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theartone · 7 years ago

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A Study in Miscommunication - Chapter 9

<<Chapter 1 <Chapter 8

---- John's POV ----

The house was derelict, practically falling down. It made me even more thankful that I'd found Sherlock and the flat. I followed Sherlock through the winding passages and he told me to put on a clean suit.

"Who's this?" The DI in charge asked, clearly surprised that I'd come along.

"He's with me." Sherlock said, as if that explained why I was there.

"Yeah, but who is he?"

I felt really uncomfortable. I didn't know why I was there or what I was supposed to do.

"I said he's with me," Sherlock growled.

I tried to change quickly, I didn't want to fall behind and get left somewhere with no way to get back. When Sherlock hadn't removed his coat I asked, "Aren't you going to put one on?" As soon as the words left my mouth Sherlock gave me a look and I decided to shut up. But, wasn't that proper procedure? Wouldn't they get in trouble if he contaminated the scene? The DI didn't raise a fuss.

The consulting detective's glare was burning in its intensity. Obviously, I wasn't here to think.

The grey-haired man directed us upstairs and told us we had two minutes and gave Sherlock a few notes on the late Jennifer Wilson. I started to fall behind on the stairs but I picked up my pace and Sherlock slowed, prompting the other man to slow and I entered the room containing the deceased immediately behind the other two.

"Some kids found her." I felt bad for them. Some poor souls had lost a part of them that was innocent and they'd never be quite the same. I hoped they were going to get some counselling.

It was more difficult than I thought, seeing a dead body. This wasn't at a morgue or even a hospital. This was a house set for renovation. This woman, who had shoes to match her shocking pink coat was so dissimilar to the civilians in Afghanistan or the bodies in hospital gowns that I was momentarily staggered.

----Sherlock's POV----

"You need to wear one of these." I directed at my possible suspect. It wouldn't do to contaminate another crime scene. Donovan would never let me hear the end of it and Lestrade would murder me. I'd never be allowed near a crime scene again.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asked me.

'Might be the killer.' I thought sarcastically. Who did Lestrade think I'd brought? 'A date?' Shut up! "He's with me."

"But who is he?"

Oh, he thinks I brought my dealer. Must suspect I'm high. Obviously hadn't caught the display with Anderson.

"I said: he's with me." I detested repeating myself and I hated that Lestrade didn't have faith in my abilities to stay clean.

John asked me if I was going to put on one of the ugly blue suits. As if Anderson and Donovan would have missed any piece of evidence that might pin me as the murderer. No, if I put on one of those suits I'd be seeing ugly pictures forever and my coat would go missing in a heartbeat.

"So, where are we?" I asked, putting on a pair of gloves.

"Upstairs."

Interesting. Unlikely John, who had a limp, psychosomatic or would be able to carry or threaten a woman up several flights of stairs.

"I can give you two minutes."

Depending on what John does I "may need longer." As much as I'd love to take John outside and declare him the murderer, handing him directly to the police and get to have an audience to my genius I was hoping I was wrong and John was just suspected because of coincidence.

John started to slow before he even took the first step even though he was moving quickly enough after putting on the suit. And he had no trouble stepping into it. I checked on John's progress after I'd gone up five steps. He was slowing. I slowed slightly so he wouldn't give up and let his limp win.

Lestrade gave me some information that was relatively useless. Wallet on her just like the others so hadn't been mugged either. "Hasn't been here long, some kids found her."

Well, that was interesting. This house must have been being looked at as a place to tag or a quiet place to shoot up. Either way, any marks made by a cane in the renovation dust would be gone. Footprints would be unreliable too of course; the way Lestrade said kids meant he didn't think the kids actually found her- an adult or two did and had the kids call it in. Probably in exchange for a hit or cash enough for two.

I entered the room.

The first thing I noticed was her position. It was unnatural. The first man was found curled on his side. Obvious position for being poisoned, suicide or otherwise. The pink was grating on my nerves and I could hear John's pain. So, if John did kill her he didn't stay to watch it happen. So, he either hired people to do the killings or he-

Lestrade was shifting side to side next to me and was thinking about how to prove I was high so loudly I lost my train of thought.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anyth-"

"You were thinking," I explained. "It's annoying."

I walked up to get a good view of the body, careful not to disturb anything. Rache was scratched into the floorboards. The woman's nails were chipped quite badly and the grooves got deeper over the last part once she'd actually broken the index. RACHE was the German word for revenge. But then why not use a lower case r? It would be less painful and easier to scratch in she didn't write in all caps, the other letters were lowercase. Rachel, a name. Not her name, obviously, although the names on the credit cards and her name might be different. However, the ID should still be there and the police weren't so incompetent they couldn't match a photo to a person. Although, maybe Anderson...

