A/N: I am sorry, so sorry that it took so long to update. But at least I got to it eventually, haha.
Disclaimer: Nothing has changed in these past few months, so I still don't own Sherlock.
Chapter III
Mary made her way back to Sherlock as quickly as her current state of pregnancy would allow her. For a few seconds she regarded the sleeping detective, his long limbs entangled in the blanket, sweat dropping down his face as his unconscious self visibly struggled to deal with whatever horrors were hunting his dreams. She contemplated if she should even wake him as she was convinced that he would never want her to see him in this moment of vulnerability and quickly discarded that thought. To hell with Sherlock Holmes' pride, she could not bear to watch him suffer any longer. She tried shaking him awake gently. However the young detective barely shuddered. She made another, slightly more forcible attempt.
"Sherlock," she tried calling his name.
A combination of the shake and her voice finally seemed to do the job as the young man slowly opened his eyes. Yet his pupils still indicated a certain degree of confusion as he slowly started waking into the living world.
"Mother?" he acknowledged the presence of the other person in the room albeit he proved to mistake their identity at first glance.
"Not quite, Sherlock," drawled Mary.
As Sherlock registered her voice, comprehension downed on him. He made a feeble attempt at trying to put himself into a less vulnerable position.
"You were dreaming," Mary started. But although the detective seemed to be waiting for her to continue, she remained still.
"What, no interrogation?"Sherlock finally asked.
Mary shook her head as she sat down next to Sherlock. Fatigue slowly started catching up to her. Being a pregnant person turned out to be a piece of work and she could barely feel her legs.
Sherlock regarded her face before he commented: "Interesting."
"Oh, is it?" Mary smiled before continuing: "I'm not John, Sherlock. I'm not going to pry. If there was something you wanted to tell me, you would have done it by now."
"So no fussing then?"
"Is there a reason for me to fuss?"
"No."
But Mary could not help but notice that it took Sherlock an uncharacteristically long period of time to come up with this answer. It was almost as if he gave serious contemplation to her question. There seemed to be something that was bothering her usually detached friend. Well, she promised not to pry, but that couldn't stop her from offering an attentive ear eager to listen to her friend's troubles if he chose to share them himself.
"Sherlock," she started slowly: "I just… if there is something you'd like to get off your chest, I'm here, okay?"
"What? Yeah, sure. Whatever," was all that Mary got in answer. She was a bit taken aback as she was expecting to be answered with a retort along the lines of "Remember, no fussing."
But as Sherlock had jumped back onto his feet and was now once again deeply engaged with the facts of his current case, staring intently at the photographs and documents plastered all over the wall, she figured out that he had never even heard her offer.
"Oh, that's right, I promised I'd drive you to Lestrade."
"No," Sherlock answered resolutely.
"Why not? You were pretty insistent on getting to him when I first arrived?" Mary wondered.
"There's something I need to check first," Sherlock answered carefully.
The answer took Mary by surprise, in the period of time she had known Sherlock, she had never see him seem so unsure of himself as in this very moment. As he stood there with what could be explained as an expression of mild embarrassment on his face, despite his disheveled state that spoke volumes about how much he had devoted himself to the latest case, he looked extremely young and innocent in that moment. And in all the time she knew him, she had never seen him proclaim that he needed to make sure of something out loud. Sherlock Holmes found out if he was right first and only then came out with his theories. And in this case he had seemed determined to pursue one direction just a couple of hours ago, but now he was starting to doubt himself for some reason or another. This case seemed to be special in this regard. As Mary contemplated the somewhat strange behavior of her husband's best friend, Sherlock dialed a number on his phone.
Another strange moment, Mary pondered. Everybody in the whole of London knew that Sherlock preferred to text. If he chose to actually call someone, he must have regarded the matter to be of most import.
"Lestrade," Sherlock addressed the DI: "I need you to come to Baker Street. Now. Bring the medical records of all the victims with you. All the information you can find on this."
Sherlock listened to the party on the other end of the line for a moment. However he didn't answer Lestrade's question as he only remarked: "Look, Graham, just come here and I'll explain." and ended the call.
"His name is Greg, you know," Mary commented.
"What? Oh, why should I care what he calls himself these days. There's much more important information to be stored here," Sherlock touched his head inadvertently.
