Four: Sherlock Holmes (Third Person)

Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, staring at the array of pictures and notes in front of him. Oh, it wasn't coming together. He needed more. More substance. More data. John dozed in the armchair next to him, his head was starting to loll a bit. "John, it's not enough." Sherlock stood up and started to pace.

It was late. About two in the morning. No wonder John was falling asleep. Sherlock didn't sleep too much during cases. There was too much going on in his head for him to sleep. It was natural for him. He sighed deeply. He'd thought himself into a corner. He didn't know where to look. There had to be another death. Another explosion. Or another double explosion.

The next one, the next anything, would tell him more. It would tell him what he needed to know. He needed to clear his head of all the useless crap clouding his head. He pulled on his coat and scarf. He took his phone with him, slipping it in his pocket just in case something happened while he was out.

He walked for ages, getting everything out of his head. Molly sure looked cute with that new eyeshadow. Gone. John's snoring was getting irritating. Gone. The wallpaper is peeling in the corner. Gone. Why had all of his cases been in English for God's sake! Go- Why did he just think that. He stopped and cocked his head to the side. Interesting.

He decided not to delete that thought and kept going through them all. He continued walking, but he honestly didn't really know where he was until he was shocked back into reality by a smell.

It was a faint smell, but there was a smell. It was of an explosive substance. He took a step forward. The smell got stronger. He started to jog, smelling it more intensely. Finally, he turned a corner. The fuze was laying in the road, lit and burning. It was burning fast. He started to move towards it to see if he could stop it, but it disappeared into the building. He watched in horror, scared of what might happen.

A woman with raven black hair ran out from the building, and had been on the sidewalk for a second and a half when the building exploded behind her. Sherlock ran forward, towards her. She started to get up. She looked fine. A bloody nose, maybe, but nothing more severe. Then, the second, but smaller explosion blew. A rock fell from the building and got her right in the back of the head.

Sherlock reached her then. The girl, laying unconscious in the street, the back of her head bleeding and her nose as well. As he watched, trying to see if she was alive, he noticed the cuts in her back from the glass. Her shirt was in shreds, and her back was all cut up. He looked at the things clutched in her hands. Her phone and a jacket.

He pocketed the phone, and moved her jacket out of the way. He was completely ignoring the burning building. He knew who did it now. Now, this woman was all that mattered. She was alive, but weak.

He carefully rolled her over, so he could pick her up and take her to the hospital. Then, he saw who it was. Jessica Hannes. He met her a couple of days ago, at the museum. "Jessica." he whispered. He grabbed her jacket, lifted her torso, and put her jacket around her shoulders.

Then, he lifted her into his arms, suddenly more desperate. Her face was paling, but bloody. Her shoulders where he held her was warm with blood from both her head and back. He breathed in sharply at the warmth. He turned and started to go towards the hospital, ignoring the police and fire truck sirens a few blocks away. Then, she spoke, not opening her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes. We met the other day."

"I remember. Why are you carrying me? I can walk. Let me down." She started to struggle, but he bounced her a little so he could hold her better, and she gasped in pain, as if she just registered it.

"No, you can't, Jessica. I need to get you to the hospital."

"Please, I have to- ah." she gasped, "I have to tell him I was wrong. I-it was Harriet." He looks at her strangely. What made her say that? She had a concussion. It was obvious. With a blow like that. It was a wonder she was conscious.

"I'm going to take care of you, Jessica. For now, you don't have to be strong like at the museum. Let go."

"It hurts, Sherlock." She started to cry, but she did her best to control it. The pain must have been horrible. She clutched his coat in her hands, burying her face in it to muffle her sobs. Usually, he wouldn't let anyone do this. She... she would be needed. She spoke a few languages that he may need to know in the future.

At least... that was his excuse.

