You and Sherlock

He Puts the Drama Queens to Shame

As Sherlock pounded down the stairs with you in tow, Lestrade desperately tried to keep up.
"Why are you saying that?"

Sherlock stopped again and pulled you up short so quickly you almost stumbled. This drag-and-almost-break-your-nose routine was getting old. 

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?" he yelled out to the room at large, ignoring Lestrade. When no response came, Sherlock continued more softly, "Someone else was here, and they took her case. " Even more softly, Sherlock added, a hint of excitement in his voice, "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John pointed out. You might have agreed with him, but you knew Sherlock too well.

Sherlock looked back up towards the stairs, where the body was, and shook his head nearly imperceptibly. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." He trailed off, and understanding suddenly lit up his face. "Oh."

"What?" You asked nervously. And Sherlock turned to you, expression positively giddy, his eyes wide.

"Oh." He clapped his hands together in what you could only guess was delight, based on his sudden grin. 

"Sherlock?" You asked carefully.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade came to attention then and John looked on, an interesting mixture of concern and confusion on his face. 

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." He had that strangely manic grin on his face that you always found just a touch unnerving. You wished for a fleeting moment that you could see what you called his vulnerable smile, the one that touched his eyes, but then Lestrade rudely interrupted.

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock replied, grabbing your wrist again, starting down the stairs (again). How many more godforsaken stairs are there, for crying out loud?

"Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock said as he reached the bottom and continued on, out of view from Lestrade. 

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade yelled, and Sherlock let you go for one second to bound back up to the stairs, so he could be seen by all. Dramatically he announced to the room at large.

"PINK!" And then he dramatically swooped out, back to you. You rolled your eyes. You'd never met someone more suited to the theatre who wasn't an actor. Truly, he put every drama queen you'd met in primary school and even medical school (you'd be surprised at how many are there, as well) to shame. 

To you, he said, 

"Come on, Y/N. We're going hunting," and then he dramatically strutted off. You rolled your eyes again, and then rushed after him.

"Sorry -- we're --" you cut yourself off, focused on avoiding the members of Scotland Yard who were swarming the place. While Sherlock could part the crowd, you had to fight through it. When you finally made it through, Sherlock was yards ahead.

"We're going what?" You asked. you weren't sure you heard correctly, though it wouldn't exactly surprise you, knowing Sherlock. 

"Hunting, Y/N," he replied impatiently, hurrying past the cars and toward the main street. 

"What about John?" You asked, frowning.

"What about him?" Sherlock replied, not even casting a glance your way. You grabbed his arm harshly and pulled him up short.