It took Lestrade only about half an hour before he arrived at Baker Street with a bunch of files in his hands. He passed them to Sherlock before taking up on Mary's offer for some tea. They discussed some more or less important events over a cuppa in the kitchen as they tried to allow Sherlock to have his space undisturbed as he dug his way through the files the DI had brought him. Sherlock stood completely still with the exception of occasionally glancing up to compare the documents in his hands with some of the information plastered over the wall. Finally, after what seemed like long hours to Lestrade and Mary and mere minutes to Sherlock, he proclaimed somewhat triumphantly: "This has to be it."
He was soon joined by Lestrade and Mary who were both eager to learn what the detective had uncovered.
"You know who it is?"the DI asked expectantly.
"No," Sherlock answered curtly. Mary noticed that he seemed even more unpleased with the fact that he had not yet managed to identify the perpetrator in this case and she wasn't quite sure that this was only due to the fact that it made him seem not invincible.
Sherlock put both of his hands together under his chin.
"But I did find the connection between the victims."
"Really? Do tell."Lestrade bided Sherlock to go on."
"At first glance they all seem to be unconnected. Different age, different race, different social background, different parts of the UK, different schools. There have however been two points where all of them seem to be connected."
"Wait, what do you mean all of UK? As far as we know, we have only had victims from England."
Sherlock gestured to one of the pictures on the wall, portraying a somewhat chubby boy of almost ten.
"Ian Gwain, murdered almost three years ago in a small public school near Cardiff."
"Three years ago? How do you know it was our killer?"
"Everything seems to fit his MO. And the boy fits the profile."
"What profile? You have only mentioned two common traits in all the victims."
"Yes, however if you combine victims with these two common traits and who were sexually abused before being asphyxiated the number of all possible suspects doesn't turn out that large. It's chance of probability that the person who murdered Ian Glain is also our killer."
"So you believe there might be even more victims?" Lestrade asked, all the colour draining from his face.
Sherlock nodded curtly.
"How many exactly are we talking about?"
"Hard to tell as we don't know if the time he is taking between victims in our case is the usual gap between murders or if the period has changed over time. We also don't know who and when his first victim was."
"How many do you believe we could be talking about, Sherlock?"
"Anywhere between ten and a few dozens. There might have been some early on who survived him. Chances are that our killer started as a child molester and only later proceeded to actually murder his victims," Sherlock noted.
The room stayed still for a moment before Mary finally broke the silence.
"So what is it that connects the victims?"she asked.
"For starters, they all seem to have exhibited an above average amount of intelligence although their academic records varied from Nathan Johnson who was at the top of his class to Ian Gwain who barely scraped through first grade. But the intelligence manifested differently in Gwain and two of the others. Gwain for example was known for slacking off school but in the time he missed there he was very inventive in terms of ways of finding livelihood for his family."
There was a note of admiration in Sherlock's voice as he spoke about Ian Gwain.
"So they were all geniuses?"
"Not necessarily. The average human's level of intelligence is so low that it doesn't exactly need genius to exceed it."
Lestrade decided to ignore Sherlock's insult and proceeded to ask: "And the second connection?"
"That's why I asked you to bring the medical records of all the victims. All of them, including Gwain according to the information I have been able get my hands on, sustained a high number of minor injuries over the span of several years. There's a certain rate of minor injuries that a person can fall victim to over the span of few years due to clumsiness, but the chance that all of them would have sustained as many injuries merely by chance seems unlikely."
"So, abused children, it is?"
"Not quite," Sherlock disregarded Lestrade's explanation: "None of the victims were exposed to violence or any other form of abuse from their parents or other close relatives. If anything the parents were extremely doting, the kind of parents who fully devoted themselves to their children and wrapped them in a protective bubble. Even Ian Gwain's financially bankrupt parents fit the bill on this point. So no, not abused."
"Oh," Mary exclaimed as the pieces slowly fit together in her head.
"Mary?"Sherlock invited her to speak as he gave her that special look that acknowledged that she was smarter than your average human.
"So we are talking about the kind of children who would find it hard to fit in with their peers due to their intellect and who would be easy prey for the other children as they all grew up being sheltered from the world. And one can imagine that such young boys who were frequently bullied by their fellow students would jump at the opportunity of finally having someone who was a fair partner for them on an intellectual level and who would offer them friendship. Even if such a person was merely a predator waiting for his prey."
"Exactly," Sherlock agreed.