John walked over to the cashier and asked exactly what Sherlock told him to do. Sherlock on the other hand nonchalantly followed the girl to a cemetery. She walked in and crossed the grass to two granite headstones. Sherlock quietly followed and hid behind the statue of an angel in the next row. From there he could read the names on the headstones. The one on the right said Martin Freeman, and the left was Amanda Freeman. The girl laid the flowers in between them and kneeled.
"It's been a while, two years actually. I had to get away, it was all too overwhelming. I met some blokes today as I was getting you these flowers, the man at the register didn't have any Statice, and I knew those were your favorite, mum." The girl said and smiled.
She looked at her hands in her lap as she twisted them around.
"I got into Cardiff School of Journalism, I know that's not what you wanted dad, but I had to. I couldn't be a doctor, like you wanted me too, I just couldn't, to many people would die at my hands." She said almost too quietly for Sherlock to hear.
Sherlock noticed someone coming the girl's way. He slid more carefully behind the statue as the girl stood up to talk to the new person. They were talking too low for Sherlock to hear. He couldn't see the other person's face and their clothing was too baggy. He noticed the conversation seemed to get heated for a bit as the girl went rigid with anger and her fists curling at her sides. Suddenly she relaxed a bit. The heat died down and she nodded. Sherlock gave a questioning look. A million things could've just happened. The other figure walked away and the girl stood there looking down at the graves.
"I'm sorry, I have to go." The girl said looking down.
She turned and walked a ways before stopping and looking at the angel statue.
"Blimey, you better not blink if you're going to stand near that thing." The girl said.
Sherlock stood absolutely still.
"Are you determined to think I don't notice you? I just met you in the flower shop! You're the unbelievably tall one." She said.
Sherlock stepped out from his previous position and looked at the girl.
"I'm curious, why exactly, were you following me?"
"Investigation,"
"You've just met me, why would you need to investigate."
"I've just met you," Sherlock said simply.
"That's a fantastic reason." The girl rolled her eyes.
"The only reason I need,"
"Anyways, I know your name, Sherlock, interesting by the way. Not common, sounds . . . intriguing and laced with danger." She said, eyebrows shooting up than down accenting her last word as she stepped closer.
"You know mine, but yours?"
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" The girl smiled slyly.
Sherlock suppressed a grin.
"I know you come from a wealthy line, and you do home beauty, you are a bit insecure and shy. I can tell everything about you from one look, at least not your name."
"Clearly not, all of that's wrong." The girl smirked.
Sherlock looked puzzled.
"How?"
"You see thrift shops are excellent for finding mismarked brands, cheap salons great for the wallet and appearances, I'm quite confident since I'm chatting up a stranger who followed me to a secluded cemetery. Questions?"
Sherlock blinked rapidly.
"Grace by the way," she smiled.
Sherlock's phone went off.
They don't have any record of Calla Lilies recently. -JW
"The Bat Radar going off?" Grace asked.
"I have to go," was all he managed to get out.
It was rare Sherlock was confused, only one girl had ever done this to him, but she was long gone.
"It was nice meeting you Sherlock," Grace called after the detective as he hailed a cab.
'Grace,' he mouthed and smirked, leaning against the seat.
"What was that all about?" John asked the man as Sherlock strode into 221B.
"Investigation," Sherlock shrugged.
"Of a girl you don't know?"
"Her name is Grace," Sherlock muttered.
Silence fell over the flat.
"What?"
"You know I do hate repeating myself."
"You found out her name? What did you . . . never mind," John collapsed into the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock picked up his violin without the bow and sprawled out on the couch. He plucked absently at the strings while thinking. This girl completely defied him. The conversation kept ringing through his head. Her confidence twisted up a storm of curiosity in Sherlock, few had ever done this unheard of task. Little did he know, John was watching very closely. He had only seen the tall man think this hard about two people: Jim Moriarty and Irene Adler. Suddenly the whole room jumped at the sound of Sherlock's phone going off.
Are you busy?
Sherlock gave the phone a raised eyebrow and typed back.
Who is this? –SH
Oh, wouldn't you like to know? -GF
Sherlock smiled wickedly.
So are you busy? –GF
That all depends –SH
On? –GF
A better offer –SH
Does coffee count? –GF
"Sherlock, you need to solve the murder." John sighed.
Sherlock glared at the man.
It does, but I can't. –SH
Shame –GF
Sherlock kept a straight face as he stood up and paced the room, switching his mind over to the case. There wasn't any record of the flowers at that shop, although they were done in the style of the store's signature form. They could always be home grown and made to look like the shop. That had to be it.
"Sherlock, what was on that yellow card?" John asked when he saw the opportunity.
Sherlock stopped and pulled out the paper and held it out. John groaned and stood up taking it. John read it carefully.
"You think it was Moriarty don't you?" John asked.
"I don't think he was the murderer if that's what you're thinking."
"Then why would this be there?"
"He had something to do with it." Sherlock said as it was obvious.
"What if he's just messing with you Sherlock?"
Sherlock clenched his jaw and was about to make a retort when his phone went off.
We have another murder. Bloomsbury Place. –GL
Sherlock headed out to the street with John close behind. The ride took a bit, but they were dropped off at the house. Donovan 'greeted' the pair.
"Look, it's the psycho and his puppy." She spat.
"Hello Donovan, if you wished to deceive people, it would be best not to wear one of Anderson's shirts to work." Sherlock said sweetly.
Donovan's mouth dropped open wide and the men walked onto the crime scene.
"Anna-lexia, mid-twenties, she came back home from the café and was killed." Lestrade said.
Similar to the last was what crossed Sherlock's mind. He noticed the bullet wound to the head, it was shakier than last, not as clean.
"Sherlock," John said and Sherlock sat up quickly.
The short man nodded to a bouquet of flowers. Heather and Bachelor's Button; solitude and anticipation; inside the flowers was another note:
Surprised you haven't gotten this yet.
Need a clue?
-M
Sherlock frowned in annoyance. This was a serial killing, but something was different, something he wasn't seeing. Suddenly a door was unlocked. The bullet wound was shaky. The killer was nervous this time, but why? Sherlock stood roughly where Anna-lexia was standing and looked at where the bullet would've come from. The chair was a pale cream tub chair. Sherlock took a large step over to the chair and leaned over it. The smell of citrus and lavender drifted up to him.
"John, come here," Sherlock muttered.
John came over.
"What, Sherlock?"
"What do you smell?"
"Oranges," John shrugged.
"Anything else?"
". . . Flowers,"
Sherlock nodded.
"So, we know that the killer wears citrus and flower perfume and is female. Yeah, that narrows it down." John said flatly.
Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek lightly. John did have a point . . .
AN-
Wow, I really didn't think this would get as much response so quickly. I'm honestly flattered. I must warn that Sherlock may be a bit out of character at times, so please don't nag me about this. Thank you all!