The light reflected oddly off of the hideous jacket and I checked it, wet. I checked her pockets for her umbrella. Interestingly enough it wasn't pink. So she didn't have one for every outfit. She was relatively frugal. Of course, she still had to stand out so she had a white one instead of black. It was dry. Wind or something else? I tried to smell the liquid but my nose was plugged. Under the collar was also wet so wind.

She was wearing matching gold jewellery. All of which was clean except for the ring. It was at least ten years old, more likely twelve, and had rarely been cleaned or polished in ages. That was odd. Why was that odd? The ring fit loosely on her finger, so it wasn't that it was too difficult to get off, no. Unhappy marriage but something was making her happy, making her lose weight. She wasn't depressed, just exercising and eating right. Taking care of herself. I took the ring off, clean on the inside. It was all very obvious. One minute eight seconds to solve the entire case. She was an adulterer; just like the first murder. This one was a serial adulterer.

Serial killer.

----John's POV----

I was already worried Sherlock might contaminate the crime scene. But I became really concerned when he told the DI to shut up when the man hadn't spoken. I knew the police wouldn't have come to him on something so important if there wasn't a certain level of trust there but...

"You were thinking," Sherlock said. "It's annoying."

That was a bit odd. The older man didn't seem to think so and allowed Sherlock to approach the body, which he did carefully. Then the consulting detective began poking around, pulling an umbrella out of her jacket and a pocket magnifier out of his. He fixated on her ring longer than anything else. But, he slid it back on her finger when he was done.

Sherlock had just rocked back when the DI asked if he noticed anything.

The gloves made snapping noises as the Consulting Detective removed them cheerfully. "Not much." He replied but his tone didn't match the words.

I wasn't sure what all he could figure out by looking at a body for two minutes or why anyone expected him to be able to. Although, he noticed an awful lot about me in the same amount of time.

"She's German." A voice said from the door. My attention to Sherlock's remarkable focus was so intense the man there, Anderson, startled me. I moved aside so he could enter. "Rache is German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-"

Sherlock moved to the door, "Yes, thank you for your input." and slammed it in Anderson's face.

I was starting to wonder if maybe everyone picked on Sherlock because he was a huge dick every time he came. Hadn't he ever heard of teamwork?

"So she's German?" the DI asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town though." He started playing with his phone. "Intending to stay in London one night before returning home to Cardiff." He put his phone back in his coat. "So far so obvious."

"I'm sorry, obvious?" Yes, the man was a ginormous prick. I hated dealing with arseholes like him in the middle of the desert. Telling me how logically we couldn't have the medical supplies we needed because they wanted a new jet.

"But what about the message there." The DI asked.

Sherlock asked me what I thought.

"About the message?"

"About the body. You're a medical man."

The older man reminded Sherlock they had a whole team but Sherlock just replied, "They won't work with me."

'I wonder why.' I managed not to say aloud.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." The DI said.

"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock replied.

The man held Sherlock's eyes, "Yes I do." glanced at the body, "God help me."

"Dr Watson!"

The DI told me to do what Sherlock wanted before leaving so I crouched down. It hurt my leg and I had to use my hand to move the appendage into a less painful angle.

"Well?"

'Well, what?! You don't need me here and I can't figure out why I'm kneeling over a dead body. Again.' "What am I doing here?"

"Helping me make a point." He whispered.

Great, he was going to use me to make fun of the team. I wanted no part of that. "I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

Sherlock barely managed to not roll his eyes. "Yes, but this is more fun."

"Fun?! There's a woman lying dead." I pointed at her in case he'd somehow missed the entire reason we were here.

"Perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

Was I going crazy, or was he hitting on me over a dead body?

The DI's footsteps were loud as he returned to the room. I decided this entire thing was partially his fault for telling me to do as the madman said. I knelt down and did the quickest examination I'd ever done in my life.

----Sherlock's POV----

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

He was asking about the body but I replied with the answer to the other question he had. "Not much."

I started showing off for John but it backfired.

"I'm sorry, obvious?" He asked as if Cardiff wasn't obvious at all.

Well, John hadn't examined the body.

"Dr Watson, what do you think?" I asked in order to give Lestrade an answer to one of his questions.

John looked at Lestrade. "About the message?"

Oh, god. He was going to play chain of command. Boring! "About the body. You're a medical man." I added so Lestrade was aware John was more useful than someone with a PhD in astronomy.

I fought with the DI until I got him to admit that I was needed there and he gave John the permission he needed to examine the body.

