Fic: All That is Gold (2/3)
Title: All That is Gold
Chapter Two
*~*~*~*~*~*
“Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh,” John said and Sherlock felt a shock of pain rage shoot through him. Rage, rage, rage because his hoard was being insulted. But… if his little thief didn’t like his hoard, didn’t want to steal anything from it, then how was Sherlock supposed to keep him and study him and uncover the mysteries of reincarnation? “So this is all ...”
“Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit,” Sherlock said, trying to throw some things into a semblance of order. That had been a complaint of Bilbo’s, hadn’t it? That Smaug’s horde had been the greatest treasure he had ever seen, but it was such a jumbled mess it was hard to appreciate.
It only took a few seconds of that before Sherlock decided to give it up. He liked his hoard as a jumbled mess; he’d just have to try something else. (Data: Hobbits seem to have an affinity for cursed rings. Data: Mycroft could easily obtain a cursed ring. Data: Mycroft might try to take John for himself. Conclusion: Unacceptable level of risk.)
“That’s a skull.” Sherlock looked to John, who was now pointing his cane at the preserved skull of Thorin Oakenshield. Sherlock had displayed it to let aspiring thieves know that even someone who successfully stole Smaug’s hoard lost in the end, but saying as much didn’t seem like a good way to ensure his little thief stayed.
“Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ ...”
*~*~*
It wasn’t until Sherlock was about to hail down a taxi to go to the scene of the fourth ‘suicide’ that the solution to his John problem occurred to him. (Data: Young Bilbo loved adventures. Data: John was a young Bilbo. Conclusion: John loved adventures. Hypothesis: John would enjoy solving crime with him.) Sherlock turned around and ran back up to 221B. “You’re a doctor. In fact you’re an Army doctor.”
“Yes,” John agreed, clearly not sure what point Sherlock was trying to make yet.
“Any good?” If Sherlock was going to have John as an assistant, he’d prefer, though not require, it if John was competent at it.
“Very good,” John assured him.
“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Bit of trouble too, I bet.” Sherlock felt a bit of a smile playing around his lips and he suddenly he realized this was fun.
“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.” John’s voice went softer then, but for once Sherlock was sure it wasn’t part of some missed social cue on his part.
“Wanna see some more?” Wait for it…
“Oh God, yes.” (Conclusion: Hypothesis accepted.)
*~*~*
“The police don’t consult amateurs,” Sherlock concluded, before turning away to the window. He didn’t think John would leave (Data: John showed up at Baker Street after Sherlock’s brief demonstration yesterday. Data: John’s limp was 42% less pronounced leaving 221B for the crime scene than it had been upon arrival. Conclusion: There were 3:1 odds that John’s curiosity and thirst for adventure would outweigh his anger. Conclusion: Acceptable level of risk.), but that didn’t mean Sherlock wanted to see the furious reaction.
“That ... was amazing.”
Sherlock turned back around, surprised. Sherlock was never surprised. (Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and greatest of Calamities.) Ah, of course. John was in need of a flatmate, and this would hardly be the first time Bilbo had flattered Smaug to get what he wanted from him. “Do you think so?”
“Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.” Sherlock watched John closely, but there was nothing, not even the slightest twitch, to indicate he was lying. Clearly, John was either an actual sociopath (Data: Bilbo had not been a sociopath. Data: John had been Bilbo. Conclusion: John being a sociopath was statistically unlikely.), or he was actually telling the truth.
How unexpected.
*~*~*
Sherlock entered 221B, pink suitcase in hand. (Data: John was not here. Data: Thorin’s skull was missing. Data: Mrs. Hudson-not-his-housekeeper had cleaned. Data: John was not here. Conclusion: Mrs. Hudson had taken the skull.) He threw the case down on the couch so he could begin riffling through, careful to leave everything as he found it. (Data: John was not here. Data: There was enough clothing in the case for an overnight stay. Data: There was no laptop in suitcase. Data: John was not here. Data: There was no phone on either the body or in the case. Conclusion: The killer had the woman’s phone. Data: JOHN WAS NOT HERE.)
