Chapter 3: The Game of Turning Tables~

Sally Donovan was not an humble woman. But she was a very desperate woman this morning, and knew what she had to do.

Which is how she came to be standing by herself in the kitchen of Baker Street, where Sherlock was dozing at his microscope ,having tried all night to find out what the delirient agent was dissolved in Claire de La Lune, and John sat in a kitchen chair beside him, accidentally stirring chlorine tablets into the tea, thinking it was sugar.

"I don't take sugar..right...forgot..." he yawned.

"Ok, so...really, what is your proper name again ,Freak, because I'm going to have to try to talk to you on a one on one sort of level, bad as I hate to." Sally crowed, and Sherlock's eyes shot open.

"FOR GOD'S SAKES!..." he gasped, and then rubbed his hands over his face, "Donovan? It's too early. Leave. Now."

"Greg's been poisoned. Got any idea how that happened? ...Did you have something to do with it?!" Sally hissed, folding her arms.

"Poisoned?" John asked, sitting bolt upright awake. "Oh my God, is he ok?"

"He's at St. James. Stable, but feeling like crap. You were the last people he saw, so, either you have something to do with it...or...you're the only one's who can help me find out what happened to my friend. I'm a police officer. I can arrest you, you know."

Sherlock waved her off, "You'd love to, in fact, you had that done once ,if you recall. I would have thought my dying might have settled the score between us. Congratulations, you've proven me wrong. It doesn't happen often."

Sally's face blanched. Mostly because of the green-shade John turned, remembering that , on top of everything else that he was going through right now.

" I came here...today...thinking...that...Well,...we might not like each other,... matter of fact ,I hate you, but...But Greg is our friend, or at least, he's my friend, and your handler."

Sherlock growled at the idea of that, and sat up, suddenly his eyes going wide:

"OF COURSE!"

"What? What is he on about? Is he going to pull more body parts out of your fridge? Oh God, I hate coming here! Never mind, I'll get Anderson to do a forensic sweep of his house!"

"WAIT!" Sherlock gasped, and reached out a single, slender , cold (and rather burned too, Sally just now noticed the gaudy bandages, and wondered what in blazes had happened to Freak now?)hand, and turned her around.

"Sit. Donovan."

"Can you stop talking to me like I'm a dog?"

"That works both ways; stop calling him Freak!" John gasped, annoyed by her presence.

Sherlock held a finger to his lips, "Shh...shh both of you, just, SHUT UP. I think...I might have solved it."

"Oh, so he solved it, just like that, eh? Clearly had something to do with it ,didn't you?!"

"Donovan, shut up. Or rather, use your rather annoying voice for something more productive, and tell me exactly when you came to realize that Greg was poisoned, and what his symptoms are?"

"Well, he didn't come into work this morning. And when I went to see about him, he was lying on his bed, and there was this creepy angel thing he kept poking at, and saying that it made his eyes hurt. His hands had chemical burns on them, and his eyes were swollen and-"

"AHA! That explains why I can't find a poisonous substance in the perfume ,although the scent of poison is diluted in it. The ANGEL!"

Sally and John stared at Sherlock stupidly.

He waved a hand above his head in agitation. "Don't you see?! THE ANGEL!"

"What about it?" John asked, a brow curling.

"The angel was where the poison was. The perfume was permeated with the toxic smell, because it was lingering in the air right next to where the angel was tipped over, and the poisoned fumes were leaking from it. Mrs. Lestrade-"

"Her name is Meredith-" Sally corrected.

"Ok, Meredith. She is trying to kill her soon-to-be ex husband! She wouldn't have left a priceless family heirloom if she were leaving early! She'd want all her things! No, she knew that-oh this is fabulous!_"

"This is GREG you're talking about , you realize that, yeah?" Sally spat, and John swallowed, nervously.

"So, she diluted some kind of disolving base chemical, that would be highly caustic and would release a poisonous fume, something as possibly domestic as a mixture of different kinds of household cleaners, and at lethal percentages, and left it in a place that she knew he would be in direct, prolonged contact with. What better place than right beside his bed? Hidden inside of an heirloom that he despised and would never bother to think about,much less pick up, and look underneath, or try to straighten. So, he goes to sleep last night...and wakes up, delirious, and burned by the bleeding angel. AHA! It's just too clever!"

"Yes-it is." John cut in. "But WHY is she trying to kill him, where did she go, and most importantly, is she going to be back to try it again?!"

Sherlock turned to them both, stunned into silence.

"Oh God."

"So, she is, then, right?" Sally asked, anticipating his answer, as a bad one.

"She is, yeah. Soon. Very soon. In fact, she may have him exactly where she wants him. You said he was at St. James?"

"Yeah?!"

"GET US THERE, AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!" Sherlock basically shouted, and bounded for their door, John scrambling at his heels, and Sally fumbling with the keys to the police car.

Sherlock ran down the stairs chanting, "IT'S A GAME, A GAME OF TURNING TABLES! AND IT NEVER ENDS!"