Sherlock

Pink, of course the suitcase had to be pink. No man, which is more likely, can be seen with that case without drawing people's attention to him. It would not have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. How did Lestrade not understand that? It is so obvious.

I'm at the second dumpster within that time range from where the body was found at the end of the time line. There is the usual trash such as boxes, bottles, newspapers, and other everyday items. Some more interesting items are love letters to a mistress, bank records, a dead fish and some unidentifiable (without my microscope) mush, but what is most interesting is the pink suitcase right on top.

Smiling, I grab the case and start back to the main strip. I need to hurry home for my Skype meeting with John. Last time, he didn't make it, which is not unusual. The place where he is located loses power often and sometimes he has to miss our meetings because injured soldiers get brought in, or he gets a new assignment. So I'm not concerned. No, not at all. A part of my brain is calling me a liar. Sentiment is a chemical defect on the losing side. I've always know this, yet John has always been the exception; ever since the first "amazing" all those years ago.

John is the only person who appreciates my brilliance. He calls my deductions amazing, brilliant, wonderful, and many other adjectives. As great as that is, that is not the main reason John is my friend. John is my friend because he is different from any other person. Everyone else just sees normal John. John who likes tea, jumpers, Chinese food, and junk telly but I get to see the real John. John does like all that but he likes danger and adrenaline even more. He needs that as much as I need intellectual stimulation. He also shares my dark sense of humor and can understand me more than anyone else, even Mycroft.

I flag down a cab. The cabbie looks at the pink case and gives me a funny look, which I ignore.

"Address?" the cabbie asks looking at me curiously.

"221B Baker Street."

John

A hot shower is an amazing thing, especially after being on airplane for that long. I pick up Sherlock's shampoo, which I'm sure costs more than my whole wardrobe. It has a nice spice smell but is not too sweet like most shampoos. I hold onto the side bar so I don't fall.

"Stupid limp." I was not even shot in the leg for crying out loud.

Then, I carefully move my other shoulder, which is still sore, and start washing my hair. It's good to be back in London, though I wish I didn't have to get shot to be here. It was nice to meet Mrs. Hudson in person. I first met her during a Skype meeting with Sherlock, when she came in to give Sherlock some tea soon after he moved into the flat. Mrs. Hudson was pleased to see me. She cried then insisted that I eat some of her biscuits. They were the same kind that she sent in her care packages.

I wonder where Sherlock is? Probably at the morgue or maybe on a case. Sherlock wanted to take me on a case with him when I got back, but with this leg I'll be more of a hindrance than help. Not that I would be that much help. anyway. No one but Mycroft can keep up with that brain of his.

I finish washing my hair and body and just stand letting the warm water run over me. My leg is starting to throb so I'll need to get out soon. Maybe I could get Mrs. Hudson to bring me some more biscuits and tea. I turn off the water and reach for the towel.

"Donavan check the bedroom" a man orders.

"Yes, sir" a woman responds.

What is going on? I quickly dry off and decided to put on Sherlock's bathrobe instead of taking the time to dress. Quietly, I open the door. There is a gray haired man in a suit standing in the middle of the kitchen talking to a rat-like man and five other people looking through Sherlock's (well, I guess it's mine as well as Sherlock's now) flat. Oh no, I left my gun upstairs.

"Sir, I found a box, but it's password protected." The same woman from earlier comes out of Sherlock's room and states,

"We finally got him." The rat man smiles

"It has to be something I'm..." the woman stops as she looks in my direction. "Ahhhhh" scream is coming out of her mouth.

The gray haired man turns around. "What are you doing here and who are you?" he asks looking surprised and suspicious.

I ignore his question. "Who are you all?" I demand in my captain's voice.

He is looking me up and down, as if he is thinking that I'm going to pull out a weapon, which I might have if I had it on me.

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade and the others are New Scotland Yard officers. Now who are you? "

"Caption John Watson of Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, now why are you here?"

"It's a drugs bust" The woman responds "and this box will prove it once we can open it."

I recognize the box right away. We both have one. Sherlock got them a few weeks before I left for union. He said my box was to keep my roommate out of my stuff. I keep photos, mostly of Sherlock and I and now my gun in there.

"The password is 0210 but you won't find any drugs in there." I know Sherlock is clean and if he was going to hide drugs he wouldn't keep them in anyplace that I know about.

The woman enters the code and looks surprised when it opens. "How did you know that?"

Everyone is looking at me; some look surprised while others look disbelieving.

"What are you all doing here?" a deep voice asks from the door.

"I knew you would find the case I'm not stupid." Lestrade answers

"Hey freak care to explain why there is a blonde army guy in your bathrobe?" The woman asks.

Sherlock quickly turns around. "Hello Sherlock" my voice cracks.