When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
Gunfire was hardly a bother by the third month. Yes, three months in 221B and it was chaos. Often hearing ruckus below, shifting of furniture and even thuds of bodies against the ground. Not a day went by without concern.
Except this one.
Two knocks against the closed door, you wait for an answer but there was nothing. "Uhm, John? Sherlock?" Still nothing. So when you push it open, finding Sherlock on the ground made your blood run cold. "Oh my god," you rush forward and down to his side, "Sherlock??" grabbing his wrist, you check for a pulse but look up to check if he had moved at all. Leaning closer after thinking you heard a mumble, your ear nears until-
The moment was filled with tension, your heart beating faster with every seconds that passed. "What are you-" his hand suddenly grabs your wrist.
"FUCK!" You accidentally slap him, a loud crack wracking through the flat. "Oh my god I'm so sorry!"
"Ow..." he grabs his stinging cheek with eyes still closed.
"I'm so sorry! I just found you here and- I'll get ice," rushing to the freezer you pull it open to reveal.. a kidney. Manoeuvring around the organ with a grimace, you found an ice pack and wrap it in a cloth to hand over.
"I'm fine," he pushes it away.
"Right..." you awkwardly put it to the side, waiting a little moment until he settles into his chair, "you sure you're-?"
"I'm fine," his stern tone makes you retract a little.
"Alright... well, if you need anything-"
"I need a case," he mutters just as your hand curls over the door to pull open.
"Not sure what I can do about that," you shrug, looking back. "Isn't that usually John's job? To find one?"
"He blogs... but occasionally helps, yes," an eye peaks open, "might want to move out the way,"
"Wh- oh," you hear footsteps race up; just one pair.
"Sorry, sorry, is this a client?" A man with greying hair, a kind face and completely out of breath asks.
"No, sorry, I'm Y/n from upstairs,"
"Greg, Scotland Yard," he shakes the hand held out.
Scotland Yard? I thought Sherlock was a private detective?
"I am," Sherlock assures, you almost thought he could read your mind, "the Yard is just incompetent and needs me,"
"That's his nicer way of explaining it," Greg coughs making you laugh quietly. "There was another one,"
"Yes, I know, but what's the link?" Sherlock glares over.
"Other than it's within a mile of the last victim, nothing,"
What you expected to be saddening news brought joy to the once bored man. "Wonderful!" He leaps from his seat, dashing to his coat with ease.
"Well, I'll be off... have f-"
"John is out, something from work, care to join me?" Sherlock turns to you expectantly while Greg just shakes his head, not bothering to intervene.
"Me? But I don't know-"
"I hardly doubt that, someone as smart as you should know a little," that comment seemed to leave you and Greg in shock. "So?"
"Alright... let me grab my coat," moving past and up the stairs, you tried to calm your worry.
Murder. No big deal...
Lestrade then looks to Sherlock, "aren't you worried this will scare-"
"There's something about Y/n telling me a dead body won't exactly phase her," he adjusts his scarf, "she's lasted this long looking at the kitchen,"
~~~
Gravel churned under, leading to a scene plastered with yellow tape and police. All surrounding an alley way, all you could see between the officers was the end of someone's legs. Streets were sectioned off within this compact building block, alley upon alley leading away from the street.
"If at any point you feel uncomfortable about the crime scene just say so," Greg looks to you in the rear view mirror once Sherlock was out the car.
"Thanks, Greg," you get out the car soon with him. "Won't be my first dead body- oh that sounds awful, I'm sorry," embarrassment creeps up your features. "I just mean- well, my father's best friend worked as a mortician so seeing this sort of stuff wasn't... unusual,"
"Right, now I'm not as mad at Sherlock," Greg allows you under the tape as a woman stormed up to you two. "What now?"
"Why did you let that freak in here again??" She growls.
"We've been on this case for three months, this is our second body and we want no more," Greg seemed awfully irritated by her presence once she spoke.
"And who's this? Another weirdo?" She scoffs, eyeing you up and down.
"Uhm, Y/n, I'm just a friend,"
"Of Sherlock? God, do I need to warn you too?"
"Warn me?"
"That's enough, Donovan," Greg turns you away from Donovan. "Ignore her, she's always like that with Sherlock,"
"She's bloody rude," you mutter under your breath.
"Best to ignore it," he pats your back before leaving you by Sherlock's side like a child needing to make friends.
"Do I need to do anything?" You look down at Sherlock who was lifting the victims arm.
"Stand there, take notes, I don't... care," he clips shut what looked to be a mini magnifying glass.
"Right..." you take out your phone and type away, what you could get from the officer by your side. She was lovely and gave you everything you needed; though you weren't 100% on what you actually needed.
"There you are!" Sherlock's sudden exclaim made you jolt in fright.
"What is it?" You lean forward and glance at a card advertising a street market.
"This was on the other victim as well, I thought it was odd considering both these people eat meat heavily, and this market only specialises in vegan food," Sherlock hands it over to Greg while you type up the location with ideas whirring.
"Maybe they want to try vegan food- Could even be there for the handmade things, plenty of people go to markets for those homemade soaps and all that crap," Greg tilts his head. "Wife wanted to take a look last weekend,"
You awkwardly raise your hand, "she couldn't have because what I heard is that everything there is really expensive, antiques and designer items, not homemade things... she doesn't seem like the designer items type... right?"
"See? One of you has a brain," Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"Thanks?" You look to him slightly offended.
"That's as much of a compliment you can get from Sherlock," Greg mutters under his breath.
"I'll text you when I get anything," Sherlock holds his phone up, giving a short, meaningless smile while you were left to catch up with him.
~~~
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I have work from 9-5 tmrw and have to wake up at 7, rn it's 12:30am. I am suffering :))
