Love Has Limits

A Good Case And a Want For Tea

**IMPORTANT**

Don't worry I'm not going to bombard you with unwanted author notes but I need you to know that this is set after Reichenbach Fall but the only thing that changed is that Mary and John were never dating.

And this is my first story! Wish me luck!

Thanks for reading my trash.

Sincerely, the author of said trash.

Sherlock hadn't noticed that John was gone.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only, and most brilliant, consulting detective hadn't noticed that his best friend and colleague, John Watson, was missing.

It didn't really affect Sherlock all that much, until, of course, he wanted tea.

He had been lost in his mind palace all day; not leaving his flat, not eating and only doing the minimum to stay alive- which obviously involved drinking tea.

"John?" The question hung silent in the air like a fly on a web.

Or blood on fingers, Sherlock conceded. The case was still stuck in his mind, nibbling at the edges of his thoughts like any good case does. He picked at it yet again.

Three victims were murdered at around 11pm two nights ago on Tuesday. Killed with a single bullet to the head from a 9mm Luger handgun.

Quick, clean. Not as clean as poison, needless to say.

All were murdered within an indoor car park at three separate hotels, each exactly 1km away. But no-one heard the gunshot because at the exact same time a fire drill went off in each of the hotels. Coincidence? Don't be ridiculous. Each was started, 'accidently', by an employee, which means that they were obviously in on it as a distraction.

The victims- Kris Assith, Tac Dion and Rise Loct were all dead by the time the police and firemen had found them, lying in their own blood in the basement carpark.

They had no connections to each other personally, professionally or within affairs.

By gosh, they hadn't even shared the same cab driver.

But, they were all connected. Or, that's the impression they got from the crude numberings on their chests.

Sherlock gingerly picked out the photos of them from his mind palace, inspecting the deep wounds made by the same type of kitchen knife. Kris Assith was marked with a large '1', Tac Dion was '2' and Rise Loct '3'. The knife markings suggested slightly hurried cuts- but unworried-, with a sharp pointed knife tip obvious from the cleanliness of the wound. Each wound was made directly after the victims were shot.

There were also two phones left next to all of them- one of them the killers and one of them the victims. The killer's had no fingerprint.

It all pointed to the work of a gang or organisation, looking for long revenge judging by the careful passion of the homicide.

Sherlock relayed it so:

Three members of this killing group were working as employees in the hotels and had 'accidentally' started a large enough fire that everyone- or at the least the ones on the ground floor- would have to evacuate.

Before the fire alarm began, of course, the victims had been sent a text from the killer. It stated they were a worker at the hotel who had found their wallet/purse on the floor (it was safe to assume they actually stole it) and told them to meet them at the basement carpark. Dumb as they were, and having consumed alchol not very long before, they did as they were told and were, unsurprisingly, met with loaded gun.

The fire alarm served as a distraction and a silencer as the crowd muffled the sound of the gun shot. The killer had then carved their appropriate number into their victims body. They lay the newly bought phone that they used to text the victim, and which held no fingerprints, in front of the body. Getting out through the crowd disguised as a guest, they later got into a taxi that was waiting for them and took them to a meeting place. All the cameras had been hacked into and shut down for a 4 mile radius.

But, the thing that ticked within Sherlock's brain was that there was no reason to kill these people. All of them had low paying, average jobs, with middle class comfort and nothing to scrutinize their homes or family. One victim, Mrs Rise Loct, 25, had even recently come from France with poor English on a honeymoon with her husband, Mr Nathan Loct. Mr Assith, 47, was staying in another part of town for a work related trip and Mr Dion, 32, was simply staying at a hotel because his house was being built and didn't want to intrude on other family members' spaces.

Sherlock would've gone deeper into the deductions of their height and their current identity tracing had it not been for the overwhelming need of tea in his life.

"John!" Sherlock shouted- he did not wish to get up, "For God's sake, John where are you?"

Mrs Hudson came rushing suddenly into the room with a puffed face.

"Sherlock, I-"

"Where's John?" Sherlock interrupted.

"He's been out all day, dear, and you've been sitting like that for longer." Glancing down at his position on the couch with his usual button up shirt said nothing to him as to why she sounded so sharp, but he looked past that to take his time to finally get up.

"When did he leave?"

"Early afternoon. He said he was going shopping, but he's not back yet."
Sherlock looked up to the window and was surprised to see that it grew dark over 221B.

"Yes, ok. Can you make me tea?" He said quickly.

"You know, it's been odd between you boys. You should start to do things together that didn't involve blood and murder. Maybe go bowling or golfing. Did you ever play a sport, Sherlock? I always thought you had the build for it-"
"Tea?" Sherlock urged her, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I used to have a friend who loved to golf, she said it took all your worries right away-"

"Mrs Hudson, the tea!"
"- and she always bragged about her posture. Actually, she was a bit of a nutter. Oh, Sherlock, I'm going to stop talking to you all together if you keep up with that attitude."
Sherlock muttered a prayer of relief and pushed her along gently.
"Oh, dear me, don't want that now. But what can we do? Tea."