Not Bored Anymore

Connecting the Dots

Hola, hola, Buenos Noches my little nuggets. It has been FOREVER since I last updated, and I am so sorry for the few people who actually read my fanfiction. OOF. This will change, however, as I am making a promise to myself to continue writing once every week. I hope to publish this ASAP and bear with me if I don't. ENJOY!!

-Wholigan13

Sherlock

John and I arrived at the scene after a dull car ride. I mostly embarrassed John by holding his hand while Graham was watching. Or was it George? I can never remember any more. I've got enough to think about in the first place, names aren't important enough for me to care about.

We stepped out of the car and walked up to the steps of the house. It was a taller house, made with bricks and it had ivy crawling up the walls. Large trees shadowed the house and leaves fell onto the shingled roof. It looked older than the other houses on the street. The paint on the door was peeling off, due to time or because of the humidity we were having today. 

Why would the other houses look newer than this one? Perhaps this was the first house in the neighborhood? But this is not the first house on the street. I took a double take and glanced at the other houses. Aah, so this is the only house that hasn't been resold recently or upgraded. That means that the owner has lived here for a long time. 

I reached the door first and held it open for John. He blushed slightly, but it soon faded and he kept his eyes forward. I let it go as soon as John had walked in, and the door closed right in front of Grant's face, but of course, I didn't care. I immediately glanced around the house, stepping into the middle of the room.

Paint's peeling, the wood has been scratched multiple times. I leaned down and ran my hand along the floor. It is especially scratched in this part, the middle of the walkway, which would indicate a pet, most likely a dog, since cats never walk with their claws extended out of their paws. I stood up again and looked at the furniture. Food crumbs on the couch, which shows that the owner is a sloppy eater. Dog, sloppy eating, hasn't renovated. Most likely an old man lives in this house until someone killed him.

"Sherlock!" I heard John shout, and I looked over at him. I noticed that everyone was staring at me, so a look of confusion crossed over my face. Lestrade face-palmed in annoyance.

"You're stepping over the body, Sherlock!" John scolded. I looked down.

"Oh. Sorry."

John

Did he just apologize? In front of people? Greg had noticed too and was staring open-mouthed at Sherlock with disbelief. I grinned, proud that I was able to make the mighty Sherlock Holmes apologize for something.

Sherlock

When I looked down, I was extremely confused. A woman had died. A young woman. 

Bleached hair with extensions, surgically added tissue to her breasts, brand new shirt. The shirt is purple, and the skirt she was wearing was black. She had four-centimeter heels on her shoes, and not a single scratch was on them. Why would she show up at a house like this, dressed like she was attending a meeting? She must've been here to meet someone. Her hair was a short pixie cut and had a broach on her bobby pin, tucked neatly into her hair. The broach was not cheap, but she certainly could've afforded it on her own. She's probably single since her face is not beautiful for the average man's standards. Could she be a member of the Sisterhood?

"What have you got, Sherlock?" John asked. I hadn't noticed him or Lestrade approach, but now John was crouched down next to me, and Lestrade stood above us, observing the scene with a watchful eye. Not that I cared.

"Single, breast implants to attract more men. She's wearing new clothing, not wrinkles or hairs anywhere."

"So she was going to meet someone?" John offered. I looked at him adoringly.

"Yes, exactly. But she doesn't live here." John looked at me with confusion. I stood up and motioned for one of the officers to come here. A young man walked up to me. He had a rigid composure, and he almost looked shocked.

"I need you to watch outside for me. If you see an old man, possibly with a hairy dog, and he wants to come in, send him inside. Understand?" The young man nodded quickly and almost ran out the door to follow my instructions.

"Strange boy, hmm?" I asked John.

"How do you mean?"

"He looked shocked or something, possibly even scared."

"It's probably his first time seeing you," John said. I looked at him, and eyebrow raised. "Oh, you didn't notice?" he teased. "That boy was gay." Realization hit me. "I could tell just by the way he looked at you," John smirked, then went on examining the body. I was still shocked, and I stared into empty space as I processed what John had said. Well, it certainly wasn't the first time.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" I teased John, who blushed like a bright cherry. I continued as if nothing had happened. "Whoever sent this woman here knew that the owner was going to be gone, and also knew that no one would come looking for her."

"How do you know no one would come looking for her?" John asked. Do catch up, Watson.

"Because she does drugs." 

"How do you figure that?" Lestrade asked.

"I used to see her down in the alley that John found me in. She offered me a syringe once. So naturally she disappears all the time, so any family she has is sick of searching for her when they already know what she's doing." I searched through her pocket and found a wallet. Opening it, I looked at her I.D.

"Cindy Blaire," I said. 

"Wasn't Blaire the last name of Veronica, the other victim?" Lestrade mentioned. He was right. This woman was related to Veronica Blaire.

"Wait a minute," John said, pointing his finger at the photo. "I have two things to mention. One, Cindy is the same name as Veronica's boss that Aaron had talked to. And two, doesn't that mean Aaron was lying to us? He had to have been to say that he didn't know Cindy's last name." John was right. Not only did Aaron lie to us, the only reason he would've is because...

"Let's move. Where does Aaron live, Lestrade?" I asked, pulling my trench coat back on. 

"He moved into Veronica's house. He said he felt bad and wanted to take care of it even though she was gone."

"Come along, Watson," I said to John, "we need to ask Aaron a few more questions."