Believe in Sherlock

Chapter 18-Maggie POV

We reached the morgue and as John chatted with Molly, I went straight to the metal table that the first body lay on.

I twisted the wrist and saw, I O U, carved into the wrist. Dried blood crusted over the letters and made it barely readable.

I placed the hand back in its original position and went over to John. He turned and looked at me.

"So what did you find." He asked.

I smirked, "Exactly what I was looking for."

I waved a vague goodbye to Molly and exited the morgue.

John followed me and we left the hospital.

"John." I said.

"Yeah?" John looked at me.

"Have you forgotten something?" I asked with a tilt of my head.

John slowed his walk before speeding up to keep up with my pace.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

I just started to hum the tune to the song almost everyone plays during their wedding. I looked at John and waited for him to make the connection.

"Mary!" John looked startled and I held him back to keep from running.

"Don't worry. I already called Lestrade and told him to take her back to your flat." I said and he just put his head in his hands.

"I'm screwed aren't I?" John asked helplessly.

"Yes you are John. But at the moment, we have a murder to solve." I said pointedly and kept my focus in front of me.

John just shook his head and kept his face in his hands.

*******The Next Day*******

I lay on my back staring at my ceiling yet again. I've tried pacing and making countless cups of tea that now filled my kitchen covering every square inch but I always end up on my brown couch staring at my ceiling.

I looked at my tea cup filled kitchen and regretted making so much. I didn't want to clean it up later much less now. Maybe Mrs. Lancer could do it...

No she's an old woman yet I have found her to be quite tough recently. A few weeks ago she walked into my flat and spotted me playing with my brain specimens. She didn't even flinch like most people do. She just shook her head and told me to clean up afterwards.

I do like that old woman no matter how annoying she gets when giving me a lecture about staying out too late. I swear she thinks she's my mother.

Lestrade had called me earlier and said there was another murder.

When I got there I saw that it was another black haired 35 year old man wearing a suit. Same background and same wrist carving.

I've been laying on this couch ever since. Thinking the case through.

Maybe I could go see Sherlock. I haven't been to the cemetery in three days nor have I seen Sherlock's figure other than in my nightmares.

I got up from my position on the couch and grabbed my trench coat from the closet.

I started walking down the street towards the cemetery. Clouds covered the sun and anyone could see it was going to rain soon.

I picked up my speed and reached Sherlock's grave just before the first raindrops began to fall.

I sat back on my heels as I sat face to face with the tombstone.

"Well Sherlock, I haven't seen you in a while. Not since three days ago at least." I swallowed nervously.

"So, um, I just wanted to say that I miss you and I want you back. I finally have an interesting case and you're not there to say your little side comments and constant rambling that nobody can understand besides me and sometimes John."

I took in a deep breath and looked up to see Sherlock's figure standing by the trees that lined my right side. I ignored him and continued to talk to my dead best friend.

"Speaking of John, he's got himself a girl. Can't imagine how long it's going to last this time since he practically forgot about her when I was with him at the morgue." I saw the figure walking closer to me.

"Well, I guess being dead must be boring. Just laying there. Alone. Six feet below the surface." I held back the tears as the figure stood right behind the grave stone.

"Why were you at the morgue?" Sherlock's figure asked.

"Murder." I replied shortly.

"Really? I'm just missing everything aren't I?" Sherlock smirked at me.

"You can't miss everything if you aren't real." I pointed out.

Sherlock went silent for a while before asking, "What's so interesting about the murder?"

I let out a sharp breath and got on my feet. I faced Sherlock's figure with narrowed eyes.

"All of them look like you. All choked and smashed on the ground and they all have letters carved into their wrists." I snapped.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "What letters?"

"I O U. Mean anything?" I asked.

Sherlock's figure went stiff and tense. His face remained emotionless but he pressed his lips into a straight line.

He then turned with his black coat flaring dramatically behind him and he stormed off towards the woods before he disappeared into the trees.

I let out a breath and turned around to start the walk back to my flat. I walked slow and watched everyone go about their day like there isn't a crazy murderer running around the city.

It took me twenty minutes to finally wander to my flat. Mrs. Lancer waved hello as I walked up the stairs and into my front room.

I opened my coat closet and threw my trench coat in without a glance. I slammed the door shut and headed for my couch.

I saw a file sitting on my coffee table. I picked it up and looked inside.

There was a photo with a post-it note with a scribbled arrow pointing to the picture and "Him" was written underneath the arrow.

The photo was of a man with a clean shave and dark blonde hair that reached his shoulders. He had green eyes and a smile that made me shudder. Overall, he was very recognizable.

Maybe John or Lestrade dropped it off. They could've figured it out before me somehow, they're both rather intelligent and not completely stupid.

I reread the note and tried to match the handwriting with someones. It was rather childishly drawn and didn't match anyone's writing that I knew of.

I put the photo in my pocket and looked out at the street below. The rain was picking up and everyone was pulling out their umbrellas. Except one man.

He didn't even have a hood up although he had one on his jacket. His hair was dark but you could see a bit of blonde in it. He was tall and rather scrawny in his oversized jacket.

I looked at the photo and back at the man. It's gotta be him.

But I'd need a better look.