Strange Coincidences: Johnlock AU

Chapter Eleven

It was a rare time, one that John greatly cherished, when all would be calm in 221B Baker Street.

There was one evening, when the fire flickered cheerfully and the light danced across the living room.

One evening, when Sherlock stopped jumping around frantically, when he curled up in his arm chair across from John and gently played his violin.

John was reading some mystery book, secretly watching Sherlock. The detective’s gaze lingered on John when he wasn’t paying attention.

It was all the perfect picture.

John absentmindedly sipped his tea, when his gaze inevitably wandered to Sherlock again, he was met with smoldering blue-grey eyes and a smirk that sent a chill down John’s spine. Trying to not choke on his tea, John set it down and with his heart pounding, he returned to his novel.

There was something sweet and dangerous in the atmosphere.

Just as it seemed something was going to happen in 221B Baker Street, something that would change John and Sherlock’s life, the sereneity was broken when the door slammed open.

It was Lestrade, who was panting.

“I rushed—“ he gasped, sucking in several breaths. “There’s been another one, exactly like the one that took place at the May Fair Hotel. She was found ten minutes ago.”

Like a switch, Sherlock’s languid movements suddenly became sharp. He fixied his gaze on Lestrade and narrowed his eyes. “What’s different this time? You wouldn’t have—” he paused, his eyes sweeping over Lestrade’s exhausted posture. “If there wasn’t something different you wouldn’t have ran over here. Which was rather dim-witted of you. A taxi would’ve been quicker.”

Lestrade ignored Sherlock’s last jab and he suddenly became more somber. “We believe Moriarty did this. He left a note for you Sherlock.”

John’s looked at the way Sherlock’s eyes seemed to perk with excitement. “Wait, wait. Who’s Moriarty?”

Sherlock turned towards John, and his eyes didn’t lose the excited glint. “I’ll explain on the way. Hurry!” Sherlock exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, grabbing his coat and scarf.

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Once they made it into the cab, Sherlock started rapidly typing on his phone. John sighed, he looked the splitting image of Anthea.

“You have questions,” Sherlock said, not looking away from his screen.

“Yes. Where are we going?”

Sherlock sent John a scathing look, “Lestrade told us a moment ago.”

“Yes, but why are we going? You solved the other case in less than five minutes.”

His eyes glittered and he lowered his phone, locking his gaze with John. “I never caught the killer. The case was never finished, there just wasn’t anymore evidence that could’ve led me to the killer. Perhaps this one will.”

“Okay. Well who is Moriarty?”

Sherlock smirked, “Good. You’re finally asking the right question.”

“Oi, don’t be smart. Answer my question Sherlock.”

“Do you remember those serial suicides you read in the papers, the ones that actually turned out to be the work of a serial killer?”

A faint memory of it came back to John, then his eyes widened. “Wait, you solved those?”

A grin, “Of course I did. Anyways, after I had caught the killer, he said a name, someone who supposedly sponsored the killings. A fan of mine.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed, “Do you know anything else about him?”

Sherlock’s expression shifted just the slightest. “No. I don’t.”

“Oh.” John leaned back against the seat of the cab. “Okay.”

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The rest of the taxi ride went by quickly, before they knew it they were arriving in front of the extravagant Rivers Hotel. John’s breath caught when he walked through the interior. Feeling out of place in his jumper and jeans, John suddenly wished he hadn’t stopped wearing his two piece suits. He’d fit in next to Sherlock.

Once they reached floor 21, Sherlock hurried towards the hotel room covered with police tape, leaving John scrambling after him.

John wasn’t ready for the sight that met him. The scene wasn’t gory, but god knows he’s seen his fair share of that, it wasn’t bloody either. The body that laid on the bed looked identical to his sister’s, the same way that the first victim did as well.

He tried to slow his erratic breathing. It’s just a coincidence

Nonetheless, John decided to hang back and watch from afar the magic of Sherlock’s deductions. Ten minutes later, with everyone’s brains fried from Sherlock’s rambling, Lestrade handed Sherlock an envelope.

Though John was all the way across the room, he could see the elegant red stamp on the back of the envelope.

“We haven’t opened it yet, but it’s been scanned for booby traps. It’s addressed to you Sherlock,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock examined the exteriror, muttering something John couldn’t hear from across the room, and opened and read the letter. To everyone’s disbelief, he tore it into pieces and tossed it out the window. John gaped at him. Sherlock never threw away evidence.

“Sherlock!” came Lestrade’s indignant voice. “You can’t throw away evidence like that. Forensics was suppose to take a look after you’d finished reading.”

“No,” Sherlock dismissed, already walking out of the room. “The killer’s too intelligent for that. Come on John, we need to go see Mycroft.”

John’s eyes widened. The two brothers despised each other. John suspected Sherlock would rather jump in the Thames than ask for his help.

John raced after Sherlock. “What was in that letter? Why are you going to your brother for help?”

As a shitty reply, Sherlock gave John one of his enigmatic half-smirks and turned away, back to tapping away on his phone.