Ch. 4
Bowie awoke to the sound of a gunshot
"Jesus Christ! What is going on?" She ran down the hallway to find Sherlock. Shooting at the wall.
"Excuse me? Mr. Holmes? I understand that the wall the wall had it coming, but don't you want to do something a bit more productive?" She said, standing in the doorway of 221b.
"I'm BORED! And where did you come from? Never mind don't answer that. You're staying with us aren't you?" he said in one breath.
"Yes, in 221c." She was suddenly pushed out of the way by a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair.
"Ah! Good morning Lestrade. You don't know how relieved I am to see you. There's barely any wall left to shoot." Sherlock said, smiling at the man.
"Well, you won't be relieved when you hear this. There's a string of murders we've been following, and all of the victims are policemen."
"Still relieved. Now tell me the details." Sherlock said curtly.
"So far, it's been all police officers, and-"
"You just said that!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking skyward.
"Fine. Single bullet to the head every time. They've all been killed off-duty, so this killer is not random. This person knows exactly whom they're killing. Any ideas?"
"14. Now go, I have work to do." Sherlock snapped.
"Have fun. Be careful. This case sounds dirty." Lestrade said. "Oh, and who are you?" he added, looking at Bowie who had been pushed out on to the landing.
"I'm Bowie. I'm staying with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." She stuck out her hand to shake.
"Well, it's very nice to meet you."
"She'll be joining us on some cases." John said, walking in with his bathrobe on.
"What!" Bowie, Lestrade, and Sherlock all looked up at once.
"You didn't think we'd just leave you at the flat did you?" John asked, a bewildered look on his face.
"I hadn't given it much thought, but it has happened to me before." Bowie said sheepishly."
"John! We never discussed this!" Sherlock complained, getting up from his chair.
"I'm gonna leave now, alright?" Lestrade pointed to the door with his thumbs.
"Yes, Greg. I think that would be best for now." John gave him a sympathetic glance. "We'll talk about the case later maybe. Bye." Greg was already halfway downstairs.
Bowie had half a grapefruit for breakfast after contemplating for half an hour if she really wanted something that had been next to an amputated hand. Finally deciding that the two bites that she had taken were enough, she went to get dressed. When she was ready, she went back to Sherlock and John's flat.
"Excuse me Dr. Watson?" she said, knocking on the doorframe.
"Please, call me John." He said in a joking tone.
"Ok. John? Is there anything that you need me to do? I'll run an errand or something."
"Actually, I was just leaving for the murder scene. Sherlock is already there, and I'm not leaving you here alone. I know you love crime stories. Want to see a real one?"
"Hell yah!" She covered her mouth. "Sorry. I meant yes."
"I know. Do you have a jacket? It's a little chilly out."
"No. I'll be fine though." Bowie hastily added, blushing.
"We'll get you one anyways. Don't want you to catch a cold."
Fifteen minutes later, Bowie was wearing a purple windbreaker and standing over a dead man. John and Sherlock were off talking to someone or other, but she felt the need to study the scene. The poor man had been picked off while walking down the street. Bowie knelt down and studied the bullet wound. His hair is burned. It wasn't a sniper. The killer was right next to him. She stood again, looking at the way the dead man was laying. His killer would have been on his left. He would have been walking the same way as this poor bloke.
Sherlock pushed past her swiftly and knelt down.
"What did you find, Miss?" he said, turning his head towards her.
"The killer was right next to him. Look at his hair. And they were most likely walking the same way." She paused, looking at the concrete. "There is a streak from a rubber soled shoe right here. John Doe here is wearing leather. That might tell you something too."
"Yes. The killer ran the opposite way the two were originally headed. Lestrade, do we have any witnesses?" Sherlock inquired, getting to his feet.
"Only one. He's right over here." Lestrade lead the trio over to a young man of about 20.
"Tell me exactly what you saw happen. And don't be boring." Sherlock said to the man without a second thought.
"It was a man. He was wearing a turtleneck, and he had a very square face. He had his gun concealed almost until he fired it. I only saw the gun for a split second."
"Is that all you have. Good God Lestrade. You pick the worst witnesses." Sherlock said, already walking away.
"Wait, one more thing!" the young man cried. "I heard the man say something. A name. It was a last name. It began with an M. Maton? No! I got it! Moriarty!"