Chapter 3: Let's Get Down to Business~
During the events of relocating to London, Sherlock had been doing well. Well enough for someone who had been so brutally tortured as himself, anyway. John was feeling very hopeful when Lestrade called them for their first case as the official Detective Consulting, and Consulting's Assistant (D.C., and C.A.)
It was a serial killer. Sherlock used to love those. The criminal being so clever, it made for a more intriguing case.
But having been where he had been, seen what he had seen, done what he had done, there was no enthusiasm this night. John was somewhat concerned, when they rolled up in cab, to an old laundry room in, ironically, Brixton, the place of their very first crime scene together.
He got out of the cab, and swooped around in one dramatic circle, looking at everything. Stepped under the caution tape, and before a policeman could start his drawling complaint of "Oi, you, you have no right to be 'ere ,mate!" He flashed a badge that's very paper looked as though it had cost at least a quarter of last years revenue, and was enough to make the bobby's eyes go wide.
"Oh, right, Detective...This ,err...,way."
He looked at John snidely, as if telling him to stay put, before Sherlock snapped, "And my assistant."
John flashed an equally fancy badge, and the bobby squinted, "Consulting's Assistant"?
"New office in the British government; tonight we're testing out how well it works. We may well be the only two that ever exist, but even so, you and your peers should familiarize yourselves with the initialisms , "D.C.", and "C.A." and how they relate uniquely to New Scotland Yard...Now..."Sherlock leaned over him, brows drawn up as if in question, and then, lifted the tape for John.
The two of them breezed into the laundry room, and looked around ,expressions cold, at the murder that was...everywhere.
"Oh ,thank God, you're here, Sherlock!" Lestrade cried. "This one is utterly BAFFLING."
"No ,it's not." Sherlock said, voice quiet.
"Sorry?" John asked, having himself never seen the like.
"There are far greater evils in the world than ever reach as far as London, Lestrade. Save tonight one of them has. Now I could tell you all the gory details, but I think you have enough gore on your hands. You are looking for a killer that trains apes to do his assassinations to avoid his DNA traces being on the crime scene ( I have made note that you haven't taken any fingerprints, and that there are traces of hair, not human, on the fabric of the blood-stained laundry) . He would need to plant the apes in the City, but would need a convenient place to draw them all together, apes being pack animals. Trace the pack back to one mutual location, and you will find the killer's hiding place. My guess, judging by this muddy, not-human footprint, the silt of which is river silt, mixed with asphalt grains, you are looking for a building along the Thames, a large building, with various old outbuildings, and a parking lot where the gravel and pavement are starting to erode, thus passing the asphalt grit into the river's silt...And..."
He pulled out his magnifying glass, and knelt next to the footprint. He bowed close to it, and drew a deep breath.
"There are traces of red brick color, and the faint scent of lamp oil. It's most likely the clubhouse the street kids built behind the old boat house right before you reach the boat house itself has been sitting empty since I was a child, and the clubhouse wasn't very well constructed to begin with. A tiny building such as that, fallen into disrepair,...ideal place for psychopaths to linger..."
He stood up straight, and closed his magnifying glass.
All eyes were trained on him, mouths gaping.
Even John and Lestrade were utterly astonished, and they had been with him on his most difficult cases.
"How did you...piece that all together in under 3 minutes?" Lestrade asked ,at last, breaking the silence.
Sherlock stood fiddling with glass, eyes vacant. "I've seen it before." he said, looking up, face gone dark, and nodded.
"Well, I suppose that's it, then. Evening." he turned, with a dramatic swish of his coat, as if fleeing the scene.
John followed him, having questions, that he thought better of voicing.
"Hey, just so you know, that was AMAZING." he laughed, falling in stride with him. "Looks like you're back in business..."
"Ah..." Sherlock muttered, avoiding John's eyes.
"Everything alright?" John asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Noticed the way he flinched.
"Oh, I'm fine..." he said ,waving it off with a soft laugh. John nodded,
"You're remembering something..."
"Yeah."
"You don't have to tell me..."
"Probably better that I don't."
That would have been the end of that conversation. In fact, John had been thinking of asking Sherlock if he was hungry ,and before he could get the words out of his mouth, Sally Donovan was practically jogging their direction...