Baker Street Irregulars
The victims have been piling up for three days and Bill Wiggins was freaking out. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be on their side, he was supposed to be their protection but the man had no answers for the deaths of eight tramps who were all under the employment of the famous detective.
It's John that calls Inspector Detective Greg Lestrade asking for police assistance, while Sherlock kneels next to the body of a middle aged homeless man. The detective finishes examining the dead man and is intrigued by the lack of evidence. It was like a ghost killed him, no apparent wounds or signs of struggle. This was not a violent death it crept up quietly. Perhaps poison or strangulation, though there was no clear signs of vomit, aspiration or asphyxiation
"Have the bodies take to St. Bartholomew and an autopsy done. Give the addresses of the other seven murders to Scotland Yards." Sherlock motioned to Bill Wiggins who nodded with understanding.
"Yeah alright. It's a dangerous life on the streets. None of us expect much, but this is related, isn't it. They died because of their connection to you...Is it true? Is he back?" Bill asks staring at the back of Sherlock's head wanting an answer.
The detective stands with the dead man's phone in hand flipping through outgoing messages, stopping on the most recent one, a picture sent to a blocked number, the photo encrypted. Sherlock is unable to open the file.
John is the one to step in and try to appease Bill's concerns. "There is no proof to suggest that Moriarty is back. But until we find the killer, keep your head low." Is John's advice. Bill nods looking to Sherlock who is ignoring everyone save the phone.
"What about that video feed?" Bill presses, clearly not willing to take their word as gospel.
"A secret service man's idea of a joke. Jim Moriarty is dead." Sherlock speaks up before walking away from the crime scene without another word, his attention back on the phone.
John and Sherlock have lunch in the sandwich shop. Sherlock pockets the victim's phone when his rings with a text alert.
- Where do I sleep?
The look on Sherlock's face is one of amusement, which molds into an entertained smile as he texts his reply.
-the empty room is yours, but you can sleep wherever you want.
Sherlock places his phone on the table taking up his drink ignoring John's questioning stare.
"Well what did Molly find?" John asks.
Sherlock shakes his head, "Not her."
"Not Molly? Then who was it? Lestrade? Or Is Mycroft at the dentist?" John presses.
"My new flat mate had a question." Sherlock states casually, John chokes on his sandwich.
"You didn't tell me you had a new flat mate. When were you going to introduce me?" John asks, sounding excited by this new development.
Sherlock pulls a face that answers John's question. "You already met her." Sherlock's response is too detected indicating there was more to this than he was willing to vocalize.
"Her?" John looks flabbergasted by this development.
"Yes, her. Don't sound so shocked, John. It is a simple enough arrangement. Miss Granger needed accommodations, I offered her your old room." Sherlock explains like it is no big deal.
"Have you been seeing her?" John asks. "It is not every day you asked a woman to move in with you!?"
"Don't be ridiculous, I haven't seen or spoken to her since the auction. The offer was made under the pretext of professional respect. Nothing more." Sherlock logically explains.
John sits back folding his arms in front of him. "That was three months ago. How long has she been living with you? I didn't see anything to indicate her living in your flat this morning." John is clearly confused by this timeline.
Sherlock looks at his phone and at the time stamp on the text. "It has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds since Miss Grange and I have started to share a flat." Sherlock answers sounding irritated.
"Well this is not going to be good." John predicts aloud looking concerned for his friend.
Sherlock latches on to this sitting up straighter eyeing John suspiciously. "Why? Because I'm difficult to live with? Well we got on just fine." Sherlock sounds incredibly defensive.
John shrugs, "You kissed her. I saw you kiss her and now she is sharing a flat with you. Sherlock don't you think that odd?"
Sherlock raises an eyebrow as if considering the implications of John's observation. "Odd no. Why would that be odd? Curious perhaps that she is just now taking me up on the offer. I had expected her to move in much sooner, but then Mr. Potter must have finally worked up the nerve to pop the question to his girlfriend. It does surprise me that a man of his background and mental state would drag his feet to alter." Sherlock rambles.