Lestrade left to give us a minute, using the excuse that he needed to tell Anderson to keep everyone out. The DI moved to the hole in the wall to watch while John kneeled surprisingly spryly considering how irritated he was. Halfway down John seemed to remember he was supposed to be in pain and adjusted his leg awkwardly. Yes, distraction was the key to fixing his limp.

The high was hitting an odd point and I was having trouble focusing. John was distracting. He was terribly distracting and I tried to keep the train of thought that liked cases in the forefront but the one that liked John being snarky, confident and liked John's arse caused me to hit on him. Which, was probably not good considering we were hovering over a dead body but John only seemed confused. Not horrified. Which was good.

Lestrade returned and as I watched John casually examine the body I lost track of my transport and gave my state away to the DI with a sniffle. I looked to see if he missed my mistake but he gave me a disapproving look.

John explained the cause of death after looking for less than thirty seconds (something Anderson could never accomplish). I had to interrupt him when he mentioned drugs. Which was unfortunate as he stopped talking altogether. I wanted John to prove that someone I brought in off the street was more competent than Lestrade's team. Then John finished everything off with the worst bit of acting I'd ever seen in my life. Why would he bother to lie about knowing she was one of the suicides? He would know just from the newspaper he was reading if nothing else. Was it for Lestrade's benefit? If so, why? Did John murder her and is pretending not to know in order to act innocent? He did keep glancing at Lestrade.

"Sherlock, two minutes I said, I'll take anything you've got."

I explained all my deductions, peppering in the ones that came to me after. Having John's presence was actually helpful. He allowed the case train of thought to move to and from the subconscious so I could draw more accurate conclusions faster. Like why a serial adulterer would try so hard to stand out. Surely she wouldn't want someone seeing her talk to her conquests and telling her husband. So, a job where you'd want to stand out and could chat up strangers. Media. But, she wouldn't be a major personality. Most likely a writer, wanting to draw attention to herself during press conferences so she would get her questions answered. None of the people she slept with would know who she was and wouldn't know she was married. If she cared that they knew she wouldn't take the ring off. Why bother telling them if they could look her husband up later or damage her career? I explained everything more thoroughly than normal to prove to Lestrade that I was capable of working and to allow him to keep me on the case. And to keep him from saying anything in front of John.

The DI accused me of making things up.

Ridiculous! Clearly, he needed more help. I kept explaining, focusing on the adultery part. It was all very "simple."

"That's brilliant!"

I the case train of thought nearly crashed but I managed to stay on track despite my body's sudden desire to push John against the wall and do unspeakable things to his cock. I bet I could get him off in less than 40 seconds.

"Sorry." John glanced at Lestrade.

Right. That's fixed it.

"Cardiff?"

That was obvious. They both saw all the evidence when I checked her. Were they not paying attention?

"It's not obvious to me." That statement John truly meant.

Idiots! Apparently, I had to spell it out for them. I was glad I'd looked at the weather and hadn't closed it. It was easy to show them the proof this way.

"That's fantastic!" John meant that one too.

"Do you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry, I'll shut up."

Oh nonononono! "No it's..." That was the last thing I wanted. I granted the praise would be more welcome in a more private venue but the fact that John wasn't jealous of my talents and wasn't ashamed of showing his appreciation of them was... good, amazing, fantastic, brilliant "fine." 'DAMNIT! That's the word I chose?! Fine?! What is wrong with me?'

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

Case! Murder! Right. "There must be a phone or an organizer. And I need to find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?"

Oh for the love of GOD! "No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course, she was writing Rachel! No other word it can be. The question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" She could have scratched it into the dirt on the wall much more easily. There was enough dust on the window seal too...

"So how do you know she had a suitcase?"

Since Lestrade needed everything spelt out for him today I explained the obvious marks I didn't even need to examine to deduce.

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

----John's POV----

I gave the cause of death, asphyxiation. "I can't smell any alcohol on her, could have been a seizure possibly drugs-"

"You know what it is, you've read the papers."

Yes, that's what I was getting at. But, Sherlock already knew what kind of drugs would do this, they'd run all the tests on the previous victims. So, was he asking me to play dumb? "What? She's one of the suicides? The four?"

The man in charge said Sherlock's time was up and Sherlock started rambling a million personal details based on the woman's jewellery and wedding ring and other small details. He was speaking so quickly I had a little trouble following him.

"Cardiff?" The DI asked.

Sherlock said that was obvious.

I didn't even have to play act ignorance this time, "It's not obvious to me."

"Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring!"

Arsehole!

