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Guilty Pleasures	By : CodyMThomas Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 8167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content associated with BBC Sherlock, I am merely playing with them for my own amusement and make no money from this fic

Chapter List
- 1-Guilty Pleasures
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-Chapter 12
- 13-13
- 5
- 6
- 7
Sherlock hated the inane media idiots buzzing like flies around a dead corpse, or corpses in this particular instance. This case had better be interesting, he may have been BORED lately, but couldn't this have happened later this evening or even a day later? John would have continued last nights activities this morning, continued them for another few hours at least before going and making breakfast and serving it to him in bed then giving him an earth shattering blowjob and maybe even helping him bathe. John had done that once, after the first time. Annoying as it was, Sherlock really DID have a difficult time standing for any amount of time that day, he hadn't had any time to prepare for John's unexpected reaction, a fact he never overlooked again. While showering would have been very difficult to manage, sitting in the bath would have been even harder to get out of. So John had given him a sponge bath in bed.
Even so much later, Sherlock couldn't figure out just why that had made his pulse race so fast he was dizzy, how the simple application of soap and water with a flannel that wasn't held by his own hand, could be so completely enthralling, arousing, and sensual. It hadn't been a sexual experience for John, yet Sherlock had been so achingly hard that he'd had to bathe his own genitals to prevent embarrassment, a move he would later regret wholeheartedly. He had been trying to recreate the experiment ever since. He wanted to know if it was the fact that it had been John's hand touching him, or the fact that the experience had happened in a bed and his instinctual brain had taken the act as sexual, or if it was a combination of those and other factors that had made the simple act of John giving him a sponge bath, the same as countless nurses around the world gave their patients everyday, the same as he had experienced himself a few times during his lengthier visits in hospital, into one of the most singularly stimulating, arousing, and wonderful moments of Sherlock's life.
But twenty-five people had died, so he supposed that was something interesting even if later in the day would have been better timing, unless they had all been tediously killed, in which case he would never forgive the murderer for ruining his morning in bed.
They were led inside and Donovan as always, was guarding the tape, having been pulled from yet another tryst with Anderson. He couldn't fathom what she saw in the brainless moron. He pasted on the smile that always raised her hackles and walked straight towards her instead of further down closer to the crime scene. "Good Morning Sally, lovely day for a mass murder isn't it? Hope that three AM call didn't interrupt anything torrid."
"Freak. Think you can prove this one wasn't you too, do you?"
"I keep my airtight alibi with me at all times. Too bad yours has to keep running back home to his wife."
The fire in her eyes, her desire to punch him, Sherlock kept pushing her to try it, wanting her to get her well earned retaliation. But knowing that John would break her wrist if she tried, she held her temper. Pity. She lifted the tape and pretended she wasn't affronted. At the evidence prep John put on the required coveralls, booties, gloves and hair cap, Sherlock grabbed a pair of gloves and a thin face mask once he learned it was being considered a possible bio-hazard.
Lestrade met them at the door and Sherlock could see that something about this case was getting to Lestrade already, something had hit home. "What can you tell me?" Sherlock questioned of Lestrade, trying to get the man to snap out of whatever place in his brain he'd gotten stuck in.
"Twelve women, thirteen men, almost all had ID's on them, jewelry and wallets intact, ages range from twenty to thirty-six for the women, and twenty-four to forty for the men. No definite links as to why they might have been chosen, cause of deaths undetermined and that's mainly what I want from you right now, we can sort out the rest later. I need a cause of death, so I know whether this was a bio terrorist attack or something else. A profile of who we could start looking for might be nice too, but that's it for right now until I can get those hyenas to back off. We have taken photos and fingerprints and we don't know what was disturbed yet. We've got the kids who found them getting their prints run to rule them out, and taking DNA swabs as well to be safe. We don't know who else besides one of the kids parents tramped through here yet, but I'm dying for you to tell me who did so you give me a reason to haul them in for questioning and bully the snot out of them for as long as I'm allowed to."
"You said almost all, how many haven't been ID'd?"
"Two men about age thirty-five or so. No coats, no wallets, but their watches were still in place so we don't think they were robbed."
"Near the door?"
"Yeah, first two in the room."
"Excellent. How many men do you have at the moment?"
"Few over twenty why?"
"Order them around the back of the barricade, block in the press and don't let them out. John grab that biosuit and put on a face mask, Lestrade you too." Sherlock put on the medical mask and a hair cap and started suiting up in the biohazard gear.
"Sherlock what are you doing?" Lestrade asked, as John obediently started suiting up.
"A favor for you, now come on before they try to make a break for it." He said and went back the way he came, John close beside him. Lestrade swore and suited up as well ordering some men around back of the barricade to keep the press in no matter what.
They ducked back under the tape to Sally's puzzled look, and made their way straight to the line of press. Bulbs flashed dozens of times a second and reporters started shouting a hundred different questions. Sherlock just stood there waiting patiently for two whole minutes before the racket died down, none of them had noticed they were no longer able to leave. Sherlock raised his hands for silence and every last one of them shut up. In a smooth, clinical tone with absolutely no hint of his public school accent, he spoke to the crowd.
