Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Brilliant Minds	By : FairyBean Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not Profit from this writing and do not know or own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson or any of the other characters used in this work. I also do not own Sherlock (BBC) franchise or anything related to it.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Sorry it is taking so long to update this (and my other stories). I am getting to them! I promise :) Hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoy seeing that you read it.
----*******-----
Chapter 3: Stumping Sherlock

The box was padded, something akin to cotton balls cushioning the grotesque piece of flesh. Neither John nor Holmes were able to say anything for a short moment and then Sherlock laughed. It matched the picture, the one Kitty had given to him moments earlier. The mark on that piece of torn flesh, probably from some young girl. John was staring at him with one of those looks, the ones that told Sherlock his response to the situation was not the social norm but no one else was here, so it didn’t matter.

“John, look,” he breathed instead, leaning closer as John recoiled from the box that still lay upon his thigh. “There in the lid,” he pointed.

Sure enough in the lid of the box, probably written in blood, but with flowing fountain pen calligraphy were the words

‘Can you save her?’

Holmes swept the box off John’s leg and into the kitchen, to the lab/dining table that was where he kept his chemicals.

“Sherlock.”

John didn’t get an answer and Sherlock was murmuring to himself about residual shavings from the knife or possible fingerprints and the like. John stood up, the lid of the box hanging limply in his hand. “Sherlock we can save her, she doesn’t have to die,” he pressed and Sherlock waved a hand at him.

“Yes, yes. Get Lestrade and go to the alley two streets down from St Anne’s Court in Soho. It’ll be somewhere around there,” he paused, a drop of some clear solution hanging on the end of the glass dropper he held between his long finger and thumb. If he were hunched over he could almost pass for mad scientist. “You need me to accompany you?”

John almost forgot the severity of the situation as he looked into those huge round eyes and almost let the smile he was feeling creep across his face at the look. Sherlock of course knew it all, could read him like a book and maybe that was what made him stand up and step back from the table. He grabbed his scarf from the living room floor and with a slight longing look at the piece of flesh still on the slide he moved to the door.

“Mrs Hudson!” he yelled as he went down the stairs. “Mrs Hudson! Kindly leave the table as you find it, or better yet don’t go upstairs at all,” he breezed as she came out of her rooms. She tried to formulate a response, gaped and gave up. John smiled at her, he had been there many a time. Just smile and nod, and move on. He shared a look with Mrs Hudson as he followed Sherlock in his whirlwind walk to the door.

It was always the same, and since he hadn’t called a taxi he was going to walk to the main road. John hurried after him, wobbling a little on the one step that set him on street level. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket as he caught the detective and dialled Lestrade.

“There’s another, we might be able to save her…” he started and then proceeded to give the instructions of where, and a tale of what had appeared at the apartment.

“So they know where you live,” Lestrade said quietly, more of a thought but it stopped John dead in his tracks. Sherlock noted the movement and turned, walking backwards to give him a raised eyebrow.

“They know where we live…Sherlock they…”

He had stopped because Sherlock was smiling, smiling in that nurturing way he hardly ever did, and then only to John. Like a child needing encouragement to reach the obvious conclusion. “You knew?!”

Sherlock laughed and turned back to the front, not missing a step in his walk. “Of course I knew, what do you take me for?” he answered normally and John sighed.

“Of course,” he muttered and Lestrade laughed on the other side of the phone.

“On their way now,” he said “Will you be waiting?”

“Likely,” John answered, forcing his feet to walk again as Sherlock was waiting inside a cab with the door wide open. “Bring that evidence I wanted last time as well yeah?” he added and hung up.

The police beat them to it. Blue flashing lights contrasted with yellow police tape and people milled about looking like they were doing something. “Your fault,” Sherlock muttered as he got out of the cab and walked towards the tape without looking back. John sighed, paid the cab fare and then followed along to where he could see the inspector.

“Sherlock! You can’t-”

John laughed as Sherlock just walked into the scene, DI Greg Lestrade left gaping after him, ignored as usual. “Don’t worry, he’s sulking because you got here first,” John said, still smiling. Then it dropped as he took in the tape and the blue lights. “We weren’t in time to save her?” he asked, subdued and Lestrade smiled and cocked his head towards an ambulance.

John followed the gesture with his eyes and saw a woman wrapped in a blanket. He let go a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding and laughed. “We saved her. Sherlock we-”

He stopped then as Holmes walked out of the alley, he was covered in blood and staggering as if he were more than a little inebriated. “John,” he breathed as the police rushed towards him, as Lestrade put a hand under John’s elbow because his legs threatened to give out.

“Wh-what is this…Lestrade? What is this!?” he yelled and then he was beside Sherlock who was now on the ground.

