The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 14: The Anonymous Killer

Once the boys are distracted with violin playing and blog writing, you discreetly pull the slip of paper from your pocket and read the neat script within.
'The curb on fifth street- ten p.m. sharp. Come alone. -MH'
You glare at the note for a moment before shoving it back into your skirt pocket.
"So what's this case about, exactly?" You ask abruptly, cutting through Sherlock's angry tune.
The detective sets the instrument down and begins pacing as he speaks. "Four college-age girls were found dead in a parking garage earlier this week. The police ruled it a mass suicide, as the cause of death was self-administered poisoning. It seemed simple enough, except for-"
"The motive," you finish for him, inhaling sharply.
His eyes widen and John turns to look at you questioningly.
"Yes. How did you know that?"
"It sounds familiar...I can't quite name why. Must've deleted it at some point..." You trail off, frantically searching the edges of your mind for the trace of familiarity. "I've seen something like it before."
"Huh," John pipes. "We interrogated one of their friends and she kept going on about how they were being tricked. The woman was hysterical."
Sherlock rushes over, slamming his hands on the couch to be on either side of your head.
"Quick- (y/n), try to remember. Why is this case familiar? This could very well be the same killer."
Your eyes flit urgently over thousands of files in your mind, but none of them ring any bells.
"I-it must have been when I was younger- I remember it being a long time ago. Perhaps there was something about it in the paper?"
"How old?" Sherlock demands, grabbing his computer and typing in a search.
"Um...maybe try twenty years ago?" After a second you add, "American articles, remember."
Sherlock goes silent while he scans the monitor for information. After a minute he slams the lid shut with a growl.
"Useless!" He shouts.
"Nothing, then?" John asks.
"There were a few mass suicide reports from twenty to twenty five years ago, but none of them seemed to have a connection..."
He walks over to the door and starts to put on his coat. "Come along, you two."
You jump up to grab your coat and ask, "Where are we going, exactly?"
"The morgue. We need to inspect the bodies."
"Didn't we already do that?" John asks while putting his shoes on.
"Yes, but if the case is familiar to (y/n) in some way, then she might remember something while looking at them."

--

You arrived at Saint Bartholomew's shortly thereafter. It took a bit of work to inspect the bodies again, but it seems that the woman who's over the autopsys has a crush on your boyfriend, and so he was able to convince her. This made you a little frustrated, but you knew that he was only doing it to see the bodies. Besides, the woman, Molly Hooper, seemed fairly kind.

The four girls were laid out before you. Molly assured you that she was free for a while, so you could take all the time you needed. You started with the feet and worked your way up, drinking in every single detail you could with each body. It was clear that they were all roommates, habitual tobacco smokers, and they kept two cats in their flat. None of that was of importance, but there was something else that you noticed about the girls. They each seemed fairly clear of piercings or other modifications, but they each had a tattoo on the back of their necks. Based on their tan lines, they always wore their hair down, so it was something they were trying to conceal. None of the tattoos seemed to hold any major significance on their own, but to someone like you, they did. Each tattoo was a simple slash mark in what seemed to be a random place, but put together they were something else entirely.
"Anything?" Sherlock asks.
John cuts in,"oh come on, it's only been five minutes-"
"Martyrdom," you answer flatly.
"Martyrdom?" Sherlock and John ask in unison.
You take in a deep breath. "Did anyone notice the tattoos on their necks?"
Sherlock marches over and turns the heads of the girls. "I did not," he admits quietly.
"Luckily for you, I just so happen to know Chinese kanji. These marks may not look like much, but put together, they form the word 'xùndào'." You grab a nearby scrap of paper and a gel pen and scribble down the kanji (殉道 ) to show them.
"It's a word that's rarely used, but literally translates to 'the death of a martyr- or, someone dying for their beliefs."
Sherlock locks eyes with yours. You've never seen him look so proud of you before. "It's a cult," he breathes.
You nod.
"(y/n), you're a genius!" he shouts, bounding over to the door. "Come on, I have another place we need to look."
John follows him out the door before you lose sight of him, but before leaving, you turn to Molly.
"Thanks again," you smile at her.
"Oh, it's no trouble. Come anytime, even!"
You fish around in your bag and pull out a small card with your name and number. "Here, give me a call sometime. I'd love to get to know you better, Molly."
The woman smiles at you and accepts the card. "It was nice to meet you, (y/n)."
You nod. "Take care!" you call, taking off to catch up with the boys.

--

"I don't know how I didn't see it sooner- the hysterical friend, the tattoos, the poisoning in a seemingly random place- of course this is the work of a cult..." Sherlock mumbles this to himself as the three of you ride in the cab.
You had brought along one of your various sketchbooks, and were scribbling down notes furiously. Any little detail that surfaced from the dark recesses of your mind about the case was jotted down in a distracted haste. You sketched the four bodies over and over again, trying to pull some sort of familiarity to mind. Some detail you missed, anything at all.
Something about this case just felt terribly wrong, though you hadn't mentioned your concerns to Sherlock yet. It seemed to you that this cult isn't anything new- especially if it's the same case that you studied as a child. So, why now did this discrete cult decide to put on a show with those college girls? Could it be a message? And why couldn't you conjure up any details about the case from back then? All these thoughts swirled in your brain unceasingly.
"Stop it," you hiss, trying to get your thoughts to slow down.
"Pardon?" John asks.
You don't answer him, but glance down at your sketch book. Your eyes widen at the now nearly black page. Your hand had been moving on its own while you were thinking. The page was filled with random Chinese kanji and doodles of Sherlock, but most of the drawings were rough sketches of Jim Moriarty and Sherock's brother, Mycroft. You quickly fold the book closed and stuff it back into your bag, but you know that despite your efforts, Sherlock's already seen it.
You peer up at him and he stares back at you with a concerned expression. Without thinking twice, you rest your head on his chest and give a deep sigh. He simply wraps his arm around your shoulder in a nonverbal reply.

When the cab pulls to a stop, you look out the window to see a set of apartment buildings. The street looks unfamiliar, and you vaguely wonder how long you've been riding in the car.
"Where are we?" You ask.
"This would be the residence of Michelle Rare, friend of the victims."
The building looks worn, but has an old charm to it. Sherlock begins to ascend the stairs and John and you quickly follow suit.
You were doing your best to put on a bold and excited front, but deep down you knew this case wasn't going to be simple and that people were going to get hurt. Regardless, you willingly climbed the stairs with the Detective and the Blogger, praying that you wouldn't regret this decision.