The Dark Case of Jack

Chapter Two

Once again I sadly do not own Sherlock
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Life within the flat had become almost unbearable as three days of boredom were spent with Sherlock.

The first day had been spent searching for every possible hiding spot, and a few that wouldn't have made sense if the addict had been anyone other than Sherlock.

The man had actually followed him around coming up with excuses for why he needed the drugs and then threw himself on the couch with a childish tantrum near the end.

The second day had been spent with Sherlock hiding in his room still too upset with John to show his face, yet the occasional, 'bored' was heard through the wall.

Here it was, day three and John had half a mind to knock the tall detective out cold. He had, at least, left his room to sit on the couch with a vague look on his face.

For a moment, John worried that he might have missed a hiding spot but a quick pupil check assured him that Sherlock was only in his mind palace, most likely straightening the vast amount of information stored away.

By luncheon, Sherlock finally blinked and stood up to pace the room, resuming his cadence of 'bored'.

"For goodness sakes Sherlock, if it's so boring why don't you try to solve an old crime?" John snapped.

Sherlock stopped his movements. "I already have John. Just this morning I solved the case of Jack the Ripper. Very obvious when one stops to think about it."

John turned his head to give the tall detective an incredulous look. "There's no way you managed to solve that case in one morning."

Sherlock tipped his head to the side before replying. "Actually I could've solved it sooner but I didn't want the boredom to set in."

John shook his head in disbelief. Out of all the ridiculous feats the great detective had made, this one topped the cake. "Just how did yo-"

Before John could even inquire the possibility of Sherlock's declaration, the bell rang in a serious of quick rings before becoming a nonstop buzz.

It wasn't long before the buzzing stopped and the distinct sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice could be heard up the stairs and through the door. Her voice rose in volume warning the two men that she was approaching the flats door.

Both men watched as the door burst opened to reveal a very frazzled Lestrad followed by a worried Mrs. Hudson.

Upon entering the room Lestrad sank to the floor. John rushed to help him into the plaid chair that sat opposite Sherlock's old leather one.

He sat there, shaking as John quickly poured a glass of brandy to calm the detective's frayed nerves.

Sherlock just sat in his chair, his head resting on his fingertips as he studied the older police detective.

Neither Sherlock nor John had ever seen Lestrad so shooken up before in their lives. Lestrad was known for his nerves of steel. After all, what man who dealt with Sherlock on a regular basis didn't posses such inner strength.

The detective's hands were shaking so hard it took him a few tries to grab the glass of brandy John handed him. Lestrad wasted no time as he tipped the glass back and poured the amber liquid down his throat. With each glass, he slowly relaxed as the alcohol numbed his nerves.

The process took a total of three two finger glasses since John was worried the amber liquid would spill if he poured more.

"So do tell us the features of our case." Sherlock said when John handed Lestrad a fourth glass.

"Sherlock!" John snapped, did the man posses no sensitivity or timing?

"Honestly John, it is clear by his state and the way he practically melted upon our floor before inhaling three glasses of brandy that he is not here for a social call."

John glared at Sherlock. John never could figure out why he delt with the insufferable man.

"What happened Greg." John asked, trying for a soothing tone.

Sherlock waved his hands in the air. "Yes, yes what happened, but quickly."

John gave Sherlock another glare before turning his attention fully on the man he was starting to consider a friend.

"I got a call for a murder that happened in the White Chapel district." Lestrad whispered.

John felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Not even a few minutes ago he and Sherlock had been discussing the Ripper Case which had happened in the White Chapel district.

Get ahold of yourself Dr. Watson, he thought before focusing on Greg's recap.

"When I arrived there were detectives vomiting, the stench was so horrible...." He paused as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

Whether it was a side effect from the drink or a coping mechanism John did not know.

"I held it together until I saw......" He swallowed convulsivly and John wondered if he would need a bucket but Lestrad seemed to gain control of his, most likely, empty stomach.

"I don't know what it was," he whispered and John had to strain to hear him.

"I've never seen such carnage, I think it was a woman, but...." His eyes widened and he rushed to the bathroom.

Retching sounds could be heard from the toilet and John worried that Lestrad's throat would close, choking him to death. John went to the bathroom to check on the Inspector while Sherlock stayed within his seat, unmoving.

When Greg managed to calm his stomach, John tucked him in his bed and went back to the living room. Sherlock, it seemed, hadn't moved an inch during the time John had been gone. 

John stiffly sat down in his chair, wondering how bad this case would be.

Suddenly, Sherlock burst into movement, grabbing his coat and scarf. "Come along John." He said, as he bounded out the door.

John got to his feet and grudgingly followed. He stopped only to inform Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on Greg before he stepped outside to find Sherlock entering a cabbie. Muttering an oath, John got in behind the taller man.

"Where are we off to then?" he asked as the driver took off.

"To the morgue, of course." Sherlock stated.

"Of course," John muttered, unaware of the small smile on Sherlocks face.
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Thank you for reading, I'm sorry if the pace is slow but one must build a foundation