“Trap,” Sherlock muttered as he moved to wipe his face. “Thought it was, doesn’t matter.” He shook his head and then met John’s eyes. “Don’t go in there,” he said as he closed his eyes and seemed to slip away into sleep.

Lestrade walked towards him, out of the mouth of the alley, his face looking ashen but resigned.

“There was a message,” he said handing a piece of bloodied paper to John. “They knew he was coming it seems. There was a…” here he paused a little and took in John cradling Sherlock. “Arent you going to get him checked out?”

John started and looked up, cursing himself as he just sat there with Sherlock in his arms. “Yes, help me!” he said immediately. Lestrade helped him, and the paramedics that were dealing with the woman rushed over to help get him into the ambulance then he was away.

*

John was sitting in another uncomfortable chair. He didn’t know how long he had been here, and he still didn’t know the extent of the damage. It was a bloody bomb, a bomb that was home-made and filled with glass shards. He grit his teeth. He should have gone with him, at least then he would have been warned somehow. Sherlock was such a child at a crime scene, he would touch everything without thinking about it first and-

“John?” the voice was soft but John stiffened. Mycroft Holmes was the last person he wanted to see right now. “John, what happened?”

“Murder case, he followed the symbols to a girl. We got there in time, well the police did. But Sherlock-“ he choked on the word as tears threatened to overwhelm him. “Sherlock went to investigate. I stayed to talk to Lestrade. I shouldn’t have. It was a glass bomb…he was hit, staggered out of the alley and into my arms.”

John looked down at his hands which were still covered in Sherlock’s blood. It was like some weird ritual but he wouldn’t wash it off. He wouldn’t leave here until he knew Sherlock was alright. That the detective would live another day. Mycroft laid a hand on a clean part of his shoulder in comfort but it was silent.

They waited, the beeping and the bustle of the hospital a comfort as well as a source of anxiety. The footsteps registered with John but he didn’t look up until he knew they were getting closer. Then he jolted, Mycroft coming out of whatever reverie he was lost in to take a stand next to John as the doctor made his way towards them.

He held up his hand as John went to speak but he didn’t seem sombre, as he certainly would if Sherlock was dead, so that gave John some hope. “He lives, barely. There isn’t anything more we can do, so after twenty four hours of observation he can be let home on bedrest. Do you understand what that means?”

John nodded. “I’m a doctor…” he muttered and then shook his head at himself. “Though I didn’t act like it.”

“It’s always those closest to us who make us irrational son,” the doctor said softly but nodded, satisfied that John would do as he was told. “He’s awake, though groggy from the drugs. So you can go see him if you like.”

John stepped forwards before he knew where he was going and the doctor smiled and led the way.

*

Sherlock smiled as John came through the door, but it vanished a moment later when Mycroft followed.

“You decided to wear that as tribute to my stupidity?” he muttered as he eyed John but knew from the drawn face, the worried and hopeful eyes and the severe mess he had made from running his fingers through his hair that John Watson had been near the end of his tether waiting to see what had happened. Because of that, there was warmth in his voice that John would hear.

John smiled and came to the bed, taking his hand. “Sherlock, I was so worried. You don’t get hurt!”

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. Then he spread his arms. “And I am no longer hurt, so everything is fine.”

He pulled John to take a seat on the bed and took his face, staring at him intently. “Hmm, six hours,” he said. “You need to go home, bathe and eat.”

John shook his head but Sherlock looked up to Mycroft and their eyes conveyed a thousand messages in those few seconds.

I’m glad you are alright.

When would I ever not be, but thank you for coming.

You’re my little brother

Of course. Take care of John awhile

Of course

And Mycroft let the touch of a smile ghost on his face. “Come on Mr Watson. Sherlock needs some rest, and we can come and pick him up in the morning.”

Sherlock let go of John’s face, feeling regretful but happy that John wouldn’t be alone. Even if it was his brother they had to trust. He lay back in the bed and let his mind wander over what he had seen at the crime scene.

There had been blood, but that had been his own, and came after.

The floor was damp in on place. Since the girl had been wrapped in towels and blankets that made sense as the place she had been lying. Why was she lying? Injured? Didn’t look it. Scared. Probably.

Sherlock opened his eyes then and nodded to himself. Yes she had been too scared to move though it didn’t explain why she was wet.

The alley was unremarkable, normal, waste spilling out of the bins, papers floating about. A shoe with a scuff along the front that shouldn’t have been there.

A new shoe, shiny and black. Size 9 and a half, 99% probability that perp is male.

Sherlock let a little sigh out of his lips as he remembered going towards the shoe, noticing a shiny something off to his left and being drawn towards it. Stepping over to it and hearing a little click that was all the warning he got before shards of glass pierced, cut and embedded themselves into his flesh. His first thought had been John. John’s safety. He needed to check that he was alright.

