Sherlock wanted me to go with him and John, probably just to save time spent texting me, so I went with them. When I see the body of a TV person, the one who liked to make people dress better, I look at the forehead; if you look close enough it gives away the real cause of death. The real mystery was the identity of the killer. Sherlock sent John off to hunt down the woman's family history.
He turned to me, picks up my hand, and together we return to 221B where Sherlock puts up a map of all of Europe. He starts to put pins where the texts have been coming from. I was looking at it with him and Lestrade, who was here for a while, when a thought occurs to me. "Sherlock, what if the person is just flying to all these places for work, or business reasons?"
"Your right, business." I pull out the laptop, whichever one was closer to me, to look at the places he pinned on the map and see what has happened in those locations in the last three days. Sherlock leaves when he gets a call from John; it was getting down to the wire on time. Since I still had the laptop, I stay behind and wait for a text containing information Sherlock wanted me to post on John's blog. Sherlock sent it, the text, and I posted. But apparently all did not go according to plan.
When they got back Sherlock comes over and clings to me. "She got killed. She was trying to tell us about his voice and he killed her."
I help him over to his chair, he rests his head on my arm, and I sit on the arm rubbing his arm and head. "She was old, and blind. We will never know what was going on in her head, but just that maybe she was hoping for death." He just rubbed his head in my arm. "Oh Sherlock," I say. There was his grin, his 'I'm happy to be here' grin.
The pink phone went off and Sherlock picks it up; it was a picture of the shore. He texts Lestrade to send him a message asking if any bodies have appeared on that particular shore. After that I gently pull Sherlock out of his chair, and guide him into his bedroom. I shut the door, push down on to the bed. He gets the hint, takes off his jacket, and hands it to me; I put it up and crawl into the bed with him. "Take a nap Sherlock." He pouts just a little but then pulls me to him. Once he was starting to doze off, once I knew he was asleep, I pull out his phone and see the number from the gay man. Apparently his name is Jim Moriarty, and I add the number to both Sherlock's phone and my phone. I then set an alarm on my phone and put both phones on the bed side table. Sherlock looks adorable and so I snuggle more into him, promptly falling asleep.
When my alarms go off, I have to reach over Sherlock (who is fighting to stay asleep) to get the cursed thing and turn it off. I hit the button and snuggle more into Sherlock. I know that when am not with Sherlock he will do anything not to sleep, to stay away from the nightmares' but when am here he loves it. He will find any reason to just sleep with me. I love it also. After thirty minutes of just laying there, Sherlock's phone goes off. I grab it and answer: "Alex."
"Sherlock lets you answers his phone," Lestrade says, then pauses (my guess is letting yet another new aspect of Sherlock sink in- it amuses me) before continuing, "Sherlock wanted to know about bodies washing up on shores." He gives me the info, then I hang up and start to kiss Sherlock awake.
"Your case is here," I softly say to him, then kiss him once more. He gets up and changes, with me following shortly after. We leave his room, practically running into John who is standing in the kitchen looking shocked.
"He…He… Sherlock slept on a case." John shakes his system awake.
"Sherlock," I say, encouraging Sherlock to help his friend as I start moving around and making tea. I look in the fridge for milk, not surprised to see the head, and then look at Sherlock who looks embarrassed.
"John, I really like sleeping; Alex, I will buy another fridge for my experiments," he says first to John and then to me.
John just stands there, stammering, "So. I ask, we don't get a new fridge. Alex just looks at you, and you roll over…"
I put the teas in to-go cups, giving one to John, the other to Sherlock. I stand in front of Sherlock, looking in his eyes. "I would miss it too much, just like I did for the last three years." Sherlock kisses me. After we pull back Sherlock leads us down to the waiting taxi.
I get in the taxi with the boys, sitting in front of Sherlock who is drinking his tea and playing with my free hand. When we get there I look at the body with Sherlock, moving when he was moving. John was tested on what he noticed while I spent time thinking about the monster that could have done this, and what it might look like.
When we get back in the taxi, I sip my tea and listen to Sherlock and John talk. When we get to the boy's next destination I choose to stay in the taxi, and look up info on a painting Sherlock seems interested in and apparently believes is tied to this case. Funny thing, the painting had a lot to do with stars. While Sherlock hates everything to do with the solar system, sees it as unnecessary information not worth bothering remembering, I don't mind it. I store information in my mind, same as the Holmes brothers do, but I do it a bit differently. A few things I am beginning to forget is my life before Sherlock Holmes, and when my parents were killed in an ocean storm.
I was in college by this time working on my second degree. I got the call and froze, completely in shock. Sherlock and Mycroft came to get me, they were called before so they could be there when I was told, and then deal with the school. I was able to end the semester since the fault was not mine. I was glued to Sherlock throughout everything, and Mycroft helped to handle and arrange everything; I do not know how could have done anything without Mycroft's help. The Holmes parents from then on were my parents, citing the fact that I was already going to be their daughter-in-law anyway.
My musings are interrupted by Sherlock and John, who return, hash out their newly found information, and then split up again. I stay with Sherlock as he goes to get a security guard uniform and then proceeds to use that uniform to break into the art museum. I stay outside the museum, waiting for him.
When he comes out he puts the silly uniform hat on top of my head, and drags me to a taxi, talking about how the painting is undoubtedly a fake. He just does not know how yet. I have not looked at it yet, so I couldn't really help him much. I started to rub his hand, trying to relax him a bit.
"Sherlock, what do you know about John's case so far," I ask, taking his mind off the painting for a bit. It will help him to look at it again with a fresh mind. John had seemingly gone off on his own so far on Mycroft's quest, and I was curious to know how it was going. He starts to talk about how because there was no blood where the body was found at the crime scene, the body would have had to be moved. On the train, but from where? It would have had to be near a house, like the wife's brother house that just happened to be on the same route.
Later, while Sherlock and John were hunting the Golem (the nasty monster that killed the security officer), I was at the painting's open house, making sure to stop anyone from buying it. When Sherlock finally arrived the police officers came in with him and cleared everyone out. I finally got a look at the painting, and my eyed got drawn to the stars; something did not seem right about them. I thought about the time of the painting and what I knew about astrological history in that era. There was nothing I could recall about the time the paining was said to be placed in, but something did happen about a hundred years later. That was it; that was why it was a fake.
The phone rang. I waited as long as I could, until a countdown started, then pointed to the star in question on the painting. Sherlock figured it out from there. The sound of the little boy on the other end of the phone doing the countdown was heart breaking to me. Poor boy, it made me think about what if it was Sherlock, when he was little. I stop my train of thoughts, and look at Sherlock, and he looks right back; I wonder if he had the same thoughts.
"How did you do that? Sherlock would never let me do that," John asks, very seriously.
"I never really tell him anything, I just give him a very small hint. That leads him to the rest of the puzzle. He really likes solving the puzzle." Sherlock picks up my hand and kisses it.
"She just knows what to pick, leaving the rest of the puzzle for me to figure out. The little things, something very tiny, something my computer of a brain just might miss. Something I would forget. If I forget it, Lex remembers it for me." Sherlock smirks at me.
"He mostly just likes to show off," He was looking for my attention, and to prove that he was paying attention to me. I love that he can do everything by himself, if he sets his mind to it my genius of a fiancée can figure anything out, but he likes to have my help. Just little things; he doesn't question my intelligence, but he knows I don't like to get in the way of his. My biggest job, one that I take very seriously, is helping him with resting or refreshing his mind. We've always had a good balance that way.