Chapter 5
A Kiss and a Solution
A/N: Here there will be JohnLock shipping. If you don't like it don't read. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
"Let go of my hand, Sherlock." John said, trying to pull free of Sherlock's iron grip.
Sherlock didn't reply, but freed his hand, running down to the corridor housing the toilets. John followed him earnestly. When they got to the corridor, there was already a large crowd of people outside the toilets. Sherlock sighed. "John. I am going to have to kiss you."
"Wha-"John began but he was cut off when Sherlock leant forward and kissed him. It was soft, but sure. John felt strangely contented as Sherlock kissed him gently. This is wrong! his brain screamed. I'm married! But other parts of his brain didn't want the kiss to end. Ever. It felt strangely right, and good. Eventually, the rational part of his brain won over and he pulled away. He looked into Sherlock's eyes, which were full ofdisappointment. That was certainly unexpected. Why would Sherlock be disappointed after their kiss? It was just for cover, right? John was completely and utterly confused. Sherlock turned towards the door leading to the toilet, where the crowd had thinned. Dear god, John thought, how long were we kissing? And then a thought stuck him – now everybody will assume we're gay! Even more than before! This realization made John turn towards Sherlock and tap him on the shoulder. Sherlock turned, and John punched Sherlock squarely in the face. Sherlock reeled from the strength of the punch, and looked bemusedly at John. "What was that for?"
"You. Complete. And. Utter. MORON!" John yelled.
"Look, John. If you didn't like it, we can discuss it later. Right now, we have a case to solve and you are going to destroy our cover even more." Sherlock spoke calmly, which soothed John slightly. He was still mad at him, but he would remain calm for the moment. However, Sherlock would have hell to pay once the case was over. Then, Sherlock added, "Anyway, you are dressed like a woman. Nobody will recognize you." John sighed, conceding mentally that he was right.
"Fine, just don't do that again. Mary might very well kill you."
Sherlock smiled slightly, and he and John walked over to the toilet.
The body of Eugene Falcon was slumped inside a cubicle, hugging the toilet like a drunk. The smell of vomit was overwhelming, and John gagged. "Yuck. Worse than when Harry has too much." he remarked. Sherlock pulled on some gloves from his pocket and went over to the body, examining it closely. The toilet was filled nearly to the brim with vomit. Sherlock wrinkled his nose distastefully, and then smelt it more closely. There was a hint of something strange in the air. He prised open Eugene's mouth, and another small stream of vomit trickled out. That was the cause of death, then- asphyxiation on own vomit. Not a pleasant way to go. Sherlock was absolutely sure that this had nothing to do with alcohol. The vomit held no trace of it, so what else could it be? Think, Sherlock, think! Then, the answer came to him, in a flash – poison. Obvious really. He needed to confirm this theory, so he straightened. "John, could you verify the cause of death, please?" he asked. Then he ran out of the room, leaving John alone with the corpse. John didn't mind; he was quite used to this sort of thing.
Meanwhile, Sherlock ran up to Ruby's table. Thankfully, Eugene's plate was still there. He stuck his finger in the unidentifiable, madly expensive mush (without even a glance at Ruby), and tasted a little. Yes, definitely a hint of poison to it. It didn't matter what sort of poison at present- but he was pretty sure that it was cyanide. Fortunately, he kept antidotes to petty much any poison back at Baker Street- just round the corner from the restaurant, thank god. "What was that for?" asked Ruby, confused and slightly in shock.
"He was poisoned." Sherlock said shortly. "and I need the antidote, now, otherwise I'll die too. It's at Baker Street. The bottle is labeled Cyanide Antidote, and then its full name, Hydroxocobalamin."
Ruby understood immediately. She leapt up and dashed out of the restaurant at high speed. Thank goodness that he had deduced that Ruby ran a lot in her spare time. She'd be back in under 10 minutes, of that he was sure. His mind returned to the pressing matter of the case. He settled into his mind palace quickly, trying to figure out who would have poisoned Eugene. The 'why' was obvious- the letter-writer had threated to kill all that Ruby loved; it stood to reason that potential lovers would be eliminated too. The poisoner would have to have had intimate access to the food – a cook, then. Must have been high ranking, to be entrusted with such an expensive dish. Sherlock had an intimate knowledge of the kitchen hierarchy, having had to go undercover as a chef during a case. High ranking, handling meat -ah! The sous-chef! Sherlock dashed outside, where he knew he would find everybody –he had noted that the restaurant was mostly evacuated. "Where is the sous-chef?" he cried. A man looked up. "That'd be me, sir." The man spoke with a slight Welsh lilt. Sherlock looked him up and down, deductions spiraling in his face:
Experienced chef, amateur chemist, history of mental illness, obsessive-compulsive disorder, abusive.
Yes, this was the culprit. "What is your name?" Sherlock demanded.
"Dillon Lywellan, sir." He said, confused. "Why'd you want to know?"
