Chapter 6
A month after John had been released from hospital Sherlock took his first case from Lestrade. The Detective Inspector asked him to help the police with a serial burglar. Although the crime seemed dull he took it. He would solve the case fast, about that he was sure, but it was a new beginning after the explosion.
The only problem was that Sherlock would have to take a look at the crime scenes. What should he do with John? Mrs. Hudson would see after him. She had offered several times to keep an eye on John if he had to do something outside the flat. But Sherlock had declined every time. It felt wrong. It was his job to look after John. He could not explain this sudden sense of duty, but he did not fight against it. Perhaps, these decisions were triggered by a tiny glimpse of guilt, he admitted to himself sometimes. The decision that John would be safe behind the crates had been Sherlock's. A security that had proved to be treacherous. And thus he decided to take John with him to the crime scene.
He did not think that there would be a problem. He had already gone for a walk several times with John, and John followed him everywhere. He always kept close. He sat silently beside him on the bench in the park and if Sherlock came to a stand John stopped always at his side. It was as if they were connected with an invisible bond which loosened only if they were in their flat. Sherlock sometimes had the feeling that John wanted to assure him that he was with him, and that he would not leave him.
Lestrade had given him the address of the last crime scene and Sherlock ordered a cab. He knew they would attract some curious looks from the other police men, but he didn't bother. Lestrade, besides Mycroft, who to Sherlock's disapproval showed up disturbingly often, was the only one who was visiting regularly. He had seen John several times and had slowly gotten used to his silence.
The first time he visited to keep Sherlock up with the results of the investigation of the last explosion. "The crime lab has identified the explosives that had been used for the bomb." Lestrade had reported. Reading the lab report from a sheet of paper he had continued "The biggest surprise was that the bomber had used a completely different mixture of explosive substances." Sherlock had snatched the lab report from Lestrade's hands. „So, the bomb from the pool had been composed of C4 better known as Semtex as I remember. That's an explosive often used for civil or industrial purposes. The bomb from the storage hall contained TNT and RDX it says here." Sherlock had sat down in his armchair and waved with the lab report. He furrowed his brows. "This is strange; because this combination called Composite B nowadays is used by the military. It made no sense that Moriarty should change the composition of his bombs." He lay the paper aside and steepled his hands under his chin. After some moments of deep thought he had faced the still standing Lestrade. "What about the handwriting of the bomber? Was it the same construction?" Lestrade had shaken his head. "No, the bomb´s construction is different also. The pieces we have found in the storage hall imply that the bomb was built by a different person. The bomb from the warehouse had a timer. Moriarty's bombs all had detonators, which were activated by radio." Sherlock had thrown another look on the lab report. "Lestrade, the explosive power of the bomb would not have been sufficient enough to destroy the building. On the contrary, compared to the used explosives the effect was to strong." Lestrade had rubbed his head and had taken the report out of Sherlock's hands. After he had studied the sheet again, he noted perplexed: "The bomb should have caused only minor damage." Sherlock had nodded. "The bomb was meant to look more dangerous than it actually was. Here, someone had planned something else. The bomb was not intended to kill John and me. Something has gone wrong." Sherlock had felt bewildered. An important piece of the puzzle hadn't fallen into the right place yet. He would need more data.
The cab arrived at the crime scene. It was a nice little red bricked row house in a street with similar looking houses. The neglected front garden was scattered with toys and two tricycles. Two police cars parked in the street. One police officer was sitting in his vehicle and was talking to Sergeant Sally Donovan. Sherlock paid the cabbie, pulled on his gloves and helped John to get off the taxi.
On the threshold Lestrade was waiting for them. "Nice little home here," he stated. "Family with two children. Father is still at work, kids are twins aged five, spent the morning in the kindergarten. The mother returned after a shopping spree with her friend and found the front door open."
"Was something stolen?" Sherlock scanned the house, the front garden and the neighborhood closely.
"According to Mrs. Thomas, that's the mother, nothing but a pair of her earrings. Of course she's not finished with checking all the rooms. Judging by the Modus Operandi of the burglar this is the forth break-in of the same guy. He only steals a piece of jewelry from the women."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Only a pair of earrings, interesting. The other three break-ins, where the women always married with children? I need to know! Lestrade, I want to study the files of the other cases. Bring them to our flat." he instructed the other man. Lestrade nodded and turned to enter the building.
"Come on John, let's go inside and take a look." Sherlock was about to follow the DI as a sneer from behind stopped him dead.
"Oh look, the Freak got himself a Zombie!" Sally Donovan laughed. "Hey Freak! Is your Zombie domesticated?"
Sherlock turned on his heels. His eyes sparkling with wrath and hatred he grabbed the collar of her jacked. He rammed his nose in her face and hissed "You can call me all you want, but say Zombie once more and I will turn you into one!"
"Sergeant Donovan! Apologize! Immediately!" Lestrade shouted red-faced from the threshold. "And if I ever hear a thing like that again from you or anybody else I will start a disciplinary procedure! Is that understood? Good! And please tell Anderson so I don't have to repeat myself." During his little speech the color of his face had returned to normal but he was still furious.
Sally Donovan shivered with fear. Tears sprang into her eyes. She blushed and struggled with the embarrassing situation. "I'm sorry." she whispered in Sherlock's direction. She tried to evade his wrath, but his eyes held her in place. "Don't waste your apologies on me. Tell John that you are sorry."
Then he forced himself to let go of her jacket and stormed into the house. In the hallway he stopped and tried to get a grip on himself. That had been an ugly scene. Just breathe in and breathe out, don't kill her, he told himself. Suddenly he felt somebody touching him. Expecting Lestrade he raised his head. John stood silently at his side, one hand on his shoulder.