Hello you. AHAHAHA, YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE? BECAUSE THE CHAPTER'S CALLED 'YOU'! I'M SO FUNNY! I MADE A PUN!
Ahem. Yes.
I'm on a self-induced sugar high, because A) It's been a horrific day, and B) This is officially the last day I can put off revising for. My Mock Exam week-but-not-quite-a-week-actually-a-week-and-a-day-week starts next Friday, and I'm terrified. I've got English, R.E, Citizenship, Maths, History, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Music and French to do, plus coursework catch up days. FUN.
I've updated 2 chapters as once, as way of an apology for my absence from updating over the coming weeks. I'd much rather be here, with you, honest. Also, this chapter feels like more of a bridge than anything, and doesn't seem to work as well as I'd liked. Some Radiohead references for you- some subtle, some really not.
11:00pm
John was not home. This worried Sherlock immensely. He was either out with Sarah and it was going well, or it hadn't gone well and was now wondering around London on his own in an effort to calm himself down.
So Moriarty considered himself a god? Sherlock laughed. If anyone was not a god, it would be Moriarty. The man was crueler than Sherlock considered even himself to be. He went into the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. He wasn't staying up till John came home. No. That would be stupid. No, he was staying up because it was his apartment to and he could stay in it as long as he wanted. Yes. That was why.
Sherlock lay down on the sofa, drinking his tea. His eyes fell on the box of Frasier's possessions. They were heartbreakingly small.
Sherlock began to do what he always did when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, which was to record and catalogue things.
He found:
12 books, including eight fairytale anthologies, two Roald Dahl books, a Doctor Who novel and a book on planes.
A toy robot.
A teddy bear (who, despite himself, Sherlock knew was called Rupert).
His collection of planes.
A notebook recording his model planes.
The box of Play-Dough they had played with.
Sherlock's throat stung painfully, and he scolded himself for this embarrassing show of sentiment. It was only then that he noticed the bookmark he had discarded earlier. It showed some soldiers, and in the bottom, a little 'Help for Heroes' logo was written.
Sherlock stared at the bookmark. It had been in the very book with the connection to the case. On the page where the story had started. How could he have been so blind?
He grabbed his phone and began to google frantically. He could find a connection, he must.
Geese are one of the mascots of the U.S Marines, due to their steady and loyal temperament. Their motto Semper Fedelis, meaning 'Always Faithful', perfectly sums up the bird.
Sherlock grinned. This was it. This was the connection. This time, he would not fail. He would win. He would beat Moriarty. He would-
Sleep. At that moment, all of his fatigue, all of his exhaustion seemed to catch up with him in one flurry of movement, turning his limbs to mush beneath him. He fell back onto the sofa, asleep before he hit it.
9:00am
Sherlock awoke the next morning with his face stuck to the sofa. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but he knew that he hadn't been in bed all night. He peeled himself off and staggered into the kitchen, grasping for a mug for his tea-
Only to find Sarah in there, making herself some breakfast. In the blue shirt John had been wearing last night. And nothing else.
Sarah gasped when she saw him, dropping the bowl of cornflakes she had in her hands. Hurriedly, he rushed to pick up the pieces, avoiding catching her eye.
"Excuse me," he muttered, placing the pieces in the bin and grabbing the kettle, his jaw clenched.
"I'm sorry, I'll just-" She left mid sentence, walking as quickly as was polite upstairs to John's bedroom. Sherlock was overcome in an urge to throw something, but managed to suppress this by putting vehement passion into placing the kettle back on the kitchen side. Of course they'd slept together. They were two adults; Sherlock could hardly stop them, could he? Glaring at nothing in particular, he gripped the mug tightly, knuckles whitening from the pressure.
There was a sleepy yawn from behind him. "Hey Sherlock," said John, smiling wearily at him.
"Hi," he said, his voice brittle.
"Sorry about that, we thought you were asleep."
"Not a problem."
John began to search the fridge. "Thanks for your help, by the way. It really- Well, it was…" John gave him a grin that made Sherlock want to hurt someone. It felt like a betrayal. Of course it wasn't, John was hardly his to claim, but it didn't mean that this didn't sting.
"Glad to be of use."
"Get any further with the case?"