"What question?" John asks.
"Marriage. Of course Marriage: the end of an era." Sherlock spits out.
"I am happily married. And my marriage didn't end anything. We still do what we do. It hasn't changed anything." John reminds his friend his tone indicating personal insult.
"Not everyone can be so lucky." Is Sherlock's snide reply.
"Right." Is all John says, finishing his lunch. "Well have fun." John offers to his friend grabbing his coat to head home.
"Wait, you're not coming up, to meet her?" Sherlock wants to know, acting surprise.
"Oh no. Your Miss Granger is scarier than my pregnant wife. I am not at all enticed to accompany you into the eye of the storm awaiting upstairs in 221 B." John concludes with a tilt of his head and strained smile.
221 Baker Street had been overrun by hooligans. Young people of all different variation coming and going with arms loaded with boxes or furniture; yelling, listening to loud music, and dressed inappropriately. Mrs. Hudson was overwhelmed by the noise and crowd, particularly when a round faced young man came out of her kitchen holding a pot of her medical marijuana commenting on her expert gardening skills.
The land lady turned and ran up the stairs to ask Sherlock what exactly was happening that was when she heard the detective's bellow of outrage from the landing. Mrs. Hudson stopped in the door way to witness Sherlock once more shout at his new flat mate.
The woman had arrived that morning introducing herself as Hermione Granger before ushering in the group of young people who assisted in helping her move in and turning Sherlock's world on its head.
"You can't put that there! What are you...? Those papers were organized!" Sherlock yelled pacing back and forth from the bookshelf to his desk and back.
Hermione was standing arms crossed looking ready to do battle with the insufferable man. "Organized chaos? No, Mr. Holmes, you are a pack rat. Look at this...a pile of newspapers from ten years ago? Toss them!" Hermione declared motioning for a gangly red head to do as she says.
"Don't." Sherlock warns stepping between the young man and the pile newspapers. "You don't get to throw out my things without consulting with me first." Sherlock informs a glaring Hermione.
"This is me consulting. Name one good reason you are keeping dried out newspapers? They aren't any good to put under any experiments and all the information in them you can pull up from archives on your lap top?" is Hermione's logical argument. Sherlock just stands there trying to rack his brain for any kind of defense. "You don't have one do you?" She questions glaring at him.
Sherlock twirls around pointing at Mrs. Hudson, like he just had the most wonderful epiphany, "My housekeeper has not found the need to toss them." Is the man's argument.
Hermione rolls her eyes running a hand through her curls, "Not a viable reason. Your housekeeper she either an enabler or more concerned about the illegal drugs she has grown in her garden, to actually tidy up this place. Your flat is a mesh pool for biohazard contamination, it is a wonder you have not contracted some kind of disease. Besides, you are a grown man. You could pick up after yourself!"
Sherlock throws his hands in the air. "Boring!" He declares throwing himself in his chair like a child.
"I am not his house keeper." Mrs. Hudson declares from the doorway. "And that is oregano." The land lady defends herself.
Hermione smiles and nods like she believes her. Sherlock stands, "I will admit that there is a level of sanitary neglect that has transpired in John's absence, but…" Sherlock shakes his head. "I need those." Sherlock whines, when Hermione maneuvers around him and picks up the stack of papers and places them in her friend's hand. "To the dumpster, George." She commands and the red head named George obeys shooting Sherlock an apologetic look.
Sherlock's text alert goes off and the detective pulls out his phone. Three new bodies found, Sherlock doesn't have time for these petty disputes. Particularly when there was evidence to back up her claim. Sherlock looks around his flat and realizes that Hermione might actually have a point.
"Fine!" Sherlock once more bellows standing looking renewed. "In fact throw it all out. I don't care, just don't touch my cigarettes." Sherlock demands grabbing his coat while heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Harry asks entering the flat with another box.
