Chapter 6: An Unexpected Discovery
A week passed by with Sherlock screaming in his dreams and a totally overtired John Watson looking after him. This wasn't vacation anymore, this was hell.
On the seventh day of sleepless nights, John had enough and he was ready to tell the detective.
When the tall man stepped out of his room, the blogger was already leaning on the wall, his arms crossed in front of his body.
"We need to talk Sherlock, right now."
"Can't this wait until my shower? I'm soaked with sweat."
"NOW!" John barked and the detective flinched under the harsh tone in his friend's voice.
Sherlock stared at his friend one moment, then nodded. "Alright. Let's talk."
"We need to get out of here. A week is far too long. You're screaming constantly every night. I am tired and exhausted to the core."
"We stayed here because of your back, did you forget?"
"No, of course I remember my back. But now the blisters are gone and my skin has healed enough to go back to the beach again. I really need to get out of here."
Sherlock stared at him, not showing any emotion.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Of course, I did. You want to be out of here."
"Yes, exactly."
For a moment, the detective didn't say anything.
"So? Are we going out or do I have to die from boredom?" the doctor was serious.
"Okay, we will go out but not before I get showered," his best friend replied and stepped out the kitchen door.
While the detective stood outside, John decided to continue his little talk through the open bathroom window.
"Your grandfather… Was he always like that? I mean, hitting your grandmother?"
"He was an alcoholic. He didn't know what he was doing."
"That's not an excuse Sherlock and you know that," John replied.
"Of course, I do. But it doesn't change anything now."
"Harry nearly killed me because of her addiction and your grandfather did the same."
"He was desperate. After my grandmother disappeared, he was accused of killing his wife. I am sure that's not true."
"Why do you think that?" John asked irritated.
"Because, if he would have killed my grandmother, I would have found her. Do you really think I wasn't looking for her? Trying to find her like I tried to find Redbeard after he disappeared? I searched all over the place but she wasn't there. He was an alcoholic, but he never was a murderer."
"He jumped from the roof," John stated.
"I jumped, too. Maybe it was for another reason, but I did the same."
"But he really ended his life. You just faked it."
"It doesn't matter. Both times people got deeply hurt and that's what matters."
The water of the shower stopped and for a moment neither of them wanted to say a word.
A minute later Sherlock stepped into the kitchen with a towel around his waist. "My grandfather decided to end his life, because he was being confronted with the ghosts of his past. He was an alcoholic, his wife was missing, he had beaten his grandson and the people thought he was a murderer. He must have been very desperate."
"You're still defending him… But why Sherlock? Just tell me why," the blogger begged.
"His life had been hell since he was born. His father denied him school, instead he was forced to work in the field since he was three years old. My grandfather was punished so often, that he couldn't remember his own childhood. He didn't know better, never knew what the words kindness or love meant."
John was silent.
"I'm boring you," the detective stated.
"No! I'm just speechless."
"Why?"
"Because it seems that your family always followed the route of violence," the doctor let out.
"O, come on John. My family isn't that bad," Sherlock assured.
"Let me think: we have Eurus, Mycroft, your grandfather…"
"O, shut up! At least my parents are different."
"Your mother doesn't want to talk to you so, no she's not."
"She has her reasons," the detective tried to get out of the situation.
"Nope and you know it." John didn't back off.
"O, for God's sake!" The tall man pulled the towel from his waist, threw it on the ground and closed the door behind him with a loud 'bang'.
The doctor looked surprised at the closed door and decided it was better to let things be. Sherlock would come out in less than one hour.
He was wrong. The detective had been in his room for over five hours, before finally his bladder forced him to leave his safe space.
John heard the sound of the toilet flushing and decided it was time for more talking.
"Hey listen, about what I said…"
"Just forget it, John."
"No, I won't. I don't have the right to judge your family. I am just feeling sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes. No one deserves to grow up this way. You should have earned better treatment."
Another wave of silence.
"Beach?" Sherlock finally asked.
"Beach," John nodded with a bright smile.
The free beach of Ugento was only a few minutes away and when they arrived it was already 5:30 PM. Slowly, the sun was setting and the two friends were kind of happy that it wasn't as hot as it was this morning. When John opened his little bag, the detective couldn't help but smile. The doctor was getting a shovel and bucket.
