Blood in the Air - Chapter Six
With the IV finally out of his arm, Sherlock was free to move about. His muscles still ached from the poisoning, but only mildly. Pain was quickly becoming a close acquaintance. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off the annoyance of the poisoning aftereffects. His head pounded from nicotine withdrawal, and all he wanted was a good drag on a cigarette. He was slightly repulsed at the idea of using patches still, after they had been seeping the toxins into his body that nearly killed him. Almost ironic, how he was nearly killed from his undying smoking habit. Maybe he'd turn to alcohol instead to calm his nerves, but that was more impairing.
John was sitting at the breakfast table feeding Lucy when Sherlock approached. "Morning," he said nonchalantly, searching the refrigerator. "Lestrade still has that beheading problem on his hands. Care to check it out?"
John let out a sigh. "I told you already, Harry's coming today. I have to wait for her arrival."
"Oh right, your sister. And her fiancée?"
"Yeah. I don't know anything about her yet, so I really should be here to greet them properly. But you should definitely go out, check out those beheadings."
Sherlock turned away from the milk to look at John. "You don't want me to meet your sister, do you."
"I didn't say that, Sherlock."
"But you don't want me to be here when she arrives."
"I think it'd probably be easier for everyone if you weren't." John focused his eyes on feeding his daughter, refusing to make eye contact with Sherlock.
"You're ashamed of me."
John sighed again and finally looked up. "Dammit, Sherlock, why do you choose now to be perceptive of human behavior?"
"Why are you ashamed of me?" Sherlock asked. The thought was painful, and he was beginning to crave a cigarette more than ever before.
"I'm not ashamed of you exactly. I just... I'd prefer to properly greet Harry and her fiancée with a regular teatime before they meet you. You can be quite hard to handle sometimes. They should get settled first."
"Fine," Sherlock snapped, slamming the refrigerator door shut. He stormed down the stairs and out the door before John could say anything more.
"Look who's here today," Lestrade announced as Sherlock slipped under the police tape. "Where's John?"
"He's not coming," Sherlock replied flatly.
Lestrade lifted his eyebrows. "Are you two okay?"
"Of course we're okay. Why wouldn't we be?" Sherlock snapped.
"It's just that, you know, you two used to go everywhere and do everything together. Now you're hardly together at all, even though you still live together."
"We're not a couple," Sherlock replied, because that's what John would have said if he were there.
"Clearly," Lestrade replied, leading Sherlock towards the victim. The words stung slightly to hear.
"Michelle Parker, age 34," Lestrade said, introducing the headless body. "ID confirmed by wallet still on the body."
Sherlock scanned the crime scene. "Where's the head?"
"Why do you think I invited you?"
"You have a serial beheader, with six bodies, and..."
"No heads," Lestrade finished.
"Someone is storing heads?" Sherlock questioned out loud. "Hmm. John, why don't you..." he turned to ask the doctor, who wasn't there. An awkward silence fell upon the crime scene, broken only by Lestrade's purposeful cough.
"So what kind of sick bastard keeps the heads as trophies?" he asked Sherlock.
"Heads would be somewhat hard to keep," Sherlock admitted. "I once kept a severed head in the ice box. It only took a few days before Mrs. Hudson started complaining about the smell of sour milk coming from the refrigerator. But there was no milk."
Lestrade pursed his lips together and looked at his feet, trying to remove the image of finding a bloody head in Sherlock's fridge from his mind. "We haven't found a pattern amongst the victims yet," he said, trying to change the subject and not ruin his lunch.
"Six bodies and no connection yet?" Sherlock wondered out loud. "You know, the ones who choose victims at random are the worst there are."
"I can see. I have six headless corpses to back you up. Can you find a connection to lead us to the killer?"
"I want all the background information on all the victims, including records of any interviews you have done with friends and family. John and I will look into it."
"John?"
"Yes. He loves this sort of thing. The game."
"Maybe John's tired of the game, Sherlock."
Sherlock tightened his eyebrows together. "Ridiculous."
"He has a baby now."
"He'll come around. He will. He has to."
Sherlock stalked away from the scene, lifting up his coat collar, while Lestrade shook his head at the retreating figure.
13:24 - John Watson
Come home. Now.
Sherlock wondered why he was being called home after he had been kicked out earlier that day.
13:25
Why - SH
13:28 - John Watson
Harry's here and I need you here too.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He wanted to be frustrated with John and fight the urge in his gut that begged him to run to John's calling.
13:30
I'm busy. - SH
There. He would not let John Watson have any more control over his life than he had already allowed. He was Sherlock Holmes. He was independent and too intelligent to be bound to any man. He would fight the urge of sentiment that welled inside him. He would fight the mental images that plagued him, especially in his dreams. Of John's smile when Sherlock made a joke. Of the twinkle in his eyes when he looked at his daughter. Of the lavender shampoo he used in his soft gray hair.
Sherlock was shaken out of his trance by the sound of his phone. But it wasn't the regular beep that came with John's messages. It was a woman's sigh. The Woman, to be specific. He quickly flipped open the phone.
13:32
Did you miss me? We're having dinner tonight.
Sherlock stared in awe for a few seconds before hailing a cab and heading back to Baker Street.
The door creaked open. "That must be my flat mate, Sherlock Holmes," John said loudly to his sister as Sherlock came bounding up the steps.
He was greeted by John holding Lucy in his arms and standing next to a short woman with close cropped brown hair and eyes just like her brothers. She wore a simple pink dress that was brought to life by the dazzling diamond ring on her finger. Impossible for the detective, or anyone, to miss.
"Hello, Sherlock. I'm Harry," she said extending a hand.