"Out. Any luck and you lot will be gone when I return." Sherlock declares turning to get one more glimpse at Hermione who has opened his refrigerator and is examining human eye balls in a baggie before placing them in the crisper.
"Pick up eggs, Sherlock." Hermione instructions, turning her attention to the milk. Sherlock watches her unscrewing the cap sniffing the milk making a disgusted face. "And milk." she says and Sherlock is confused how any woman can be grossed out by sour milk but not human eyeballs in a baggie.
"John did the shopping." Is Sherlock's argument as he dons his scarf.
"Well I am not the doctor." Hermione comments as she continues to clean out his refrigerator.
Sherlock frown looking at her wondering if he was making a big mistake allowing her such free access to his flat.
"You better hurry on, the police are waiting for you. That text you received must have been urgent from the way you dashed around the apartment all joyous over the prospect of the new murder." Hermione encourages as she examines some kind of green mush in a bowl.
"How did you know it was murder?" Sherlock wants to know.
"Why else would you smile even after I rearranged your bookshelf and threw out your newspapers?" Hermione deduces causing Sherlock to frown at her back.
"Don't wait up." Sherlock proclaims walking out the door, deciding that having this woman where he could keep an eye on her was certainly one of his better ideas. If she caused such havoc on his flat who knew what trouble she would get up to in the real world.
Sherlock almost plows over Mrs. Hudson, it is her shrieks that cause Sherlock to pause.
"She has a very strong personality, doesn't she Sherlock? I could offer her 221c if you would preferred to keep your space." Mrs. Hudson offers looking concerned.
Sherlock's frown deepens as he examines the land lady. "What? Don't be silly, the dampness would not allow it. Miss Granger will just have to adjust. Then everything will work." Sherlock concluded turning to walk back up the stairs a sudden spark breathing life to a new idea.
Sherlock walks past Mr. Potter and a red head woman, the ring on her finger and stars in her eyes indicating she must be Mr. Potter's new fiancé
Hermione was still in the kitchen the shop keep named Ronald reprehending her in hushed tones.
"Intelligent woman like you...you must know how this will look. You living here is completely irrational, you could come live with me...if staying with Harry is no longer an option. My flat has two rooms." Ron was clearly trying to talk Hermione out of living with the detective.
"Ron...I know this might be hard for you, but we agreed to remain friends. I'll like it here..." Hermione reassures.
"That man is insane. He has human parts in his ice box. You are not safe here, with him." Ron tries for bluntness but Hermione smiles like it body parts in the crisper is nothing to lose sleep over.
"Well you called me insane not too long ago, by that logic Sherlock and I are perfect for one another." Hermione argues and Sherlock walks past them forcing himself not to smirk as he makes his way to Hermione's room, grabbing her pea coat that was an alarming shade of red, before venturing back to the kitchen.
"I am worried about you, so is Harry. You have to understand with your work… it puts you in a very dangerous situation… you are not protected here." Ron seems to warn his ex's of something and Sherlock files this away for future examination.
Sherlock leans against the doorframe, "I would disagree. Miss Granger staying here is quite sensible. With me, is actually the safest place in London." Sherlock argues startling the red head shop keep.
Hermione smiles, her eyes drifting to her coat in his arms back to Sherlock's face, and he wonders what she is thinking.
Ron rolls his eyes, "I very much doubt that, aren't you on your way to a crime scene?" Ron asks his own implication hanging in the air without comment.
Sherlock nods, "I am." He confirms his attention turning to Hermione who is no longer smiling her brown eyes wide, curiosity filled to the brim. "Yet, I did promised that if Miss Granger moved in; we would share everything, including crime scenes. Now didn't I?" Sherlock inquires, observing Hermione's cheeks flush at his intense stare.
"I have work tomorrow." Hermione says like this vindicates her of the obligation to accompany him.
