Hey, so this would be my first Sherlock fic, and I'm having a lot of fun writing it! I really hope you guys like it; the rating might go up later for language, and some smut…maybe. I'd love if you would review and let me know if you liked it! Thanks!
(Sherlock belongs to it's respective creators and owners, I'm earning nothing off this.)
Chapter1: All in a Day's work
New Message: 5:30 AM
Can you please move your bowl of fingers from the microwave?
-JW
New Message: 5:32 AM
I'm trying to sleep, don't you always tell me I need sleep?
-SH
New Message: 5:33 AM
Get in the kitchen now. I'm not touching these.
-JW
Sherlock grunts angrily as he gets out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen. He briefly looks at John and wonders why he's up so early.
"Why are you up so early?" He asks as he opens the microwave.
"Because I've got the first shift at the surgery." John says shaking his head in disbelief at Sherlock as he places the bowl of severed fingers in the freezer. "I'll be back by noon. Try and get out of the house today."
"Lestrade will text me before nine, there's been a triple murder that he'll need my help on."
"Good." John sighs, thinking about how Sherlock hasn't left the flat for three days. "Text me if you want me to meet you somewhere when I get off work?"
"Yeah." Sherlock mumbles taking the cup of tea out of John's hands and draining it.
"That was mine." John protests as Sherlock puts the cup back into his hands and turns around.
"Have a good time at work John." He says leaving the kitchen and picking up his violin from the floor.
As john leaves the flat he looks back briefly at the lanky detective. His body is silhouetted against the hazy morning light streaming through the front window and an eerie melody pours from the room.
New Message: 11:46:
Just leaving work, where are you?
-JW
New Message: 11:50:
The Swiss Embassy, Bryanston Square.
-SH
New Message: 11:53:
I know where it is Sherlock. It's like right down the road from the flat.
-JW
New Message: 11:56:
Well, are you coming?
-SH
New Message: 12:00:
Yes.
-JW
As John rounds the corner and the Swiss Embassy comes into view, he sees three police cruisers, an ambulance and lots of yellow crime scene tape. The doctor makes his way past the officers guarding the premises, and finds Sherlock hunched over in the bushes.
"Hey John." Lestrade says as he approaches.
"Hey. What's going on?"
The older man motions to where Sherlock is examining something out of John's view. "Triple murder last night, the bodies were found behind the bushes around two AM. Three young women, all around twenty five." From the bushes comes Sherlock's correcting call,
"Twenty-three, twenty-four, and twenty-six, actually" The detective doesn't stand, or look up when he corrects Lestrade.
John goes to take a look at the bodies, and stands beside the crouching man, his left leg brushing Sherlock's side.
"Cause of death?" Sherlock asks, testing the doctor.
John kneels down, and looks at the women's faces. He supposes that they would be considered beautiful, heavy makeup, long hair, and posh clothing, but behind the make up, he can see bruises across their faces, and beneath one of their very low cut tops, can see deeper bruises across her chest.
"Since there's no blood, and bruising across the chest and face, I'd say that they were held down and suffocated."
"Good John." Sherlock supplies, "Anything else?"
John starts to shake his head, then sees something interesting, "the were at Club 333, shortly before their deaths."
"What?" Sherlock looks baffled for a moment as he gazes up at John.
John kneels down beside his friend and points to the dead girls' hands. On each of them is a blue stamped 333. "It's a nightclub in Hakney."
"Oh, that's quite far from here. They must have taken a cab, then been killed or, been killed there and dumped here, or…" Sherlock's monologue continues until he comes to the conclusion that their killer had to have killed them at the club or near to it due to the bits of gravel in their hair, that wasn't present at the crime scene. Then taken them to the dumping location in his own car, due to the way each of them had distinct fractures that implied they had been put in a cramped space, after their deaths. There is more to Sherlock's deductions that John doesn't quite understand, and eventually Lestrade is sent to the club to find out the possible suspects.
"Brilliant as usual." John sighs as Sherlock climbs into the taxi behind him.
"Your observation was obviously the most important though John." Sherlock states, smiling at the doctor.
"Well," John starts, but is cut off.
"I would have never known that those stamps meant they were at a club."
"Don't go clubbing much then?" John asks sarcastically, the idea of Sherlock in a club utterly hysterical.
"No, do you?" the fact that Sherlock thinks John is being serious forces a laugh out of the shorter man. "What?" Sherlock asks, looking confused.
"Nothing," John says still smiling, "No I don't go clubbing Sherlock, I know about 333 from my university days though, it was quite popular amongst the first year girls."
"A good place to pick up potential mates, I assume."
John just shakes his head and laughs again. "Why are we taking a cab? Baker Street is a fifteen minute walk from the crime scene."
"We're not going home." Sherlock says noncommittally.
"Where then?"
"Lunch."
"Where?"
"Mycroft's"
John balked. "What? You and me are going to Mycroft's place for lunch?"
"Yes, problem?"