He started rambling everything he noticed about her clothes. I did watch him check for liquids on the jacket, collar and umbrella but I didn't put any of them together like he did. He pulled out his phone and showed us the weather he'd looked up earlier.

"That's fantastic!" It really was. I'd never even think to check the woman's umbrella let alone her collar and yet he'd found out where she was from just from those things.

"You know you do that out loud?" He asked me in his deep rumbling baritone.

Oh, he didn't like that? He was amazing and no one else was saying it. It seemed from the taxi that no one else appreciated it, even though they called him for help. "Sorry, I'll shut up."

"No it's..." He paused. "Fine."

Did fine mean good? Did he want me to continue?

They started talking about the suitcase Sherlock kept mentioning and he did a little twirl that made his coat fly out. It reminded me of those ladies' dresses in the old musical movies.

It seemed that every time the silver-haired man asked for more information Sherlock near bit his head off. If the consulting detective was like this all the time it was no wonder no one would work with him. Why would he need an assistant anyway?

"How do you know she had a suitcase?"

"Back of her right leg."

Sherlock gestured to the marks on the woman's left leg. He continued to mix up left versus right as he spoke about the smallish case. I did that, on occasion until I became a doctor. But, it was because I was left-handed and they taught us "You write with your right hand." in primary school.

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock looked more intrigued by this fact than any other. "Say that again?"

'Oh, so it's ok for people to repeat themselves if you ask them to? And you can ask for clarification but everyone else should just understand?'

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

"Suitcase!" Sherlock fled the room shouting his demands to anyone within earshot.

"Sherlock, there was no case!"

Sherlock was already down a flight of stairs by the time I left the room. The consulting detective rambled insults and I didn't think he even knew he was doing it.

"And?" The DI shouted from next to me.

The other workers all looked uncomfortable when Sherlock declared the suicides murders. Their looks turned darker when the consulting detective said he didn't know how.

I felt sympathy for him, admitting he didn't know something so important so casually like that. It was nice, human.

Then Sherlock went and ruined it by being gleeful there was a serial killer on the loose. "Love those, always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" The DI asked why Sherlock thought it was a serial killer, not why the consulting detective was so happy.

"The case. Where is her case? Did she eat it?"

That was random. If I hadn't been witnessing the most bizarre behaviour I'd ever seen in a sane rational person not high on something I would have laughed at the line. Of course, the jury was still out on sane. He wasn't a murderer though, that was obvious. He liked catching the bad guys too much to be one of them.

"Someone else was here and they took her case." He got a faraway look in his eyes. "So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car."

That had some logical flaws. "She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there."

"No, she never made it to the hotel," Sherlock said to himself. Then started shouting, "Look at her hair! She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes! She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking-" Then he stopped talking altogether.

Madman.

"Oh!" He was so excited he clapped his hands together. He'd clearly drawn some sort of important conclusion.

"Sherlock?" I asked at the same time the DI asked, "What? What is it? What?"

He started rambling about waiting for a mistake.

The killings were coming more frequently and he wanted to wait?

The silver-haired man took offence to this. "We can't just wait!"

"No!" Sherlock was all the way down on the stairwell to the ground floor now. "No, we're done waiting. Look at her! Really look! Houston we have a mistake!"

I looked back but didn't see anything new.

Sherlock shouted instructions at the man next to me. It was breaking the chain of command and unnerving.

"Of course, yeah. But what mistake?" The DI near screamed as Sherlock took off.

It was immensely frustrating. Was he going to wait for me outside? It would take quite a while for me to get down all those stairs. Going down was harder than going up.

Sherlock's face popped back into view, "PINK!" he shouted before disappearing again.

----Sherlock POV----

"There was no case."

Impossible. Did I misunderstand? Were the drugs were making me hallucinate? "Say that again," I demanded.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Idiots! Someone must have thought it belonged to one of the B&E-ers. I called out to everyone, demanding they bring it to me. Did the murderer hide it somewhere? Did she have time to stash it? If John was the killer she would have had time to run up the stairs in fear. So, where would she hide it that he wouldn't see it? Around a door next to the wall most likely. The officers would be able to find the case no matter where she would have been able to stash it. "Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Lestrade repeated that there wasn't. But, "they take the poison themselves. They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them!" Killed themselves to avoid a worse fate? Killed themselves why?

"And?"

"It's murder. All of them." No other explanation. The poison wasn't common. It's not like they could go pick it up at the chemist's. "I don't know how." Frustrating. Why would the murder give them the pills and how would they convince the people to take them? "But they're not suicides." Just made to look like them. "They're killings. Serial killings." Did I already mention that? No. I didn't. God, this was amazing. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those; there's always something to look forward to." A twist; a game. They need recognition of their genius but this one doesn't want to be caught yet. It's always more fun when they don't intend to be caught and I can get them off of an unintentional mistake.

