She sat on the edge of the bed as he gently brushed her hair, staying perfectly still. He paused and toyed with a strand, twirling it between his fingers. She bit her lip, trembling slightly. He smiled to himself and resumed brushing.
When he finished, he set down the brush and fished a ribbon from his pocket, tying it in her hair in a perfect bow.
"Stand up, let me look at you," he told her. She got to her feet and turned to face him, eyes downcast. "Almost perfect." He put a finger and lifted her chin. "Smile sweetheart."
She looked at him and then looked away again, biting her lip. His hand on her arm tightened, fingers digging into her skin. She looked up, meeting his eyes and forced herself not to wince
"I said…" he paused, taking a moment to regain his composure. "Smile."
She whimpered softly and managed a strained smile, forcing herself to maintain it until her cheeks burned. He smiled, satisfied, and released her before getting to his feet.
"Now you're perfect." He brushed past her, putting the hairbrush away. The second his back was turned, she let her smile drop. She heard the door close and she went to the mirror. She looked at her reflection, her hair tied back neatly and her dress perfectly pressed. She opened her mouth and screamed silently at herself.
She heard the footsteps coming back. She stopped, the smile sliding back into place as he entered the room once again.
Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here. – Marianna Williamson
Sherlock was sitting in his armchair when John came back, soaked and shivering. He was reading and he didn't even lift his head to acknowledge John's entry.
"You're wet."
"Yes, Sherlock. It's raining. You left me on the street and I didn't have any money so I had to walk. And then it started raining."
"Oh that's good." John rolled his eyes and headed through to his room to put on some dry clothes. There was a stack of papers on his bed and he flicked through them idly. Girls' faces stared up at him. Clearly Sherlock had managed to get hold of the list of missing persons.
John changed and picked up the stack, returning to the living room.
"Why were these on my bed?"
"I thought you could use a little light reading before you went to sleep."
"Ha ha, very funny." He sat in his chair. "How far back do these go?"
"Twenty years. The girl looked to be in her late twenties but she could be older."
"So you don't think that the killer took her then? Or he did take her and he's been holding her all this time?"
"No, I think that she went missing before he found her. He wanted to challenge me, he probably took an old disappearance."
"Makes sense. So you want me to dig out every dark haired girl who fits the right age bracket with a tattoo on her ankle?"
"And without. She might have got the tattoo after she went missing."
"That's… a lot of girls Sherlock."
"Better get started then." John sighed and began to look through the files, sorting them into two piles. Sherlock slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes and tenting his fingers.
"There's a few here that might fit."
"Good. Tell me."
"You want me to read the files out to you?"
"Yes." John gritted his teeth. He was used to Sherlock being 'too busy thinking' to take part in mundane activities but it never got less frustrating.
"Fine. Mary Sutherland. 27 years old went missing four years ago. Natural brunette, blue eyes, tattoo on her ankle of a heart."
"No."
"How can you possibly know that? You didn't even look at the picture." Sherlock opened one eye, looked at the picture and closed it again.
"No."
"Alice Turner, 29, missing two years –"
"No. Not old enough."
"Helen Stoner, 26, missing five years."
"No."
"Hatty Doran, 28, missing four years."
"No…"
"Violet Hunter, 27, missing five years."
"No! John! Be serious here! This person is presenting a challenge, it's got to be more interesting than that."
"Look, if I'm not doing it right than you can do it." The lack of sleep and Sherlock being… Sherlock, was beginning to grate his nerves. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at him for a minute before settling down again.
"Next?" John sighed and shifted through the papers until he found one he didn't think Sherlock would sneer at.
"Laura Lyons. 28, went missing fifteen years ago. Better?"
"Much. Go on."
"She has mid brown hair, green eyes. She had a scar on one ankle, she may have had it covered up with a tattoo, and another on her hip. Presumed to be a runaway." Sherlock's eyes snapped open.
"Scar?"
"Yes. On her hip." Sherlock mentally ran through his recollection of the woman from the container.
"Bingo." He reached over and took her file, examining the picture. "Yes, this looks like her. Out of date obviously but same basic bone structure, facial shape. Hair looks the right shade. I think this is a girl." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles.
"You don't seem pleased…?"
"It's too easy, there's got to be more to it than that."
