The Silent Game
A Sociopath With Silent Friends
"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people…" The television reporter's voice rang out in the otherwise silent flat of 221B Baker Street.
"Jesus Christ…" Whispered Rose in horror, griping her mug, half full of tea, a little tighter. She was sat in her usual place on the sofa, legs pulled up, Sherlock in his chair and John in his. Neither men had wanted a drink though; John didn't think he could stomach it at that moment and Sherlock just wasn't thirsty.
"Old block of flats." John said quietly, glancing to Sherlock who was also watching the television. "He certainly gets about."
"Well, I obviously lost that round." Sherlock said in a sour tone, though sounding more childish as he added on, "Although technically, I did solve the case." He turned the sound off, as John gave him an incredulous look. Sherlock - miraculously - didn't notice. "He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."
John was confused though and pushed his annoyance aside for the time being. "What d'you mean?"
Sherlock started to explain. "Well, usually, he… must stay above it all. He organises these things, but no one ever has direct contact."
Rose just watched as John asked, "What, like the Connie Prince murder, he arranged that? So people come to him, wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"
Sherlock just looked thoughtful. "Novel." He whispered.
It was a few seconds later that Sherlock spoke again, the silence becoming too boring for him. "Taking his time this time."
John cleared his throat. "Anything on the Carl Powers case?" Rose frowned; something was wrong with John. He was avoiding Sherlock eyes, preferring to watch the television. She thought about what could be wrong as she sipped her drink.
"Nothing." Sherlock replied. "All the living class mates check out spotless, no connection."
"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" John offered.
"The though had occurred." Sherlock informed him.
"So why is he doing this, then?" John asked, trying once again to understand the mental workings of a murdering psychopath. "Playing this game with you. Do you think he wants to be caught?"
Sherlock simply adopted his thinking position, fingertips touching, legs crossed. "Oh…. I think he wants to be distracted."
John just chuckled at the familiar words, though the sound held no amusement or humour. He pushed himself out of his chair. "I hope you'll be very happy together."
Sherlock was brought back to the world at his friends words, he found something about them he didn't like. "Sorry, what?"
Rose stiffened at John's raised voice; gun shots she could deal with, but she still didn't like shouting. "There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives!"
Here we go, she thought sadly, having been waiting for this for a few days now.
She knew Sherlock - though the man himself may disagree with that fact - but John seemed to see the world differently to her. He seemed to have a different opinion of right and wrong and what was acceptable in the world and in society. She had thought about it for a while and didn't know what else to do, other than wait it out and deal with things as they happened.
John carried on his little rant. "Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"
Rose knew what Sherlock was going to say before he even said it. "Will caring about them help save them?"
John just looked as though that wasn't the point the was making, but he answered the question with a shake of his head regardless. "Nope."
"Then I'll continue to not make that mistake." Sherlock replied sharply.
"And you find that easy, do you?" John fired back. Rose saw the expectancy in his eyes; he thought he had won a little bit more. She knew better though.
"Yes, very." Sherlock replied, just as fast. "Is that news to you?"
John looked as though he shouldn't have been surprised at the answer he had gotten, but was anyway. Rose felt a little pity for the trust that he had put in Sherlock; this was one of the reasons she didn't trust so easily.
"No, no." John replied.
Sherlock came to a conclusion then. "I've disappointed you." He stated.
John went a little sarcastic then, bitter praise falling from his lips. "That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah."
"Don't make people into heroes, John." Sherlock stated, but Rose could see the frosty belief he held for his own words. "Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."
Rose frowned at this though. He's done so much though, she thought, if I were to call anyone a hero, it would be him!
A heavy silence filled the air as John and Sherlock stared it out. John suddenly went to grab his coat. Sherlock spoke before he could get it though.
"Oh, now you're angry with me…" But - though it sounded so cliché - it wasn't the words that annoyed John so much, but it was the flippant tone in which he had said them.
