I Won't Leave You- A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter Four- A Post-It Note

        Anderson looked at Sherlock. "What now? Could you say that again?"
        Lestrade cast him an annoyed look as Sherlock rolled his eyes.
        "Trust me," Sherlock began, "I only need you because you have the right equipment."
        Anderson gave a smug smile. "I can't believe it. The freak needs my help."
        "Don't call him that," Lestrade warned.
        Anderson shrugged. "It's the truth. He's different."
        "Everyone is different. And thank heavens, too. I couldn't imagine a world full of you."
        Anderson looked taken aback. "You can't talk to me like that!"
        Lestrade looked at him. "I'm your senior officer. Of course I can."
        Sherlock had been standing in the background while the small fight went on. "Officers, the case."
        Both men turned to him. "Right," said Lestrade.
        "So, what do you need me for, anyway?" asked Anderson.
        "Footprints."
        Anderson raised an eyebrow. "That's not very specific."
        Sherlock handed his magnifying glass to Anderson and pointed to the place on the floor where he had found the footprint. Sighing, Anderson knelt down on the floor and peered through the glass. "Not sure how having me look at it helps."
        "Now you know where it is." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "We need equipment to study these footprints. Go get it."
        Lestrade knew better than to argue with Sherlock when he was on a case. "Alright, but you've got to come with me. I don't know what tools we need."
        "Then we're all going. I don't want to leave him alone in my flat." Sherlock cast a look of scorn at Anderson.
~~~~~Time Skip Brought to you by Oscillation Upon the Pavement~~~~~
        Thirty minutes later, the trio were reassembled in Sherlock's living room. Anderson got on his knees and collected the footprint for analysis. "Alright," he began, standing up, "I'll have an analysis ready for you tomorrow."
        Sherlock looked up. "What? No. You'll have it tonight. Text me when it's ready."
        Anderson looked to the ceiling. "Fine. Tonight." Grumbling, he left, leaving Lestrade and Sherlock to watch the door close behind him.
        "He's somethin', isn't 'e." Lestrade shook his head at the retreating forsenics officer.
        "If you mean something idiotic, then, yes, I agree." Sherlock sat down on the armchair, pulling his feet up. He already seemed lost in thought.
        Lestrade looked at him for a few moments. "Well, I should take my leave." He looked at his watch. "I'll meet you at the lab when Anderson has results. See you later." Then he, too, left.
        The apartment was plunged into silence as Lestrade's footsteps faded. Then there was the sound of the door opening, and then of it closing. Sherlock placed his hands in front of his face, closing his eyes. Sighing, he stretched out and stood up. Moving towards his pizatto/violin, he picked it up and began to play a low, mournful tune.
        Not really into it, he put the instrument down and sighed. He, Sherlock Holmes, was confused. He was usually so excited when he got a case. So why not now?
        John. That was why. He couldn't be energized if John was lying on a hospital bed.
        Gazing out the window, he noticed that night was falling and he hasn't eaten since the omelette that morning. He turned to look at the fridge half-heartedly. He was hungry, but didn't want to eat. John would be angry.
        But John wasn't there. Sherlock sighed, realizing he was going to eat something. It seemed paradoxical; when John was there, he nagged Sherlock to eat, and Sherlock generally refused. Now that John wasn't there, he was going to eat without any complaining.
        Sherlock moved over towards the fridge and opened it. He moved the milk aside to see the rest of the contents, then frowned. He didn't remember picking up the milk from where he had dropped it. He took it out of the fridge, examining it closely. He turned it over, and his heart stopped.
        A post-it note was stuck on the side. It read:

        You forgot this. -JM

        Sherlock's breath caught and he placed the milk back in the fridge. He closed the door and leaned on the fridge for support. Moriarty. Wait. No. He couldn't jump to conclusions. It could just be someone posing as Moriarty to get him to place the blame away from them. But who else would stab John? Why would anyone else stab John? Moriarty would see it as some kind of game. He liked seeing Sherlock figure things out. Perhaps he wanted to see how Sherlock lived without John. But John would only be in the hospital for a few days or so...
        Sherlock jumped up to a standing position. Moriarty might try to hurt John again! He ran to put on his coat, then remembered that no visitors were allowed until the next day. He clenched his fists in frustration.
        Taking out his phone, he texted Molly.