She slowly fell back into unconsciousness and when they got to the hospital, they took one look at her and whisked her away from him, getting to work on what happened. He was questioned a bit about what happened, then they left her alone. They asked her name. Just at that moment, her phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket. It was a text. The message was shown at the top, so he didn't bother to open the phones lock. "Crystal Greene! Are you alright. The police just phoned me! ~Mom"

"Crystal Greene." the consulting detective said. So she lied about her name. When she wakes up, she'll have a lot of explaining to do. Then, he noticed his coat. Darkened a bit with blood. Oh, bother. Now he's have to get a new one. This was his favorite coat, too, darn it.

He waited for a few hours, until six, would you believe it, until she was moved to a room. The doctor said that her family had been contacted and should be there in a matter of minutes. Sherlock went into her room one last time to see her and laid her phone on the table, and jacket on the chair next to the bed. As he left, he heard her moan suddenly. He turned. She was stirring a bit. She looked at her jacket, blue. A very nice color for her, and squinted her eyes. She glanced at the clock before slipping back to sleep.

Sherlock ventured up the stairs, the blood dried now. He would go get a coat tomorrow, he kept thinking to himself. At the sound of his footsteps, John awoke with a start. "Explosions all around." he mumbled as he opened his eyes.

"There was another one." Sherlock said, taking off his coat.

"Another explosion? Where?"

"Jessica Hannes, actually Crystal Greene, long story, anyway her flat, some twenty four blocks from here."

"Who the hell is Jess-" Watson sat up straight, "Jessica Hannes... O-or Crystal Green, what? Tall, black hair, talked you speechless?"

"Yes, her." Sherlock fell into the arm chair beside Watson, balanced his elbows on the arms, pressed his palms together and gently rested his hands to his chin.

"She... died. So much for dinner."

"No. She didn't die. She made it out at the last second. She's unconscious, though. She has a minor concussion. When I say minor, I mean about a week and half, and that rock hit her hard."

"You... saw her?"

"I was walking to clear my head of all of the useless junk in there when I smelled that explosive that Mira and Harriet use. I followed the smell to her flat. I was down the street when she ran out the door. He was outside for about a second or two before her flat exploded. Then, it exploded again. That one dropped a rock onto her has. Glass scraped up her back like hell. How did she even know that stuff was explosive?" Sherlock mused.

"What do you mean?"

"She knew to leave the building. Not many people can recognize that smell. Who is she?"

"You couldn't tell?"

"No. I could tell that she confronted her sister and moved out. She broke up with her boyfriend and moved to a dump. Why? Her jacket was designer, and so were her shoes the other day. Her phone is an iPhone, so it's expensive. Why is she living in a run down place like that if she seems to have money? No. I don't know anything about her. I couldn't pick anything up, other then her boyfriend and her sister." Sherlock stood and started pacing, "How did she know about Harriet? As I took her to the hospital, she said that it was Harriet. Two explosions.

"From the look of things, she has been in another explosion before... In fact, this case has been running for a while. They couldn't find her because she dropped off of the face of the planet for a while, and has only been recently active again. She must know something about it. I feel like this... this has happened to her before. This isn't her first explosion to be in. It's her second. Who is Crystal Greene?"

"Why is Jessica Hannes now Crystal Greene?"

"I don't know. I haven't had the chance to ask her yet. She's unconscious." Sherlock sighed.

Later that day (it was about seven o' clock when Sherlock got home), the two detectives went to the police station to tell Lestrade it was Harriet. Sherlock took the credit, but it was really an ordinary person who solved the case. He was intrigued by this mysterious girl, Crystal Greene.

Then, he noticed something strange. There was a card being passed around the office. It was large, so everyone could fit their names on it. By slightly closer examination... "Who got sick?"

"The best detective we have." Lestrade said.

"But, I'm fine." Sherlock said.

"The best detective we have who works for us. Detective Alex. Alex recently got into an accident and is bedridden in the hospital. Alex will be fine, though. Minor injuries, but it may take a while to recover. You know... stress."

"Who is this Detective Alex, and how come I have never heard of him." Sherlock asked, turning on the Detective Inspector, honestly curious.

"Alex has been working with us for six years, and you've never heard of him?" Lestrade asked. Lestrade knew that Alexandria wasn't exactly happy with Sherlock for stealing all of her cases, so he decided to try to hide her identity. Later, if she asked, then he would tell Sherlock who she was, but for now... just pretend.

