Author's note: this will not be my only usage of anagrams…keep your eyes peeled ;)
The next morning was a particularly dull one for the residence of Baker Street. Hamish was happily laying on a play matt on the floor watching the colors that flashed above him while John made breakfast and Sherlock lounged about on the couch. Sherlock was trying very hard to concentrate, rubbing the three nicotine patches on his arm gingerly. John shook his head to himself as he flipped the pancakes he was making.
"Three patch problem?" Sherlock sighed and wiggled his fingers, which were, of course, planted firmly under his chin.
"Precisely." John fetched some jam and butter to lay out on the breakfast table and raised a curious eyebrow at his boyfriend.
"It bothers you doesn't it, the case where the man's mouth was sewn together?" Sherlock sat up, watching as John went back to the stove to check on the bacon.
"It doesn't make sense! This man was completely and utterly normal, lots of friends, decent job, bachelor, had a dog, the whole nine yards, nothing out of the ordinary at all! This man had a decent relationship with his father too, and with his girlfriend's parents and family….so 'From Daddy' doesn't really make a lot of sense. All this tells us is that the killer is a father and he has a daughter named Lory who must either work at the hospital or is a patient there. Really narrows it down doesn't it?" John thought about it for a moment as he reached for some plates in their kitchen cabinets.
"Well, how about we get Lestrade to issue us a warrant so we can access the personnel files at the hospital and do a mass search for any workers and or patients named Lory and then begin our investigation from there?" Sherlock shot an incredibly bored and tiresome look at John.
"Way to go Captain John, never would have thought of that!" He drawled sarcastically, rolling his moss colored eyes.
"The issue here, is connecting this man to the killer and the killer's daughter. This kind of crime suggests that he did this for his little girl, but what vendetta would he have, could either one of them possibly have had on this maddeningly boring subject….unless he was living a life unseen by my eyes somehow which is very unlikely, I didn't detect anything secretive." It was John's turn to roll his eyes, turning the stove off and putting two plates of food out on the table.
"I believe the phrase you were looking for was Captain Obvious." Sherlock let out an exasperated groan and flopped back down, earning an amused chuckle from the other man.
"Oh quit being a drama queen and come eat your breakfast." Sherlock wasn't hungry, never was, but wasn't going to just not eat something John had actually attempted to cook, so he got up grudgingly and picked up Hamish from the floor. Sherlock didn't bother with the high-chair, feeling the child was not only too young for it, but it also reminded him too much of a prison for some reason, so he opted for holding Hamish in one arm and eating with the other, John taking a seat right beside them. Hamish was pretty lively today, having become about a month and a half old officially, and was making his first cooing sounds at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled and reached with his finger for some of the jam he had just put on his pancake.
"Is this what you want? Hmm?" The baby cooed again, happier this time as Sherlock stuck his finger in the child's mouth. This went on for a minute or two before John finally noticed and his eyes widened in alarm.
"Sherlock you cannot feed him that yet! We don't know if he's allergic!" Hamish was gently swatting his little hands at Sherlock's arm and making little begging noises, which was turning Sherlock to absolute mush as much as he would hate to admit it.
"He likes it. If he were allergic we would know by now, look at him, he's fine." John let out a sigh and leaned in to kiss Sherlock's neck softly.
"Careful, Sherlock. You're emotions are showing." John teased, a loving smile gracing his features as he watched Sherlock bury his face in Hamish's little tufts of blonde hair in an attempt at hiding his smug expression.
"Speaking of Hamish, court begins December 9th, for custody. Hopefully it won't be a long battle and we'll get at least joint custody, but until then Mary is requesting she spend some time with Hamish. Won't stop calling." Sherlock seemed to stiffen at the mention of her name. He knew Mary was a part of Hamish's life, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
"No." He pouted, finishing off his pancake and picking up his bacon, which Hamish whined for. John chuckled.
"See what you started? He isn't going to understand why he can't have solids." Sherlock kissed the top of the baby's head possessively.
