The Red-Headed Murder League (Chapter Five)
Title: The Red-Headed Murder League
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OC (more to be added)
Warnings: Spoilers for "The Great Game"
Summary: Following their showdown with Moriarty, Sherlock and John are thrust into a new case, involving the murders of seemingly random people. The only connection: they all have red hair, a trait worries Sherlock...
Author's Notes: I am so mean to my characters...
“Well, Evie,” Sherlock asked as he looked over the body. “What do you think?” The girl shook her head, grinning slightly.
“Oh no,” she said. “Leave me out of this, Uncle; the last time you asked me to take a look, I got shot at.”
“Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I forgot it in the cab.” John chuckled softly.
“Are you volunteering your eyes then, John?” Sherlock asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “In fact, I’ll be over here, talking with the Inspec…”
“I don’t want my crime scene tainted, Holmes, do you hear me?!” John rolled his eyes. Anderson had apparently shown up. He looked over towards Sherlock, but his eyes landed on Evie; she was looking right at Sergeant Donovan. A smile curled her lips as she cast her eyes down to her fingernails on her uninjured hand. She then began whistling a tune; The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
“He’ll be fine, Anderson!” Donovan said quickly. Sherlock looked over at Evie, chuckling slightly.
“Anything I find will be brought to your attention straight away,” Sherlock assured him. “Evie, go talk to the person who found the body, won’t you?” Evie nodded, pulling a small notebook out of her pocket.
“Am I the amateur reporter with an internship” she asked, “or detective’s summer assistant?”
“Better go with the second one. John, can you be her supervisor?”
“Uh, sure…”
“First one bought me my DS,” Evie remarked.
“And got your Gran on my case for weeks. I’ll save myself the lecture, thank you.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Replaced by my sense of self preservation.” He nodded towards the crowd. “Go on then.
“Yeah, yeah, come on John.”
“Why does he want you asking the questions?” John asked.
“I’m thirteen years old,” Evie replied. “No one will take me seriously, they’ll tell me stuff they may not tell the police simply because they think I’m just a kid.”
“…you two come up with these things before hand just to mess with me, don’t you?” Evie smiled, laughing softly.
“Trust me, you’ll know when we’ve teamed up to mess with you.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Oh yes.” They had reached the person who found the victim, an elderly man who was now seated on bench, looking shaken by what he’d found. “Hello there!” Evie said cheerily. “My name is Evera, I’m a summer intern with Scotland Yard and this is my boss John.” She sat down next to the man, offering him a stick of gum from the pack in her pocket. “You look like you could use a little extra sugar, am I right?”
“Yes, young lady, you are,” the man agreed, taking the stick of gum. “How could you tell?” Evie smiled, taking a piece herself.
“The prick marks on your fingertips; type 2 diabetes, am I right?” He laughed.
“Yes, yes you are. I’ve managed to keep it from developing into type one, but every once in a while you need that extra sweet boost.”
“Especially if you find a woman dead.” He was silent.
“Yes, especially then…” Evie rested a hand on his knee, smiling gently.
“What happened, sir?”
“I was talking to her… she’s not from around here, had a thick American accent… couldn’t tell her that though, bloody Americans, they all think they haven’t got an accent.”
“Unless they’re from the south,” Evie agreed. “They about flaunt theirs.”
“Not this one though,” the man said. “She had a southern American accent, but she insisted she didn’t have one at all. Talked like a real belle, she did.”
“What happened next?” she asked.
“She just… fell over,” he replied. “No, that’s not right… there was a sound first. It wasn’t a gunshot though, it was kind of like… a thud, I guess. Blood splattered out of her chest, got all over me. That’s when she fell over.” He drew a sharp, deep breath before continuing. “She was getting tickets for the circus tonight… she was looking forward to it…” While the man took a moment to compose himself, John looked over Evie’s shoulder to look at the notes she was taking:
Witness saw the murder, not just found the body.
Victim was an American “Southern Belle”
Witness is not our killer
Eventually, he would ask how she knew that last one. He continued watching her as she took a card out of her pocket-how big were they, anyway?-and handed it to him.
“Just in case you need it,” she said, standing up. “If you think of anything else, be sure to call Scotland Yard.” He looked at the card, then up at Evie and smiled.
“Thank you, young lady.”
“How do you know he’s not the killer?” John asked as they walked back towards Sherlock and Lestrade.
“He wasn’t crying.” There was a pause.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He wasn’t crying, John,” she said. “He was upset about the woman’s death, but there were no tears; he was in shock.”
“I see… what was that card you gave him?” Her answer took him completely by surprise.
