China Town

I don't think Arthur slept at all that night, by one in the morning I was sure our kitchen was gone, buried under ash and soot, and our phone bill had spiked so much it would be on par with the rent that we paid every month. By two in the morning I gave up trying to sleep all together even though Arthur insisted I should.

"Don't worry; I was in the army after all! And I'm a surgeon; if I wasn't a night owl to begin with I sure as hell am now."

"You'll need all your rest for this case." Arthur argued back.

"Why would I? It's your case, not mine." I was, after all never one for mystery stories when I was younger. To complex, or to dismal in my tastes. No one ever saved another in those stories. The people who could have been saved where already dead by the beginning of the story. Detectives in those books lacked the empathy for the victims that I saw in super hero stories. There, it was never too late to save a victim and it was never too late for redemption.

"You've got to be bored in this flat." Arthur persisted.

It was a bit frightening to watch some of the things that Arthur did while multitasking. Now, pouring some green looking liquid, that he had warned me was highly acidic into a very small beaker, his attention had turned to me, and he wasn't so much as looking at it. Not just that, he only had a cheap pair of latex gloves I had bought earlier on. Needless to say the doctor in me was screaming.

"Art! Be careful! You're going to—"

Pink smoke erupted from the beaker, and Arthur was quickly distracted again.

"Fascinating."

What was fascinating was how he managed to not kill himself before I had arrived in London.

Somehow along the way I had ended up doing all the chores around the flat. Which was utterly insane. Mathew was always the one to play mom, to do everything. Now I was sitting here in a flat in faraway England caring for someone I was sure was going to somehow manage to kill me. I needed that x-box to be shipped over faster. Too bad that Mathew was holding it up, threatening to sell it if I didn't call him in another week.

I was half tempted to call Mathew in a few hours, time differences and all; I could wake him up at 2 in the morning as a bit of revenge.

"Planning something john?"

"Alfred." I corrected again. "Or Al. Hell Fred's cool to. Anything but John. I don't even look like a john!"

"Nonsense. John is a normal name. Perfect for what I need you to do."

"Whatever it is, just get Ms. Hudson to do it."

"I doubt she will be quiet up to what I need."

"What is it this time then? Go get more milk? I basically do that every day! Whatever happens to that milk anyway?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but I frowned, immediately regretting the question. "You know what? I don't wanna know."

"Want to." Arthur had a thing for correcting my grammar as he bemoaned the fact it 'wasn't proper'.

"Whatever."

"Or better yet," I continued. "I could fight that mold in the sink we both know is probably alive, or go and get some more eyeballs from Bart's, or even better! Go break into the Tower of Flippen London."

"Excellent John! Exactly that!"

I blinked for a moment, not quite sure what to do with the sudden praise from Arthur. That was hard to come by. I knew that after living with him for only a few days. The only time I had heard him say anything like that was to praise the flat, an experiment of his, or the chocolate cookies from Ms. Hudson (reason number 23 why I wasn't allowed to tea time with Arthur. Even if he acted so detached, he couldn't hide the fact he had a major sweet tooth.).

"I think I misheard you. What?"

"Oh no John you said it yourself. Now I do expect you back in an hour."

"After I do what?"

"You said it yourself!"

"Well I said a lot of things. You're going to have to specify. Cause if you don't I'm heading down to GameStop or McDonald okay?"

Arthur made a face when I mentioned the restaurant.

"How you eat that swill I'll never understand. We simply will have to introduce you to real food once the case is over."

For someone who almost never ate, it was weird to see him so against the stuff. Sure McDonald wasn't the healthiest choice. I knew that, but it didn't mean I couldn't indulge in it a bit since I got here. I didn't exactly have a lot of time for it at home.

"Now Watson chop chop. Head off and meet me back here in oh…say three hours. That should be enough."

"I have no idea what you want me to do." I repeated, because unless he wanted me to wander the streets of London at this time, where I will probably get lost and be mugged by some gang or another, I was staying right here.

Arthur let out a long suffering sigh. "Must I repeat everything I say?"

"Yes, I suppose you're gonna have to."

"Going to."

"Like I said earlier. Whatever."

"I need you to break into the Tower of London and retrieve another piece of this paper and one of the decorative pencils they sell in the gift shop. It's very important. The pencil I'm looking for will be on the ground, kicked under the desk. It should, have the culprits finger prints on it. He after all did this note in a hurry."

"You do realize it's almost 3 in the morning."

"Yes. That's obvious." Arthur said, looking clearly annoyed.

"And the tower should open in another couple of hours."

"Yes but by that time someone would have picked it up and smeared their own fingerprints onto it."

Well, that almost sounded like a whine. A genuine, honest to god whine. Like a kid who was being denied a toy at the toy store.

