Author's Notes: Welcome back, kids! It's time to see what Sherlock and John are up to. Enjoy the chapter and please review!
Mrs. Hudson knocked sharply on the door to the flat. She didn't bother waiting for a response, she bustled right in, a letter in hand. John Watson sat just on the other side of the room, typing slowly on his laptop. Sherlock came in sight as she moved farther into the room. He was focusing his microscope, looking at some small detail.
"Knock knock." She caught their attention. John glanced up at once but Sherlock didn't stir. "Are you on a case?" She wondered. Sherlock said nothing. He adjusted his microscope again, seeming to not listen. In reality, he heard every word and analyzed it faster than most people could think.
"Just finished one, actually." John replied for his friend. He smiled at the woman, determined to show her kindness while Sherlock gave her silence. He was actually typing up the case they had just finished. Sherlock was observing some sort of blood mutation as an experiment. John hadn't asked. He had given up on trying to understand the bizarre detective.
"Well, Mrs. Turner next door got a letter from her cousin and she wanted you to take a look." Mrs. Hudson handed John the letter. He pulled it from the envelope and began reading it. His lips moved ever so slightly as his eyes scanned the lines, tracing the words as his mind processed them.
"A case." John surmised, his eyebrows lifting. "In America."
"Will you take it? She'd be ever so grateful!" Mrs. Hudson asked, thankful that the boys had just finished a case. Sherlock stood silently and crossed the room. He scanned the letter in John's hand, analyzing it in just under a minute.
"Well, sounds like our sort of thing. What do you think, Sherlock?" John inquired, looking up at the tall man.
"We've got nothing else on." Sherlock said, moving back towards his experiment.
"That's a yes." John explained, handing the letter back to Mrs. Hudson who smiled and thanked him before bustling back out to tell Mrs. Turner. "You do want to take the case, don't you?" John tried to affirm with the man.
Sherlock's eyes may have been staring into the microscope but his mind was far from it. America. The one place he was reluctant to go. Those Winchester brothers were there, their accents giving them away as clear as day. Sherlock didn't trust them in the least. Going by John's lack of memory he assumed they wouldn't remember either but he didn't want to take that chance. They would shoot him on the spot.
"Yes, obviously." Sherlock hated agreeing but he couldn't say no to the case without arousing suspicion. Besides, what were the odds of running into those boys in the entire population of America? He stopped himself from calculating the exact likelihood at once. He didn't need that weighing on his mind.
"I'll get us a plane. You start packing." John told him, switching tabs to find them transport. Sherlock sighed exaggeratedly before leaving for his room. He had hoped John would do his packing for him but the likelihood of that was slim to none.
As he began to take out socks from his index he made sure to pull out the gun he kept beneath his underclothes. The likelihood of meeting the brothers may have been slim but Sherlock wasn't one to take chances. He has to take at least one of these to America. It wouldn't be all that hard to get it over there. He had done far harder before.
"Sherlock, hurry up." John demanded. Sherlock snatched his bag up and followed his friend out of the airport. An American cab sat waiting for them, its bright yellow color grating on the detective's eyes. He hated to admit it, but he already missed his flat. He liked his world clean and orderly and America was as far from it as possible.
Sacramento was over two hours from the destination of the men. It was a long time to spend in the car and Sherlock was not looking forward to it. He hated being cooped up doing nothing for so long. He had brought a book that would help him with his blood mutation experiment but he figured that would last only the trip there and not the trip back.
"I've booked us a motel. Couldn't afford anything better since you refused payment on the case your brother gave us." John pulled out his phone and began scrolling down it, grateful for international coverage. He pulled up the notes on his phone detailing their lodging. Sherlock sighed exaggeratedly before pulling out his book.
"There's no need to be like that, we'll only be there for a few days." John told him. "As soon as you wrap this up it's back to Baker Street. This is just a favor since Mrs. Hudson has been so good to us."
"Mmmmm." Sherlock responded, now absorbed in his book. John, sensing he wouldn't get much out of Sherlock for the next couple of hours, pulled out his laptop to continue typing with what battery he had left. John wasn't the fastest typer so he really needed all the time he could get.
"Reservation for Watson." John pulled out his wallet as he addressed the man at the counter. Sherlock stood nearby, committing a map to memory. The man at the cash register chewed gum slowly as looked the two of them over.
"I thought you wanted two beds." He pulled up the records of the reservation, which was a bit odd. Normally they didn't get reservations in such a small motel in a small town. Especially out of country reservations.
"Yeah, we do." John's eyebrows furrowed, slightly confused.
The man at the counter raised his hands. "Hey, man. I don't judge. Do what you want." He reached over to pull something off its stand. "Here's your key. Return it when you're done."
"Alright, thank you." John said, taking it from him. Sherlock swept out of the room followed by his friend. Within a few moments John had popped the door to their motel room open and he stood in horror at what he was seeing. Sure, he had seen some crappy lodgings but this was a standard room in America?
Sherlock didn't even notice. He flew around the room, examining and memorizing the details before moving back over to John. "Come, John. We don't want to keep our driver waiting." He moved past his friend who rolled his eyes. John followed him out and began helping take trips with Sherlock's suitcases into the room.
Finally, when Sherlock was situated in the room with all of his equipment to unpack, John went out one last time to grab his own bag. He hauled it from the back of the taxi and handed the man a fair amount of the American bills he had acquired. The driver pulled out immediately, clearly needing to get back to work and leaving John Watson alone in the parking lot.
He sighed before turning. He stopped when he caught sight of a car a couple of spots over. It was certainly the most eye catching vehicle he had ever seen. The sun glinted off of the glossy black paint, dazzling the army doctor. He felt a slight pang of envy. He had never been a car person but if he had been, this would be the car he wanted.
Perhaps not everything American was all that ugly, he thought for a moment. Then he stepped back into the trashy motel room and sighed. Then again...
Sherlock's eyes glanced over the newspaper reports, taking in all the information in just a few moments. He spread them out over the table, his mind finding and eliminating connections almost faster than humanly possible. The images of all the victims were seared onto his brain in an instant; stored away in some compartment of his brain until they would be needed again.
He turned then to his laptop perched in the corner of the table. He scrolled down it, reading more about the personal lives of the victims. All female. All reduced to bloody masses of flesh. Animal? Possible but unlikely as these people were all in the town at the time. Serial killer? Again, unlikely but not impossible. It would explain the pattern of females which animals wouldn't make the distinction between. Then again, that could simply be coincidence.
John rubbed his hair with the towel as he entered the main room of the hotel. He had washed himself in the scummy shower just to try and get the nasty feeling of the motel room off of him. However, he had no luck in this endeavor and felt as though the filth was clinging to him all the more.
"Any luck?" He asked the detective.
"Some. Let's go examine the bodies." Sherlock stood, shutting his laptop.
"Sherlock, I'm in a bathrobe. I'm not dressed!" John protested, waving the towel about.
"Get dressed then!" Sherlock ordered. "We've got work to do, John!"