Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Tuesday
"Bloody hell," John muttered, staring at the sheet of paper in his hands.
"What is it?" Lestrade and Sherlock also stared at the papers that were spread over Lestrade's desk.
"Uh!" Sherlock exhaled, exited.
"What do you see?" Lestrade demanded.
"That's a nasty cocktail…" John started to explain, "This is a drug that is used in ICU for paralysing patients. It needs to be used in combination with sedatives, or the patient experiences a waking nightmare..."
"You are saying the bloke is paralysing and sedating his victims and then killing them?" Greg wanted to know.
"Eh, not really… and that's what's so nasty about it… I can't see anything in here that might work as a sedative," John stated in horror, scanning the sheets for more information.
"This one might even help to ensure the autonomous nervous system works fine," Sherlock added, pointing at a chemical formula that meant nothing to Lestrade.
Sherlock's voice did not carry any hint of emotion.
"Oh God. You are saying they were paralysed but fully awake?"
"Yes," Sherlock stated somewhat impatiently.
"Why?" Lestrade asked, clearly horrified.
"It would take over three hours to go over all the possible answers to that question, so grant me one or two days and I'll have reduced the possibilities to a number that can be explained in… maybe thirty minutes," Sherlock answered.
John rolled his eyes.
"The thing is, Sherlock, the last two victims were killed at intervals of nine days… The next nine days are over in… five days…" Lestrade reminded him.
"How long between their disappearances and their murders?" John asked.
"Seven to eight days, depending," Greg said.
"On what?"
"We don't know yet."
"Why didn't you call sooner?" Sherlock wanted to know.
"Don't start that discussion again. The first victim … it looked like suicide. I only got into this case last night when the second victim was found in London."
"Where was the first?"
"Plymouth… So in fact you were brought in really fast. Those results came in an hour ago. I called you immediately."
"Oh… There are indications here that they were paralysed for at least the last two days of their ordeal," John said, looking up from the report.
"Were there IV marks?… How was it administered?" Sherlock asked.
"We don't know. The body is at Barts with Mrs Hooper."
Sherlock turned to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Isn't it obvious, John? Barts, of course."
"Wait, wait. Let's take my official car. We can take the files with us, the ride will take some time during rush hour," Greg offered.
"I'd prefer a cab."
"No," came back from both John and Lestrade.
Now Sherlock was the one rolling his eyes. "You two can take the police car, then. Meet you there." He was out of the door.
"What just happened?" Lestrade asked.
"I'm not really sure... I… He seemed distracted but wouldn't tell me if he was working on another case," John worried aloud.
"He never liked police cars. But this if different… He's… he seems distressed, but that is so unlike Sherlock."
"Or depressed, but that's not like him, either. Something is definitely the matter, I plan to stay over there for a few days to find out what it is," John said.
"You're staying at 221b?"
"Not yet. Going over Thursday night."
"You know chances are high he'll figure out you are there to… watch him?"
"He likely already has, maybe that's why he's so distant."
"Maybe. Let's go and pick this up in the car."
St Bartholomew's Morgue
When John and Lestrade arrived, Sherlock was already immersed in a discussion with Molly while inspecting the body with some pincers and a magnifier.
"I found IV marks on the left leg," Sherlock muttered.
"Hi, nice to see you…" Molly greeted John and Lestrade, "That's probably why they were overseen on the first victim… or the perpetrator used a different technique then. Body of the first victim is on its way over here. I will do the autopsy first thing tomorrow morning."
"Thank you Molly. You are of great help, as usual," Sherlock muttered.
"Oh, you're welcome," she smiled up at him.
John and Lestrade raised their eyebrows and looked at each other, even more puzzled now.
"I'll call you later, Molly. Let's get something to eat?" Sherlock headed for the door. John and Lestrade followed, wondering who Sherlock was addressing.
"Thank you Miss Hooper," Lestrade smiled at her.
"Are you coming with us, Greg?" Sherlock's voice sounded like he was talking on autopilot.
John frowned.
What was going on? Had Sherlock just called Lestrade by his first name… accidentally?
Lestrade was too perplexed to say anything, and just hurried after them to the main entrance.
Outside, Sherlock had finally stopped at the pavement lifting his hand to call a taxi. John slowed down when he saw it which allowed Lestrade to catch up with John.
"He just thanked her and he wants to eat lunch… and he called me by my first name!" Lestrade and John were several steps behind Sherlock. "You really need to keep an eye on him."
"Do you think we missed more than one danger night?" John asked in a hushed voice.
"God, you think he...?"
"No!... No, I just don't know what to think. Any one of a hundred possibilities. You knew him back then, when he was… self-medicating."
"Yes, but back then he was not like he is now..." Greg hesitated. "Well, maybe the depressed part… but otherwise… no… He was rude and hot-headed, like a spoiled child, doing only what suited him, no matter how inappropriate. Sherlock-when-you-first-met-him multiplied by 10. Did he tell you what he was up to during the past 24 months?"
"Not really… He's kind of closed up about it. When he first tried to explain I gave him a bloody nose. Maybe he fears he'll get another one. You?"
"Not really… Though I called him a bastard and hugged him."
"He let you do that, or did he throw a fit?"
"He allowed it."
John raised his eyebrows. "Well, glad you did…. But all in all… this is not good."
Lestrade made an affirming noise. They got within ear-shot of Sherlock and loudly agreed to text each other if there were any news on the case.
They came nearer and a taxi stopped. Sherlock was already getting inside and for a moment, John feared he might leave without him.
When John sat down next to Sherlock he expected a knowing and unnerved gaze that said I-know-what-you've-been-talking-about, but instead, Sherlock sat upright, his back not touching the seat, staring into space.
The cabbie waited for John to nod then started the car.
"Where do you want to eat?" John would go along with whatever Sherlock suggested. His friend needed to gain some weight; he had become even thinner than he had been before his fake death. He did not look good at all.
"Angelo's."
The cab slid into the constant flow of moving cars.