"I am not Mr. Potter." Sherlock shoots back and Hermione smiles again, Sherlock decides he likes her smile.
The detective holds open her coat letting his eyes dare her to make the next move.
She is the one that invited him to play, he is only moving the game along.
With clear resignation Hermione turns gracefully, allowing Sherlock to assist her with her coat, she is tying the sash when the detective speaks.
"Don't you think that red is a bit auspicious, how do you sneak around while wearing something that screams 'Here I am!'?" Sherlock interrogates as she twirls to face him.
Hermione flipped the collar up in the same fashion Sherlock has many times over, eyeing him very seriously. "I am very fond of this coat. Besides I thought it screamed more 'come and get me'! Than 'Here I am.' You will learn that either works in the scheme of things." She informs him. "I guess we will be back late, let yourself out will you?" She ask turning towards Harry who nods.
"Course Hermione, but if you need back up…" Harry trailed off, the offer understood.
"Oh Harry, I think the two of us can manage." Hermione tells her friend as Sherlock wraps an arm around her and practically drags her out of the flat.
The tension was suffocating. From the moment Sherlock ushered Hermione in the taxi, holding the door open with the pretense of a proper gentleman, to the lack of personal space he allowed her in the taxi. The detective was practically sitting on her lap, his gaze directed on the road as he dictates their destination to the cabby.
"Could you perhaps scoot over, I can hardly breathe?" Hermione request, Sherlock acts surprised that he had boxed her in corner as he slides over as far as the backseat will allow.
"Claustrophobic...Does my closeness bother you? It could be a sign of an underdeveloped amygdala or projection of pent up sexual frustration." Sherlock comments waving his hands about looking at her like his deduction was spot on.
Hermione simply rolls her eyes, "Or I'm not the one projecting my own frustrations to try and put others on edge. Do I really unnerve you that much?" Hermione inquires flipping her hair off a shoulder. She was dressed casually, her wild curls loose around her shoulders making her appear more amiable, than she had at the charity.
Sherlock looks offended.
Hermione pressed on now was as good of time as any to clear the air. "Perhaps we should lay down some ground rules? Like personal space, and privacy."
Sherlock's cheek twitched and his attention turns fully to her. "You moved in with a private detective what makes you believe you will have any right to privacy?"
Hermione leans back in her seat. "So John had no privacy? What if I want to bring a chap home?" Hermione asks bluntly.
Sherlock appeared shocked by the question, he looks out the window as if considering the circumstances before turning back to her with an answer. "John rarely brought women over. I don't see the value of such an arrangement. When seeking physical fulfillment one partner most typically ends up disappointing the other. But I suppose arrangements can be made. I assure you, however that, mentally I will be companion enough." His assurance caused Hermione pause. She knows better than to divulge into a hidden meaning because the man was just too practical for him to be suggesting what someone else might read from this statement. His arrogance aside, she knew there was credit to his boast.
"Good, not the jealousy sort then? I won't be kept under lock and key. Not by anyone, be they friend or lover." Hermione warns.
Sherlock nods, he can read the insecurities. Someone has tried to put her in a cage before. He can practically hear John's warning to back off, to let the subject breath and for the moment not press this particular pressure point. So Sherlock files it away. "Well I am not the jealousy sort...ground rules then: you shop, I don't like stores I do have an international reputation. Too many fans." Sherlock changes the subject and it is somewhat endearing the way his cheeks flush.
Hermione lets the tension breath, intrigued by his hidden confession. Perhaps Sherlock was more human that what his brother claims. "What a burden for you." she comments pleased by his glare. "If I do the shopping then you do the dishes." Hermione negotiates getting back to more pressing concerns.
Sherlock pulls a face, the: that is not going to happen you must be mad, face. "I take out the trash. Mrs. Hudson does the dishes and dusts."
Hermione shrugs, apparently unconcerned by this claim. "And if she is on holiday?" Hermione presses.