"Nice to meet you," Sherlock replied as he grasped her hand, trying to remember John's rules of compassion. This was John's family. His sister. He needed to make a good impression.
Sherlock's eyes caught sight of a woman sauntering into the room from the direction of the kitchen. "This is my fiancée, Lauren," Harry introduced.
"Nice to meet you," she said, grabbing hold of Sherlock's hand and firmly grasping it in a handshake.
Sherlock did not reply, but shared a glance of concern with John. Now he knew why he had been summoned to Baker Street.
Lauren wore a black lace dress tightly contoured to her body and dark red lipstick. Her dark hair was pinned into an elegant bun with a sparkling pearl hairclip and her eyes were intelligent and piercing. More importantly, she wore a mask of false identity, for both Sherlock and John had already met Harry's fiancée under her real name, Irene Adler.
"Sherlock," John said, breaking the tension. "Could you help me with something in the bedroom? I can't find Lucy's stuffed bear, and you're the best at finding things."
"Sure," Sherlock replied. "Excuse me," he told Irene and Harry as he slipped past them to follow John.
"I thought she was dead. Mycroft said she was dead," John whispered harshly.
"Well, I guess Mycroft is wrong about something," Sherlock replied.
"What the hell is she doing in my house, engaged to my sister?" John demanded.
"How would I know?"
"Because you know everything! What the hell is she doing here, Sherlock? Is she a spy again? For Moriarty?"
"I don't know, John."
"Well what are we going to do? Do we tell Harry? We can't tell Harry. She hasn't talked to me in years. Why now?"
"It is quite suspicious," Sherlock admitted. He didn't want Irene Adler to be an evil force in his life. Not after he saved hers. She owed him, didn't she? Then again, Moriarty had sent an IOU to Sherlock that hadn't turned out very well.
"But what do we do, Sherlock! Think! You're the genius!"
"Well we sure as bloody hell don't leave her alone with Lucy," Sherlock said, his protective instinct kicking in. "This was a mistake. We can't bring in others to help raise her. We can't. We can only trust ourselves."
"Well I see that now," John complained. "Fat lot it's done me now, hasn't it?"
"John," Sherlock whispered. "I don't give a damn what Moriarty tries to do to me. But I won't for a second let him hurt that little girl. He may have messed with those around me in the past, but if he so much as touches her, I will end him. No matter how it must happen, I will end him."
John looked into the piercing gray eyes and saw a storm within. It was clear from the enunciation of the words that nothing would stop Sherlock from destroying Moriarty completely if he were to come near Lucy. And while they were words of comfort to the startled John, the ferocity he saw in the depths of those gray pools sent a shiver up his spine. He could nearly smell the blood in the air.
"Harry," John called brightly as he re-entered the room with Lucy in his arms. "It really is so good to see you again," he told her.
She smiled at her brother, her eyes crinkling at the corners similar to the way his own did when he grinned. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding," she replied. "I was in rehab for my, er, issue."
"Well, that's perfectly understandable," John said, trying to look enthralled and hide the building rage within.
"I just wish I could have met Mary," Harry said. "I know I'm late, but, I'm sorry for your loss." She awkwardly hugged her brother, the knowledge of their distance like a body wedged between them.
"You would have liked her," he whispered sadly. "She was brilliant."
The embrace was broken by Sherlock's abrupt entrance into the room. "I told you," he said loudly, glaring at John, "I will not share this loft with any more bodies! It's already bad enough there's a crying baby here. No more!"
"But Sherlock," John protested, "it's my sister."
"I don't care if she's the bloody queen, she's not staying here," Sherlock commanded. "I pay the majority of the rent. What I say goes."
"We talked about this..."
"And I said no. Get them out. I hate commonfolk."
They quietly glared at each other before John sighed and looked away. "I'm sorry to drag you out here, Harry," he said regretfully, "but my roommate truly is impossible. And with a baby, I can't afford to find another flat right now. It's true. He does pay most of the rent. I really can't afford to cross him right now. You won't be able to stay here."
Sherlock turned up his nose and looked down upon John's sister. The air was thick with his ego of superiority.
"I see," Harry said, trying to be understanding. "Well, we better be going. It's getting quite late." She squirmed uncomfortably under the detective's glare.
"C'mon, Lauren," she called to Irene as she headed towards the door. "Bye John," she threw over her shoulder, not looking back.
Irene cocked her head and glared at Sherlock, giving him an inquisitive stare, before trotting after Harry. When they were both gone and the door was shut, John let out his withheld breath.
Sherlock slammed the bolt shut. "We need to get to the bottom of this."
20:13 - The Woman
You still owe me dinner.
20:14
What do you want - SH
20:16 - The Woman
A roasted duck sounds lovely.
20:17
What do you want with John's family - SH
20:20 - The Woman
Can't a woman be in love?
20:21
You don't display the signs of being in love - SH
20:22 - The Woman
Mr. Holmes, you know nothing about love. And not everyone stares forlornly at their heart's fancy like you do at Mr. Watson.
Sherlock stared at the message on his phone. For once he was stumped for a reply.
"Sherlock? You alright?" John asked, rocking Lucy in his arms.
"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his curls.
"Why are you texting Irene?"
"Huh?"
"I know you well enough to know that the only time you listen to a woman moan is when Irene Adler sends you a text message."
Sherlock sighed. "It was me. I... I was the one who saved her. She was very nearly dead. I thought, I thought it was the human thing to do. Quite possibly, it was the wrong thing to do." He looked up at John with saddened eyes, blaming himself already for whatever harm The Woman would send John's way. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."