As Sherlock was hungrily watching the news report, the pink phone began to ring. "Hello?" Sherlock answered softly. John watched with a concerned expression plastered across his face. Being in the cafe surrounded by people, Sherlock thought it best not to put the call on speaker. He pulled John close so that they could both hear the person on the other end of the line.
"This one...is a bit...defective..." A woman's voice rasped from the phone. "Sorry...She's blind...This is a...funny one... I'll give you... 12 hours..."
"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked, John could feel the quiver of rage run Sherlock's spine.
"I like...to watch you...dance." The line went dead.
John sat in the home of former reality show star Connie Prince. She had shared her home with her brother and her house boy. John was posing as a reporter for a newspaper, the name of which he had been rather vague about. As he sat on the large pristine white sofa, a hairless cat jumped up next to him.
John was making friendly conversation but his mind was whirling. Connie's autopsy had reviled that she had died of tetanus, but the cut that had supposedly caused the fatal condition had been post mortem. She must have received the disease in another way, and John was beginning to suspect murder.
Her brother doesn't seem to upset by her passing... He's her only family, more than likely her sole benefactor. Perhaps he killed her for her money. Money is the biggest reason for murder after all. But how did he do it? The sphynx cat crawled into John's lap, and even though John tried to remove it, it just crawled right back on. John didn't have a problem with cats, he even thought this one was rather cute, but it's claws were long and sharp, and it was digging them into the soft flesh of John's thighs. That's it... The cat...
John made a hasty phone call to Sherlock, asking him to meet him at the Prince house. 20 minutes later, Sherlock arrived carrying the bag John had instructed him to bring. Moments later Sherlock was using the bright flash to momentarily blind Mr. Prince so that John could look at the cat's paws. In a hurry, John gave the word and he and Sherlock swept quickly out of the house and into the street.
John was arguing with Sherlock as they walked down the road. "You think it was the cat?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to hide the amusement in his tone.
"Yes it's paws reeked of disinfectant, the cat was a gift from Connie's brother. He killed her for her money."
"No, I thought the same thing when I saw the scratches on her body, but it's too random and far too clever for the brother."
"But what about it's paws?" John asked, not wanting to face the fact that he had been so completely wrong.
"You saw the state of those floors, scrubbed within an inch of their life. it's bound to have disinfectant on it's paws, you smell like disinfectant. No, the cat doesn't have anything to do with it."
John grumbled under his breath. He had been so proud of himself for solving the case, on his own. He had wanted to wow Sherlock for once. But instead he had made an utter arse out of himself.
At Scotland Yard, Sherlock finally revealed to Lestrade and John how Connie Prince had actually been murdered. Apparently it had been Raul the house boy, who had overdosed her on botox injections. Lestrade briefly left John and Sherlock alone to call a team together to rescue the latest hostage.
John glared at Sherlock was has happily typing away on his laptop, presumably posting the results to his blog so that the bomber would allow the woman to go free. When Sherlock didn't look up at John, but kept on smirking to himself, John finally lost it.
"How long have you known?"
Sherlock glanced up, slightly startled. "Sorry?"
"How long have you known about the solution?"
"It was fairly obvious from the beginning, I noticed her injection marks, looked into..."
John cut Sherlock off. "Fairly obvious from the beginning? Why did you let me go over to her house then? Why waste all that time? Damn it Sherlock."
"If I solved this one too quickly he'd give me less time on the next one. Plus it gave me time to look into it more. Get a leg up on him."
John gripped the back of a chair he was standing behind. He wanted to slap Sherlock right across the face, tell him how cold-hearted this whole thing was. But he didn't have a chance to say anything. Just as Lestrade returned to the office, the pink phone rang.
"Help me." The woman's voice said.
"Tell us where you are. Address." Sherlock spoke slowly but firmly.
"He was so...his voice..."
"No, no, no, tell me nothing about him. Nothing." Sherlock's heart began to pound. He was losing control of the situation fast, and he could see only one end if he didn't regain that control.
"He sounded so..soft." A dial tone rang sharp in Sherlock's ear. He held his breath, blinking rapidly, almost praying that he was hearing wrong.
"What's happened?" Lestrade asked, confirming Sherlock's fears. Sherlock could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes as he though about the old blind woman, who had been so scared for so long, and had just died so needlessly. I could have saved her. I should have solved the case earlier. If I had... Why did she have to...This is my fault.
They all sat in silence for a moment, as the reality of the situation sunk into each one of them.
Author's note:
Sorry this chapter took so long to get written and posted. The holidays were pretty stressful for me. But I should be back to my normal writing schedule and you can expect updates more often.
Also, I apologize that this chapter is so short. I might come back later and try to flesh it out some more, but I don't think it is a very vital chapter to the development of the story as a whole. This subplot is almost at an end, so we will be getting back to the romance and smut soon.
Thanks for sticking with me, and as always, thanks for reading.