"I may have been in the army Arthur but you do realize that there is no way in hell I'm breaking into the most fortified area in the entire U.K. to steal a pencil, alone, and with this shoulder and leg!"

Arthur only seemed to scoff, as if I was selling myself short.

"It's all in your head John I've been telling you that since you got here."

"Beside the point. I'm not doing it."

"But lives could depend on this clue!"

Ouch, that one hurt. Play on my hero complex why don't you?

"It is the most fortified place in the U.K." I repeated again, though I was running out of things to argue with other then 'do you know how long I can be put in jail for if they catch me running around the tower unless I come up with a very good cover story and 'oh I got lost and wandered in here' probably wouldn't work. All for a lousy pencil.'"

"But it'll help people!"

I was still too new to Baker Street to know that Arthur would pull that phrase to get me to do something for the rest of my time there.

"It could—"

I was only saved from being talked into this when a group of police cars rolled up beside Baker Street, lights on and sirens blasting through the early morning.

"Oh. Looks like they found him. Never mind Watson. Looks like we won't be needing the finger prints."

Before I could ask who exactly 'he' was, an older looking police officer came running up the steps to 221B. He had appeared in Baker Street a few times before, but only ever in passing, and only ever for a minute or so at a time. He was my sign that Arthur had a new case and I should stay out of the bathroom/shower/flat for a little while as he worked.

"Where?"

"Near China town. Are you coming?"

"Please Lestrade; do you really think I would turn this down? Come on then John!"

Well that was new. I was never invited along with Arthur when he went out. But I wasn't given a second to decide on what I wanted to do before Arthur swept out of the room.

"Dammit!"

There was no way I wasn't going to follow him now. Being kept up till this time in the morning and with something going on outside the flat for once….I wouldn't be able to head back to sleep anyway. Besides, I was bored out of my mind. And nothing ever happened to me. Not really. So why not give it a try? Quickly I ran out of the flat after him and out into Baker Street.

Arthur didn't look behind him once, not even when he had climbed into the cab. After giving only the directions of 'follow it.' and gesturing toward the police car, he had dove into a book of all things that he must have grabbed before we left.

I don't think I've ever had a more uncomfortable cab ride.

Not even when I had to take one with Mattie after his favorite hockey team lost.

And that was a pretty uncomfortable cab ride.

Settling myself down in the cab seat I tried not to fidget. But with no one talking, the cabbie seemingly quiet happy to have quiet passengers for once, and almost no movement, other than the occasional flip of Arthur's book I had to find something to channel all my sudden burst of energy into. Which became my phone. I didn't really like it, after all, the words 'for Mathew from Catherine' that was etched into the back of it, seemed to burn into my skin every time I picked it up. I couldn't say I hated a lot of people, but I defiantly hated Catherine, and I knew the only reason I got this phone was because she pushed Mathew into giving it to me. She wanted this constant reminder to stay with me no matter where I went. There was no way I could dump it or throw it away either. After all, I didn't have the money for a nice new phone and Mathew would kill me if he couldn't get in contact with me.

I hadn't given him the flats number or my new e-mail address. I had changed it after I arrived in England. That laptop was one of the only nice things I had, and the e-mail address used to be Catherine's. I took some deep pleasure in deleting it from something she had supposedly 'borrowed' while I was on my last tour. It took me weeks to get rid of all of her shit that she had dumped into the laptop, only to find she had done the same to my stuff when she first 'borrowed' it. Everything was gone, including the few chapters of the story I had typed up digitally when the ideas came to me. All those ideas now lost. She couldn't have found a way to annoy me more.

"John you're thinking too loudly." Arthur complained absently.

"Oh? And what am I thinking about?"

"How much you hate you're brothers fiancée." He shrugged, looking bored. "It's an utter pedestrian emotion and you shouldn't worry about it. After all, you don't live with her anymore."

Emotions in general were never Arthur's thing. Most of the cases that came into Baker street with crying women never….exactly ended on a very good note. Not to say Arthur wasn't a gentleman to them. He could be pleasant, he could at least try to make most of the tears go away. But it was never for the right motive. He never offered condolences, and he only did the first two because otherwise he wouldn't be able to get the information he needed out of a client. He had made me sit through a few of these clients, and I had, I admit been curious about what was going on. But until now, I had only been used as someone to come in at the end and reassure the client. At least get them to feel a bit better before they left. Somehow I felt there were a lot of people who ran out of here in tears before I came.

Arthur waited a moment, another tense moment in the cab I chose to ignore before asking,

"Aren't you going to ask how I figured it out?"

"Right… course. So Arthur how'd you know?" Sometimes, a guy just had to play side kick. But Arthur's deductions could really be interesting. Perhaps if I had found a detective in stories with intelligence like Arthur had, I wouldn't have written them off so easily. His skill was very much a super power to me.

