A/N: Hey everyone! Yet again, apologies for not updating sooner. I've been having some problems with this story, but I think I'm starting to get them ironed out with the help of my dear friend, sherlocksthename. :) So hopefully I'll be updating more frequently from here on out.

Disclaimer: All characters except Sheila are not mine. This is a fanfiction, after all. :P

CHAPTER FOUR:

A TALE OF TWO SHERLOCKS

Sherlock nodded once. "Since this concerns both of us, I think we need to work together." He seemed a little embarrassed by the admission and quickly added, "To an extent. One condition is John works with me." He extended his hand for Sheila to shake. She did so, then they all lapsed into a long and awkward silence.

John broke the silence. "Well, standing around here all night isn't going to get anything done."

Sherlock nodded. "Right. We'll…"

"Go to bed," John said, his voice firm. "It's late, and you weren't sleeping much on the last case. You're going to bed, now." He glanced at Sheila. "Do you have a place to stay?"

Sheila shook her head. "This is my place to stay." She sighed. "Or at least I thought it was."

John nodded. "It is." He moved towards the stairs. "You can have my room. I'll sleep out here on the sofa."

A brief flicker of surprise flashed across Sheila's face. "I… Thank you."

John smiled. He heard the genuineness in her voice, as well as the surprise. He briefly wondered if anyone had ever been kind to her. He wondered if anyone had ever shown kindness to Sherlock. "You're welcome."

John showed Sheila her room and grabbed a few things, then went back down stairs. Sherlock had resumed his position in his chair, staring off into the distance. John shook his head. "No."

To his surprise, Sherlock looked up. "What?"

John pointed a finger at him as he unfolded his blanket and draped it across the sofa. "You're not staying there. You're going to bed."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John cut him off. "And if you say 'I'm not tired' like a five-year-old I will…" He searched his tired mind for a drastic threat. "I'll throw out all your experiments in the fridge."

Sherlock frowned. "You wouldn't."

John snorted. "Try me. Besides, I'm sleeping out here."

"John, honestly, if you think I'm going to disturb you…."

"You would, but that's not the point," John said. "Yes, I know, you probably won't say anything, or make any noise, but you're thinking and it's annoying." He turned his back to Sherlock, but not before he saw the brief flicker of amusement on his friend's face. He smirked to himself. Maybe quoting him would make him more likely to listen to him.

Sherlock stood up. "Fine. Goodnight, John." He walked over to his room.

"Goodnight," John said. He hesitated, then turned around. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder.

"Are you really alright?"

Sherlock said nothing, his hand on the doorknob.

"Because…." John struggled to find the right words. "I'm here if you need anything, you know that, right?"

Sherlock said nothing for a moment longer, then nodded once and slipped into his room.

#

John winced slightly as he stretched, trying to loosen his sore muscles. Sleeping on the sofa certainly wasn't the best for your back.

He glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Sherlock most likely wouldn't be up for…

Sherlock's bedroom door open and he walked out, fully dressed with his coat and scarf draped over his arm. "Morning, John," he said, moving into the kitchen.

John blinked. Alright, so scratch that. He got off the couch and followed after Sherlock. "Good morning," he said. "What's the plan for today?"

Sherlock opened the fridge and looked inside, saying nothing.

John waited a moment, and after receiving no response, tried again. "Sherlock? What's the plan?"

Sherlock moved around some jars in the fridge.

John closed his eyes. "Sherlock. What. Are. We. Going. To. Do. About. Sheila."

No response.

John opened his mouth, ready to yell if he had to, but hearing footsteps on the stairs cut him off. Sherlock closed the fridge door and they both turned around.

Sheila stood in the doorway, her clothes slightly rumpled from sleeping in them.

John nodded. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Fine."

For a moment, no one said anything. John sighed inwardly. Was this how everything was going to go? "Sherlock and I were just discussing what we're going to do."

"John was discussing what we were going to do," Sherlock said, voice flat and face blank.

John wanted to bang his head against the wall. "Yeah, it did seem rather one sided to me, too. But now that we're all here, we can figure out the next step."

"Contacting Mycroft seems like the only logical thing to do at this point," Sheila said. Her voice, too, held no emotion, though her face held the slightest traces of weariness.