"Why are you saying that?"

Her case, obviously! I explained to Lestrade the key to solving the crime. "So, the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car." So, not a professional then. Did he drive all the others?

John tried to poke holes in my theory but he wasn't right. So vain about her outside appearance. About what the men she seduces see of her. Wouldn't see her umbrella, it's tucked in her pocket and would remain there wherever she hunted. A bar, the bar of the hotel maybe? If there, she would have fixed herself up first. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair! She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes." She colour coordinates everything she can. Everything that can be seen. "She'd never leave the hotel still looking like she'd-" Oh. Everything that can be seen. "Oh!"

"What is it?"

"Serial killers are always hard." They wouldn't make it to the second victim if they were stupid and sloppy. Certainly not the fourth. So, "you have to wait for them to make a mistake." I explained.

"We can't just wait."

"No! We're done waiting." Because you wouldn't let me on the other scenes! I might have found something much earlier! "Look at her, really look!" It's completely obvious! "Houston we have a mistake."

Lestrade didn't understand so I decided to tackle that part alone. He could take care of the other bits.

I needed to follow John. If he was the killer he'd take me right to the case. He'd understand what I was talking about. If he wasn't I'd be free to find it and Mycroft could keep John occupied. I couldn't drag John around to a million skips, he'd be angry and frustrated he couldn't help. He needed excitement and Mycroft was full of drama. He'd play the scary spook and John would get the adrenaline he needed to help his leg.

"What mistake?"

'Oh for the love of-' I ran back. "PINK!" If he still didn't understand I didn't have any more time to waste. I couldn't have his officers trampling all the evidence if they found the skip first. Although them finding it before anyone could hide it and go trampling on evidence would be better if it was John.

'Wait- What?'

What if it wasn't John? What if John was in danger now? He couldn't fight anyone off with his leg. They'd have seen him at the crime scene.

Well, now I had two excuses to follow John and a better reason to turn him over to Mycroft. Mycroft would keep him safe. If John was the murderer I could solve his problem and keep an eye on him so he didn't do it again. All I really needed was to solve the puzzle and John could tell me how it was done. Puzzle solved and murders stopped. Win-win. Without any other bodies or the suitcase, the police wouldn't get anywhere.

The murderer certainly knew about the note. Or someone did. They would have had to arrange her body like that. But why? It was her feet and legs that gave it away. It wouldn't matter if it was John (and I didn't think it was) the murderer was smart and the note would have some meaning the cops could rationalize.

I used my lock-picks to hide and waited. John was slow coming out of the building (not in a hurry to get to potential evidence) then he went and talked to Donovan. He made a face which meant she said something he took offence to. He looked around, for me? Probably. Checking to see if I went in the direction of the case? Just trying to find me? John looked at his cane. Playing up his injury. Looking for a police escort home? Not looking for the case then. Sally lifted the tape for him. No police escort. I needed to keep him safe. It was looking more and more like his involvement in this was entirely my fault. John wasn't the only one who had blogged about the killings. Just the only person I had looked into previously.

Sally started talking, probably saying something horrible about me. She was angry she was on probation still. I'd thought Mycroft had taken care of that. But, she was guarding the line and never came inside so she'd been given the bad job because of me. Her grudge was reasonable. Hopefully, she'd get over it once she was back in the Met's good graces. It shouldn't take too long. She was one of the better detectives on Lestrade's team. The best, actually.

John was tense, angry. I wished I could hear what they were saying but the glass next to the phone box was thick enough that their voices didn't carry. I couldn't see their lips either. I wasn't perfect at lip reading but I could at least get a vague idea but not from the regular flashes of police lights.

She was called inside by Lestrade, probably to decipher what I'd said. She'd figure it out after a half hour. I needed to start looking.

But, John.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." I heard her call to my potential flatmate.

John licked his lips in frustration. That I'd left him there alone with no way to get home? That he would stay away from me and was disappointed he couldn't live in the flat?

I sent the text to Mycroft.

He needed to protect John until I found the proper skip. John was not the killer.

The phone box rang and my phone received a text. I left. Mycroft had agents in play and was enjoying his game. Watching John's reactions through his cameras.

Now, a panicked murderer, serial killer, would not bury the suitcase in a skip. Roofs it is.

Chapter 10>

#moved from ao3 #asim #a study in miscommunication #chapter 9 #preslash #sherlock has a crush #i miss this version of john #sherlock season 1 #fanfic

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