"Will you please lower your cameras, and turn off your video? I think all of you have taken sufficient pictures of me for the moment, and I would like to see who I'm talking to. I don't mind being on record, but I doubt what I have to say will be anything you want to report on just now anyway, so I'd rather not waste your tape. Thank you. We are in no way trying to silence the press, let me make that quite clear right now, but I doubt this is anything that any of you will want to talk about, so I thought we could just keep it between us. First of all has anyone left since you arrived, are we missing anybody? Good that makes my job a whole lot easier. My name is Doctor Riley Westfield, and I'm sorry to say that some journalists eager to catch a scoop on this story made use of the crime scene for their own purposes before the site was contained. The morality and legality of such a thing not withstanding, and something I personally couldn't care less about, we have reason to believe that this may have been a biological terrorist attack. Therefore these people have not only exposed themselves to the same deadly mutated pathogens which claimed the lives of the victims, but since you are all standing in a group, they could still be passing it on to the rest of you as we speak. Everyone present has to be placed under a mandatory quarantine for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours depending on what we find, and we will be running tests to make sure you are alright and not carriers. Your equipment will be taken and cleaned and returned to you as soon as possible. We also discovered high concentrations of radiation but not yet the source, so this place might have been used as an illegal dumping ground for nuclear waste, we don't know yet but will keep you informed, so please tell someone immediately if you begin to experience signs of nausea, headache, or skin irritation. If you would please leave your equipment here with Doctor Rumstead and then follow my associate Dr. Hamish, we will get everybody situated and comfortable as soon as possible."
One by one the grumbling reporters and cameramen set their equipment down at Lestrade's feet and followed John to an open area off to the side where chairs were able to be set up completely away from the rest of the activity.
"What on earth are you doing Sherlock? They'll all have my head for this, not to mention my boss!"
"How is that when they don't know who you are and can't see your face Dr. Rumstead? You also don't exist so I doubt your name will come up. Erect a quarantine tent over them, and you have medical resources available. Draw blood, and give them shots of saline and vitamins, they'll never know the difference. You have them for up to two full days if you want, that is up to forty-eight hours of media silence, and if anyone else breaks the story before then you'll have another person who was in that room besides the blond woman in the purple suit. Here, give this to Anderson, have him put some on his gloves before he touches her, and makes sure he touches her hands. Don't look at me like that it's just powdered rose hips, common itching powder. It will give her a scare and probably teach her to go poking about things she shouldn't, and when you take their clothes and personal belongings before their decontamination shower you'll find the wallets of the two missing men in her pockets. And since they willingly surrendered their tapes you can check them for further evidence to see what else they tampered with. A high-powered magnet will ensure that her tape is unusable, or just insert a blank one. You're welcome." And with that Sherlock turned around and headed back into the building to view the crime scene.
He ditched the bio suit, grabbed several pairs of gloves and went inside. In a space of about ten square meters the bodies lay helter-skelter, men and women of varying ages, some curled up tight on their sides, a few men who looked like they had begun fist fights with each other. Several had vomited, and a few had obviously had seizures. Hundreds of details flicked through his mind about each one, and finally he saw what had Lestrade so shaken. The youngest girl, age 20, she had clawed herself bloody and seemed to have been trying to eat her own arm, and looked very similar to Lestrade's oldest daughter that the man had a picture of on his desk, was even wearing something similar. He checked the wounds, smelled the air, made observations, his list was getting shorter and shorter when John finally entered the room and immediately swore. "Jesus Christ."
"Good you're here. No needle marks on the arms. I need you to confirm something for me help me start lifting their shirts and pulling down trousers."
"Shirts and trousers?"
"Yes, shirts and trousers, aren't you listening? Many signs add up but others are off, and there's also a slight tang of fruit in the air don't you smell it? They must have been given a cocktail, it's the only possible explanation, and if it wasn't given intravenously or orally that leaves subcutaneous or muscular injections. Look for needle marks." He lifted up the first shirt and saw exactly what he expected to see. "John, if someone came to you complaining of desperate thirst, constant hunger, abdominal cramps, nausea, and dizziness, what would be your initial diagnosis before running any tests?"
"I would suspect, I don't know, Diabetes or Hypoglycemia probably. I would need blood work to be sure."
"And smelling of fruit?"
John's eyes went wide. "Ketoacidosis. Oh gods were they all diabetic do you think?"
"There are injection marks on the stomach, consistent with insulin injections, but I'm not seeing marks older than a few days at most, and their fingers show no signs of frequent blood test-..." Sherlock felt his eyes go wide as his mind stopped its train of thought and switched to a different conclusion entirely. "Oh clever, clever little murderer aren't you? John, there are three diabetic techs on this team, get their blood monitors and tell them I will pay them back for the lances and test strips if I have to, but get them, now."