"I already tried," Sherlock said. "And I couldn't get a hold of him."

John looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock shot him an irritated look. "What I said. He's unavailable."

"Well, when is he going to be available?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock shouted.

John blinked in surprise.

Sherlock turned away, a scowl on his face. John glanced back at Sheila, but she had her arms crossed and was staring at the floor. John stepped over by Sherlock. He open his mouth, then closed it. He bit his lip. He wanted to ask Sherlock what was wrong, but he already knew part of the problem, and he knew Sherlock wouldn't answer.

"Look," John said, keeping his voice quiet so only Sherlock could hear. "I know you don't want to talk about it. But if you do, I'm here. 'kay?"

Sherlock said nothing.

John took a step back and looked back and forth between Sherlock and Sheila. They were both obviously disturbed by the other. He tried to think of something to say, something to do, but he just didn't know.

He was saved from having to do anything by Mrs. Hudson. She tapped on the door, coming into the kitchen. "Whoo-hoo. Morning, boys! I…" She trailed off. "Oh, I didn't know you had a guest…" She stared at Sheila, then looked at Sherlock. She blinked, and looked at them both again. "Oh. You never told me you had a daughter, Sherlock."

"I don't," Sherlock growled at the same time Sheila protested, "I'm not his daughter!"

The two looked at each other and scowled.

Silence descended again. John finally cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hudson, this is Sheila. Sheila, this is our landlady and friend, Mrs. Hudson."

"Pleasure to meet you, my dear," Mrs. Hudson said, extending her hand.

"Likewise," Sheila said, losing part of her scowl and shaking Mrs. Hudson's hand.

"Sheila's going to be staying with us for a little bit," John said. "She, um…" He tried to figure out an uncomplicated way to explain. He couldn't.

"Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson have offered to help me," Sheila said. "There are things in my past that are confusing and complicated, and I've enlisted Mr. Holmes to help me sort them out."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Well, you've come to the right place, dear. Sherlock is the best when it comes to solving things. He's so very clever, and…"

"That's enough, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said.

"Oh, alright, dear." She moved back towards the door. "I just wanted to let you boys know that I'm going over to my sister's for the day."

"Sounds good. Have a good time," John said, smiling.

Mrs. Hudson smiled back and gave a little wave before disappearing out the door.

And yet again another awkward silence fell over the kitchen. Sherlock and Sheila stared at each other across the kitchen, each of their piercing gazes piercing the other, and giving no indication of any emotion at all.

As John had apparently been elected the go-between for the two sulking geniuses, he spoke up, "John."

Sheila looked over at him. "Hm?"

"You can call me John," he said. "Not Dr. Watson. John makes me feel less old."

Sheila smiled. "Alright. John."

Over on his side of the kitchen, Sherlock huffed, plainly irritated.

John glanced over at him. He seriously wasn't irritated with Sheila calling him John, was he?

Before anything else could be said, a knock came from the door. "I've got it," John said. He exited the kitchen and went down the stairs to the front hall. He opened the door. "Lestrade?"

Lestrade looked up, a look of annoyance on his face. "Finally! You and Sherlock both shut off your phones or something? I even tried the landline, which they told me had been disconnected."

"Yeah, sorry, no landline anymore," John said. "Sorry, I must have left my phone in my room. I didn't hear it. Something wrong?"

"Depends on whether you're the murder victim, or Sherlock," Lestrade said darkly. "If you're the victim, yeah, something's wrong. If you're Sherlock, boredom's over and it's time to play."

"Not sure there's been too much boredom here since last night," John said. "But I bet he won't turn down a case now." He opened the door wider and stepped aside. "He's upstairs."

John and Lestrade went back up the stairs, and John led him into the kitchen. "Sherlock, Lestrade's got a case for us."

Sherlock and Sheila broke off their staring contest and turned to look at them.

John turned to Lestrade to ask him what the case was… then he saw the look on Lestrade's face as he stared back and forth between Sherlock and Sheila.

"What the…." Lestrade blinked. "Sherlock, I didn't know you had a daughter…"

"She's not my daughter!" Sherlock yelled, at the same time Sheila shouted, "I'm not his daughter!"