This made Sherlock feel a little safer. An easy topic. Better. "I believe the next victim could be a U.S marine."
"Oh. How?"
"The goose is a mascot of the marines, due to their faithful nature. There was a 'Help for Heroes' logo on a bookmark that was placed in the story."
"But how can you tell which one it's going to be?"
"That's what I need to find out. Coming?"
Sarah walked into the kitchen, fully dressed this time and applying make up as she walked. She blushed a little at the sight of Sherlock. "Er, hi." She turned to John. "Thanks for last night."
Sherlock had expected some display of affection towards Sarah from John at this point, and found himself suddenly engrossed in the kitchen cabinets at this point in his revulsion, but none came. "No problem," came John's reply, a warm tone but one that Sherlock knew too well as slightly uncomfortable to be fully normal. His presence must have been distracting him.
Sarah gave Sherlock a weak smile and kissed John briefly on the cheek. John smiled back and she left.
"You're sure you'd not rather be out with Sarah today?"
"She's working. Besides, I'm interested in the case. Scotland Yard?"
"I thought you'd never ask. But, er," Sherlock glanced at John's still pyjama covered body tentatively. "You'd better change."
John raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you've never gone to see Lestrade in your pyjamas before?"
Sherlock chuckled. "You really don't want to know John."
10:30am
"So you're telling me we have to find a Marine." Lestrade tented his fingers, watching Sherlock intently.
"Yes."
"A U.S Marine."
"Yes."
"That narrows it down considerably. Now we only have to check 180,000 fucking people."
"You don't do sarcasm nearly as well as I do Lestrade, don't try," Sherlock said dryly.
"Forgive me for not being the most optimistic," he glared at Sherlock darkly. "But it's 10:30am and we still have no fucking leads."
Sherlock began to pace. "Well, we just have to think logically. What do we already know?"
"The target is a Marine," said John. "And this is related to geese somehow."
"What do we know about geese?"
"Er, they're animals," said Lestrade. "They're birds, they migrate-"
"They migrate," Sherlock interrupted. "That could work. John, you'll know more about the military than us, what do you think?"
John paused. "Well, they migrate to southern countries in the winter, don't they? It's winter now, perhaps the victim served in a southern country for a while?"
"Very good."
"That's all well and good," said Lestrade, a sour look on his face. "But it's hardly going to help us in the long run. There are still thousands of people who could have served in southern countries, we still have no idea!"
Sherlock scowled. "I find your intense negativity immensely discouraging."
"I'm sorry if I'm not overly optimistic at this point," he spat.
Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you alright? You seem a bit tense."
Lestrade sighed. "I guess it's just the workload. I've not seen my kids in weeks. I want to get this case over quickly so I can leave and get home to my kids. It's Daniel's birthday today."
John began to make polite conversation with Lestrade about his children. Sherlock said nothing, simply allowing his mind to fill with ideas and theories.
11:00am
Sherlock spread out a map on the desk. "Ok John, you're going to learn something. The three step rule- observe, deduce, eliminate. From observing the patterns of goose migration, we know that geese migrate to southern, warmer countries for the winter. We can thus deduce that our Marine served in a southern country. Now, where have US marines served in the last, say, sixty years?" He smoothed the map, grabbing a box of push pins. "Korea. Vietnam. Iraq. Somalia. Serbia. Afghanistan," he pushed a pin through the paper into the wood of the desk for each. "That narrows it down, but we can hardly guess from that number."
"So?"
"We eliminate the unlikely. I don't personally believe that he'll attack anyone who's still serving out there- it's too dangerous and we don't have enough time to stop it."
"But that still leaves thousands of people."
Sherlock stared hard at the map. "Well, if we think about the kind of mind set that Moriarty has, we can assume that he'll want to provoke us. He'll want a raw wound, something that evokes a reaction from us. A modern war is more likely, but we can't rule out Korea or Vietnam."
"Do you think-" John stopped.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's not important."
Sherlock felt he should probe him further, but couldn't think of what to say. "Can you get Lestrade and get him to show you any US Marines living in the London area?"
"Sure."
Once he had left, Sherlock began to scour the internet. Why a Marine? Why pick one of them, out of everything else that could have fit. Moriarty had a twisted mind, he knew that, but what frightened him was how much he could identify with him.
