Chapter 4: Murder

John woke up, his mind still clouded with his own ghosts.
Sherlock? Right Sherlock... What was wrong with Sherlock? He tried to ask it, but Sherlock didn't answer… well that was not new, Sherlock had his secrets, people had secrets, but Sherlock was not just people. Sherlock was his best friend, his flatmate, he loved Sherlock, and if there was something wrong with him…

John tried to focus… Sherlock. Why was it so quit? There was never peace at 221B.
John got up in a hurry and walked out the room, as fast as he could he ran downstairs. "Sherlock?" The living room was empty, when he entered the kitchen, Sherlock's cup of tea was still on the table.
Panic rose up in his throat. "Sherlock!"
Sherlock wouldn't jump again… wouldn't he? Ok it was just a trick, but those three years without Sherlock were still hidden in his nightmares, his darkest fears.
He tried to calm down when he thought of his mobile, it was still in the right pocket of his trousers.
He tried not to run to the bathroom, he would send a text to Sherlock, and everything would be fine.

The bathroom looked like a mess when he entered, the floor looked like a swimming pool and his trousers were soaked with water. John was panicking when he took the mobile phone out of the right pocket, and by wonder it looked untouched, it was a little damp but he survive the water.

'Sherlock where are you? I'm concerned, please answer me.'

After an eternity, Sherlock answered.

'Another murder, Lestrade needed my help. I wanted to let you sleep, you looked tired. I'll be home in twenty minutes, no need to come after me. SH-'

He couldn't believe it, Sherlock went to a case without him… They were partners! Why?

Sherlock looked at the body, it was a fresh murder and one of his kind.
The body was dry and violated, there were missing parts at the neck of the women, at the places where her gills had been.
Her legs were gone, the only thing left was her naked upper body.

"Lestrade!" The Chief inspector looked up.
"Surprise me Sherlock, who could do something like this." Lestrade looked concerned, he looked older. Normally Sherlock wouldn't care about it, but he could see that he had a lot of sleepless nights, just like John.
When he thought of John, he always fell a pang of guilt, John deserved better.

He started to walk around the body in circles.
"It's a serial killer, the three victims were all missing the same parts, legs and pieces in their necks. The fourth victim has the same parts removed so serial killer."

Lestrade looked confused at Sherlock. "Legs and parts of their necks, why?"
"Isn't that clear!" Sherlock shouted. "Because the guy is bored, or he has a weird obsession… but to be true I think of experiments. The cuts are not from a butcher knife, no they are from a surgical knife, so a doctor or a professor.
A catling is a knife used for amputations that explains how the legs are removed; a scalpel is a thin straight surgical knife that is used for dissection and surgery. That is the knife that made the cuts in the necks of the victims.
Lestrade, try to contact the factories that produce and export catlings and scalpels.
I want a list of their buyers, our killer can be one of them."

He jumped when his phone made a sound.
It was a message from John, John who he left at the flat, John who would be angry that he left without him.
John that wanted to know his secret… John that he loved wanted to kiss and John that would hate him if he did.
He wanted to tell John, but how? He had the feeling that he was pushing him away, right now John was concerned, but John could leave him.
He had to solve this case and be done with it. If he solved this case their lives could be normal again.

He replied to John's message:
'Another murder, Lestrade needed my help. I wanted to let you sleep, you looked tired. I'll be home in twenty minutes, no need to come after me. SH-'