"More obvious this time than usual." Arthur said, starting to run through a string of deductions. "This time it was your body language. When you get upset, or think about something you dislike you instinctively rub at your knee. Most likely because it agitates you the most. You know that the wounds all in your head, and you're annoyed you can't get rid of it on your own. That therapist of yours is awful by the way. Anyway because it's something that annoys you so much, you immediately go for it when you're thinking about your family. Seeing as it annoys you so much, your mind must have connected the two together. But judging by how tightly you're gripping your phone it's not just your family but your brother. But, ah here's where the interesting part kicks in. You're holding it in a way that you're covering the name 'Catherine.' Could mean that you liked her, a sign of possessiveness perhaps. But judging from my earlier deduction a week ago it's more likely you're trying to blot her name out. You don't like her at all. In fact she's most likely the reason you're in England."

Man this guy never missed a beat.

"Did I get anything wrong this time?"

I shook my head. That first deduction had been interesting enough. Funny even, but this time Arthur had managed to not miss anything. Perhaps he was trying more than he had that first time?

"None that I can think of."

"Well you rarely think."

"Coming from the guy who left a human arm in the freezer so long you asked me why we had such a big chunk of ice in there."

"That was an experiment!" Arthur protested.

"It was one after we found it."

China town was a vibrant part of London, even this early in the morning. Neon lights glowed in shop windows to the point that the road looked green in some places, blue in others, and red for long strips of it. This was only interrupted by the flashing of police car lights that seemed too forced, to wrong, in this vibrant mix of colors on display. It didn't fit in, but I suppose, it really wasn't supposed to. The cabbie had stopped on a road that was probably forgotten by all but the locals. It was quiet, exceedingly so, even the police car sirens had been turned off, only their flickering lights remained. Across from where the police cars had created a small barrier was a place called the 'Lucky cat emporium.' Its lights were dark, to the point you couldn't make out the contents or the interior of the shop and all that you could make out was one golden cat statue in the window, staring out into the crime scene. It was a place I was sure a ghost would want to haunt. After all…that statues eyes seemed to bore right through the cars. Quickly, I looked away and focused on the scene in front of me.

Walking after Arthur towards the police tape, I was surprised to find no one really cared or noticed us as we walked. Were they just used to it then? Somehow it felt more of a simple 'there not looking/observing' to 'they don't really care.'

"Details Lestrade." Arthur and Lestrade were walking side by side, Lestrade, being a tall man, even taller than me, made Arthur look like a high school kid that had been accidentally been dragged here in comparison to a consulting detective sought out by the yard.

"We don't know who this guy is, but about midnight we got a call from some cashier that was closing up a restaurant down the block who spotted our victim. He had been hung from that lamp-post with a pretty thick rope."

Arthur frowned "Seems like a pretty cleaned cut case. Why can't you idiots figure it out? You know my rules Lestrade"

"Well, thing is we can't find any sort of bruising on his neck, and the spinal cord isn't snapped. From how he was hanging it looks like that should have killed him."

"but?" I asked from behind them. Both heads snap back to look at me.

"Sherlock, who's this?"

"John Watson. Why?"

"Why? I can't have civilians running around my crime scene."

"You have me."

"That's…."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking daringly at the DI.

"He's a doctor." Arthur said simply "And former Army. If you want me on the case, you'll allow him to come with me."

"….fine."

"Anyway because of that, we think that he was actually dead by the time someone had strung the guy up. What we don't know is why. Seeing as we don't know the guys identity, we can't look for motives, or suspects. All we got is one witness and that's it."

"Mmm, it's only really a 6. I don't leave the house for at least a 7 Lestrade. Do try not to forget that so often."

"He had a note." There it was, the DI putting all his cards down on the table.

At this, Arthur perked up. "oh? Written in blood? Like the last case? Or is it etched into a door, or the floor, or a wall?"

"Well…it was sent to the yard a few weeks ago. It looked like a bunch of nonsense spewed on the page, so we didn't send it to you. We figured it was just a prank."

"Stop beating around the bush Lestrade and tell me what it was."

"It was a set of numbers and it was titled 'dear boss.'"

"Well this changes things!"

Arthur looked excited, almost too excited for a crime scene. What I didn't understand then was that it wasn't the murder that excited him. It was that another mental link, in the long chain of links had been created. Each time a new link was forged, a new set detail, he was that much closer from finishing and figuring out the puzzle. Much like a black smith that looked on to his completed work, proud and happy, Arthur looked on to these cases as a test of his powers, as something great to create, and to beat. What people didn't understand was Arthur could never be a murder. The thought would never cross his mind. Because you see, that would be too easy. That wasn't something he could build, nor something he could solve. No links could be created. A scarlet threat woven by himself would be dull because he understood every part of it. A thread woven by another though…..well…that was simply infinitely more interesting.

I wanna thank everyone for the support for this story :D