Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or John, but I do own Sophia.
"Sophia, text the number on the table."
"Do it yourself."
I munched on the biscuit that Mrs. Hudson had brought up along with the lecture of how a teenage girl should be eating more often and how skinny I am. Dad signed dramatically, typed into his blackberry, and continued to explore his mind palace. An hour later, John climbed up the stairs, he seemed about to say something, but stopped when he heard the strangely erotic gasp of my father.
"What are you doing?"
"Nicotine patch, helps me think." Dad replied,
"Lestrade threatened to stop letting Dad help with his cases unless he quit."
"Quit what?"
"Something a doctor would not like to hear about." Sherlock said, then gestured towards the table with his head, "Can I borrow your phone?"
"Wait, what is it exactly that you were…addicted to?"
"Cigarettes, amongst other things." I said casually, kicking his slipper where he kept his secret stash, John looked at me alarmingly, and I raised my hands, "Don't worry, he was always sane enough to keep me from it, not that I would be keen to be hooked onto something, I'm much cleverer than him in the ways of keeping ones sanity and being rational. We balance each other out. Sort of."
"Yeah, lovely chit chat. Now, can I borrow your phone?"
"My phone? Sophia's got a phone, Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."
"Sophia won't do it, I tried shouting but Mrs. Hudson didn't hear."
"I was on the other side of town, you called me here to use my phone?" John said, beginning to get angry.
"There was no hurry." Dad said calmly. I snorted, Dad can never see what's wrong about his various requests.
"Here." John said, digging out his phone, his face a mask of exasperation, I was starting to think that it would become his permanent expression, poor man.
"So what's with the case?" He asked Dad, who ignored him, he then turned to me.
"Her case, the murderer's first mistake, taking her suitcase with him."
"So, he took her case. Wait, how do you know it'll be a he?"
"Balance of probability, my dear Watson." I smiled at him, "I'm a staunch supporter against sexism, but brutal murderers are usually male."
"OK…"
"John, I need you to text this number."
"You brought me here to send a text." John said angrily, I pity the man, at least he's not yelling profanities yet, he broke the record of the senile old man living in the cardboard box at the tube station.
"Text, yes. On my desk, there's a number." Dad said, and held out John's phone. John glowered at him, then at me.
"Couldn't you have done it, Sophia? Is it seriously necessary to call me over from across the town?"
"I am not my father's assistant."
"And I am?"
"Don't worry, he views everyone as his assistant."
John stomped over and snatched the phone, but instead of going to the table, he looked out of the window, nice self control, most people would have been either whimpering and texting at the same time or throwing the phone out of the window and stomping off the stairs by now.
"Just met a friend of yours." John said finally, I looked up while Dad frowned from the sofa,
"A friend?"
"An enemy."
"Oh, which one?" Dad asked casually.
"Arch-enemy, according to him." He turned towards me, he finally figured out that any backstory would have to come from me and not from Dad. "Do people have arch-enemies."
"Would you count my father as people?"
Dad spoke up now, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"
"Yes."
"Did you take it?"
"No."
"Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."
"Who is he?" But Dad decided that he had answered enough meaningless questions today.
"The British government, otherwise known as-" I started, but Dad caught me off.
"And entirely not my problem now. On the desk, the number."
John glanced at Dad, sending a dagger, which glanced off his shield of not-caring-ness, and he picked up the paper from the luggage label.
"Jennifer Wilson. That was… Hang on, wasn't that the dead woman?"
"Yes. That's not important, just enter the number."
John shook his head but did what he was told, I greatly admire his self control.
"Are you doing it?"
"Yes."
"Hang you done it?
"Ye… Hang on!"
My admiration for his self control had grown considerably.
"These words exactly, 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must've blacked out.'"
John looked at Dad, probably wondering when he blacked out or just confused.
"'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"
"You blacked out?" John asked, confirming my hypothesis.
"What? No, no!" Dad clambered over the coffee table and joined me with in front of the open suitcase on a chair, "Type it and send it. Quickly."
"What's the address again?"
"22 Northumberland Street." I reminded him. He finished typing, and turned to look at what we were looking at.
"That's…that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."
"Yes, obviously." Dad said, rifling through the contents of the case. John continued to stare at him.
"Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."
"I never said you did."
"Why not? Given the text you just sent and the fact that I have her case, it's perfectly logical."
"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"
I snorted, oh John, you have no idea.
"Now and then, yes." More like almost every time.
John limped over to the other armchair and dropped heavily into it.
"How did you get this?
"We looked through every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, took us less than half an hour." I said, "The
case had to be pink, and as I have mentioned before, the killer is most likely a male, a man would look pretty weird carrying a pink overnight suitcase."
"You got all that because you realised the case is pink?
"It had to be pink, obviously." I said, smiling. I exited the sitting room to go to my room to change out of my school uniform, rummaging through bins does not improve the state of your clothing. I chuckled at their faded conversation, practically everyone is an idiot indeed.
I only did the first one-third of my homework, then every other one after that. A lot of teachers are not bothered to check more than half the questions, and most teachers are willing to cut me some slack for me due to the British Government and my general personality along with my…should I say, intelligence.
"Sophia! We're going out!"
I rushed down the stairs, Dad and John are still talking,
"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly."
"What, you want me to come with you?"
Dad didn't reply,
"Come on, it'll be fun!" I said, smiling at him while shrugging on my coat,
"A dead woman and serial killer and you call it fun?"
"Problem?"
Hey guys, I've written up a new Sherlock one-shot, but is not letting me publish new stories, so yeah.
What do you think of this chapter? Reviews to me are like cigarettes to Sherlock!