"Of course I'm angry, Sherlock!" He snapped loudly, making Rose jump slightly. However, once again, neither men noticed her. He yanked on his coat as he spoke, anger flooding his words. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to think of someone other than yourself, for a change!" With that, he stormed out of the flat, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Rose sipped her tea in silence as Sherlock adopted his thinking pose once more. A few minuets later, the pink phone beeped.
Sherlock unlocked it, Rose setting her now empty cup on the table, ready to work again. "Excellent." He said, voice back to it's normal, cold professionalism. "A view of the Thames. South Back, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers, I'll look online." He said, taking out his own phone.
"Got it." She replied in her usual fashion, though it was quiet as she worried about her friend a little.. She was also trying to think of what she could say to the older man; he was hardly typical after all. As she looked through the papers, she read out some of the stories. "Archway suicide..."
"Ten a penny." He retorted, looking through his phone.
"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington…" She moved onto the next paper, finding something she had heard about. "Ah, man found of the train line, Andrew West."
"Nothing!" Sherlock muttered, dialling Lestrade, having given up his brief search of the internet. "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?" She looked up, waiting for his reaction. "Text me the details." He said, hanging up and going to get his coat.
She followed his lead, grabbing her own coat. "Got something then?"
"Yep, come on." He said in reply.
Going down the stairs, Rose made a quick stop to knock on her own door. "Joe! I've got to go to work!" She shouted to her brother. "Call if you need anything!"
They had gotten in early that morning, having been out all night, getting to the Yard at some ungodly hour and having to stay there for several more hours to explain everything to Lestrade. She also had to write a report, Sherlock getting out of it somehow.
When they got home, she had just gone to sleep on the sofa, John going to his room and Sherlock going to sit in his chair in the living room, not bothered by the sleeping form of the young woman on the sofa; it had become a frequent sight when they were working a long case.
When she had woken up - after only an hour and a half of sleep - she had gotten up and gone to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and found a little present on the kitchen table.
"What's this, Sherlock?" Rose asked, holding up the object in her hand. It was a magnifying glass, a shiny silver handle leading up to a steel framed piece of round glass, a small blue ribbon sitting around the handle.
"It's a magnifying glass, Rose. I'd have thought you'd know that." Was the smart-ass remark she got in return.
"I can see that." She replied. "What's it doing in the kitchen?"
He looked up to give her a confused look. "Of all the things I keep in the kitchen, it's the magnifying glass that you question?" He didn't get an answers and sighed; confusing woman! "You said you wanted a magnifying glass and I don't need that one anymore."
She was a little taken back. He had remembered and thought of her. "Really? I mean, are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure." He replied, looking a little more confused. "You need a magnifying glass and there is a spare one here. Use it."
She gave him a bright smile, gratitude thick in her tone. "Thanks Sherlock!"
She was still tired, but was a little more awake after her shower. She was now almost completely used to working the strange hours with Sherlock, which usually consisted of finding information one day, thinking all night, only to go running around the next day, trying to catch the guy who had done whatever crime had taken their fancy. Getting a muffled reply from her half asleep sibling, she smiled and followed Sherlock out of the door, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets, feeling her cigarettes and lighter in one, the magnifying glass in the other, the contact of the cold metal making her smile slightly.
As the cab driver drove off to the address Sherlock had given him, Rose turned to her friend. "You should cut John some slack, you know." She stated. "He's a caring person. He doesn't like to see people in danger." She got no response and sighed at the man's silence, turning her voice to a quieter tone. "One day he wont come back."
This got a response though. "Don't be stupid. He always comes back."
She brushed aside the slight insult, giving the man one of his own lessons back to him. "It's dangerous to assume; you know that."
"But it's John." He insisted, still not believing her words of warning.
She just gave him a look. "People are not as simple minded as you make them out to be, and John is hardly a regular person. He puts up with you, for a start." Rose felt the addition was fair; he always insulted her. Both knew the insulting banter was never taken seriously though.
Sherlock just huffed and looked out of his window, Rose leaving him to his thoughts. He still wasn't sure on the whole "friendship" thing, but he knew most people would apologise to their friend.
He wasn't most people though; he was Sherlock Holmes, high functioning sociopath…with friends. The added thought just confused him more.