"Mr. Lywellan. I have reason to believe - ah, here she comes." Ruby was running down the street, holding her skirt with one hand, and a small bottle in the other.
"Sherlock, I've got it!" she cried, handing him the bottle. Sherlock gulped down a mouthful, relivedly.
"Thank you. Now, Ruby, do you know who this man is?"
Ruby turned and stared at Dillon Lywellan, with an expression like thunder. "You! You utter…!" Her voice cracked. "I ran away from you years ago. I thought our paths would never cross again. And now you kill my date?"
"He was an idiot." Sherlock muttered.
"Shut up." Ruby whispered. She looked over at Dillon. "Why? Why did you do it?" She asked sadly.
"I did it because I wanted you to feel what I felt. When you left me. I wanted you to love me again." He said, grinning manically.
"Yes, but killing? That's wrong." There were tears in Ruby's eyes as she said this.
John, during this exchange, had come outside looking for Sherlock. Spying him, he ran over. "Sherlock. What's happening?" he whispered.
"Hush." Sherlock whispered back. "We will find out the resolution to this case. And I don't want to miss anything!"
"You never miss anything." John muttered.
Ruby was still looking at Dillon, her sadness giving way to disgust. "You are a despicable person!"
"In fairness, I did get some help. From the consulting criminal, Moriarty. It would seem that you got some help too."
"Moriarty?" John breathed. Sherlock just looked surprised.
"You…" Ruby couldn't take it any more and let herself break down crying. John moved to comfort her. "I'll always have this hold over you. I'll always be able to make you break down." Dillon said with relish. Then, suddenly a young waiter came running from the kitchen back door with an empty soup pot. What is he doing? John wondered. The man ran up to Dillon and clonked him on the head firmly. Dillon's legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to the ground. Sherlock looked up at the young man.
"Thank you. He was getting on my nerves."
"My pleasure. I've hated the git since I came to work here. He's rude to everybody." The man sighed, and dropped the pot on the ground. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."
Sherlock smirked as he looked the man up and down.
Early 20's, a ginger cat, single, lives alone, vegetarian, works out a lot, no medical problems.
A thought came into Sherlock's head. He walked up to the man. "What's your name?"
"George Saunders." He answered.
"Come." Sherlock led George over to Ruby, who was still being comforted by John. "Ruby, this is George Saunders. He's going to stay with you for a while. I need to talk to John." George looked at Sherlock, surprised, but he didn't complain. John gently moved away from Ruby and let George move over to comfort her. "Shh, it's alright." George whispered. "It's okay…"
John and Sherlock waked away from the two of them, as police cars and an ambulance pulled up at the scene. DI Lestrade moved towards them, pushing though the crowds of diners and staff. "Sherlock, John, what happened here? And John, why the hell are you dressed like a woman?"
"Murder, Lestrade, what do you think?" Sherlock said sarcastically. "A man died of cyanide poisoning, choking to death on his own vomit. Those are the basic details. The culprit is passed out over there-" here Sherlock gestured towards Dillon on the ground "from a blow to the back of the head with a soup pot. Question him, and he'll confess to it. You should probably get reports from everybody now. John and I will come in and file ours tomorrow. Oh, and John is dressed like a woman to disguise his identity."
"Right. Of course." said Lestrade weakly. "And here I was hoping for a quiet evening in with my wife."
"I wouldn't bother, she's sleeping with her gym teacher." Sherlock added, earning himself an annoyed glance from John. Lestrade sighed, and went off to begin questioning everybody while they were still all there. John turned to Sherlock as he walked away. "When are you ever going to learn tact, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly. Sherlock smirked in response. "You should know by now, John, that I will never change."
John laughed.
"I think you'll probably want to get back to Mary, now. She'll want to know what you've been up to."
"True enough." John agreed. Then he hesitated. "Sherlock…This is the first thing Moriarty's done since…you know."
"Yes."
"What do you think he'll do next?"
Sherlock looked serious. "I don't know. But," he added, "I do know that when he unveils his big plan, I'll be ready. I will always be ready. I beat him once before, I can do it again."
"Just don't die this time. Or get exiled." John said, half-jokingly.
"I can't promise anything. I am very unpredictable." Sherlock broke into a smile, a rare true one, and he and John laughed their way back to 221 Baker Street.
In a hotel room, Moriarty looked at the footage that had just been relayed to him. He smirked delightedly. "You'd better be ready, Sherlock Holmes. Because I am coming to get you."
The End! *jazz hands*
A/N: So here we are at the end of this story. But this is only the first act. The game isn't over yet. I'm sorry, but I HAD to adapt that quote. XD Anywhoosles, I am going be starting my new story after this, and it will be called 'Brown Eyes Hide Black Secrets'. I will not disclose the plot yet, because I'm mean. ;-) See you there, and thank you for reading! Please Review + Favorite!