Chapter 3: Wrists
For the first time, John woke up in Sherlock's arms, and it was wonderful. Sherlock woke only a couple of minutes after John. He smiled at him, and rolled out of bed.
"Coffee?"
"Please."
After Sherlock had disappeared down the hall, John sat up and got out of bed. He put the duvet straight and opened the curtains before walking down the corridor, rubbing his eyes.
Sherlock was pouring boiling water into two mugs. He put sugar in both and handed one to John, who tentatively took a sip. It wasn't actually that bad. Maybe he didn't mind sugar in his coffee. Sherlock almost jumped into his chair and turned on the TV. The news opening theme was shot at them at full volume.
"Turn it down!" yelled John. Sherlock calmly picked up the remote again and turned the volume down, and continued watching.
"Our top story this morning- police are sill baffled as to how London's latest most notorious serial killer has evaded them again. His latest victim was just 15 years old when he died. Forensics specialists say he was stabbed twenty-seven times with no pattern. The murderer also once again left a sign for police, and it keeps changing. This time- this. Please be advised this may be upsetting to some viewers." The camera cut to a wide, barkless tree with the word '逮' drawn on it. In blood.
"Sherlock-" said John, but Sherlock was already running out of the door, just as Lestrade was appearing on the news, giving a statement about how they are on the verge of apprehending the killer.
"Sherlock!" John grabbed his coat and ran downstairs.
"Sherlock, Lestrade is on this. It's going to be okay."
"No. No John it's not. The police never catch serial killers like this. Never." They continued briskly walking into Scotland Yard, where they were met by Lestrade.
"Sherlock thank God we were just about to come for you."
"Show me the body."
"Oh, of course." John and Sherlock went with Lestrade to inspect the body.
"Male, 15, quite sporty, 27 stab wounds spread all across the body, no pattern whatsoever. It was as if he was on a rampage, as if he were angry." Sherlock inspected the entire body, behind the ears, his fingers, his wrists.
"There. There. That's what you've been missing. I need the other three bodies. Immediately."
"Sherlock what's going on?" asked John.
"Look, on the back of his wrists. It's the same mark that was on the tree, I know it. But this is a scar. It's as if the killer marked out his victims months before he actually killed them."
"What?.."
Molly came running in, pushing three metal beds with three body bags on them, losing control of almost all of them. John rushed to help her, and they began to unzip the bags.
"Their wrists, look at their wrists." said Sherlock. Each wrist was turned over, and sure enough there was a scar on each wrist, just like the teenager.
"There. That's how we catch him. Molly, I need the order that these victims were killed in."
"Oh, this female first, her name was Phillipa Jones, 32. Then Michael Strauss, 68, then Poppy Wright, 24."
"The symbols on their wrists, it's Chinese. We need to translate them. Thankfully, I already have." Sherlock lined up the bodies with their wrists facing upwards.
"You. Will. Never. Catch. That's what they say. You will never catch."
"Who wants to bet that the next victim will have 'me' on their wrist?" said John.
"That's it!" We put out a nationwide search for anybody with 'me' in Chinese on their wrist."
"Er, it's not going to be that easy." Lestrade had just come in. "If we put out a nationwide search, chances are the killer is going to know. Then how do we catch a killer that isn't killing anybody?"
"I... don't know."
"Listen, we can't just let this person die just because then we won't catch them! That's giving up on them! We are supposed to save people, not leave them to die for the sake of more clues!" said John, shaking. Was it anger, fear or sadness?
"I'm sorry, John. But we can't do anything yet. We just have to find more clues."
"That isn't enough."
Sherlock put his arms around John, holding him close.
"It's going to be okay. We'll catch them, I promise."
"I know." said John.
"Did you know about this?" Lestrade whispered to Molly, who was beaming with delight. She nodded.
"Okay then."
When they broke apart, Sherlock turned to Lestrade.
"When was the first attack?"
"Last Friday. The second was on Tuesday, the third Friday just gone." Sherlock was lost in thought.