"You're not really planning to build a sand castle, are you?" the detective asked with a grin.
"Of course, I am," the blogger replied seriously.
"And you always told me I am like a child," Sherlock said with a smile.
"You are. But I never said you were alone, did I?"
Both men walked to the beach. To their surprise, it was empty. A man with his dog was lying around five-hundred metres away but besides this, they were alone.
"I guess we're lucky today," John smiled and stepped right into the water.
"Sherlock followed his friend, but decided to first inflate the mattress, so he could get some sleep later. When the air mattress was fully inflated, he lied down and fell asleep.
Meanwhile, John Watson was enjoying the cold water. While he was swimming around, he found a lot of beautiful shellfish on the ground. He collected them in a little plastic bag and decided to make it a gift for Rosie when he returned. One shellfish was so amazing, the doctor stopped to look at it. Suddenly, something started nibling at his foot and when he looked down, one grey fish was trying to get some of his old skin and before John was able to react, over twenty more of those fishes were doing the same. Although it was getting more and more painful, John stayed at the same spot, watching the little animals swimming around his feet. A thin trickle of blood was colouring the water and when he looked down at his feet he realized that one of the fish had discovered an old mosquito bite and had picked at it.
"Brilliant," the doctor sighed and decided it was time to get out of the water.
Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully on his air mattress and the blogger decided it was time to build his sandcastle. With his shovel he dived deeper and deeper into the sand, forming the walls and towers. To John, a castle always needed some water around, so he started to dig for water. The shovel dived deeper and deeper until it hit something hard. For a moment John thought it was a stone and decided it had to be removed. He pushed further into the deep with his shovel and when the stone wasn't loosening, he grabbed his mobile and turned on the flashlight. There was no sign of a stone, but something else, which gave John a strange feeling in his guts. And when the doctor pulled more and more of the sand away, he made a discovery, which he wished he never would have discovered.
"Sherlock?"
The detective wasn't moving.
"Sherlock? Wake up."
"Mmmmh," the detective yawned.
"Wake up you cock! You have to see this!"
Again, no reply from the tall man.
"For God's sake," he whispered to himself, took the shovel and threw it at his friend. He couldn't leave. This was too important. The shovel hit Sherlock's forehead and the detective shot up immediately.
"Are you out of your mind John?! Maybe the sun was still a little bit too hot for you!" he screamed, while rubbing his forehead.
"Shut up and come here. There's something you really need to see," John tried again, his voice showing the first signs of panic.
"What could be more interesting than a good crime scene?" the detective asked and knelt next to John. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in astonishment, "A dead body part."
"You believe me now that it's important?" the doctor whispered.
"Now I do."
Both men knelt there in the sand, staring at the now half buried plastic bag, the remains of a hand visible.
"I guess we're not talking about a vacation anymore?" John asked, while trying to stay calm.
"No. This is definitely murder and we are the ones to solve it."
"First of all, we need to get it out. I tried but alone it's not possible, because the sand is always falling on it again."
"Don't worry. I'll try to stabilize the walls around the plastic and you make sure you get it free."
"We have to be careful. There are still people around us," the doctor started to slightly panic.
"Just stay calm and concentrate on your mission here," Sherlock replied totally unimpressed. "This is a body part. A body part in a plastic bag means a dead person and a dead person with missing body parts means murder." Now the holiday was getting an unexpected turn…
Ten minutes later both friends were staring at the plastic bag, which they had successfully exposed in the hole.
"Now, what are we going to do? There is a life-guard on our right and the man with the dog to our left side," the blogger whispered.
"First of all, don't behave suspiciously. Just pretend you are working on your castle here, I'll figure out the rest."
John nodded and did as he was told. Sherlock, meanwhile, was checking the area. There was a trashcan next to the lifeguard. Problem was, as long as people were watching, he couldn't start searching. Whether he liked it or not, he had to wait. It was one of his bad habits, he just couldn't. But this time he forced himself to stay calm and watch his friend while he was building another big tower in front of the blue water of the sea.
"I never knew you were such an artist," Sherlock said amused.
"Me neither. But I would say for the first time in years it looks quite good, don't you think?"
