates of what he assumed where patients of the hospital that had to deal with the case.
"So," Sherlock began. "Over the last two years, there have been 73 incidents of terminally ill patients succumbing to cardiac arrest."
John interrupted him there, "Well, chances are some of those can be natural. I mean, sick people can have heart attacks and die."
"Which means that one, none, or some of them could have fallen victim to the same angel that killed Kelty." He paused to take another sip of his coffee. "But without knowing his victims, I can't see his pattern. And without a pattern I can't develop a list of suspects." He ran a hand through his dark curls as he threw himself into the empty chair next to John. This time it was John's turn to stand as he walked over to the board.
"Well, forget about potential victims or suspects for a moment." He turned to the other. "Let's focus on the murder weapon. Now, epinephrine is hard to get a hold of, so even if our killer had a prescription because of an allergy he'd still only have a very limited amount. So, it's more likely that he—."
"Nicked it from the hospital pharmacy, I know I already checked." Sherlock stopped him. "They checked the records and can only find two occasions of epinephrine missing. Neither of which corresponds to any of the 73 cardiac events."
John frowned, pausing to take a drink from his own coffee as he mulled over the new information. "Okay then… what about crash carts? They are always stocked with Epi and usually are left unlocked." John sat his coffee down to walk over to where he saw the logs for the cart. "Here, how about I read off the dates that Epi went missing and see if they correspond to any of the cardiac deaths?" He offered, already thumbing through the booklet he had picked up.
Sherlock didn't hesitate as he quickly stood and went over towards the board, waiting for John to present the data.
"Okay, so during 2011, Epi went missing from various carts on January 6th," he paused as he saw Sherlock circle a date. Looks like they finally found their lead. "March 19th," he continued. "March 27th, June 20th, October 28th."
"Hmm, that is a quite the amount of drug to go missing without someone raising an alarm, no?" Sherlock couldn't help but look smug at the revelation. "Continue on John."
The blonde nodded as he continued to read off numerous more dates, all of them leading up the most recent death of Trent Kelty. "Sherlock," John began, looking warily at the list in front of him. "If you're right about this, then he's killed nine people."
Sherlock grinned as he clasped his hands together. "We have our pattern, John, now we'll find out suspects."
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"Stupid, so stupid. I registered the twitching and bloodshot eyes, but I chalked it down to sleep depravation. I of all people should known an addict when I see them." Sherlock all but growled as he marched back into Baker Street where he threw off his coat and graying scarf before making his way to the library. John followed more slowly and when he entered, he found Sherlock dismantling all the data they had collected on their potential suspects that hung around the library.
John sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He figured Sherlock had a reason to be irritated, after all it had been a long day that had rendered no results. Earlier, once they had caught Detective Bell and Captain Gregson up to speed, they had quickly compiled a list of 23 possible suspects out of the thousand of employees working at the hospital. Sherlock and John had sat in with Bell as they interviewed potential suspects. Though they almost thought they had a promising lead with a resident surgeon, but it turned out he was siphoning morphine from sick patients; he was causing more pain, rather than ending it.
"Hey now," John reasoned with him, "he was endangering patients while on the job. You might not have found your angel, but you did catch someone abusing his position."
"If his drug habit had anything to do with the murders John that would be one thing, but they don't so it doesn't matter to me what his choice addiction is. I have spent all day soaking up every word, every gesture of these 23 people—anything that could be a hint of dishonesty. Nothing." He collected all of the papers and dumped them on to the table where he then placed both hands on his hips with a characteristic huff of annoyance.
Suddenly, something Sherlock previously said spurred a question from John. "Hand on, what do you mean by you "of all people should know an addict?" He watched Sherlock's suit jacket draw taunt across his shoulders as his back straightened in a defensive manner, and John realized that the other was refusing to look at him.
"It's nothing, nothing at all. Just something I said, you should know by now John I say many things when I talk aloud." Sherlock spoke quietly, suddenly finding the useless data in front of him rather interesting.
"Sherlock? Look, you know—."
"Look John," he was interrupted as suddenly Sherlock drew his attention towards the far wall. "If the suspects can't tell us anything, than the victims will have too. Now please doctor, if you would, do you spot anything unusual at all with them?" He gestured to what data they had on the Angel's victims.