"It's okay, Hamish." He used his index finger to scoop up a lot of left over jam and butter from the plate and let the small child suck on it for a bit. John reached out and tenderly ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls.
"She's his mother." He reminded him, much to the detective's dismay. Sherlock shook his head.
"He's ours." It killed John to hear those two vulnerable little words escape Sherlock's lips, knowing how hard expression was for him. Hamish brought out a sort of humanity in Sherlock that not even John had ever seen before. John pulled Sherlock into a tender kiss, nibbling on his lips as their tongues explored one another.
"I know, but we at least have to share him until December 9th. Who knows, maybe we will be awarded full custody." John highly doubted it, but he said it anyway, not wanting to crush the little emotion that Sherlock was actually willing to display.
"I'm going to take a shower, John, take Hamish. We're heading to the hospital to check the records."
…..
Getting Lestrade to clear a warrant wasn't easy, because by law Sherlock and John would have had to have been on the police force to acquire one, working a case for them or not. And so, Sherlock made the same decision he had made and gotten in trouble for on numerous occasions; he stole Mycroft's ID. They were of course guaranteed access to anything in the hospital with that, and Sherlock was feeling pretty confident when the couple walked up to the receptionist and flashed the ID. She pulled up the patient and employee files simultaneously and gave Sherlock the password, a cocky smile twitching at the corner of Sherlock's lips.
"Quit showing off and do your job." John whispered playfully, rolling his eyes as Sherlock popped his coat collar.
"Fine." Sherlock searched the entire database for any and all persons on the premises sporting the name 'Lory'. There was only one hit, and she worked in the labor and delivery wing of the hospital.
"Dr. Lory Faeth Clemmsford. She's only worked here a few weeks, isn't from around here…she's American, here on a work visa." John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"And she brought her dad with her? Who happens to be a murderer?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and grabbed John's hand.
"That's what we're here to find out." They had to go up to the fifth floor of the hospital to the correct wing, peaking in the offices and delivery rooms. They were looking for a blonde, taller than John but shorter than Sherlock, with brown eyes and thick rimmed glasses. It didn't take too long to find her, luckily for them she wasn't with a patient. Dr. Clemmsford was flirting with a male nurse over by the waiting room, and from the looks of it neither one of them were in much of a hurry.
"Dr. Lory Clemmsford? Is it alright if we have a word with you?" The doctor looked annoyed but she shooed the young nurse away, turning to the couple with a look of great disdain.
"Look, I don't deal with the little runts after they're born." She chided, gesturing towards Hamish. Sherlock stepped in front of John and the baby, a protective glint in his eyes.
"That isn't why we're here. Where were you the night of November 30th?" Dr. Clemmsford folded her arms across her chest.
"Who wants to know?" She and Sherlock narrowed their eyes at one another, a rude comment about to topple out of the detective's mouth when John decided to intervene.
"The government, Doctor, now tell us what we want to know before we bring you in for obstruction of justice." The blonde woman sighed, adjusting her glasses on her face and looking at her hands.
"I was here, right here. Working." Sherlock didn't miss a beat.
"And your father? What was he doing? You know, you don't really need to tell me. I know that you are untrustworthy and are likely to lie straight to my face, especially since you love your father, that much is clear, as it is also clear that you're insecure and have raging mommy issues that daddy keeps promising to fix, more than likely in an illegal fashion. You're a binge drinker, and even if you were going to tell me the truth I still can't trust your word, and therefore I may as well have not bothered you at all, but I have to do that, it's my job. Be expecting a visit, I will speak with your father." Dr. Clemmsford shot a bewildered look at John, whose expression was a mix between amusement and suspicion.
"It's also his job to be a professional dick." Sherlock tried to glare at John, but he couldn't keep a smug grin from breaking out across his face. Dr. Clemmsford began snidely retorting at Sherlock, though he wasn't listening, his phone was ringing. Sherlock noticed that it was from Mycroft, and he motioned for John to follow him as he walked away from the doctor, who was still shouting abuse at him.