His phone vibrated. "Hello?"
There was silence for a few moments, before an eery, electronic sound filled his ears.
You are the sun and moon and stars, are you, and I could never run away from you, you try at working out chaotic things, and why should I believe myself, not you?
Sherlock was filled with a horrible sense of foreboding. "Moriarty?" The song continued.
It's like the world is going to end so soon, and why should I believe myself?
"This isn't funny!"
You, me, and everything caught in the fire, I can see me drowning, caught in the fire.
It ended, and Sherlock heard Moriarty starting to laugh. "You know what? I think I'm getting into Radiohead. Will you thank John for me, Sherlock?"
"John doesn't know you called me."
"Don't you trust him?"
"Of course I trust him."
"Then does he trust you?"
"I- Yes. Yes, I think he does."
Moriarty's horrible, irritating chuckle made him clench the edge of the desk in his frustration. "You don't sound too sure. Quite rightly, I'm afraid. He's going to leave you. That's what that song's called, You. It's very nice, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
"I do understand the attraction, honestly. He's a very… tempting man. He's just dull. Bland. Uninteresting. I don't see why you want more than to just screw his little soldier brains out."
Sherlock's voice became low and dangerous. "Don't talk about him like he's nothing."
"He is nothing, yet you're obsessed with him. He's your world, and if he leaves you your world will end."
"You seriously think I'd be so sentimental?"
"I know you'd be so sentimental, Sherlock. And you know why I hate him? Because he's going to burn you before I get the chance. You're caught in his fire."
"Why are you so obsessed with John? You always talk about him to me."
"And I talk about you to him, what's the problem?"
"You- W-What?" Sherlock stuttered, shocked at his words.
"Oh, didn't he tell you?" said Moriarty, clearly delighted. "He doesn't tell you about our little chats? We talk about you. We talk about everything. Now you have to ask yourself, why didn't he tell you? Did he not want to worry you, or was it that he doesn't believe you can help him?"
"You're pathetic," Sherlock spat.
"Tut tut, Sherlock, petty insults won't hurt me. It just gives me more evidence of your love."
"I don't love John!" he cried. "I don't love him, he's a friend and nothing more."
"Sherlock, you shouldn't reject your emotions, however twisted they may be. You know what my father always told me? 'And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains and have not love, I am nothing'."
"What?"
"Corinthians. Of course, it's absolute bull shit, but it certainly has resonance. Goodbye Sherlock. Remember what I've told you."
12:30pm
Sherlock walked back into the office, clutching a coffee. Lestrade and John were crouched around a computer, scrolling down a long list of names.
"Sherlock, there are still at least one hundred," said Lestrade. "How are we supposed to know?"
"This is hopeless," said John, holding his head in his hands. "We'll never know, Sherlock."
Sherlock scanned the list. And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains and have not love, I am nothing. So strange to have his feelings summed up by a man he detested. And for the quote to be from the Bible? That was more shocking. He had never considered himself a religious man, but he had a feeling that something was up there. Passing judgment. He wasn't arrogant enough to assume that whatever it was would be on his side, or that he could explain it in enough words. Moriarty had admitted he didn't believe in any higher deity, but continually referred to religious teachings. Did he admire the power that religion had over people? Or was he hinting at something?
"John," said Sherlock abruptly. "Move over for a second." Sherlock sat at the computer. "I might be wrong, but- how many of these Marines are religious?"
"Er, I don't know," said Lestrade. "I suppose we can find out by seeing what box they ticked on their application form."
Sherlock narrowed the search fields and grinned. "That's down to a good 50. Most of these people said they were atheists."
"Wow, and I thought all Americans were super religious?"
"Now we just have to check these individually. Jonathon Atkinson, James Allen, Martin Brown, Brian Chapman, Dexter Clarke, Perry Davies, Adam Doherty, Edward-"
There was a crash behind him. Sherlock turned around. John had dropped his mug, the contents lying in a pool on the floor. He had a look of unconceivable horror in his eyes.
"John?" Lestrade asked carefully. "What's wrong?"
"Adam Doherty. I know that man. He saved my life."