"Mrs. Hudson take a Holiday? England would fall to ruins!" Sherlock declares and Hermione gives the detective a pointed look.
The detective sighs rolling his eyes. "Very well if Mrs. Hudson ever goes on Holiday I'll do the ...dishes, but I don't dust or sweep." Sherlock concedes feeling comfortable in the agreement and confident such a thing will never transpire. "There is something that I have been curious about..."
"John...you want to know how I knew his name?" Hermione interrupts.
Sherlock quirks an eyebrow, "Yes, but no. I had assumed at the time you had been debriefed on us."
Hermione was already shaking her head. "I had never heard of you until the day at Walter Hitch's crime scene. After Harry called me that second time and gave me your name I made inquiries and found out about you and your partner." She shrugged and let this information sink in before pressing on. "Alright then what are you curious about, Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock paused, opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish out of water. "W.I.M.P. What does it stand for?" he wonders.
Hermione smirks leaning forward looking the detective in the eyes. "Alright, pick one. What do you want to know more? How I knew John's name or what the abbreviation of my organization stands for?"
Sherlock realizes that this woman is by far the most dangerous person he has ever met. She knew exactly how to tempt him, how to seduce the mind over the body. And Sherlock was ensnared because even a cold man of logic is a victim to his emotions no matter how much he pretends otherwise.
"How did you know Dr. Watson's first name?" Sherlock question is in a husky tone, as he realizes that he had just been played. She didn't want him to know anything about the organization including its real name, so she dangled something personal on the line. And like a fool he took the bait.
"The angle in which John Watson held the camera allowed me a view to his pocket, where his ID was. From his body language and hair cut I could tell he was an army doctor, the only two letters I could make out on his ID was J and O. Most logical conclusion was that his first name was John. I had of course considered Joe, Joseph, Jonas, or Josiah, but a man of his years and lack of letters visible indicate something more practical like John."
"How very observant of you, Miss Granger. You might actually be of some use." Sherlock tells her apparently delighted by her deduction.
Hermione smiles. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you, Sherlock." Is her cheeky response, as the cab pulls up to St. Bartholomew.
The three victims had all been found in the same alley. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was waiting outside the morgue arms cross pacing. It was clear there was a new development that he couldn't wait to share. "About time, I just about..." His voice trailed off as he looked at Hermione a recognized dawning on his face.
"Miss Granger. I didn't know you were coming. I called my man first, like you told me. But it is good you are here, there is something you should see." The detective inspector states graciously opening the door for Hermione before squeezing in behind her smiling like a besotted fool.
"Sherlock is not the only link between these deaths. It seems that all of these victims also have another common factor, all of them sent a single message moments before their deaths. A picture message." Greg says ushering them into an office where a lap top is set up, pictures of Hermione clearly brought up on the desktop. "All the picture messages sent, were of Miss Granger and they were all sent to a blocked number, a number we can't trace."
"Incredible... these...I had my homeless network on surveillance of Miss Granger, but I never got a response. These date back to night I sent out my mass text." Sherlock shares missing Hermione's look of reproach.
"You were spying on me?" Hermione asks.
"I paid them for information that I never received. So who where they sending these to?" Sherlock wonders aloud ignoring her outrage. "It took me years and a substantial amount of money to build up my network of informants. How can this be?"
"Oh Sherlock." Hermione sighs sounding patronizing. "Don't trust people who sell secrets. Chances are they will at one time or another sell you lies. And the price for those are simply too high."
"Thank you Miss Granger for your sentiment. How could you possibly understand what this means!" Sherlock shouted. Lestrade jumps, but Hermine simply stares at the detective unimpressed.
"Clearly your network of informants were working for someone that paid better and once they became a liability, they were disposed of, there could be more murders. I'll need to examine the bodies. I had been aware that I was being followed, however, I had assumed it had to do with work." Hermione rationalized.
"You seem to know quite a bit about this sort of thing." Lestrade comments.
