Experiments (Sherlock BBC- Johnlock Fanfic)

3- First Case

-John-

Sherlock strode into the house, with a bounce in his step. I obediently trailed behind him, smiling kindly at the medical personal outside.

It was a quaint house, painted white, on a normal looking street. Sherlock threw the door open and sauntered in, meeting Lestrade just inside the door. He had on a funny looking gas mask, and held on out to Sherlock and Me. His voice echoed strangely through the mask.

'The body is upstairs Sherlock. Seems to be some sort of gas poisoning that killed her. Forensics aren't here to determine it for sure though, Anderson,'

Before he could finish, Sherlock interrupted with an annoyed grimace,

'I expected no better from Anderson, he's probably off fooling around with Donovan again.'

He glanced at me and grinned, as if urging me to laugh. The corner of my mouth turned up.

'His wife is dead Sherlock. He's at the funeral,' said Lestrade.

Sherlock's mouth opened and he blinked a few times in disbelief. Shaking his head, he pulled the gas mask over his messy curls. I did the same.

We made our way up the wooden steps.

'Fill me in Lestrade,' Sherlock said as he made his way into the sitting room of the apart1ment upstairs. It was a plain room, with wooden floors and white walls. Simple furniture was spread throughout the flat, but there were hardly any decorations, or anything personal.

'The body was found this morning by the landlady. She'd only been staying here a few days apparently. It looks like some mixture was made in the bathroom, which probably is what killed her. She died in her sleep. The body is... not pretty.' Lestrade stood back and watched Sherlock work.

Sherlock flew through the room and pulled open a door to what seemed to be a bedroom. He hesitated for a moment, before he headed in. I followed behind, and saw a young, blonde lady lying on top of her bed. Her skin was speckled with what looked like blisters, and was red as if she had a rash. Her eyes were closed and she wore a simple tank top and pajama pants.

Sherlock studied the woman as I looked around the rest of the room. On the wall there was a message scratched into the paint.

It read 'for my Wife'. I tried to see over sherlocks shoulder to look at the girl. Sherlock slowly turned to face me.

'John I can't focus with you standing so close.' Sherlock's blue eyes fixed on mine. A blush crept up my cheeks, and I felt more embarrassed than I had in years. I mumbled an apology and moved back to the doorway. Sherlock got back to work, searching through her bag and going through her phone. Sherlock kept glancing up at me. Finally he stopped and turned to face me.

'Did I offend you John?' he asked, looking almost concerned.

I cleared my throat.

'No Sherlock I just wanted to see what you were doing that's all. I could have waited.'

Sherlock shook his head.

'No, no John, you should come and look. You're a doctor. Give me your opinion.'

I scoffed.

'Since when does Sherlock Holmes ask anyone for their opinion?' I said with a small smile.

'If it helps John, I value your opinion quite a bit. It's nice to have a more mundane view on things.'

I shot him a glare but he didn't seem to notice. With a sigh I moved to look at the girl. She looks to be in her mid-20s as she had no wrinkles or stress lines, with white blonde hair. She had rashes and blisters on her skin. I looked more carefully at her face and saw a sliver of blood running from her nose. I quickly formed a theory.

'She is in her mid-20s, and she seems to have been poisoned by an airborne gas. I studied gas similar to this actually. It's very similar to mustard gas which they used in the First World War. She would have inhaled it and it would have torn open her sinuses and lungs. I'm surprised she didn't wake up.'

Sherlock was smiling at me, a small smile that reached his eyes. I beamed.

'Good John good. Very good. You're much better than last year. But think, John, think, why she didn't wake up, what she did for a living, who she was.'

I looked back down at the girl before me and struggled to find more details. She had an expensive looking chain around her neck, with the letters F.O. carved into it. She also had an expensive looking watch.

'This here, F.O., is that someone's name? Or is it a code? Either way it looks expensive. So does her watch.' I looked up at Sherlock, who looked back at me.

'Is that all you have for me John?'

I nodded at him. He then proceeded to spin into action, his hands gesturing wildly.

'You were right about her age; it was a decent estimation, due to the lack of wrinkles, or any frown lines or greying hairs. Her hair is light blonde, but natural, indicating that she or her family had come from a country up north, maybe Sweden or Finland. She has incredibly delicate hands and painted fingernails, meaning that her job doesn't involve any labor, maybe an office job. She was single, she had no tan lines or wear on her ring finger, and her bag contains some quite revealing clothes.'

I felt myself get a little flustered over Sherlock looking through the poor woman's clothing.

'Her jewelry is silver, and of good quality, obviously very expensive. She doesn't work with her hands, but she seems to be well off so that leaves us a few options, she has a job of high intelligence that pays well, or she comes from a rich family, or she could obtain her money illegally. Looking at her watch, it's an hour fast, which is exactly the time in Stockholm right now, so she is Swedish. She's only slept here one night, contrary to what the landlady said, because the sheets are still crisp from when they were washed and made by the landlady, and haven't been slept in. Now, why didn't she wake up? Well I have a theory, one yet to be proven... Ahh she's left handed, because her nail polish on her left hand is messier than her right so...'

Sherlock pulled open the drawer of the bedside table on he left. He pulled out a bottle of sleeping pills and shook them happily.

'She obviously had a bad night last night, and thinking she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight she purchased them yesterday. The receipt is here too, saying her name is Freda Ode. That solves the necklace mystery, now we just need to find where the chemicals came from.'

Even through the mask he sounded proud of himself. I stared at him incredulously. I was proud too.

'God I missed you. I mean... I missed you doing that. Yeah, err...'

I looked up at him embarrassed, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. Instead he strode off into the onsite, where he found a bucket containing a weird mixture of what looked to be bleach mixed with something else.

'And here John is the killer. Someone must have snuck in last night and mixed it while she slept. That doesn't solve the mystery on what she was doing the night before she died, but at least we know how. It's a mix of common household cleaning agents, bleach and ammonia. The killer took the bottles back with him, smart; he didn't' leave any chance of fingerprints to be found. We'll get Lestrade to look for her on last night's security cameras from around London.'

Sherlock informed Lestrade of his findings and instructed him to call as soon as they had new information. They then hailed a cab back to the apartment. The ride was silent. Sherlock cleared his throat.

'John.'

I looked at him curiously.

'Yes Sherlock?'

'I missed you too.'

He still wouldn't meet my eyes. I leant back in my seat, replaying his words in my head. I thought he wasn't emotional? Although his words were kind, there was one thing I couldn't work out.

'Sherlock what did the writing on the wall mean?'

He still wouldn't look at me when he said quietly,

'I don't know John. I just don't know.'