John bit back a smirk and cleared his throat. "Um, Greg, this is Sheila. She's a… friend."

Lestrade continued to stare. "Uh, nice to meet you."

Sheila scowled. "I'm sure."

"You said you had a case for us?" Sherlock growled, still clearly irritated that everyone seemed to assume Sheila was his daughter.

Lestrade shook himself. "Yeah. Squad car's waiting outside."

"I'll go call a taxi," Sherlock said pointedly, returning to the living room to grab his coat and scarf before brushing past Lestrade and going out the door.

Sheila and Lestrade faced each other, Lestrade continuing to stare, and Sheila continuing to scowl.

John decided he had better step in (again). "Sheila, you wouldn't be interested in coming with us, would you?"

Sheila looked at him. "If I'm bored, I'll leave."

John shrugged. "Fine. But Sherlock never takes the 'boring' cases anyway."

Sheila walked over to the living room to grab her coat, then went down the stairs.

Lestrade turned to John. "What…"

John shook his head. "I have no idea. Met her last night. She's nearly identical to Sherlock in every way, even has some of the same childhood memories." John paused. "Which probably means I shouldn't leave them alone too long, or one of the Sherlocks is going to… I don't know. Do something."

Lestrade shook his head. "And I thought Sherlock had stopped surprising me."

John half-laughed. "I don't think that will ever happen, for either of us."

Sheila and Sherlock didn't speak a word the entire ride over to the crime scene. When Sherlock had realized John had invited Sheila along, he shot John a look that made John fear for the peace and safety of the flat when they returned.

The other two's silence allowed John to try and sort out some of his thoughts. Last night, Sherlock had quickly gone from being intrigued by Sheila to - dare John say it - upset. Now, he was acting indifferent, closely bordering irritation with her.

Suddenly John regretted inviting Sheila along.

The taxi stopped and Sherlock and Sheila practically threw themselves out of the back of the cab. John stifled a sigh and paid the driver, then hurried to catch up with them.

John looked around. Yellow police tape stretched around in front of a music shop next to an alleyway. Lestrade stood waiting for them in front of the shop. Sherlock and Sheila walked briskly towards him with their long strides, leaving John a bit behind them. They walked nearly in stride with the other, neither one looking at the other.

Sally Donovan and Anderson stood a few feet away, discussing something. Both of them stopped when they saw Sherlock and Sheila. Donovan's mouth parted open slightly and Anderson stared.

John walked past them, nodding politely, to which neither of them responded, or even seemed to notice. Sherlock obviously noticed them, but ignored them. Sheila shot them an amused glance, as if asking what they were looking at.

Lestrade jerked his head towards the shop door. "C'mon."

"Hey, Freak!" Donovan called. "When did you have a kid?"

Sherlock whirled around, his dark coat spreading out behind him. "For the last time," he ground out from between grit teeth. "She. Is. Not. My. Daughter."

Donovan scoffed. "Right." She folded her arms. "How old were you? 15?"

Sherlock glared, but spun around and marched past everyone and shoved the shop door open, the bell tinkling gently as if in contrast to the frustration of the person who pushed it open.

Sheila shot one last half amused, half irritated look at Donovan and Anderson, then followed Sherlock into the shop. Lestrade glared at Donovan, but said nothing to her. John quicked his pace to catch up with him, then they entered the shop.

The only light inside the shop came from the front window and door. Instruments lined the wall, some knocked haphazardly on the ground. Sheet music littered the floor. In the middle of the small room, the body of a young woman lie on the ground, face down.

Sherlock paused, casting a brief glance around the room, then moved on to the body. Sheila walked around him to the other side of the woman's body. John and Lestrade stood a little ways back from them.

Sherlock pulled his gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on, at nearly the same instant Sheila did. For a moment they stared at each other, then both turned their attention back to the body.

After a minute of silence, Sheila spoke up, "When did you find her?"

"Just this morning," Lestrade said. "Owner came to open the shop, and found her here. No idea who she is. No identification."

"She was murdered," Sherlock said, not looking up. "About… would you say at about 4:03 this morning, John?"

John frowned briefly and knelt down beside Sherlock. After examining her body, he said, "She's been dead for about 2 or 3 hours I'd say. I can't place it that closely…"

"The watch," Sheila said, voice flat.

