Fight for Me

Chapter 3

"What do you want, George?" Sherlock snapped, glaring at the interruption. He had been in his Mind Palace, solving a five-year-old cold case and had almost figured it out when he was so rudely pulled out by John who informed him of their guest.

Detective Inspector Lestrade's face fell as Sherlock used the wrong name, yet again. He started to correct him, but upon realizing that it was pointless, closed his mouth.

But this made Sherlock grow even more impatient, "well? Are you just going to stand there?"

"There's been a murder," Lestrade managed to get out, Sherlock unimpressed.

"Of course there was a murder, you're a homicide detective and you've come to me for help. I was hoping for something a little more specific."

Lestrade decided to ignore this rude comment and continued, "It was at a theatre, happened right in the middle of a show, exactly how the character was supposed to die."

"Prop gun swapped out for a real one?" John guessed, assuming that the majority theatre murders were committed by replacing fake weapons with real ones, at least that's what happened on the telly. And that meant loads of suspects with how many people could have come in contact with any given prop during a show.

But Lestrade shook his head, "no, it was strangulation, the body was hanging from the lighting rig and come down over the stage right before the end of act one. But the thing is, the actor had no reason to have been anywhere near the stage, they use a dummy in the show and it's preset before it even starts. Someone had to have swapped out the dummy mid show because the actor was alive and well before his character's death."

This seemed to pique Sherlock's interest and he rose from his chair, keeping his excitement from showing on his face. It had been a while since he had had a proper murder, at least a fresh one, and he was starting to get rather bored.

It didn't take long for the cab to arrive outside Her Majesty's Theatre, Sherlock climbing out and rushing inside the building, leaving John to pay the cabbie. The entire place had been shut down; audience members were not allowed to leave and the cast and crew were all gathered backstage. Lestrade probably assumed that one of them had committed the crime as the killer would have needed to have been backstage, a conclusion that even Lestrade could come to.

The curtain was closed, obscuring the body from the audience but allowing him to continue hanging until photographs were taken and Sherlock had a chance to see it. The actor, Jacob Dawson, was dangling from the middle of the lighting rig, as Lestrade had detailed, with no way to lower the body except to fly it in using the pulleys offstage. So how had someone managed to fly in the leg, replace the dummy with the real actor, and then fly it back out without anyone in the audience or backstage knowing?

"I need to get closer to the body," Sherlock announced after taking in the scene.

Lestrade nodded to one of the officers, who was waiting to fly in the body once he got the signal. As he lowered the body to the stage, the forensics team laid the body out on a tarp. Sherlock approached the body, noticing the bruising around the man's neck. It matched the thick rope of the noose tied around his neck, meaning he had to have been alive before he fell. Why hadn't he called out for help then? Unless he had been drugged, though for that Sherlock would have to await the toxicology report.

As for the man himself, he was harder to deduce. It was his first professional role, he was no doubt extremely excited. But also nervous, judging by the state of his chewed nails. He had no close friends or family, or else they would have come to see his West End debut and Lestrade would have pulled them aside for questioning were they at the show. He was unmarried, early thirties, and traveled a lot. There was a small black and white tattoo of a wilting rose on his right wrist, though Sherlock did not know its significance to the man.

"Have you got anything, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as he got up from his crouched position next to the body.

Sherlock recounted his observations, glancing up at the rigging system as he spoke. There was no way that the killer got up there on their own, unless they climbed up from the loading gallery and swung to the correct pipe. But that would have been difficult to do without being seen, never mind with a drugged actor to haul along as well. So it seemed more logical that Mr. Dawson had gone up on his own accord. But why?

"Does he having a dressing room? Any personal effects?" Sherlock asked, bringing his gaze back down to the stage.

Lestrade nodded and headed backstage, "he shares a dressing room with many of the other cast members, but he does have his own station. Not much there, unfortunately. Do you want to interview any of the cast and crew?"

"Why would I want to do that? He was a new addition to the cast, I doubt he pissed anyone off enough during rehearsals to murder him. Besides, this was someone who knew him personally, someone able to convince him to go up to the loading gallery, even knowing that he wouldn't be coming down. Blackmail? It makes the most sense. He wasn't close with anyone, so they had to have used something from his past. But what information would be important enough to kill yourself during your West End debut? Why would he throw his newly found career and life away?"

"What makes you think he wasn't close to anyone?" John asked as they entered the dressing room.

"It was his West End debut, John, they would be here to support him."

"What if they were busy?" Lestrade inquired, making Sherlock frown.

"Doing what? He would have known the date of his first performance for a while. If they really cared about him, they could have made plans around the show."

"Not if they had performances of their own," Lestrade corrected, savoring this moment as it was a rare occurrence that he knew something Sherlock didn't. "He's part of a theatre troupe who travels the world giving concerts. They have shows at the Brasserie Zédel this weekend, probably why they couldn't make it."

Sherlock stared at Lestrade, confused as to how the idiotic detective could have figured out something that he hadn't. Sure, he hadn't done a background check on the victim, but with the travelling it did make sense.

"The Brasserie Zédel?" John questioned, causing Sherlock to perk up. "Are you sure?"

Lestrade nodded, "yeah, he had been telling the other cast members about it, why? Does that mean something to you?"

"I have a friend in that group."

The pieces came together for Sherlock and he tore his eyes from Jacob's makeup station. "Lydia, I presume? Fancy going to a musical theatre performance, John?"

"You can't seriously think she has anything to do with this, Sherlock."

"Never said she did, but she will know the victim a lot better than anyone here. If he was in any sort of trouble, she may know."

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(A/N): Oh and thus it begins! Can anyone name which show (and maybe even the role) that Jacob was in? Also, in case you didn't realise, the picture at the top of the is the tattoo Jacob has except its smaller and on his wrist. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!