"Well, the tower on the left is a little bit bigger than the right one, but otherwise from here it looks perfect," the detective grinned.
Finally, the lifeguard was packing and five minutes later the man with the dog followed. Now John and Sherlock were alone and the detective started to dig through the trash. He didn't have to search for long. "Found something," he screamed while pulling out the torn beach bag, showing it to the blogger.
"Do you really want to take this hand with you? I mean, it was in a plastic bag and in the water. I can't imagine the smell and to be honest, I really don't want to have contact with it," the doctor replied.
"Well, if you don't want to, you don't have to. I don't judge and to be honest, I don't want to smell it either but I have to. If this hand is what I think, then we need all information from it."
"So, you really think it's murder?" John asked, still not totally convinced.
"O for God's sake, John. What else could it be? A hand made of silicone like a leftover from a movie? Just think. Why would someone put part of a movie set in a plastic bag and then sink it in the sea?"
"I don't know. Maybe it happened by accident," the blogger said.
"Well," Sherlock walked back to the castle, knelt down, pulled the plastic bag out, put it in the beach bag and grinned, "Let's find out what we have."
They both packed their other stuff and headed back to their car as fast as possible. When they started to drive back to their home, an odour filled the car and both men started to gag.
"Well, at least we now know, that it's not a requisite from a movie," Sherlock replied while trying to suppress the urge to vomit.
When they arrived at Torre Suda, both men jumped out of the car, trying to breathe normally without simultaneously emptying their stomach contents.
The detective took the beach bag and walked directly into the kitchen. John already had an idea, what his friend had planned and ran after him. "You're not putting stinky Pete in the fridge, are you?"
"No," Sherlock replied calmly and opened the door to the fridge. Then an evil smile appeared on his face and he let out, "I'll put it in the freezer."
John just rolled his eyes and stepped into the bathroom, taking a much-needed shower. His best friend did the same but outside as always. While the two men were showering, they were discussing the next few days.
"So, what are we going to do now? You can't examine this hand here, can you?" John asked curiously.
"I don't know yet. Remember, I wasn't planning on finding a new case here in Italy."
"I believe you. But the problem is, we won't get this thing to London without being caught."
"Maybe we should call Lestrade. He could send someone here."
"Are you out of your mind? Lestrade would never investigate a murder in Italy," the doctor let out.
"Why not? He's originally Italian, so why not ask for some help?"
"You heard him. His days as Gaetano are over. Did you forget that he changed his identity because of Culverton Smith?" John wasn't giving up. Not yet.
"I know what Culverton did but still I was thinking if some of the former man he was, might still be there."
"Sherlock, that's mean. He went through enough and I think it's better to let it be."
"I was just joking John. Of course, I have another plan." The detective entered the kitchen, not daring to use a towel this time. John just looked at the tall man, shaking his head, not believing that his friend was standing naked in front of him.
"You want to enlighten me?" the blogger asked sarcastically while turning from the shower.
"Well, why not call my brother and ask him for support," Sherlock suggested.
"Sounds like a good idea," the blogger replied, but soon regretted it when he saw the evil grin on his friend's face. "O no! No, you don't!"
The grin grew even wider. "No way Sherlock! If you do this, I will leave immediately. We're not going to turn this house into a laboratory. No! No and again, no!"
"But this would be the fastest way to find out more about the hand," Sherlock tried once more.
"Alright," John gave up, "I'm packing. You want a laboratory, so be it. I'm not supporting this."
The doctor stepped away, leaving the naked detective alone in the kitchen. While John was serious about what he said, Sherlock thought for a moment then entered his best friend's room without permission.
"Listen, you are right. It's not ideal to change this house into a laboratory. I will ask Mycroft to send a private jet here, so the hand can be transported directly to Molly. I already contacted her, asking to keep the hand frozen until we return from Italy."
"At least you have come to your senses," the doctor replied angrily and gave Sherlock an all-saying look. "Are you going to walk around like this the whole evening now?"
The detective didn't understand the question, so he just stared confused at the blogger.
"You're still naked. Are you going to change it?"
Now Sherlock understood. "Of course, sorry I totally forgot to change while I was thinking."
Four hours later, at 11 PM, someone knocked at their door. It was Anthea, who Mycroft thought was best trained for such a mission.