Well, he could hardly contact the killer himself, his number might be recognized. He’d have to get John here to do it.
Baker Street.
Come at once if convenient.
SH
*~*~*
“I’m just saying, it’s all fine,” John said, looking frighteningly sincere.
(Data: John did not remember he had been Bilbo. Data: John did not know Sherlock was the Sherlock Bilbo had met in Rivendell. Data: John did not know and Bilbo had not known Sherlock was Smaug. Data: John did not remember Smaug had killed people Bilbo had cared about. Theory: It was not all fine. Conclusion: John must not be allowed to remember).
“Good.” Sherlock said softly. “Thank you.”
*~*~*
“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”
“And you invaded” (a dragon’s lair) “Afghanistan.”
*~*~*
“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow,” suggested John.
(Data: Parents love their children. Data: Humans suffer a great deal of emotional distress when loved ones die. Data: The emotional impact of any event fades as time passes. Data: Fourteen years was a very long time by human standards. Conclusion: John’s premise was sound, but inaccurate.) “Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?”
John just looked at Sherlock, and after a moment, Sherlock glanced around to see everyone else was doing the same, though John’s expression, at least, didn’t imply Sherlock was an inhuman monster. (Data: He was. Data: John wasn’t.) “Not good?” he asked John. Humans had so many etiquette rules; Sherlock didn’t understand how he was supposed to keep track of them all.
“Bit not good, yeah,” agreed John, but not with undue censure, from which Sherlock concluded he had been forgiven for his misstep. Good.
*~*~*
Sherlock waved off John’s concerns and headed downstairs (Data: The cabbie outside was a serial killer. Data: Serial killers were dangerous to most people. Data: John did not possess a near-immortal body like Sherlock did.) alone. Outside, leaning against a cab, very likely the same one he and John had been chasing earlier, was their killer.
“Taxi for Sherlock Holmes.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
Next chapter is here.
Chapter Two
*~*~*~*~*~*
“Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh,” John said and Sherlock felt a shock of pain rage shoot through him. Rage, rage, rage because his hoard was being insulted. But… if his little thief didn’t like his hoard, didn’t want to steal anything from it, then how was Sherlock supposed to keep him and study him and uncover the mysteries of reincarnation? “So this is all ...”
“Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit,” Sherlock said, trying to throw some things into a semblance of order. That had been a complaint of Bilbo’s, hadn’t it? That Smaug’s horde had been the greatest treasure he had ever seen, but it was such a jumbled mess it was hard to appreciate.
It only took a few seconds of that before Sherlock decided to give it up. He liked his hoard as a jumbled mess; he’d just have to try something else. (Data: Hobbits seem to have an affinity for cursed rings. Data: Mycroft could easily obtain a cursed ring. Data: Mycroft might try to take John for himself. Conclusion: Unacceptable level of risk.)
“That’s a skull.” Sherlock looked to John, who was now pointing his cane at the preserved skull of Thorin Oakenshield. Sherlock had displayed it to let aspiring thieves know that even someone who successfully stole Smaug’s hoard lost in the end, but saying as much didn’t seem like a good way to ensure his little thief stayed.
“Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’ ...”
*~*~*
It wasn’t until Sherlock was about to hail down a taxi to go to the scene of the fourth ‘suicide’ that the solution to his John problem occurred to him. (Data: Young Bilbo loved adventures. Data: John was a young Bilbo. Conclusion: John loved adventures. Hypothesis: John would enjoy solving crime with him.) Sherlock turned around and ran back up to 221B. “You’re a doctor. In fact you’re an Army doctor.”
“Yes,” John agreed, clearly not sure what point Sherlock was trying to make yet.
“Any good?” If Sherlock was going to have John as an assistant, he’d prefer, though not require, it if John was competent at it.
“Very good,” John assured him.
