Monsters Aren't Real (Superlock)

Chapter 9

The next morning

-o0o-

Sherlock wasn't happy. And that was because of three things. 1) John insisted that his fingernails couldn't stay in the in the fridge any longer as he claimed it started to affect the food, so he wast forced to move them or abandon the project. He had favored the idea of moving his project, but he had no place to store it. So it left him no choice but to dispose his precious nails and acid. 2) He had missed a shooting, by only five minutes nonetheless! 3) He had woken up with a colossal headache, as his medication he had been given in the hospital had finally left his body. After a short but intense discussion, Sherlock had allowed John to re-apply his bandages and give him some painkillers. After 27 minutes, the pain started to lessen. 12 minutes later Lestrade had called.

It appeared that shortly after they had found a cab, a shot had been fired in the museum. Lestrade had told him very little. Only that the gunman, victim and gun hadn't been found. They had found blood, but that was the only thing. How the security had managed to let every possible person involved escape, was beyond Sherlock. The moment he had finished his call with Lestrade he had been ready to go the museum and look at the traces the police would have missed. He had a feeling in his gut that this was involved with the Kevin case somehow, and he knew that you must always trust a gut feeling. The only problem was, John had locked himself in the bathroom. After arriving home yesterday, John had finally noticed that his chin was still decorated with spots of unshaven stubble, and had been annoyed with Sherlock that he had neglected to tell him. As a result of that, John had now decided to lock the door and refused to leave before he was finished. Sherlock didn't want to leave without his trusted companion, the matter wasn't that pressing, but it still irked him.

So he was left sighing on the couch and staring at the bathroom while John finished showering. That was, until his phone rang. It was one of the people from the airport. Sherlock frowned. Was he wrong? Would the man leave the country? It was the most logical thing to do, but it just didn't fit with them. Deciding the best course of action was listening to what the person had to say, took the call.

"Sherlock Holmes." He simply said.

"The detective?" came the answer, the voice was high pitched, yet didn't belong to an incredible young person. Sherlock guessed the caller must be end twenties, a bit of a thin guy.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"No, consulting detective." He corrected.

"Yes, okay, Listen, I got your message, but I need to tell you something... About the Winchesters...'' The last part was considerably softer spoken than when he had started his sentence

Winchester. He had heard that name before. But where? It was obvious that the man was referring to the men Sherlock was after. Yet, how was it possible that the man knew their name? Maybe they had given the man a false name too? It was a plausible theory. When he didn't continue, Sherlock started talking, sounding just as annoyed and curious as he was.

"Well, tell me, what you know?"

"What? No no no no, I can't possibly tell you this per phone. You don't know who or even what is listening to us right now!" The man said, sounding shocked.

Sherlock had to fight the urge to groan out loud. Great, it appeared that there was a kink in his network, because one of his info givers clearly had a paranoia disorder.

"I can assure you, there will be nobody of interest listening to this phone call." Mycroft might be listening, but he wasn't really a person of interest. At least, not for Sherlock anyway.

"No no, You don't understand. Please, just... Can we meet somewhere?" The voice asked pleadingly. Sherlock watched the clock. It was 9:36 AM. The man worked at the airport, so his shift had already started.