"2,4,3. 3,2. 4,3,2...1" He turned around so fast John thought his neck was going to snap.
"The next attack- it's going to be tomorrow."
"What?" burst out Lestrade. "How?"
"It's simple. The first attack was Friday. Four days after that was the second attack- Tuesday. Three days after that was the third, on Friday. Today, the fourth attack, two days after the last. It's a pattern- 4,3,2, so the next will be one. One day after. It all makes perfect sense."
"So that means that tomorrow's attack will be the last, if it's 4 3 2 1." said John. "Also, 'you will never catch me' is a full sentence."
"Yes, maybe."
"Maybe? Tomorrow's obviously going to be the last one." said Lestrade.
"Maybe that's what he wants us to think, Lestrade. To catch them you have to think like them, that's why you always have to come to me, because you don't do that. I need a map." Molly ran off to get a map, and the rest of the group were stood in silence.
"So," said Lestrade. "When did, er, this happen?" He gestured vaguely at John and Sherlock.
"A few weeks ago." said Sherlock, not really paying much attention.
"That's, er, good. Good for you." said Lestrade.
"I have the map!" said Molly, laying it out on a large table.
"Oh thank God." said John under his breath.
"Okay. We need to mark on the first four murders." said Sherlock. "There has to be a connection."
They pondered over the map for hours, but none of them could see a connection.
"They're all... two streets away from a corner shop?"
"Most things are two streets away from a corner shop Lestrade." Said John.
"...Right." said Lestrade.
Evening fell, and there was still nothing. All four of them were drifting into sleep.
"Coffee!" shouted Molly, who then immediately ran off to get coffee, almost knocking over several chairs on the way.
"Sherlock, the next murder could happen any time after midnight, and we still don't have anything. This person is going to die." Sherlock turned to John, and cupped his face in his hands.
"They're going to be okay, I promise." John smiled, and kissed Sherlock. Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"If you two could not have sex here, that'd be great."
"Lestrade I kissed him. Do you have sex with everyone you kiss?" asked Sherlock. John stifled a laugh, and Lestrade raised his eyebrows. Molly ran in with four cups of coffee, spilling a little every time she turned. She set that down on the table, and then began to look at the map again, but nothing looked any different. There really was no connection.
By 12, everyone was falling asleep. The caffeine had no effect, and they'd been poring over the map for over 12 hours.
"There's always... a... connection." said Sherlock sleepily, waving his finger in the air and proceeding I collapse on top of the map.
"Great. Now we can't see the map." said Lestrade.
"Er, guys." said Molly. "it's after midnight. The fifth murder could happen any time."
Sherlock suddenly woke up and yelled "Midnight!" before once again falling asleep.
"Helpful." said Lestrade.
"Hey!" said John, giving Lestrade a stern look.
"We're not getting anywhere." said John. Suddenly the door burst open.
"Lestrade, you need to come with me." Lestrade got up and followed the man, and John followed them too. They arrived at the door to Scotland Yard, where there were two bodies on the steps outside.
"Oh my God." said Lestrade and John at the same time. Molly ran up to them, followed slowly by Sherlock.
"Sherlock-" said John.
"Oh no." Said Sherlock, who immediately ran outside to inspect the bodies.
"Hey! You're not allowed here." yelled a man.
"Excuse me I need to get through"
"Like hell you do. Get back inside."
"Anderson for the love of God, let us past." said John.
"No. You're not cleared to be here."
"Anderson let them past." said Lestrade, walking up behind them.
"Why, Lestrade, why?! Why do you always let him come in and ruin our reputation?!" Lestrade ignored Anderson, and walked back inside, while John and Sherlock walked up to the bodies.
"Which one was killed first?" asked John.
"I think our killer has already answered that." relied Sherlock. "Look. This one has been stabbed once, this one twice. One, two. First, second."
"Their wrists." said John. "What do they say?" Sherlock turned their wrists over.
"As expected, this one says 'me'. This one..." Sherlock trailed off.
"What does it say?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
Apologies for the short chapter, and for a severe lack of fluff. Next time will be better, I promise :)