Sherlock shot her an irritated look, then pointed to the watch on the woman's wrist. "Glass shattered, with the time at 4:03."

"The watch could have been dead already, couldn't it?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock shook his head, but before he could say anything, Sheila said, "Citizen Eco-Drive watch. It doesn't take batteries; it converts light into energy."

Beside him, John felt Sherlock stiffen slightly.

"Alright, anything else about her?"

"Musician," Sherlock said. "Played piano, violin and flute."

"Whoever killed her," Sheila said. "Wanted something from her. Something that he or she assumed she was carrying."

Lestrade looked at her. "How can you tell that?"

"Someone was digging through her dress pockets," Sherlock said. "Roughly. One of the pockets is nearly torn off."

"They were also looking through her purse," Sheila said.

"What purse?" John asked. "I don't see…"

"Women almost always carry a purse," Sheila said. She stood up and walked a few feet away to where a pile of music books had been thrown off the shelf. She nudged the books aside with her toe and bent over to pick something up. She turned around, holding a small handbag. "And this one was so obviously underneath these books, I'm honestly surprised that none of you idiots saw it already."

John blinked, looking over at Sherlock, who had a dark look on his face. John tried to decide if he was supposed to be amused Sherlock was letting Sheila get to him, or concerned.

Sherlock stood up, and John did as well, moving back by Lestrade, who was watching Sherlock and Sheila with a barely perceptible smile on his face.

Lestrade leaned over to John. "Is it bad that I'm enjoying this?" he whispered.

John tried to keep a grin at bay. "Probably." He watched Sherlock continue to examine the woman's body, as if frantic to find another clue. "And I thought one Sherlock was bad enough."

Lestrade chuckled.

"Her attacker was a man," Sherlock said, speaking quickly. "And he was romantically involved with her."

"Did the men's cologne, or the fact that her engagement ring is lying a few feet away, near the purse, like she had torn it off in anger, tell you that?" Sheila asked, picking up a ring and handing it to Lestrade, who took it with a look of surprise on his face.

Sherlock's look turned darker. "The cologne," he admitted. "But I was just about to mention the ring."

Sheila smirked. "Of course."

Sherlock turned his back to her, facing the woman's body again. "She's from somewhere near Sussex. The caked mud on her shoes clearly show that." He moved around near her shoes and flicked a piece of dried mud off her shoes into his gloved hand. He held it up to the light. "Definitely Sussex."

"Marie Kelly, from Sussex. Age 24," Sheila spoke up after a moment of silence. "The attacker - her fiance - is Benjamin Kane. You're looking for a man with red hair, hazel eyes, about 5'8", and an athletic build."

Everyone whirled to face her. Sheila held up an ID card. "What? Forgot about the purse? First thing you should have looked for."

"Her boyfriend…" John started.

Sheila held up a cellphone. "Background picture of her with a young man. First number on speed dial - Benjamin Kane." She smiled and tossed the phone to Lestrade, who caught it, still surprised. "In fact, why don't you give him a ring now?"

Lestrade gave a chuckle of amazement. "This girl's nearly better than you, Sherlock," he said. He turned and walked out, calling to the officers outside, "We've got a lead, people!"

Sheila followed after him.

John turned to Sherlock, but his words died on his lips when he saw the look on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock stared at nothing in particular, his face the normal void of emotion. But his eyes… the look in his eyes, John had never seen before.

He looked hurt.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, keeping his voice low so he was the only one who could hear. "Are you-"

"Fine." Sherlock brushed past him and went outside. John hesitated, then followed.

Donovan looked up and smirked at Sherlock. "Your daughter's even better than you, huh, Freak?"

Sherlock didn't even bother to contradict her, just ignored her completely and kept walking. John gave her a glance, then followed after his friend.

Sherlock stalked past Lestrade and Sheila, who were speaking in front of the store. Lestrade looked up as the detective walked away towards the street. "Sherlock!" He called. "Where are you going?"

"You've got a lead," Sherlock said. "This is boring."

Sherlock stepped out into the street and hailed a taxi. John started to follow him, but Sherlock shut the door without saying a word and motioned for the cabby to drive on, leaving John standing in the street, confused.

To Be Continued...