"I've heard you have something for me to keep safe?" she asked while playing with her long hair.
John, who was always got a faster heartbeat when he saw Anthea, smiled at her and cleared his throat. "Sure. You…. uhm… want to come in? Maybe for a coffee or something?"
She gave him a short smile, "Sorry, I'm just here to get the box."
"The box?" John asked astounded and turned round to see his friend appearing with an ice box.
"You are using our ice box to transport this hand?" the doctor suddenly felt sick.
"Don't worry. I'll buy us a new one. Now it's important to keep the hand cooled, so Molly can take care of it," the detective explained.
Anthea took the box and returned to the black limousine, that was parked in front of their house.
"Not really suspicious Sherlock, is it?" John asked amused.
"No one cares here. Most of the houses are empty," the tall man replied and stepped back into the house. John was running after him.
"So, what are we going to do now? Stay here and wait?"
"Exactly. I asked Molly to check the hand over. Maybe she'll find something that brings us closer."
Life in Italy always starts at around 8 PM. People return from work, eat something and then it's time to meet others or stay at home and seize the night.
Sherlock and John had no intention of going out. They were sitting outside the house on the white plastic table, a glass of wine in front of them. John was swirling the red liquid in his glass, trying to enjoy the different scents, which were flooding his nostrils.
"Montepulciano. Kind of a strong wine. Very delightful," the doctor stated, while taking the first sip.
"It's one of my favourite ones," Sherlock said while looking at his best friend.
"13% of alcohol. We should be careful, otherwise we will end up drunk," John whispered.
Sherlock took another sip from the glass, "I don't care. We're in Italy and we're on holiday. And, not like the other time we were drunk, we are at home. So, relax John and enjoy this moment. It's not often you get to see me drunk."
"Yeah, last time you sent us right into prison. Never forgot that," the doctor let out, a smile appearing on his face.
"That was one of my worst days, I swear to you. I never puked from alcohol before."
"Maybe you miscalculated last time," John replied without feeling guilty. He knew exactly that his best friend hadn't miscalculated, he had manipulated the drinks while the detective had been away.
"I'm a chemist. Miscalculation is not an option here." Both men smiled at each other. The cicadas were chirping in the background.
One hour later the bottle was empty and the two friends were sitting outside at 1 AM, giggling uncontrollably.
"Do you remember the last time, when we returned too early and slept on the stairs?" John laughed.
"Hell yes. And Mrs. Hudson forced us to go out again, not caring that we were drunk already."
"I tell you: She knew. She did it on purpose."
Both men were giggling again. The mood changed all of a sudden, when Sherlock started to behave weird. The detective jumped up from the plastic chair, staring at his hands and then looking irritated at John. The doctor immediately got worried and asked his friend what was wrong.
"There's blood on my hands again," he screamed and showed his hands to the blogger, who couldn't see anything. John stayed calm, knowing that his best friend was having another kind of flashback.
"Listen, your hands are fine. It's another episode."
"No. No. They are smeared with blood. I can see it."
John gently guided Sherlock into the house and then the real nightmare started…
He was having another heavy flashback. He was a little boy again, running through trees and bushes. His hands were covered in blood and he didn't know why. He was scared. So, scared by what? It was dark and he was alone. Alone in the pampas with hands full of blood. Why wasn't he screaming? He wanted to, but no sound left his throat. Maybe he was running away from something… Or someone? He could feel his heart pumping heavy and fast in his chest. The fear increasing. Suddenly someone grabbed him from behind and he started to scream…
"Sherlock? Look at me, it's John Watson. Please stop thrashing around." It was John, who desperately tried to calm the agitated man in front of him. When he touched the detective's arm from behind, Sherlock couldn't stop himself and a fist connected with the blogger's temple. Unconscious, the doctor slid to the ground.
Sherlock was still captured in his flashback, not realizing what just happened. He was walking around, still staring at his hands which he thought were covered in blood. Somehow, he managed to walk into the bathroom where he started to rub his hands with soap. He washed them a few times, but the blood wasn't fading.
"Maybe you should forget about it."
That voice. He recognized it immediately. A voice he was hoping never to hear again.
"You're still not over your childhood, are you Sherlock?"