John narrowed his gaze towards his flatmate, but did redirect his attention towards the victims. He walked over and took his time going back over each case, and this time he was more careful to look at the prognosis of each before death, though with them being terminal it wasn't as if—and that's when he noticed it.
"All of his victims were terminal," the doctor began as he snatched the file from the wall. "All except this one: Samantha Cropesy, the second to last victim."
"Yes, she had been quite sick—been in the ICU for nearly 2 weeks." Sherlock nodded as he walked over to glance at the file in the others hand.
"Yes, but look here at her chart—CABG." John pointed to the section of her file. "Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting. She had undergone major surgery, but she was recovering, slowly, but still recovering. Sherlock, she wasn't going to die."
Sherlock narrowed his gaze, taking the file from John to look over it more closely. "Then why kill her? Why was she the only exception to the rule?" His musings were interrupted by an incoming call, which turned out to be from Gregson.
"That druggy doctor we picked up today, he is talking to us. Looks like he might could help us catch this angel after all." Gregson told them.
"We're on our way." Was Sherlock's only reply as he quickly hung-up. Then, for what was probably not going to be the last time that day, John quickly followed behind his partner as they dashed from Baker Street to the department.
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"Ah-ha! This is great news John, great news indeed. This is proof that our Angel is most definitely real." Sherlock's mood had definitely improved after the interview with Dr. Cahill, their resident addict. He had told them of an incident where he had overheard a mysterious doctor talking with a patient about his cancer before the man ended up dying of a heart attack the next day. This was angel victim number seven, and though they didn't have any identification for this mysterious doctor, Sherlock was motivated more than ever to catch him.
"So what now? You're not going to re-interview all of those doctors again are you?" John inquired as they entered the elevator having left the interrogation room. But Sherlock shook his head.
"No, I need to go back over the hospital records again, Dr. Cahill's information just might cast them in a new light." They got out on the main floor, but instead of heading towards the exit Sherlock turned to make his way back towards the main office area.
"Hey, we have copies of the records at home you know." John called to the other.
"I prefer to work on the originals. It's more detailed, more textured than ordinary copies provide." He explained.
John raised a brow, but shook his head to dispel the look of amusement that had spread across his face. "Uh-huh, well I don't know about you, but if we are going to be looking through all of that again, I'm going to need another coffee." He laughed. "Do you want one?" He called to the retreating figure.
"Just the usual." Was the only reply.
"Right then." John nodded and turned to make his way through the winding halls towards the exit. Once outside he glanced around, taking note of the late hour and sparse crowds around the block. "Well, guess that means the line won't be a problem then." He had only begun walking when out of the blue the payphone next to him rang out. It startled him and he looked at it curiously for a moment before it stopped. "Odd that." He shrugged and made to continue onwards to the shop at the corner when again the phone rang out. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Do you see the camera to your right, doctor?" A male voiced asked.
Confused, John looked towards his right where a security camera perched on the corner of the building behind him. Then as soon as he noticed it, it slowly turned away from him.
"Now do note the one ahead of you." Again, the camera that should have been facing his general direction was moved.
"Who are you, and why are you doing this?" He asked tersely.
"Get into the car, Dr. Watson. We have much to discuss." The voice ordered.
John looked behind him to see a very sleek, but non-descript black car pull alongside the curb. A tall, burly suited man got out of the passenger seat and moved around to pull the door open for him.
"And what if I don't feel up for this ride along?"
"Don't play games doctor, its most unbecoming." And with that the phone disconnected. This left John with little choice in the matter as his chauffeur stared blankly at him, gesturing towards to open door to the black interior within. "If you will, Doctor Watson." The man offered.
John sighed before climbing into the car. "Just what have you gotten yourself into Watson?"
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
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Hope you enjoyed, I'm trying to incorporate a few cases in a different manner, how do you think? Good, bad? And I'm glad most of you seem to think Sherlock's mix personality isn't too OC.
If you don't mind, since you made it this far already, don't be shy and drop off a review, I'd love to hear from you!
~Timeless~