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‘Time of death,’ John glanced at his watch, ‘about three am.’
Sherlock grinned at him. It was eerie in the cold basement of the abandoned house they were currently in.
They had been called half hour ago, during their morning ritual of tea, toast and trying to decide what they would do to keep Sherlock occupied for the day. Apparently today they were solving the grisly murder of Natasha Scott, twenty-three, fourth in a string of similar homicides.
She was pretty, in an average sort of way. She fit the profile; average height, average weight, blonde hair. And the murder fit the MO; sharp blow to the head, taken unaware, hands removed and found in an abandoned house.
‘Exactly.’ Sherlock muttered. He whirled around the room and John didn’t even attempt to keep up with the speed of his deductions.
It had been a week since an interesting case had been put in front of them. This had been in the papers but Lestrade hadn’t come to Sherlock til now, four murders was too many to not ask for help. That meant that Sherlock was in hyper mode, throwing deductions all over, about everyone. John was on apologise-for-flatmate mode.
The end summary was that she was killed by a man, was very computer literate, university student and the man’s approximate height and weight.
‘Obvious.’ Was all Sherlock said when someone asked him to explain.
With a final twirl, flinging his coat all around him, Sherlock was leaving the room. John hastily followed him, not wanting to be left behind. They found a taxi quickly, or Sherlock did, taxis never stopped for John, and were on their way back to Baker street.
‘So, go on then, what didn’t you tell the police?’ John said, staring out the window on his side.
Sherlock’s smile came in full force, the one he used when he thought John was being clever, the one John loved.
‘One should never speculate without all the facts. I simply wish to confirm a thing or two before sending them off on a wild chase. They are good enough at that already, without my help.’
‘Basically you want all the credit.’ John smiled.
‘John, you know me better than that.’ the detective rumbled.
‘Yes. I do.’
He turned towards Sherlock and they caught eyes slightly. Then they were giggling like children. It was ridiculous. They had seen a gruesome murder this morning, were chasing the killer, and it looked like they were doing it without police back up. Could be dangerous.
‘Just tell me if we’re going to be attacked before it happens, yes?’
‘Of course, John. Couldn’t do without you on full alert.’
~~
When they arrived back at the flat Sherlock had raced inside ahead of John. He grabbed John’s laptop and curled up on his chair, looking like he’d be there for a while. John grumbled momentarily that Sherlock had his own laptop but in the end gave up and went to make tea.
Two hours later Sherlock let out a noise of victory and stood quickly, swaying slightly from blood rush.
‘John, look at this.’
The book John was reading was pulled unceremoniously from his hands and replaced with a laptop. The screen displayed a dating site: VampConnect. It was very gothic, dark colours, decaying buildings in the background. A profile was pulled up; a middle aged man, looking for twenty-something girls, wanted to meet in ‘haunted houses’.
John looked at Sherlock questioningly.
‘It’s the murderer. I’m sure it is. Those girls, what did they have in common? They didn’t have any mutual connections, hobbies, anything. But they were all found in old decaying houses. There were no signs of struggle so they went to the houses on purpose.’
‘Yes, I know all this. What’s this site?’ John said, looking back at it quickly.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at John as though he were being purposefully obtuse. ‘All of them were single. All of them were using this site, I hacked their accounts history remotely. All of them met the same man. This man.’
The laptop dinged and John looked down to see a chat box open up.
“Hey beautiful. We should meet.”
‘You’re talking to him?’ John asked, scrolling through the messages.
It was all very average flirting, Sherlock really wasn’t original, it was possible he was reading hints and tips online and copying them straight.
‘Wait, you’re not exactly his type.’ John said slowly. How had he- ‘Is that a picture of my sister?!’
Sherlock made a dismissive sound and pulled the laptop back out of John’s hands, settling back on his chair.
‘My sister. You’re baiting a serial killer using my sister.’ John shook his head. ‘Bit not good.’
Sherlock bristled and turned a glare at John. ‘You’re quite right, I’m not his type. It’s just a picture, I didn’t include name or any details; I’m not an idiot. I had to draw him out and this is how.’
John took a breath. Took a moment to calm himself down. Of course Sherlock could rationalise it logically and think it was ok. No morals.
‘So what? This guy is meeting people on the internet, luring them to creepy houses and killing them? Why? None of the girls showed signs of sexual assault. And all of them were missing their hands. How’s he choosing them?’
‘I believe choice is random. Whoever speaks to him and fits his profile is a possible victim.’ Sherlock worked his lower lip between his teeth and typed out a reply on the laptop. ‘It’s possible someone he knew, someone he liked, met someone online like this. Perhaps an ex-girlfriend, an unrequited love. Not enough data.’
‘Why the hands?’ John asked, leaning forwards in his seat.
‘In the bible David ordered his men to cut off murderer’s hands because they had committed the act. I believe it is similar to that, the hands are what wrote the messages on the site so they are taken off.’
John shook his head. ‘Right. So you’re talking to him online. What’s the plan, what now?’
Sherlock smiled that clever-John smile and stood abruptly. ‘He’s just sent me a meeting location and a time for later tonight. Now the game is on!’
John scrambled up and into his jacket quickly, racing once more after Sherlock. Before he left the door he checked the laptop, reading the address and sending a quick text through to Lestrade. Sherlock might think they didn’t need the police but it would be nice to have some sort of back-up when going to meet a possible killer.
~~
As they drew closer to the building Sherlock had reached into his pocket and pulled John’s gun out, handing it to the ex-army doctor. John gripped it firmly, holding it out of sight at his side.
John was sent in first, his build was approximately more similar to the girls they had found. John had growled out an insult to Sherlock when he had suggested it but in the end agreed to the logic. He stepped lightly forwards into the house.
The dust on the floor was heavy and John couldn’t see any tracks in it. He was looking out for signs of disturbance as Sherlock would have. The creaks of the house were putting his nerves on edge.
One particular creak behind him caught his attention. He wondered if it was Sherlock, but Sherlock had said he would follow in a few seconds, not right away. And the creak suggested a heavy weight, Sherlock barely made a noise when he was trying to go unnoticed.
John whirled, bringing his gun up and stepping back slightly. The person behind him, most surely not Sherlock, swung a heavy pole at him, missing his head by an inch but hitting his hands hard enough that his gun was knocked from his hands.
He jumped back again, avoiding a second swing and lunged down to where his gun had skittered. He heard vaguely Sherlock run in, with a loud yell, and a dull thud of metal connecting with flesh.
Grabbing his gun firmly he rounded on the attacker and yelled for attention. Sherlock was doubled over, but appeared relatively fine. The man noticed John on the floor, gun aimed at his head, and dropped the pole.
Sherlock dragged himself up and took a pair of cuffs out of a pocket. John scowled at him briefly and Sherlock shrugged.
‘Lestrade will never learn if he is not punished for his mistakes.’ He grumbled.
‘Greg will never arrest anyone without handcuffs.’ John said back, climbing to his feet but keeping his weapon level.
‘He will never arrest anyone period. Not without my help.’
They both chuckled softly. The murderer between them looking at the as if they were mad.
It was quite possible they were.
Lestrade arrived shortly and took in their killer. Slightly irritated Sherlock had taken his cuffs. Sherlock cut him off with a complaint about such an easy case and Lestrade didn’t speak again. He said something quickly to John about needing their statements tomorrow and let them leave.
John vowed to never meet someone over the internet. Sherlock agreed that would be unwise.