“The number to my therapist.”
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OC (more to be added)
Warnings: Spoilers for "The Great Game"
Summary: Following their showdown with Moriarty, Sherlock and John are thrust into a new case, involving the murders of seemingly random people. The only connection: they all have red hair, a trait worries Sherlock...
Author's Notes: I am so mean to my characters...
“Well, Evie,” Sherlock asked as he looked over the body. “What do you think?” The girl shook her head, grinning slightly.
“Oh no,” she said. “Leave me out of this, Uncle; the last time you asked me to take a look, I got shot at.”
“Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I forgot it in the cab.” John chuckled softly.
“Are you volunteering your eyes then, John?” Sherlock asked.
“Not at all,” he replied. “In fact, I’ll be over here, talking with the Inspec…”
“I don’t want my crime scene tainted, Holmes, do you hear me?!” John rolled his eyes. Anderson had apparently shown up. He looked over towards Sherlock, but his eyes landed on Evie; she was looking right at Sergeant Donovan. A smile curled her lips as she cast her eyes down to her fingernails on her uninjured hand. She then began whistling a tune; The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
“He’ll be fine, Anderson!” Donovan said quickly. Sherlock looked over at Evie, chuckling slightly.
“Anything I find will be brought to your attention straight away,” Sherlock assured him. “Evie, go talk to the person who found the body, won’t you?” Evie nodded, pulling a small notebook out of her pocket.
“Am I the amateur reporter with an internship” she asked, “or detective’s summer assistant?”
“Better go with the second one. John, can you be her supervisor?”
“Uh, sure…”
“First one bought me my DS,” Evie remarked.
“And got your Gran on my case for weeks. I’ll save myself the lecture, thank you.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Replaced by my sense of self preservation.” He nodded towards the crowd. “Go on then.
“Yeah, yeah, come on John.”
“Why does he want you asking the questions?” John asked.
“I’m thirteen years old,” Evie replied. “No one will take me seriously, they’ll tell me stuff they may not tell the police simply because they think I’m just a kid.”
“…you two come up with these things before hand just to mess with me, don’t you?” Evie smiled, laughing softly.
“Trust me, you’ll know when we’ve teamed up to mess with you.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Oh yes.” They had reached the person who found the victim, an elderly man who was now seated on bench, looking shaken by what he’d found. “Hello there!” Evie said cheerily. “My name is Evera, I’m a summer intern with Scotland Yard and this is my boss John.” She sat down next to the man, offering him a stick of gum from the pack in her pocket. “You look like you could use a little extra sugar, am I right?”
“Yes, young lady, you are,” the man agreed, taking the stick of gum. “How could you tell?” Evie smiled, taking a piece herself.
“The prick marks on your fingertips; type 2 diabetes, am I right?” He laughed.
“Yes, yes you are. I’ve managed to keep it from developing into type one, but every once in a while you need that extra sweet boost.”
“Especially if you find a woman dead.” He was silent.
“Yes, especially then…” Evie rested a hand on his knee, smiling gently.
“What happened, sir?”
“I was talking to her… she’s not from around here, had a thick American accent… couldn’t tell her that though, bloody Americans, they all think they haven’t got an accent.”
“Unless they’re from the south,” Evie agreed. “They about flaunt theirs.”
“Not this one though,” the man said. “She had a southern American accent, but she insisted she didn’t have one at all. Talked like a real belle, she did.”
“What happened next?” she asked.
“She just… fell over,” he replied. “No, that’s not right… there was a sound first. It wasn’t a gunshot though, it was kind of like… a thud, I guess. Blood splattered out of her chest, got all over me. That’s when she fell over.” He drew a sharp, deep breath before continuing. “She was getting tickets for the circus tonight… she was looking forward to it…” While the man took a moment to compose himself, John looked over Evie’s shoulder to look at the notes she was taking:
Witness saw the murder, not just found the body.
Victim was an American “Southern Belle”
Witness is not our killer
Eventually, he would ask how she knew that last one. He continued watching her as she took a card out of her pocket-how big were they, anyway?-and handed it to him.
“Just in case you need it,” she said, standing up. “If you think of anything else, be sure to call Scotland Yard.” He looked at the card, then up at Evie and smiled.
“Thank you, young lady.”
“How do you know he’s not the killer?” John asked as they walked back towards Sherlock and Lestrade.
“He wasn’t crying.” There was a pause.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He wasn’t crying, John,” she said. “He was upset about the woman’s death, but there were no tears; he was in shock.”
“I see… what was that card you gave him?” Her answer took him completely by surprise.
“The number to my therapist.”