"Mycroft, make sure a Mr. Clemmsford, American man living with a Dr. Clemmsford, does not vacate his house in the next few days. We can't have him running off, John and I need to see him, prime suspect." He jabbered immediately into the receiver, not waiting to see why his brother had called.
"Well unless this Mr. Clemmsford happens to not have an alibi for about ten minutes ago he isn't our man. Lestrade just called, another body was found, very fresh, same MO. You need to meet him at the scene immediately, 396 Harewood Row." Sherlock and John were on the lift and heading towards the hospital exit faster than Mycroft could say murder.
"On our way."
….
The crime scene looked absolutely awful. There was blood everywhere, a lot more blood than either man was anticipating. This victim was a woman, however, she wasn't quite as ordinary as the male victim. The Jane-Doe was lying in a pool of her own blood, shirt torn off, with deep fresh carvings in her skin.
"You see that, Hamish? This woman was what we call a prostitute, you can tell by her clothing and the amount of trashy cosmetics smeared all over her. And those marks over there, they are lacerations, we found those on the other victim as well…it means she was choked to death. Do you want to know how I know she's so interesting, though? This lady has a white mark on the third finger of her left hand, suggesting she was married and either A, took the ring off to do her job, or B it was taken by the killer. Assuming, due to the nature of her job, that it is the first of the two, this means there is likely children involved, two can be indicated from her stress lines and the amount of times the epidermis on her abdomen appears to have been stretched, and we just so happen to be looking for a father killing for his daughter. This woman is old enough to have two grown children and I can tell you right now she didn't have good relationships with them. You know, your father is often times impressed by all this but it's really just simple observations, and I think I could easily teach you if you wanted, I can tell that you're going to be smart, Hamish, don't you ever let anyone tell you differently." Sherlock was moving about the scene quickly, having a very animated conversation with the baby in his arms as he showed him everything he could possibly point out to him.
"Sherlock…." John scolded lovingly, putting his head in his hands, but smiling as he did so. He didn't want to admit to how cute he found it all, especially not with Lestrade's investigators looking at them like they were sick.
"Ask Anderson for a knife, John, I'm sure he has one, and get started sawing those stitches apart." John went to fetch the item while Sherlock tried to make sense of the carvings on this one's body, which slightly differed from the last victim. Instead of 'From Daddy' it read 'From a Friend' and the address carved into the arm (which ran into her wrist, which is why she bled out) wasn't the hospitals….it was 221B. John quickly snipped the stitching away and pulled out the note inside.
"You hurt my Lory…bad move. Wanna save the next victim? Here's your hint: Misha Whesson Lockhart. Tick-Tock, Sherlock." He read aloud, alarmed eyes searching his partners face for answers.
"He's been watching us…what do you think this name means?" John handed the paper to Sherlock in exchange for Hamish, and the detective rolled his eyes.
"Well it's an anagram, obviously. Isn't like he would just give us an actual name." John watched intently as Sherlock closed his eyes, knowing he was in his Mind Palace. Sherlock could see the letters rearranging several times over in his head, reading over and analyzing every possibility. His blood ran cold at the name that was staring back at him, opening his eyes and staring at John.
"What is it?" Sherlock looked on the verge of tears, John's heart speeding up to an improbable rate.
"I change my mind. I think Hamish needs to stay with his mother for a little while." John's expression twisted in to one of terror and he shook his head.
"No…Sherlock…tell me it doesn't spell Hamish's name." Sherlock's non-existent reply was all the conformation Watson needed. He looked down and gave Hamish a kiss on the forehead before nodding toward Sherlock.
"You're right. I'll call her tonight, it'll be okay." Sherlock sighed and reached out to gently pet the side of the baby's face.
"Your father is right. We'll make it safe for you again, we'll catch him, and then you can come home." Sherlock took quick notice of the look in John's eyes as he spoke, cocking his head to the side curiously.
"What?" John just shrugged, a tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You just surprise me, constantly." They both leaned in and shared a quick kiss before returning home and grudgingly preparing Hamish for a long trip to Mary's.