Guess who is so, so, sorry? Me! Life has been kicking my butt and that is the only excuse I have. Enjoy this chapter since it's longer and we've actually got some action! WOOT! Read, review, love.
~Lady Peppermint
Sherlock winced as he pricked his fingers once more against the unforgiving point of the needle. Scowling at the waist coat that still needed mending, Sherlock tried once more with the needle only to feel another small sting.
"Damn and blast!" He huffed, tossing the innocent garment onto the floor before plopping down on his cot to meditate. John, who had been sitting in by the window reading books and studying maps glanced up before returning to his studies.
"I thought you said you knew how to mend clothes." It was a statement rather than a question. Sherlock's mouth turned down further as lay in his praying position.
"I do, I watched mummy sew Mycroft's socks and mine when we were younger. Father never did approve; he said it was the servant's job, not hers." He muttered huffily, never opening his eyes. John raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
"The man never approved of much, truthfully." Sherlock spoke so softly he wondered if John had even heard him.
There was a heavy pause that Sherlock ignored and John twitched uneasily until:
"Why did your mother marry him; your father, I mean."
"I know what you mean."
"Well?"
Sherlock sighed before opening his brilliant eyes to glare at the worn ceiling above them.
"I don't know." He finally answered.
"That's a lie. There's never anything you don't know because you make it your business to find out." John snorted derisively. Cupid bow lips quirked slightly at the shorter man's statement.
"Usually 'I don't know' means I don't want to talk about it, so don't ask again." Sherlock said gruffly, careful to keep his face neutral under his friend's close inspection. John stood and picked up the waistcoat as well as the needle and thread before sitting back down and finishing the hemming.
"My mother married my father out of fear." Sherlock blurted out quickly, his walls slipping in a moment of vulnerability. John made no comment, learning a while ago that if you were patient enough the truth would come out eventually.
"She worried about never being married and that her family would hurt without the money that they so dearly needed and my father so willingly gave. I doubt she loved him, and I know he never loved her considering all the others he had on the side. Sentiment." Sherlock growled out the word and clenched his hands into fists. John pursed his lips and chose his words carefully before speaking them,
"Do you blame him for her death?" The good doctor winced, that had not been as eloquent as he had hoped.
When Sherlock spoke his voice was oddly cheerful and bright, asking John if he had seen the new children's maid, Mary. John shook his head and smiled, he knew when questions were over for the time being and he would respect Sherlock's privacy.
A light knock at the door made John jump while Sherlock remained still as he usually did. Quickly throwing the finished waistcoat at Sherlock who easily grabbed it midair, John shifted into a spider and crouched in the corner of the window sill and watched with all six of his eyes as Sherlock welcomed their visitor.
"You can enter." Sherlock called out irritably and John wished he had a palm to smack his forehead into.
Mrs. Hudson opened the door without her usual cheerfulness, in fact she looked near tears.
"Um, Sherlock, dear, I'm afraid they'll be no work t-today on a-ac-account of a m-mur-der!" The frightened women burst into tears before ushering herself out quickly with a slam of the door. Sherlock sat up straight as John quickly shifted back into his human form.
"No." He said sternly, crossing his arms. Sherlock pouted.
"But John, a murder!" The taller man said this as if it were explanation enough. Oddly, for the good doctor it was an explanation, but not one that he approved of.
"No." He repeated firmly. Sherlock looked down at him before smiling quite evilly and getting a glint in his eye that John knew meant no good whatsoever.
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"I hate you."
"So you've said."
John watched as Sherlock made lengthy strides from where he sat in the Detective's pocket hundreds of feet up from his perspective.
"I'm even sure this is illegal somewhere."
"Hmm? How?"
"Obscuring objects in a crime scene." John deadpanned.
"I'm not obscuring you, you're merely in my pocket." Sherlock retorted, moving passed a few startled servants and a frantic kitchen maid. John remained stubbornly silent while the tall man considered ways to sneak into the crime scene which was being guarded by two stern looking soldiers.
Sherlock walked up to them and gave each a curt nod before making to step into the room.
