Chemicals And Deduction: Sherlock X Reader

Eleven

*Sherlock's POV*

"What the fuck do you mean you don't know? You're Sherlock fucking Holmes. World's only consulting detective. Find her!" John yells at me

"Yes John thank you, very helpful." I snap back.

"What happened?"

"She slept for a few hours, woke up and felt sick and said she wanted to go home, so I brought her back here, and then she got taken, after I left, obviously. They must have been waiting for her inside the apartment. I then figured out the the deaths were a message from Moriarty, saying that he had her."

"And it's definitely him? Definitely Moriarty?" John's voice trembles a little as he says Moriarty's name. It's not as if their past encounter was pleasant.

"Yes, there's noone else it could be, it could be a fake but this is too clever to be a fake." I run my hands through my hair and look up at a helpless and still out of breath John. I need to look at the last crime scene, Moriarty must have left clues somewhere there. There must be a link. I turn to Lestrade. "Tell me everything you know about the victim who had the last suicide note."

"Um, he was 37, took too many sleeping pills and died from respiratory depression."

"No no no, who was he? What did he do? I need every peice of information I can get on this man. He is the key. He's got to be." Lestrade looks completely clueless, so I look at John who just shrugs. Totally helpless. "AARGH!" I storm out if the apartment and start down the stairs to get to the street.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade and John yell in almost complete unison, as they come out of the apartment and follow me, at least 12 steps behind.

"Scotland Yard!" I shout back, God you would think that that was obvious. It must be just so boring with all the lights in their heads switched off. It's not that hard to be just a bit less dim, I can practically feel the cogs in their brain whirring and stalling, trying to keep up. Y/N would know what I was doing, if she was here. Sentement? Really Sherlock? Not now! I mentally curse myself as I run down the street to the main road, this is literally the least helpful time to emote. If you didn't emote you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. "Taxi!" Lestrade and John catch up, panting, just as a cab pulls up.

"Scotland Yard" I order as I slide into the backseat. There's something I'm missing. Something urgent, staring me straight in the face. Aagh, think back; Scotland Yard, Molly, Y/N, cab, flat, Olivia, dead, note. Note! The blood on the note wasn't from Olivia, it was from James. What if it was something more than that? He can't have just been a second hostage, he had no other links to Olivia and Moriarty isn't that messy! He wouldn't just leave anything that he didn't want to be there. No, it was definitely a clue. "Graham-"

"It's Greg!"

"Do you really think that's of importance right now? A woman is missing!" Lestrade turns away slightly, bows his head and mumbles something close to an apology, obviously ashamed. "Look, I need to know if there were any other crime scenes that had DNA from another victim." He nods and starts typing something into his phone, the tapping proving to be very annoying.

We get to Scotland Yard and Lestrade gives me all the information he has on Frank(ie) Michaels, which turns out to be not all that much. I shove everything off his desk, ignoring the loud crash it makes and the displeased look I gain from John. A priest working at Westminster cathedral, moved from Manchester roughly 18 months ago. Lived alone, only child so naturally married to his work, only possession found on his body was a cross chain, yada, yada, yada.

The door bangs open, followed by a smug sounding Donovan at the door. "The freak has lost the freak. How fitting." I pull myself out of my thoughts and roll my eyes, not bothering to turn around.

"For someone who is so critical of us 'psycopaths', you don't have much compassion towards someone who's been kidnapped. Just pass me the forensics and piss off." I put my hand out to receive the file, she shoves it at me, and as she trots off I pass it to John, who's brows are furrowed trying to understand the life of Frank Michaels. "Read it to me."

"O-okay" he stammers, opening the file. "Blood found at the flat of Olivia Williams belonging to James Young, we already knew that, but no other significant DNA evidence found at any of the other crime scenes. What does that mean Sherlock?"

"That I'm missing something." I reach into one of the draws on Lestrade's desk and pull out the file on James Young, carefully scattering the contents on the floor and pulling out the list of items found on his body after he had died. Mobile phone, keys, wallet and - aha - two panflets. I crouch down and pick out out the pictures of the fliers from the stack of papers on the floor and quickly scan them. One talks about how Jesus Christ will be forgiving of all sins if you accept Him into your life and are truly sorry, letting you go to Heaven. The other has the times of the masses and confession at Westminster Cathedral. Underneath the confession times it reads:

WEDNESDAY TO FRIDAY - 1400 TILL 1800
SATURDAY - 1030 TILL 1430
SUNDAY - 1630 TILL 1900

And for some reason I bet that that handwriting belongs to our Mr. Frank Michaels.

I jump up, startling the obviously now rather sleep deprived Lestrade who is looking through Michaels' information on the desk. "I know where she is."

~

Aha okay now I'm actually excited to write, I know where this is going for once! Sorry if I get anything wrong about the more religious side of things in this chapter or any of the next, please correct me!
~Floss xx