Moriarty was standing right behind him, staring at the mirror in front of them.
"Pathetic, isn't it? Walking around, hallucinating about the past? Don't you ever get bored of this?"
Sherlock was staring at the mirror like he was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe he was. "Go to hell, you're not real."
"Are you really sure of that? Did you see me hitting the ground?"
"You were confirmed dead by Molly Hooper and a few other people. You are not real."
"Well, your friend here, who is lying on the ground thought you were dead, too. There is the small chance I am still alive." Moriarty was smiling in the mirror now.
Sherlock pushed the man aside and walked directly into his sleeping room. He wasn't able to see John, who was still out cold. Moriarty was following.
"Come on Sherlock! Admit it. You're missing me, aren't you? The chasing, the riddles, the games. You do remember that I nearly succeeded in killing you?"
"Stop it! You're not real. Not anymore. It's just an illusion," Sherlock screamed.
"Your hands are still bleeding. I can see it, you too?"
When the detective stared at his hands again, they were still bloody. What the hell was going on?
"You need to wake up, Sherlock. Otherwise, you'll die." Moriarty was fading away and slowly, Sherlock started to wake up. Why was he lying in his bed? The last time he was sitting outside with John, drinking wine and now he was in his sleeping room…
The detective pushed himself up, staring at his watch. It was now 3 AM. Was John already asleep? Slowly, he stepped out of the door and when his eyes discovered a figure lying outstretched on the ground, his blood froze.
"John? John!" he ran to his friend, who wasn't moving and gently clapped his cheek. "Come on John. Wake up." When his hands left the blogger's face, there was blood on his cheeks. And when Sherlock looked at his hands, he found them bleeding. Panic was rising again. When did he get hurt? He tried once more to rouse the doctor by rubbing his sternum. For a moment nothing happened, but then the blogger's body jumped up.
"Jesus Sherlock!" John rubbed his temple. "What happened? How long was I out?"
"I thought you could tell me," the detective replied worried.
"We were drinking and you started to act weird. You were screaming something about your hands being bloody again and I tried to tell you, that they were just fine. And then you started to attack me. That's all I remember." Now John's eyes discovered the blood dripping on the ground from his best friend's hands.
"Christ Sherlock, what did you do?"
"I… I don't know. I woke up like this."
The doctor, still groggy from the blow, grabbed both hands, examining them.
"You scratched yourself bloody. Some disinfectant and a bandage will do it. Let me get my bag," the doctor replied and staggered into his room.
A minute later he was kneeling in front of the detective, taking care of his wounds. "You want to tell me what happened?"
"I don't know. I really don't know," the detective said and the blogger knew he was lying.
"Maybe it's better to return to London," John said while putting on the second bandage.
"Why should we do that?"
"Because since we came here, you're acting very weird," John let out and walked away.
Sherlock was staring at his bandages, when suddenly his mobile started to vibrate and a smile appeared on his face. It was from pathology. He grabbed the phone and put the speaker on, so John could hear it, too.
"Molly, took you long enough to call me back. I hope you found something," he said, while looking at the doctor, who was now standing at the doorframe.
"It took me a while to find something useful," the pathologist informed, "but at least there are a few things I can tell you so far."
"We're all ears," the detective said while looking at John, who was still leaning unimpressed at the doorframe.
"The hand belongs to a woman. From what I can tell, she wasn't older than thirty years. The cut above the wrist was a clear one, so someone used a sharp instrument to cut it loose. First samples indicate that the hand was lying in the bag for around six months, maybe even longer."
"Any abnormalities so far?"
"Well, she was wearing nail gloss. A red one. There were little pigments of the color visible under the microscope. She wasn't married and from the look of the skin it seemed she was taking good care of herself."
"Good care? A little bit more precisely would help here Molly."
"The skin was creamed on a regular basis. That's the reason the hand is still in good shape, if we ignore that it was in the bag and water for over six months."
"Do you have an identity?"
"Not from her fingerprints. We're currently checking for DNA but this will take some time."
"Call me as soon as the results are in," the detective said and ended the call.
"At least you could have said 'thank you', don't you think?" It was John, who was shaking his head in disbelieve.
"No time for this. We've got work to do."
"Wait? Where are you going?" John asked his best friend who was grabbing the keys for the car.