Lestrade walked in moments later with a bit of a grin on his face. "Anderson's getting down right vicious with that woman as he's poking her with needles. I think this is the first time you have ever made him happy with one of your stunts. She's itching like she's got fire ants down her shirt. Once we are done with her we're going to be carting her off for pickpocketing, stealing evidence, and tampering with a crime scene in front of all her media pals who aren't too happy at the moment. So what have you found in here so far?"
"Possibly the murder weapon. So far I am seeing signs of steroids and possibly even a bad trip on LSD for the girl who tried to take off her own skin. "
"Are you saying they all overdosed on illicits?"
"No I think they were all murdered slowly over a period of several days on a killer cocktail that kept them so confused, weak, and sick they couldn't fight back. Obviously these are all people without a hugely caring family since your office hasn't been flooded with twenty-five missing person's reports over the past week. I also think the murderer watched it from beginning to end and probably administered some if not all of the injections himself."
"What do you think they were given?"
"I have a very good hunch, but I'll know for sure as soon as John comes back."
John returned a moment later with two of the glucose monitors and Sherlock grabbed one and tested the closest victim he could. The readings were unmistakable.
"Only four points. He would have fallen unconscious long before that."
"This one was at twelve before she seized out and choked on her own vomit." John announced from the victim he had checked.
"So the connection was they were diabetic?" Lestrade questioned.
Sherlock fought to not sigh in exasperation.
"No I highly doubt any of them were diabetic at all. Besides being obviously dead the victims are all in the peak of health; fit, active, and very low body fat. They are also, as society would declare them, attractive. Insulin dependent diabetics are very prone to weight gain and swollen ankles even if rigorously maintained. Going without their shots for a few days would cause them to have very high levels of blood glucose since their bodies can't produce enough insulin to digest it. They would have gotten sick, possibly even hit coma status if they were bad enough, a few of them might have had their blood sugar drop, but that isn't the case here. They have all bottomed out, with the signs of extreme hypoglycemia and ketoacidosis, everywhere."
At Lestrade's puzzled look Sherlock finally rolled his eyes.
"In a week or less they were all intentionally starved to death. It's not possible for all of them to have naturally died of hunger in such a short amount of time, they were too healthy. Your murder weapon is insulin, laced with steroids, and possibly even adrenaline, LSD, and THC. He kept their bodies in an extremely heightened state of panic and need to consume energy, and then he didn't feed them, or if he did, he made sure there wasn't enough for everyone, in order to make them fight over it for his amusement. They didn't have high fat reserves to begin with, so their bodies would have begun burning muscle for energy as well, and if he didn't water them often, the ketoids from the fat and muscle burn built up higher and higher and resulted in the ketoacidosis. They would have all been desperate with thirst and hunger, the muscle pain and stomach cramps would have been unbearable, the headaches, nausea and confusion would have made it hard to fight back, a few of them, already doped up on steroids, became even more combative and started fighting each other, the lucky ones were knocked out, the unlucky ones slowly had their blood sugar keep dropping until they either seizured or their brains just shut down and slipped them into a coma until they just stopped breathing because their brain couldn't give the command. With how close together they died he knew exactly what he was doing. He also stayed to finish the job once they started dropping dead. Judging by the beard growth on the men, I'd say they were kept here for about five to six days before he finally let them die. It was a tortured way to do it, and he enjoyed that pain.
Your murderer is probably male, most likely somewhere in the mid to late thirties, true psychotic, probably diabetic, with very poor self-esteem, and a god complex. Probably grew up poor or abused, someone who has actually experienced starvation, and now wants to inflict the feeling on the 'perfect people' of the world who either turned a blind eye to his situation, looked down on him, refused to help, or caused the situation in the first place.
He also has access to both medical grade pharmaceuticals and street drugs, considers himself terribly clever, and is very careful with how meticulously he chose his victims, so he would have profiled them and stalked or gotten close to them weeks before their disappearance. He will be someone who people would easily trust or be in a high level of authority, perhaps even a doctor turned bad. This is not his first kill, in fact it's probably not even his tenth kill. Go back for at least ten years and look for similar deaths that were ruled as suicides or natural causes, if they were ruled as murder then there was very little talk about it or it was scattered all over and at a great enough distance that they haven't been linked. This is supposed to be shocking to us. He's tired of not having the attention of the media or being credited for his work. He's looking for attention, so if you give it to him the deaths will either stop or he will step it up to get even more attention, depends on his motive for wanting it. Personally I would play up the bio-terrorist attack angle in the media because it will piss him off that you all missed his 'brilliance', otherwise it might be hard to get him to make a mistake because he's already so practiced. Meanwhile look for patterns in those other deaths and get back to me."
Sherlock left the room and was just evidence binning the gloves and mask as Anderson came in. The man was in a tolerable mood today so Sherlock was ignoring him for the most part and reached for his coat. He didn't miss the small gasp of breath from Anderson however.

A/N: Yep, that's why there is so much angst, feel free to slap Sherlock for it.
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Guilty Pleasures