This seems to upset Hermione her smile vanishes as she glares at the police man. "In my line of work I see a lot of misguided ties of loyalty and very little regard for self-preservation." Hermione shares. Sherlock notes her eyes get misty and he wonders if she is playing them all.
"Don't worry, Miss Granger you are not a suspect." Lestrade seems to back up, reading a vulnerability that Sherlock doesn't believe.
"Of course she's a suspect. Logically she was in the same area as the victims and she has motive." Sherlock argues, motioning to Hermione like she is suspect number one
"She is no more a suspect than you are, Sherlock. Why don't you wait outside?" Lestrade give Sherlock a pointed look. "The morgue is through here." Lestrade, offers his arm to a wide eyed Miss Granger escorting her into the morgue.
Molly is in the middle of an autopsy when they walk in, elbow deep in a homeless person's chest cavity and Greg Lestrade turns white, and flees out the door. Sherlock's eyes are on Hermione who casually takes off her red coat, hanging it on a rack by the door before putting on gloves and joining Molly at the gurney.
"Have you found cause of death?" Hermione requests looking expectantly to Molly who is staring pink cheeked at Sherlock. Molly's eye lashes flutter shut as she turns her attention to Hermione.
"I was just finishing up. No determination on cause of death, his stomach was empty just like the others, and just like the others there is no traces of poison in his system." Molly explains. "The hyoid is intact, I can't find any trauma. It was like all eleven of them just keeled over dead for no apparent reason."
Hermione has tears in her eyes when she turns to look at Sherlock. "I'm sorry." She says backing away from the table. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry." She is ripping the gloves off and throwing them away before dodging out the door with a loud bang.
Hermione Granger was proving to be too emotional for a woman that is unmoved by dismembered body parts.
Sherlock attempts to go after Hermione, Molly's hand on his sleeve stops him. "Let her calm down." Molly suggest as the detective shrugs the coroner off and dashes after Miss Granger.
He searches all the obvious places and a few other that he takes refuge in, when he can't find her he goes out back and lights a smoke.
Hermione finds him. His back is towards her, his fingers nibble as he takes another drag.
"Are you okay?" She asks announcing herself, walking over to stand in front of him, examining him with concern like he is the one that just had an emotional breakdown.
Sherlock observes her: ruffled hair, blood shot eyes, there were still tears on her cheeks. He tries to think how to comfort her, "People die. That is what they do. There is no need for me to shed a tear."
Ok so he was rubbish at being comforting.
The corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. "No course not. However, besides me, you might just be the only one to spare beggars and thief an afterthought. So you smoke...sending them off with a salute by killing a bit of yourself. That is personalized mourning." Hermione observes and there blossoming before Sherlock's eyes is a soft smile.
Sherlock purposely rolls his eyes, "What a dark observation. " He comments putting his cigarette out.
"Doesn't make it less true." She whispers reaching over and pulling a leaf off a tree branch examining it. "Death is a human condition, it is not the act or the lost that should be mourned but the missed life."
"Sentiment, I don't see the advantage of caring. Like I said everyone dies." Sherlock tries to sound detached and logical. The moon light is playing tricks on his imagination, the way her skin glows even in the dead of night, is like she is an angel; her words unworldly laced in logical observation.
"Right, but not everyone lives. So many miss opportunities… that I find terribly sad." Hermione says her tone like a song as she twirls the leaf between her fingers before letting it float to the ground. There is an imagery there, Sherlock notes as he watches her watch it fall.
The silence a stale mate between them.
She is all grace and composer when she looks up into his eyes," I won't have you slowly murdering me by smoking in the flat. I'll see you at home." She quirks an eye brow challenging before calmly walking away. He watches her trying to come up with something clever to say his heart beating faster the moment she turns the corner, he can no longer see her. Sherlock breaks into a run, determined to catch up with her determined to see her back to the apartment safely.
When he turns the corner, she is gone. No sign of her anywhere it was like she vanished into thin air.