“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Bit of trouble too, I bet.” Sherlock felt a bit of a smile playing around his lips and he suddenly he realized this was fun.
“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.” John’s voice went softer then, but for once Sherlock was sure it wasn’t part of some missed social cue on his part.
“Wanna see some more?” Wait for it…
“Oh God, yes.” (Conclusion: Hypothesis accepted.)
*~*~*
“The police don’t consult amateurs,” Sherlock concluded, before turning away to the window. He didn’t think John would leave (Data: John showed up at Baker Street after Sherlock’s brief demonstration yesterday. Data: John’s limp was 42% less pronounced leaving 221B for the crime scene than it had been upon arrival. Conclusion: There were 3:1 odds that John’s curiosity and thirst for adventure would outweigh his anger. Conclusion: Acceptable level of risk.), but that didn’t mean Sherlock wanted to see the furious reaction.
“That ... was amazing.”
Sherlock turned back around, surprised. Sherlock was never surprised. (Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and greatest of Calamities.) Ah, of course. John was in need of a flatmate, and this would hardly be the first time Bilbo had flattered Smaug to get what he wanted from him. “Do you think so?”
“Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.” Sherlock watched John closely, but there was nothing, not even the slightest twitch, to indicate he was lying. Clearly, John was either an actual sociopath (Data: Bilbo had not been a sociopath. Data: John had been Bilbo. Conclusion: John being a sociopath was statistically unlikely.), or he was actually telling the truth.
How unexpected.
*~*~*
Sherlock entered 221B, pink suitcase in hand. (Data: John was not here. Data: Thorin’s skull was missing. Data: Mrs. Hudson-not-his-housekeeper had cleaned. Data: John was not here. Conclusion: Mrs. Hudson had taken the skull.) He threw the case down on the couch so he could begin riffling through, careful to leave everything as he found it. (Data: John was not here. Data: There was enough clothing in the case for an overnight stay. Data: There was no laptop in suitcase. Data: John was not here. Data: There was no phone on either the body or in the case. Conclusion: The killer had the woman’s phone. Data: JOHN WAS NOT HERE.)
Well, he could hardly contact the killer himself, his number might be recognized. He’d have to get John here to do it.
Baker Street.
Come at once if convenient.
SH
*~*~*
“I’m just saying, it’s all fine,” John said, looking frighteningly sincere.
(Data: John did not remember he had been Bilbo. Data: John did not know Sherlock was the Sherlock Bilbo had met in Rivendell. Data: John did not know and Bilbo had not known Sherlock was Smaug. Data: John did not remember Smaug had killed people Bilbo had cared about. Theory: It was not all fine. Conclusion: John must not be allowed to remember).
“Good.” Sherlock said softly. “Thank you.”
*~*~*
“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”
“And you invaded” (a dragon’s lair) “Afghanistan.”
*~*~*
“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow,” suggested John.
(Data: Parents love their children. Data: Humans suffer a great deal of emotional distress when loved ones die. Data: The emotional impact of any event fades as time passes. Data: Fourteen years was a very long time by human standards. Conclusion: John’s premise was sound, but inaccurate.) “Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?”
John just looked at Sherlock, and after a moment, Sherlock glanced around to see everyone else was doing the same, though John’s expression, at least, didn’t imply Sherlock was an inhuman monster. (Data: He was. Data: John wasn’t.) “Not good?” he asked John. Humans had so many etiquette rules; Sherlock didn’t understand how he was supposed to keep track of them all.
“Bit not good, yeah,” agreed John, but not with undue censure, from which Sherlock concluded he had been forgiven for his misstep. Good.
*~*~*
Sherlock waved off John’s concerns and headed downstairs (Data: The cabbie outside was a serial killer. Data: Serial killers were dangerous to most people. Data: John did not possess a near-immortal body like Sherlock did.) alone. Outside, leaning against a cab, very likely the same one he and John had been chasing earlier, was their killer.
“Taxi for Sherlock Holmes.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
Next chapter is here.