Chapter 11
Impatiently waiting outside the hospital room, Sherlock paced the lengthy, bright white hallway. He frowned, his left arm crossed his chest while his right rested on it, his chin resting between his thumb and his index finger. He was thinking, opening up every single door of his mind palace, trying to scrape as much information as possible.
At that moment, John was going through series of tests and the doctors were examining every part of his body. John was still unconscious, laying on the hospital bed while the doctors left the hospital room, eyeing Sherlock curiously as he walked past them.
Sherlock walked up to John's room, standing in the window. The doctors left the door unlocked and he could easily slip in the room and back out before anybody noticed, but John did need his rest and if Sherlock disturbed him, he'd wake up. He needs to rest. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock caved and quietly opened the door, entering the room and standing next to John's bed.
This was a bad. This was really bad. Sherlock could figure out who was the murderer of a killing just by looking at the victim. He memorized every element of the periodic table including their mass, protons and initial. He could tell who your ancestors were, what they did and where they came from just by glancing at you for a mere second. But he couldn't figure out what's wrong with John. This was new to him, an area that he didn't bother to immerse his advanced brain in.
Sherlock touched John's arm while listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. It accelerated and Sherlock recoiled his hand. John's awake.
"Sher...Sherlock..."
"John."
John's eyes were droopy, but he still stared at Sherlock with concern.
"Are you okay?" John asked, sensing something is wrong.
"Forget about me! Are you all right?" Sherlock inquired, frowning slightly.
John sighed lightly. "I, uh...I'm...I'm..." And within a few seconds, John was welcomed back into unconsciousness. Sherlock pressed his lips together, stared at John for a second, then left the hospital room.
John should be out for a few more hours. Which means that he still had some time to figure out who the hell was spreading rumors and assumptions about their relationship, which was still a big concern on Sherlock's list. John was definitely his top priority.
Sherlock took his phone out and noticed he had one unread message.
Sherlock, there's been a mysterious
letter sent to your flat a couple of
hours ago.
-MH
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and replied quickly.
Mysterious how?
-SH
The text messages remained constant for a few minutes.
It was a black letter and it was
sealed with golden wax.
-MH
It's past three. The mail does not
deliver past eleven in the morning.
Figure out who delivered it.
-SH
Already done. Lucky I installed
cameras near your flat, otherwise
I wouldn't be able to figure out
who delivered it.
-MH
A minute later, Sherlock received a phone call. He sighed as he answered it.
"I do not like phone calls, Mycroft." Sherlock sighed.
"It is much more efficient than texting." Mycroft replied.
"Why?" Sherlock continued.
"Why what?" Mycroft asked, obliviously.
Sherlock sighed again. "Why wouldn't have you been able to figure out who delivered the letter if it were not for your cameras?"
"Because it seemed that every other camera had completely lost signal. It was blank when I had my sources go through it today. Everybody's a suspect now, Sherlock." Mycroft informed.
"Description." Sherlock commanded.
"Late thirties, around six feet tall, wore a black coat and black pants and rather muscular. No facial description. Unfortunately, my cameras were not placed conveniently." Mycroft said.
"Saved." Sherlock muttered, hanging up.
Sherlock's mind wandered for a while. So the suspect was close enough to notice the cameras on Baker Street, but not close enough to notice the private cameras Mycroft had installed near Sherlock's flat. The suspect was careful not to face in the direction of the camera...does that mean that the suspect was aware of Mycroft's camera in the first place? Did they want to get caught? Obviously it was more than one person doing this to Sherlock, and a black letter is rather suspicious. With the things going on, everybody's a suspect. It was important to find out who knew what was going on in their personal lives and who was leaking that information out into the public's ears.
Sherlock escaped from his mind palace and started walking towards Baker Street, eager to open the letter.
It's time to look through the suspected suspect's perspective.