"No. Never." How could Sherlock have missed this?

"Here, I'll get you one of his reports. The Bloomingdale case was particularly impressive." Lestrade left the room for her case, walking away from the two detectives. Until Alexis woke up, she was a guy. Or Crystal Greene.

Sherlock was peeved, back at the office. "The best detective they have and I have never even heard of him? Do they even give him any cases? Why would I not have heard of him?"

"Sometimes you jump in in the middle of a case, do you notice? Maybe you steal his cases, so you never see his name in the papers. You only see yours." John stated.

"Do I really do that? Jump in... by the time he's almost done?"

"There's a reason the police are sometimes reluctant, Sherlock."

"How do you know that?"

"Unlike you, I actually talk to the employees here. Sometimes, he's way ahead of you. People like him here."

"Someone who is better then me?"

"You could say that..."

Just then, Lestrade brought back a few folders. They were the ones that didn't tell her gender at all. You couldn't tell she was a girl. The Bloomingdale case may have a sentence or two, but it's not all that obvious. He set the four cases in front of Sherlock. "Here they are."

Sherlock sat down, pulled a case towards him, flipped it open, and started to read. John sat down, and picked another case to read. They read and read. After a few minutes, they handed each other the case they were reading. Sherlock had a look of astonishment on his face, and John thought he was possibly turning bi for this guy.

Even Sherlock Holmes thought he was smart. Then, John read the Bloomingdale case. By the end, his mouth was agape. Sherlock looked over at him, tried to close it, but it fell right back open again. He took the Bloomingdale case from John and began to read. By the end, Sherlock couldn't believe what he'd just read. He was only nineteen, almost twenty, and he solved a case. With a fever. In the rain.

He began to want to meet this guy. He knew that at the hospital his name would be different, so he may never find him. "Once he gets out of the hospital, and back to work, call me." Sherlock stood.

"Why?" Lestrade asked.

"I want to meet him."

A couple of days later, (on Alex's fifth day in the hospital), Sherlock sat in his armchair, staring at his cell phone. Was she awake? Would she remember anything? Was she okay?

It was odd for him to be worrying about her, but she did have to tell him what happened, and why she knew that the smell meant something explosive was in the area. He looked at the phone for the longest time before finally giving up. "Hello?" she asked on the other end.

"Ah, Jessica Hannes. I see you're awake." he said, almost relieved.

"I'm speaking, aren't I? And in straight unfaltering sentences, too."

"And you are still phasing through languages, I see." Sherlock smirked for only a few seconds.

"May I be perfectly honest?" she asked, "Because I'm afraid I haven't been very honest with you."

"How so?" he knew what was coming.

"My name isn't Jessica Hannes. It's Crystal Greene." Knew it! "I lied about my name for security reasons, you see. I heard about the museum directors murder so I changed my name so I wouldn't get involved in it all. No one really knew me yet. I'd been there for only a day or two before he was killed. I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Why would you tell me?" He knew she didn't kill him. She didn't seem like one at all. It was obvious she wasn't a murderer.

"You need a reliable resource. I'm not a reliable resource if you don't know my name. I'm not worth going to."

"Good point. So, how are you feeling, Crystal?" Sherlock breathed out. She was good...

"Fine... why are you concerned? We've only met once. How did you know I was injured?" He could hear it in her voice that she wished he would say "Lucky guess." Not happening.

"You don't remember?" he asked, confused.

"Remember what?"

"I was nearby when your flat exploded. When I came to see what the noise was, I saw you. So, I took you to the hospital." he said like it was obvious, "You barely woke up at one point, but you didn't say much."

"I don't remember anything after being hit in the head with a falling rock." she said, "It was almost right away."

"Oh... I see." he said thoughtfully, "It's good your feeling better." he hung up just like that. He stared straight. She was an interesting one for sure.

She couldn't remember... alright then. Sherlock was a little upset, but he didn't dwell on it for too long. He had a case to solve.