He had nearly fallen as he saw John safe and sound talking to the DI. Then John had seen him, nearly fallen himself and the police had rushed past him, John had taken him close as Lestrade walked into the alley to see what had gone on no doubt and then he was back and Sherlock passed out.

A wry smile pasted its way onto his face at the thought that John had been so worried, and his face had been happy when Sherlock first saw it, no doubt that he had seen the woman and so knew they had saved her.

He stilled completely then, his brain echoing words back to him. A note. They knew he was coming. Lestrade.

He fished for his phone in the pile of his things that was next to his bed. Flipping it open he text.

Note. Hospital. Now – SH

Then he flung the phone back to the side and waited.

*

DI Greg Lestrade was giving a meeting when his phone vibrated in his pocket, and a rather short tone played out. He simultaneously rolled his eyes and sighed.

“So, that’s about all the info you’re going to need. The APB is out. Let’s find this guy before we lose another life.”

There was rustling around the room as everyone made their way out. Lestrade hung back to look at his phone. He had to re-read the message twice before he understood. Sherlock wanted the note that he had shown John.

The DI shook his head and walked through to the evidence board for the case. It was set up next to his desk, a rather archaic way to set out a crime but a useful one nevertheless. He pulled the note off, made a photocopy which he stuck back in its place and then tucked the bagged original into his pocket.

He picked up the file that for obvious reasons he hadn’t had time to give John before, and trotted out of the offices into the street. Hailing a cab- he didn’t want to draw attention by turning up in a police car outside the hospital- was simple and he was on his way. He drew out his phone and typed.

ETA 10mins – GL

The reply was instant

GL? – SH

Lestrade rolled his eyes

You’d prefer LSD? – GL

Yes actually, but my substance abuse days are over – SH

Greg Lestrade blinked, then realised what he had written and chuckled to himself. He didn’t reply, putting the phone back in to his pocket and then waiting patiently as the cabby dropped him off at the visitors entrance. He paid and walked up to the front desk.

“Do you have a Holmes in residence?” he asked the woman at the front desk politely. She nodded and told him the room number as he showed her his badge.

*

Sherlock looked up when he heard the footsteps. There was no one that quite walked like the Detective Inspector. It was slightly heavier on the left foot, as if some old injury almost forgotten tried to prove it wasn’t as gone as it looked, and there was always the scuff of fabrics because Lestrade, amazing DI that he was, always walked with his hands in his pockets.

“Welcome,” he said as the DI walked in and seated himself in the only chair.

“Where’s John?” the first question made Sherlock raise an eyebrow but he didn’t see the harm so he answered.

“Gone to wash.”

Lestrade nodded as if that told him something but Sherlock let it go as unimportant when the note was placed in front of him on the bed.

“You look like shit,” he said with a half-smile. Sherlock nodded.

“I imagine I do not look my best,” he conceded and then stopped. “You brought the original.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes again and nodded. “And the rest of the pictures of the crime scenes and belongings of the other victims, plus the new pictures of the crime scene you saw. There are before and after shots. The after shots are in the envelope. If you don’t want to see them.”

“Why would I not want to see them?” Holmes asked as he tipped the photo’s over the bed and began examining them one at a time. Lestrade looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

Lestrade shook his head. “Sometimes I start to think you’re human, and then you ask a stupid question like that,” he said with a hint of disgust in his voice.

Sherlock looked at him for a moment. “I sent John with my brother, because he had been here since I got here, covered in blood and worried beyond anything I have seen before. So I have been alone here for the past hour waiting for you. Because I really wanted you to go and find out how they are doing.”

He looked away but there was a smile across the DI’s face. He stood and flipped open his phone. “Mycroft?” his voice was soft, warm and Sherlock looked back with slightly widened eyes. How did Lestrade of all people have his brother on speed dial. “Hmm,” he added as there was some noise from the other side of the phone. “Sherlock wanted to check on John.”

There was a long moment of silence then from the other side of the phone before Sherlock knew something was wrong. He was throwing his legs out of bed despite the pain it was causing and struggling into his clothes before Lestrade failed to control his facial muscles from the frown they were settling into.

“Where are they?” Sherlock gasped, and it would have been a steady tone but already blood was starting to seep through the bandages on his arms. Lestrade opened his mouth, the phone still to his ear. He heard his brother forbidding Lestrade to tell him but he narrowed his eyes and Lestrade hung up.

“Come on,” he said and grabbed a wheelchair. “At least to the street,” he added when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. As Sherlock took a moment to get into the chair he gathered up all the photographs and then smiled. He put them on Sherlock’s lap and they were gone.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Brilliant Minds