|Sherlock| Teen Spirit

The Case Begins

Sherlock Holmes was playing his violin in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains, this was the sight John Watson was faced with when he walked into the kitchen. He stared for a moment, wondering what was going through the "consulting detective's" head. Sherlock suddenly hit a bad note and spun around to face John who, caught off-guard, stumbled for an excuse.
"m-morning, do you want coffee?" John asked, regaining his composure. Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a text, which was checked immediately, because it was about time they got a case. John breathed a sigh of relief, turning back towards the kitchen to make coffee.
"what are you doing john? we got a case!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly, rushing to his room to get dressed.

~=+-+=~=+-+=~

John Watson shivered in the cold, his jumper doing very little against the weather. The crime scene was in the front garden of a quaint neighbourhood, the victim: a young woman of the name Amelia Roscoe, age 25. Lestrade told sherlock what he knew, John listened uselessly, wanting to be of more use but still shivering from the cold. Suddenly a new weight came over John's shoulders; it was Sherlock's coat, and very warm. John looked up to say his thanks but saw that Sherlock was already over the dead body, making his observations and peering through his tiny magnifying glass- something John loved watching him do, although he denies this to the end of the world. He was just getting his coat out of the way by putting it on me... John concluded with a scowl.
Lestrade came to stand next to Watson, speaking casually, "Blunt force trauma to the back of the head."
John glanced at him, "an awful lot of blood," Watson observed.
"yeah... poor woman," Lestrade commented, then cleared his throat, "her neighbour saw the whole thing, 'bout nine' at night, and quite dark, only saw their silhouettes apparently."
"where is she?" Sherlock asked, appearing next to Watson.
Lestrade vaguely gestured toward a paramedic vehicle, a woman sitting on the edge with a shock blanket.
Holmes pushed past the men to talk to her, "what did you see?" he asked bluntly.
the woman looked up at him, shocked, she stammered as she spoke, "w-well, I saw two people run out of the house- I was walking home at the time- and I saw one hit the other very hard with some sort of... stick, or something..."
"you called the ambulance immediately?" John asked, making his way over to sherlock.
"y-yes, but then I realised she was dead, so the police got down here at the same time," the woman responded, shaking, probably at the memory of the dead girl.
"did you know her?" John asked, feeling sympathetic towards the witness.
"no... me and my husband just moved here," the witness explained, "my name is Ruthie."
"My name is John Watson, and this is-" John looked to his left to see no sherlock, who had walked away when he had learnt everything he needed to know. The tall man was walking into the victims' house, "... Sherlock Holmes."

John ran into the house after sherlock, desperate to keep up. Sherlock was staring at the top of a cupboard containing expensive-looking china. Photographs dotted the surface. John stared for a moment, Sherlock looked so focused, his brow furrowed. John stared admiringly, then shook his head. Why am I staring? do I like sherlock? no, I'm not gay... I like women. John confused himself with his own thoughts, he realised sherlock had caught his stare.
"what is it? John?" Sherlock asked.
"Huh? oh, sorry, nothing," John replied, blushing awkwardly.
"the killer came through the back door, they were wearing gloves- there are no fingerprints- meaning the killer had planned this carefully," Sherlock was smiling now.
"Let me guess, you're smiling because you like when the killers are smart," John observed
Sherlock frowned, "i do not-"