The Blogger's Fan

Chapter 3

I've been updating the Molly case regularly. I also have been getting emails. None of my other fans can believe she's gone. My one mysterious fan can believe though. He or she is sorta satisfied with the case. Although, he or she wants Sherlock to find them really quickly. They say the point of the climax in the story is where Sherlock is so close to getting the culprit. It's sick.

The odd thing is Sherlock thinks that the strange fan has a hit man. I don't doubt it, but how can Sherlock tell. He is great and all, but there is no way to tell. "John, tell me the email address of the strange fan." Sherlock demanded. "StrangeFan00000@LondonMail.com" I answered. "The strange fan has a hit man." Sherlock was in his mind palace. "How can you tell?" I asked. Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open, revealing his ice blue eyes.

"If the strange fan was a girl, the girl would try to make it seem that she was a man with a somewhat manly email address. If the strange fan was a boy, he would just do something very plain. Its the difference of girl and boy. That email address is very plain. The strange fan is a boy. The killer is a girl. There is a lock of girl hair underneath Molly's fingernails."

I typed everything Sherlock said and published it. "You're brilliant Sherlock." I said, typing away. Sherlock looked at me with those gorgeous eyes. "Most people calls me a freak." He spoke softly. "I'm not most people. Most people couldn't stay with Sherlock Holmes." I smiled at him. For a split second, I swear I saw him smile to.

The day that Molly died she had an appointment with her hairdresser, Mary. Mary was very pretty. I do need a new girl to pretend to be my girlfriend so no one will suspect I am gay.

"What color was the lock of hair underneath Molly's finger nail?" I asked. "Blonde." Sherlock responded. Mary's hair was blonde. I looked at Sherlock as he looked at me. We both knew Mary was the hit man.

We took Mary in for questioning. Well, there goes my chance of making her my fake girlfriend. Mary does not deny killing Molly. She said the strange fan approached her through email. He threatened her with killing her family. Mary doesn't know the strange fan. We've hit a rut.

I updated the blog, revealing the hit man, but I disguised Mary's name. A few minutes later I received an email. I instantly pulled Sherlock to my side to make him read the email at the exact same time I was. "I see you have caught my hit man. It's okay. She was no use to me anyway. I have plenty others, John. I will use them." The email said.

"He is trying to send us on a wild goose chase." Sherlock said. I noticed he was leaning on me. I blushed bright pink, and goosebumps went down my arms and spine. "Are you cold, Jawn?" Sherlock asked me. "I um. Yeah, it's freezing in here." I lied.

The next day I awoke to the sound of Sherlock's phone blazing. I ran to his room, and jumped on his bed. I crawled on top of him, waiting for him to retrieve his phone. He looked up at me with another solemn look. "Lestrade." He said. I instantly started tearing up. I could tell Sherlock didn't know how to deal with distress. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around my waist.

Sherlock and I walked into Lestrade's office. There was more blood than Molly's lab. I couldn't bring myself to stop crying. Anderson was crying as well. Anderson and I coward away into the corner. Sherlock observed the body. He then jerked me up and away from Anderson. I can swear I heard him mumble, "My John."

We went back to the flat so Sherlock could go to his mind palace comfortably. I mourned around the flat, speaking with Mrs. Hudson very little. "The hit man is a man this time." Sherlock spoke out. "Well, that's different." I said, sitting on the chair.

Sherlock got up, and looked at me angrily. "Mrs. Hudson, do you mind leaving the room for a moment? I don't want you to see this." Sherlock said gruffly. I blushed light pink. This is almost exactly like the dreams I have. I blushed even harder, remembering the dream I had last night. Mrs. Hudson left the room in a hush.

Sherlock sat in my lap. My breath quickened. I looked up at his ice cold eyes. Then, something hit my face. It was Sherlock's hand. Sherlock slapped me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. "Quit moping, John. I need you for this. Oh also, don't ever mope around with bloody Anderson! I at least want you to mope around with me." Sherlock frowned. He's so pretty.