Consulting Pineapples (Psychlock)

Chapter Six--Clues

Sherlock had been sitting in his chair for three straight hours. John tried to snap him out of his “mind palace” or whatever it was, but there was no response from Sherlock but a muttered, “Shut up, I’m thinking.”

     John was about ready to just leave when Sherlock finally yelled an “Oh!” and kicked his violin case across the floor.

    “What is it?” John turned, not feeling particularly friendly towards him.

    “Salt.” Sherlock gave no further explanation and shot out of his chair, going to the window and flinging it open.

    “Sherlock, it’s almost zero out there.” John walked over to push it shut but Sherlock brushed him away.

    “They didn’t ever find the weapon in the house, did they?” Sherlock wasn’t really asking, he already knew the answer. “And salt doesn’t kill when you get it in your system.” He reached out the window and over the edge of the windowsill, breaking off a handful of icicles from one of Mrs. Hudson’s dead window flower baskets.

    “Come inside, it’s freezing.” John yanked his friend up and back in by the collar, shutting the window again.

    The consulting detective carefully picked up an icicle and poked John’s arm none too gently. “Is that sharp to you?”

    The ex-army doctor snatched it out of his hands. “Can you stop messing around? There’s a murder to solve.”

    “I don’t mess around.” Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly brighter and he picked up his coat, tossing the icicles to the side. “Back to the crime scene?”

    John looked confusedly to the rapidly melting icicle in his hand, and then back to Sherlock. “Care to explain?”

    Sherlock was already out the door.

“This is hopeless, Shawn. There are so many places for a suitcase to be!” Gus sounded bored and rather frustrated as Shawn popped out from yet another alleyway.

    “Now, now, Gus. Never say never,” Shawn said with his everlasting cheeriness.

    “I didn’t.”

    Shawn rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, Gus. Now come on.” They had hunted through half the alleys in London in nearly two hours.

    “What if we don’t fi-”

    Shawn quickly cut him off. “Gus. Stop being so...negativery.”

    “Negative,” Gus corrected.

    “I’ve heard it both ways. Now, come on!” Shawn yanked Gus by the arm over to the next alley. Shawn ducked between the walls of the two buildings and started searching the ground for the case. “This is the one, Gus! I can feel it!” Shawn called.

    “You’ve said that the past thirteen times.”

    “Negativery again!”

    “Negat--never mind. It’s not worth it.” Gus sighed.

    Shawn almost fell on his face when he tripped over something in the dark. “I think I’ve found it!”

    “You’ve said that the past thirteen times, too,” Gus muttered.

    Shawn bent over and began feeling the object he had tripped over. “It is a case, Gus!” He pulled it out into the light so he could inspect it closer. He began pulling some things out and looking at them. “And it belonged to our victim.”

    “Well, how do you know that? Maybe someone just dumped a case.”

    “Gus, look.” Shawn picked up a passport and opened it to the identifying page. “It’s a passport. And look at the picture. That’s the victim, all right.”

    “So you take it to the police.”

    “No. Not yet,” Shawn said slowly. “Not just yet.”