"Let's go John. No time for talking," Sherlock said and was already out of the door.
John, not knowing what his friend was up to, decided to follow the detective and also jumped into the Mini Cooper.
"So, where are we going? I mean, it's 3 AM and I am sure everything is closed," the doctor asked.
"Of course, everything is closed," the detective replied unimpressed and started the engine.
They were driving through the night, the first signs of the sun rising visible at the horizon.
"Do you mind telling me, where we are going?"
"Gallipoli," Sherlock said, his eyes concentrating on the street.
"Gallipoli? The big town which feels like Manhattan to people?"
"You heard about this place?" Sherlock asked surprised.
"Once, yes. I read an article online where people mentioned this place," the doctor replied.
"Interesting," was all the detective had to say.
Forty minutes later they reached Gallipoli. At this time everything was relatively quiet. Sherlock was driving around the streets, looking for their destination. Finally, he stopped the car and sighed, "Whatever you see next, just don't panic," he warned the blogger next to him, before leaving the car. John did as well and when he looked up at the building in front of him, he gulped.
"You're not planning in breaking into the 'Biblioteca comunale e Archivio storico'?" he asked shocked.
Sherlock looked at him, his face serious. "I told you not to panic. And by the way, I am not breaking in," he said and showed John a key.
The doctor's eyes widened even more. "Did you steal that key?!"
"No. I borrowed it."
"Borrowed it from you?" The doctor was getting suspicious.
"Of course. I would never steal from a person, John." Sherlock turned round and headed for a backdoor. He put the key in the lock and turned it round.
"Aren't you afraid the alarm system could discover you?" the blogger asked worried.
"I told you, stop panicking and now come on. We have work to do."
Both men entered the big building and looked around. There were books all around them.
"So, what are we exactly looking for?" the doctor asked curiously.
"I need the newspapers," Sherlock replied, while observing the room. He discovered a computer and decided to turn it on.
"Sherlock! For God's sake you can't just use the computer. We will get discovered."
"Shut up John and let me look through the archive," the tall man replied while cracking the password and reading through newspapers.
The doctor was getting desperate. He looked around, security cameras everywhere. "We will be in so much trouble," he whispered.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was reading through the newspapers like a maniac, collecting as much data as possible. Suddenly, he shut down the computer and looked at John, who was still not comfortable with the situation.
"We have to get out of here now!" the detective yelled and started to run. John, still confused about Sherlock, started to run after him. Outside, sirens could be heard in the distance and the blogger finally understood why they had to leave. They jumped into the Mini Cooper and drove off like a hurricane.
"Now that was close, don't you think?" John was angry and Sherlock couldn't blame him.
"I calculated it before going in," the detective replied calmly.
"You calculated?" John couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"There's only one way for the police to get here. 1,4 kilometres in 5 minutes. The security system is checked every five minutes and most of the time no one is looking or the cameras are just fake ones. The real security system is not visible. They use laser lights."
"Laser lights? Like seen in the movies?"
"Yes. Just like that."
"So, we passed a red line and you jumped up?" the blogger asked irritated.
"No."
"No?"
"I activated it."
Now John was all ears. "You did WHAT?"
"I activated the alarm."
"You… activated the alarm system? Just how dumb are you? We could have been caught!"
"You don't trust me anymore?" the detective wanted to know.
"Not after your behaviour the last few days," John sighed.
"O John. When are you going to use your mind?"
"Sorry?"
"The backdoor isn't secured. There is a space around the computer table, which is uncovered. You want to know why?"
"Enlighten me as always," the blogger replied.
"The employees enter through the backdoor and the alarm system is connected to the computer. So, does it still surprise you that I set off the alarm?"
"Yes, it does."
The Mini Cooper had arrived in front of the police station. Police officers were running in a hurry to their cars and speeding off. John still didn't follow.
"See? They are now heading to the library. All of them…" A smile formed around the detective's lips when the blogger finally understood what his friend had done.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock! Are you out of your mind now?"
"No," the detective replied and stepped out of the car, walking to the police station. "I'm just searching for answers." And before John could react, the detective had disappeared.
"Fucking awesome," the blogger whispered and crossed his arms, while waiting for his friend to return.