“Sherlock, can’t you leave me be this one time? I’ve actually got plans!” John fruitlessly pleaded to his flat mate who sat next to him in the cab. He had been living with Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker Street for a few weeks now and it was obvious that this consulting detective had gotten a bit too comfortable. Sherlock would constantly do this, drag him away from anything he was doing or planning on doing so that he would have an appreciative audience during a case.
John had not complained
much thus far; the cases that he was dragged into provided for incredible stories for his blog, but he was putting his foot down now. His younger sister, and quite honestly his favorite sister, Florence was moving back to the UK after studying and working in New York City. He and Florence had always been close, but when he pursued a career as a doctor and later joined the military to treat the soldiers in Afghanistan they lost touch. The occasional phone calls that they would share were nice, but he had wanted to see her again for some time. Now that she was moving to London, he intended to spend whatever time he had not promised to Sherlock with her. John had not explained that to Sherlock, though, not like he would care anyways.
“It’s a murder!” Sherlock shouted as though that fact was reason enough, “our recent cases, quite frankly, have been extremely dull.”
Dull?! Nearly being shot while on the search for a kidnapper is dull? John thought to himself.
Before John could voice these opinions to his companion they arrived at their destination. The rather old looking apartment building was swarming with Yarders. He could hear Sherlock groan slightly at the sight.
“We need to get in there before Lestrade’s idiots ruin the evidence.” With that Sherlock swiftly leapt out of the car.
John quickly joined him before grudgingly paying the cabbie for their ride. He was missing seeing his sister for this! The case had better be interesting or else he was going to punch that man.
Sherlock walked into the building. The first floor was crowded with the forensic team who gave him dirty looks as he passed by. From what Lestrade had told him, there had been a shooting in the study of a Mr. Leonard T. Gaffen, landlord of the complex.
The case was a breath of fresh air from the recent ones he had been dealing with; kidnappings and snobbish families losing their belongings. Thankfully he was not desperate enough to accept one of Mycroft’s unimpressive political cases. He held out for a good murder and that is what he got.
He continued walking with long strides towards Lestrade when he saw John catch up to him with an irritated look on his face. Watson had been giving him that look all through the cab ride. Yes, he knew that John had been going to meet someone when he informed him of the case. The fresh shave and carefully combed hair was a dead giveaway; but Sherlock assumed that the good doctor could wait for his date.
John sighed, “And this case is interesting why exactly?”
The detective opened his mouth but a greasy looking Anderson responded to John’s question, “It’s not really. Just a psychopathic girl who thought her rent was too high.”
Sherlock stopped abruptly and gave the head of forensics a fake smile, “Really, and how do you figure that?”
DI Lestrade, who Sherlock and John had originally been walking to, purposefully came between his employee and the duo.
“Sherlock, John. Hello-“ Lestrade attempted to greet them. Sherlock, however, was not in the mood for this. His hopes had been set high for this case and he wanted to know why a case that he had been called to had already been solved.
The detective chuckled, “Lestrade, you didn’t let Anderson come to a conclusion did you?”
“No, I did.” Sergeant Donovan said. She walked towards the small cluster that Anderson, Lestrade, John, and Sherlock had made.
John looked around him with a sort of sick look on his face as she and Anderson looked at the detective smugly.
“You see,” she began to explain, “This girl. She had originally reported the murder, and we assumed she was innocent. That was until we saw that she was the last person that Mr. Gaffen had called and that she had suspiciously just gotten off a flight from the US.”
The last fact reminded him of his little sister. He could not help but feel a slight paranoia as he heard it. “Um… Where is this girl again?”
Sally pointed at the ratty couch near the stairs to a slightly disgruntled young woman in a faded out band shirt and jeans with an oversized black bomber jacket.
“What the hell!” John had gone berserk and started running to the couch. His reaction surprised everyone in the building, including the handcuffed Florence Watson.