Chapter three
Sherlock and John returned to 221B after an... Eventful shopping trip.
"I'll put the kettle on then shall I?" John said as Sherlock sprawled himself across the sofa.
"Bring jammy dodgers too!" Sherlock called after him.
"Get your own biscuits," John yelled back as he flicked the switch on the kettle and set about finding two mugs without eyeballs or fingers or some other obscure body part in them. "Sherlock, where are the clean mugs?"
"Bathroom sink!" Oh of course. The bathroom sink, where else.
"You know we own a perfectly good kitchen sink and a dishwasher right?"
"Boring." Sherlock sighed, "Hurry up."
John finished pouring the tea and bought the mugs into the next room. He placed the mugs on the coffee table and lifted Sherlock's legs so he could sit on the couch too. Sherlock immediately turned around so he could lie with his head in John's lap.
"You can't drink tea like that." John commented, taking a sip from his own mug. Sherlock grunted.
"Where are my biscuits?"
"In the biscuit tin."
"Why?"
"Because you were being lazy and wouldn't come and get them yourself."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Sherlock's phone buzzed. He instantly reached for it, scanned the text and began typing a reply rapidly.
"Who is it?"
"Lestrade."
"What does he want?"
"He has found the parents. I said we would be at the Yard as soon as possible." Sherlock jumped off the couch and began throwing on his coat and scarf, "Come on John,"
"But my tea-"
"But the case."
"Fine." John resigned, standing reaching for his coat. "You owe me you know.
"I always end up owing you."
"That's because you always end up taking up all of my days off."
"And what would you be doing instead?"
"Sleeping." John retorted.
"Wrong! You wouldn't be sleeping."
"And why is that?"
"Because I'd be bored and therefore shooting the wall." Sherlock grinned, "Come on, you love these cases really, else you'd be stuck in a mundane job, with a boring wife, in a mundane place-"
"Yes thank you Sherlock." John cut of his partner, "Let's go question these parents."
XXX
The parents of Olivia Harding (which was apparently the identity of the girl from the river) sat quietly in Lestrade's office. Clearly they were well of and had doted on their only child, she had probably been good in school and encouraged to do well by her parents. The very example of a well off upper-middle class family in London. The wife had clearly been crying and her husband had comforted her (made obvious by the damp patch on his blue shirt Sherlock noted) however now they both sat calmly and with an element of composure waiting for the next set of questions to be asked.
"They are through here. The wife is a bit emotional but she seems to have calmed down now. Do not upset her again." Lestrade directed as he led Sherlock and John to his office. Sherlock stepped inside and smiled at the detective inspector.
"Thank you. We will take it from here. Hello Sherlock Holmes sorry for your loss." Sherlock turned to the two parents and offered them his hand, completely stunning John into silence. He was never this polite, although, he hadn't had a case in weeks and this was probably just an attempt to not screw everything up.
"Oh, hello Mr Holmes, we almost didn't recognise you without your hat." The husband stood and greeted Sherlock. The smile on Sherlock's face faded slightly, John had to stifle a laugh. There was a moment's pause before Sherlock replied.
"Now we have got a few questions to ask. Firstly, who was your daughter with last night?" The calm and soothing air to Sherlock's voice vanished as he took a seat.
"Her boyfriend, he's such a nice lad though, I am sure he wouldn't do anything. They were going to a party, her best friend's eighteenth. She'd hired a boat on the Thames they were going to celebrate on that." The wife gushed.
"Brilliant." Sherlock muttered to himself, John elbowed him sharply in the side, worried the parents had heard. Sherlock shot John a look before continuing, "I need the boyfriend's name and the best friend's name."
"Kyle Dobson and Eliza Smith, I can write their addresses down for you." The husband supplied reaching for a post it note and a pen from Lestrade's desk, scribbling down the names and addresses and handing the paper to Sherlock.
"Thank you for your help." Sherlock said, rising from the chair and beginning to leave the room.
"Wait Sherlock, on your daughter's ankle she had a mark, we assume this was a childhood scar, correct?" John asked quickly.
"No, Olivia never had a scar…" The wife said slowly.
"Oh?" Sherlock asked, his attention restored, "That's interesting thank you." He offered the parents one more smile before striding out the office. "Lestrade, it was murder. She had something tied to her ankle to weigh her down after she was pushed off the boat. Begin to search the Thames; I am going to speak to the boyfriend."
"Sherlock, there is no point in searching the Thames now, we'll never find it."
"Then search over the body, try and find out what was holding her down."
"Sherlock-" Lestrade tried to reason with the consulting detective but he'd already vanished from the office and was outside trying to hail a cab to take him across London.