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A Boring Sunday Morning (1)

It was just another boring rainy Sunday. There were no open cases, no murders, nothing. Not even the sound of the early morning traffic. Sherlock had to admit that it was quite weird but he didn't mind the complete silence for once. Now he could actually think.

Okay, that was a lie. It wasn't another boring Sunday. Hell, Sherlock wasn't even sure it was raining! Though, one thing was painfully and frustratingly obvious. He had been kidnapped. And of course, his kidnapper had to stand there in front of him, practically taunting him with how stupidly easy he had been to kidnap.

He was tied to a chair. A rickety old thing it was, so unbalanced with use and wear that it almost fell over when he shifted not even an inch. The wood of the chair creaked as well, telling Sherlock that the chair had been well used for a little over five years but was later abandoned to suffer through the elements.

Of course though, in a situation like this, he shouldn't be letting his thoughts wander. He should be focusing on the man in the tidy suit standing in front of him, a look of clear agitation on his face. Sherlock decides he's spent enough time observing his surroundings and the chair he was tied to and turns his focus to the man.

"You've been staring at me for quite a while, is there any reason you've kidnapped me?" Sherlock asked, boredom written on his face. If Sherlock had to guess he'd say it was probably about 6:57 AM and John would probably be waking up any time now. The first thing he'd notice would be the lack of Sherlock within their shared apartment. Which then would lead to John looking for him high and low.

"Sherlock Holmes. My name is Special Agent Harlem. I'm on the hunt for a specific man and I was told you could help me track him down," the man said, agitation clear in his voice despite him trying to stay calm and composed.

Even from a few feet away, the scent of Special Agent Harlem's cheap cologne invaded Sherlock's nostrils. It was a disgusting and nauseating smell that burned his nose, it also told Sherlock that the man had been drinking beforehand, possibly hungover based on his body language. If he had smelled like alcohol but didn't have time to shower he would have used a cheap but strong perfume to cover the smell. Despite the perfume issue the man intrigued Sherlock.

"And who might have told you that? Are you sure your source is even reliable?" He asked eyebrow arched, his question clearly written on his face. He stared at Harlem expectantly, waiting for him to answer.

"Who they are isn't important, all that matters is if you can help me or not," Harlem snapped, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock. A smirk spread across Sherlock's face and a tiny chuckle bubbled in his throat. Now, this was the reaction he wanted. He had wanted to get under Special Agent Harlem's skin and he had succeeded in doing so.

Sherlock took Harlem's reaction into consideration for his analysis. The fact that Sherlock had even suggested that Harlem's source may be unreliable had upset him suggested that Harlem might have a close relationship with his source. Maybe a close friend, family member or even a significant other. Harlem's eyes narrowed into a glare and he moved closer to Sherlock, attempting to threaten him, which wasn't working very well.

"I may be able to help, I may not. But I'd be more inclined to help you, Special Agent Harlem if you were to untie me. Although I don't see why you would feel the need to tie me up, I'm not dangerous," Sherlock said, his smirk only growing wider as he met Harlem's gaze without even a flinch. Based on Harlem's face, Sherlock could tell he was all too happy about his request. Regardless Harlem moved behind Sherlock to untie him.

A sigh of relief left Sherlock as he moved his arms and rubbed at his wrists. Those were bound to have rope burn marks later on that day. But at this given moment that was not important. What was important was figuring out what Special Agent Harlem wanted.

"So Special Agent Harlem, who is this man you're looking for? When and where was he last seen?" Sherlock asked as he stood up, stretching his legs a bit. God, he must have been sitting in that chair for a while, his legs had gone stiff. Harlem sighed heavily and walked towards a table that sat across the room. He beckoned Sherlock over while opening up a file that lay upon the table.

"The man we're searching for goes by the name of Henry Bennet. He's wanted for the assassination of several Special Agents and he has been on a bit of a murder spree lately," Harlem explained, passing the file to Sherlock. Sherlock looks through the file absent-mindedly, taking note of any important information.

The file said that the dead bodies found were found in public places, hidden in plain sight. If Sherlock had to guess at what kind of mind this killer may have he'd assume an intelligent psychopath who knows how to hide. All that was left to do was to start looking for him.

[CB]To Be Continued...(?)