Fate Without Time

Chapter 3

A/N: From now on, there will usually be a photo of Alis's outfit at the beginning of every chapter. Of course, there are times when that will not be a case and when that happens, there will just be a photo that fits the theme of that chapter. Anyways, back to the story!

The next morning, Sherlock was acting a little strange. "I was telling the truth, you know. What I deduced from you yesterday is all that I know about you. Why I asked you to come with me is because I needed to deduce you more closely. Which is what I am going to do right now," he paused as he moved his chair closer to mine. "Give me your wrist. Either one will do," he said. I was a little hesitant, but I let him take my right wrist and I started to feel a little uneasy. "Just take slow breaths and relax. I'll be able to deduce you with ease this way," he said as he put one hand on the back of my neck. Once I had calmed down, he removed his hand from my neck and started to examine me closely. It was completely silent in the room. Once he was done, he let go of my wrist and looked at me. "Interesting. I still can't get that much from you," he said. "Well, what did you get?" I asked. "You're 18 years old and from Atlanta, Georgia. You're very passionate about music, judging by your fingers, which are used to play the clarinet. You're also a writer, but because there isn't a trace of graphite on your fingers, I am able to deduce that you almost always type your stories and usually don't actually write unless it's for an assignment or if you think it's absolutely necessary. From looking at your eyes, I deduce that you have an incredible photographic memory spanning all the way back to when you were six years old, which is very impressive if you ask me. Other than that, I can't seem to find anything else. But tell me. Did I get anything wrong?" he asked. "Only one thing, but it's a minor detail. My photographic memory spans back to when I was four years old, not to when I was six years old," I said. "That is even more impressive. But what puzzles me is the fact that it is very difficult for me to deduce you. It's usually very easy for me to deduce people but you are different somehow. And I have no idea why that could be," he said. Then, Sherlock helped me stand up. "We need to go out for a bit," he said as he threw me my coat and we went downstairs.

A couple of hours later, John had gotten moved into the flat and the two of us were sitting in the living room (Sherlock was standing by the window) as Mrs. Hudson walked in, reading a newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same," she said as I walked over to the window beside Sherlock. There was a police car down below "Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time," he said. "A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson repeated. We then turned and saw that Detective Inspector Lestrade had picked the lock on the front door, had run up the stairs and into the living room. "Where?" asked Sherlock. "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," said Lestrade. "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different," said Sherlock. "You know how they never leave notes?" asked Lestrade. "Yeah," said Sherlock. "This one did. Will you come?" he asked. "Who's on forensics?" asked Sherlock. "It's Anderson," said Lestrade. "Anderson won't work with me," said Sherlock, grimacing. "Well, he won't be your assistant," said Lestrade. "I need an assistant," said Sherlock. "Will you come?" Lestrade repeated. "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind," said Sherlock. "Thank you," said Lestrade. After looking at Mrs. Hudson, John, and I, he ran down the stairs and just as he reached the front door, Sherlock got really happy. "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock paused as he threw my coat to me and put on his coat and scarf and I followed him to the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson, we'll be late. Might need some food," he said. "I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper," said Mrs. Hudson. "Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" I yelled as Sherlock grabbed a small pouch from the table, opened the kitchen door, and we went out.

A few minutes later, we were at the living room door, staring at John, who was reading the paper in his chair. "You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor," said Sherlock. "Yes," said John as he stood up and walked towards us. "Any good?" I asked. "Very good," said John. "Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths," said Sherlock. "Mmm, yes," said John. "Bit of trouble too, I bet," I said. "Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," he said quietly. "Wanna see some more?" asked Sherlock. "Oh God yes," said John as he followed us out of the room and called out, "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." Mrs. Hudson was standing near the bottom of the stairs. "All three of you?" she asked. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" said Sherlock as he kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek. "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent," she said. "Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Sherlock exclaimed as we walked out to the street, hailed a cab, and we were off to the crime scene.