Deductions: A Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter Seven

What's this? An update? I'm sorry the quality is terrible. I haven't had time to check it, but I felt that I should update this story ASAP, since I've sort of abandoned it.

Anyway, enjoy!!

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Stepping out of the taxi and on to the curb, John noted the rather bland appearance of the house. It was one of the typical inner city London houses, tightly packed together, with narrow rooms and three floors to fit everything in. Sherlock rapped sharply on the door and stepped back as he waited.

As the door swung open, the first thing John noticed was the overwhelming smell of cat. The second thing John noticed was the naked man that opened the door. He was saved seeing everything, only thanks to a thin bath towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair was damp and clung to his face, and a few days worth of stubble grew around his chin.

The man looked the pair up and down. "Can I help you, Gents?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Despite being a doctor, and having seen more privates than he'd eaten hot dinners, John still felt uncomfortable looking at this man, and tried to keep his eyes fixed on the man's face.

"Sorry, we're here to investigate suspicious circumstances of Chloe Nelson's death. Can I assume you're her brother?"

The man paled visibly, suddenly looking a little embarrassed to be caught in nothing but a bath towel.

"Yes, that's me. I ... I'm Jack, I'll ... I'll just go and Alice," he stammered uncertainly, backing away from the door. " ... And some pants. ALICE!"

Sherlock chuckled from the doorway. "Normal people are so quaint."

John turned quickly to scold him. "His sister has just died! Can't you at least be nice?"

Sherlock sent him a puzzled expression. "That wasn't an insult."

John was about to respond, when an older woman appeared in the hallway. Her mousy hair was held up in a messy bun, and she was still wearing her pyjamas.

"I'm sorry, we've already spoken to the police, and we've been advised not to speak to the press," she told them as she moved to close the door in their face.

"Wait! We're not journalists, we're working with the police," cried John, trying to stop her closing the door.

The woman frowned at them with dark eyes. "I've already said everything I've got to say. I see no need to repeat it."

"Yes, but, frankly, Scotland Yard is pretty useless and they've sent us to ask the real questions," explained Sherlock, pushing back the door and stepping inside, John following in his wake. The stench of cat was far more powerful inside the house than out, and John tried not to gag, lest he be seen as ruder than Sherlock.

The woman sniffed indignantly as she glared at them. The hall was was dark and dusty. Charm catchers and feathers dangled from the ceiling, and large crystals and statuettes sat on short bookshelves. The room was so cluttered, John had to press awkwardly against Sherlock to fit in the room. "So sorry for the intrusion," started John, trying to get the pair back on the right foot. "I'm John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes. And I assume you're Alice? Chloe's older sister?"

She nodded, "Yes, not that we saw much of each other."

Before John could ask another question, the sound of footsteps could be heard thundering down the stairs. Jack had returned, this time fully-clothed. He joined them in the entrance, standing beside Alice. "So, how can we help?" he asked, placing an arm on Alice's shoulder.