"Oi! Where do you's think you's going? You's not allowed in there. Only the Capt'n of the guard's allowed in there." The stouter and much meaner looking guard said gruffly, shoving Sherlock back from the door with a sneer. Sherlock's face remained calm, but his eyes now held an icier glint that meant nothing good. John peeked through the thin material of the pocket and held his breath as he waited for the inevitable to happen.
"You're a piece of work, aren't you? Upset about your daughter's escapades with other men at night or the fact that you have yet to be promoted ti first officer?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow while the shouter man spluttered incomprehensibly and a vein appeared pulsing at the side of his neck. When he found he could not form a sentence, the enraged soldier lunged at Sherlock who easily moved out of the while sticking out his leg. The man tripped and ended up sprawled face first on the ground in front of Sherlock who smirked and made for the doorway again. The other soldier shuffled his feet before nodding at Sherlock and bending down to help his fallen comrade.
"What the bloody hell is going on out here?" Lestrade marched through the doorway and found himself face to face with an amused Sherlock.
"You! What are you doing here and why did no one let you in sooner?" Lestrade shoved Sherlock into the room before following him. Captain Lestrade stepped to the side while Sherlock did his inspecting, or more commonly referred to as "Snooping".
Sherlock kneeled and got as close as humanly possible to the dead body, inspecting her clothes and looking closely at her hands. John crawled out of the footman's pocket and grew to his normal size before mirroring Sherlock and studying the deceased woman.
"Well?" Lestrade asked, his arms folded across his iron clad chest.
"The female is 35, was married and is either separated, widowed, or having an affair. The tan line on her ring finger shows the ring is missing. It obviously was not stolen due to the fact that her finger distributes signs of not wearing it in ages. Middle class and does not work in the castle. Shows no signs of struggle or injury." Sherlock frowned before standing up again and placing his hands underneath his chin.
"Hang on, if she wasn't injured, how do we know this was murder or suicide? How is she even dead?" Lestrade asked incredulously.
"Hm, I'll have to think on this one." Sherlock murmured waltzing around the room while he thought.
John stayed where he was and gently turned the woman's head to inquire the back of her head more promptly.
"Sherlock," John started, capturing both the footman's and guard's attention.
"What is it? What have you found?" Sherlock walked swiftly and bent down to where John was pointing.
"See those imprints on the skin, there?" The doctor asked. Sherlock's eyes alighted on said imprints and a grin stretched itself on his face.
"Do you have a knife?" Sherlock asked, outstretching his hand. Puzzled, Lestrade pulled an ankle blade from its sheath and carefully handed it to him. Sherlock swiftly cut across the victim's wrist, deep enough to hit the vain.
"Oi! What are you doi-"
"It would appear, Captain Lestrade, that we have a blood sucker in our midst."
"A what?"
"Vampire." John confirmed, a look of bewilderment and discomfort alighting his features.
"No blood in the central stream, and the murder was recently, just a few hours I'd say. Not much time for rigor mortis to set in. The victim's been sucked dry." Sherlock all but crowed.
The scuffling of feet and and shouts of apologies interrupted Lestrade from commenting further as Molly entered the room looking out of breath and a bit disheveled.
"I just heard, Lestrade, is everything alright? What happened?" She heaved, clutching her chest as she caught her breath.
"It would appear we have a vampire on the premises, Your Highness." Sherlock smoothly answered, drawing Molly's attention and causing her to squeak in surprise.
"O-oh. Any ideas of the culprit? You know, a dead-ringer?" She chuckled nervously at her own joke before turning it into a soft cough.
"Please don't make jokes, Highness. And no, not yet, but the game has only begun. Come along, John!" Sherlock took off running. Molly looked at the man she hadn't noticed before, he seemed nice enough in an odd, kicked puppy sort of way. He smiled at Molly before bowing.
"Doctor John Watson, at your service, Majesty." She nodded and offered a small, "At yours." Still quite befuddled of the entire event.
"John!" Sherlock shouted from down the hall.
"Oh, stuff it, you overgrown man-child!" John snarked, jogging after his friend.
Molly looked at the silver haired guard next to her.
"Don't even bother asking me what just happened."He said firmly.