"Sherlock I think you're looking for a challenge where none exists. Maybe this killer just wanted to show off and overestimated his abilities? Whatever the case, we found the right girl, I am going to bed." John left the room. Sherlock frowned but put his partner's irritation out of his mind. John was always getting grumpy about one thing or another, if he constantly tried to decipher his mood he would never get anything done.
Instead he found his phone and called Lestrade. He knew there had to be more to this girl, otherwise he wouldn't have been directed to her.
"Lestrade. I need the missing person report of a Laura Lyons."
"Why?"
"She's the girl from the container."
"Right… and when were you going to tell me this?"
"I… just did?" Sherlock couldn't understand why Lestrade was wasting his time on trivialities. It was far more important that he get what he needed to find out what was going on here.
Lestrade sighed.
"What was the name again?"
"Laura Lyons. She went missing when she was thirteen. I need that report."
"Fine. I'll get it sent over." Sherlock hung up without bothering to say goodbye. Now he had to wait. He wanted to get on with it, find out what kind of game was being played with him and who was playing it. His first thought was Moriarty. He liked games but then again, he also enjoyed the attention and the admiration. He would have signed his name in big letters for all to see.
He got to his feet and picked up his violin, plucking at the strings absently. He began fiddling with the bow, trying to construct his thoughts into something coherent. If not Moriarty then who? Who would want to entice him into a game?
Well… someone else who had got bored presumably.
Sherlock was beginning to go insane with boredom and impatience when the doorbell finally rang.
"John, get that will you!" He called. There was no movement from the bedroom. Sherlock frowned and headed down the stairs. A young officer was at the front door with a folder. He wasn't one Sherlock recognized which didn't mean much, only that he'd not found his presence irritating enough to recall.
"Lestrade sent me to deliver –"
"Yes, yes, thank you!" Sherlock slammed the door in his face and ran back up the stairs. He was positive that whatever was in the missing person report would be the next clue, the next step in the game.
He hesitated outside of John's room but he had a feeling that he wouldn't be welcomed by his flatmate with the news. He decided that he would wait to see what the folder contained before getting John up. If it didn't have anything of use, he'd need to interview the family. John would be helpful in that aspect, he was good at the human touch.
He got comfortable on the sofa and opened the file. It wasn't particularly thick, just four pages. The first, personal details about the girl, the second contained a transcript of an interview with the mother and the third contained the notes on the case. The fourth page was paper clipped to the file, seemingly a later addition.
He scanned the first page with little interest. It was just a rewrite of what he already knew with a few additional details. She was thirteen when she went missing. She had green eyes and mid brown hair. She had lived with her mother and stepfather. He discarded it and turned to the second. The interview with the mother had taken place almost a week after the girl was last seen. The mother had waited days to report her missing.
He read through the interview. He frowned, massaging his temples. There had to be more to it than a simple disagreement. The interview didn't even say why they had fought.
Why.
Why…
That was it. The clue was in the why. It had to be.
He flicked through the notes to the fourth page, the one that seemed out of place. It was a doctor report, dated two weeks before her disappearance. It detailed trauma based injuries, the cause listed as a fall down the stairs. Underneath that was the result of a blood test, with a note circled.
Pregnant.
That was it! This had to be!
But to find out for certain he needed more data. He checked his watch. John had been asleep for four and a half hours. That was plenty.
He headed to John's bedroom and knocked hard on the door.
"John."
He heard the faintest groan from inside the bedroom.
"John!"
When John didn't appear at the door he shrugged and entered the room. Common courtesy would have to wait, this was important.
"John, get up! I need you!"
"Keep your voice down…" John muttered from under the covers. "Don't want to give Mrs Hudson more to gossip about."
He sat up in bed.
"What is it?"
"John get dressed, I've figured it out. We're looking for the daughter!"
"The daughter…? I don't follow"
"Laura Lyons. She was pregnant when she went missing."
"That was fifteen years ago Sherlock. That child could be anywhere. She might not even have had it!"
"She had a row with her mother the night she disappeared. My guess, she told the mother she was pregnant and they fought about it. If the fight was that bad, she probably wanted to keep the child and her mother didn't. She's unlikely to have given it up after that."
"People change Sherlock. A teenager on the streets with a baby? Any number of things could have happened."
"Well… only one way to know." John sighed.
"You're not going to leave until I agree to go looking for this child are you?"
"That's correct."
"Fine. Where do we start?"