The Adventure of the Civil Partnership Chapter 12 Light
Sherlock and John are hunting a kidnapper who has been taking newlywed couples across the Greater London Area and Sherlock has the perfect way to flush him out. Warning: Pre-Slash/Slash of Sherlock/John Work in Progress - Very Slow Updates
Disclaimers: I certainly do not own Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s amazing creation of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Hamish Watson. I also do not own Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC’s adaptations of those works.
Spoiler Warnings: Series 1 and 2 of Sherlock
Ratings: M Warning Pre-Slash/Slash.
Beta: Ivory Winter, Who I Tortured Extensively This Chapter - All mistakes are mine.
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Chapter 12 Light
Nine o’clock Wednesday morning found John shaking hands with a beautiful woman in her mid-forties to fifties who could pass for Katharine Hepburn’s double. Mrs. Burns, the CEO of the corporation that owned the bowling alley, was instantly in John’s good books for her straightforward, good-humored attitude as she guided John by the elbow her office’s lounge area where a tea service was waiting for them. Sherlock just barely bothered to greet their host with a cursory nod that was just this side of polite, before he flopped unceremoniously into a chair next to John.
“Dr. Watson, I do appreciate you taking the time to come and meet with me,” Mrs. Burns said with an open smile as she settled in across from them. John absentmindedly noticed that she sat closer to John than Sherlock causing John to wonder what exactly Sherlock had said yesterday if the woman was avoiding Sherlock to that extent in her own office. She continued after hesitating, “Your husband was … a tad unforthcoming about why he felt that I should release my employees’ confidential information records to him.”
John had discussed their options with Sherlock prior to their arrival and the detective had assured him that they couldn’t risk giving her the true reason about why they needed the information. After a heated debate during the taxi ride over, whispered to stay under the gossipy driver’s radar, John had persuaded Sherlock to let him narrow the focus of their request slightly. The end result was that John only needed to convince her to release any information about those employees who had worked at the alley in the last two years that were over twenty-two years old, and that was just to give them a margin of error in their research. Sherlock estimated that anyone under twenty-two at this point would have been seventeen years of age or even younger at the time of the first killing. And although Sherlock had confirmed John’s belief that serial killers could be active that young, young serial were unlikely to display the organized and in control behavior that their criminal had demonstrated.
John leaned forward in his chair towards the woman, trying to project confidence, as he replied, “It’s a bit sensitive. We are looking for victims.” John felt that this was a safe if somewhat misleading response, as they were actually looking for a link to the killer here, although the eventual goal was to hopefully find the bodies of the victims that they presumed were dead.
Mrs. Burns frowned slightly as she considered John’s words. John noticed out of the corner of his eye that Sherlock was doing a good job of not appearing to be paying close attention to the conversation as he poured tea for the three of them, as she asked, “What kind of victims?”
“The kind that wouldn’t say much,” Sherlock said without looking up, which again John supposed was true while being entirely misleading.
“Ahh… okay,” she answered slowly, obviously not knowing what to make of Sherlock’s reply. “I am sorry, I am afraid I still don’t understand,” she continued, turning to John again with a confused look on her face, her hand almost automatically accepting the cup of tea that Sherlock handed to her and then John.
“Mrs. Burns I’m sorry, but we really can’t tell you more than that. This is a tricky situation and it would be easy to accidently make it more complicated.” John put a hand forward to touch her arm briefly in a conciliatory manner as she started to object, “I’m not trying to suggest in any way that you would do or say anything on purpose, but the case we are investigating is very sensitive.”
Mrs. Burns nodded slowly as she contemplated John’s words. “Alright, I suppose I can understand that, but I still feel that it is inappropriate to turn over my employee’s files to you, particularly as you are not the police and you don’t have a search warrant.”
“We wouldn’t need everyone Mrs. Burns, Sherlock thinks we could safely limit ourselves to just people who have worked for you at the bowling alley or in the corporation headquarters that interact with the bowling alley in the last two years who are twenty-two or older.”
The CEO’s face wrinkled slightly as she considered the request. “That does rather dramatically decrease the amount of people affected, most of the employees I hire to work at the alley are students working part-time. There are probably only three or four people working at the alley who meet your criteria, and the alley itself is just a small part of the corporation and doesn’t require much contact here at the headquarters. Hmm… I might be willing to give you name and contact information for those workers, but I won’t provide you with any other private information about them,” she finished as she leaned forward, her whole attitude showing determination.
John stole a quick look at Sherlock who was frowning, obviously not satisfied with this answer. Sherlock had told John, in no uncertain terms, that he would need copies of their work hours in case any of their work schedules contributed to alibis for one or more of the earlier kidnappings, and as an attempt to determine if they could have met the couple. John smiled cautiously at Mrs. Burns before asking, “I don’t suppose we could also get a copy of their work schedules? That would almost be more useful for us than their addresses,” John finished, assuming Sherlock was sneaky enough to find addresses for the employees once they had their names if Mrs. Burns balked at giving them both pieces of information.
Mrs. Burns leaned back slightly in her chair as she reflected on John’s request. “I can’t see any problem with providing you with their work schedules, it’s not exactly confidential information.” Mrs. Burns suddenly smiled at John, “If you give me a moment Dr. Watson, I will have my assistant compile that information for you and Mr. Holmes.”
As Mrs. Burns exited the room, John noticed that Sherlock suddenly sat up straighter, his presence instantly becoming more prominent, which is when John realized that Sherlock had somehow managed to make himself inconspicuous. He had to force himself not to stare as he was once again astounded by Sherlock’s acting ability. For his temporary spouse (sadly) to conceal his own remarkable personality so thoroughly was almost beyond John’s comprehension.
Sherlock frowned, fixing John with the unwavering gaze John recognized as Sherlock attempting to read his mind once again. The detective finally shook his head, huffing out his results, “Try not to be silly John, of course I can make myself inconspicuous when absolutely necessary, it is an invaluable tool in a detective.” Sherlock snorted as he continued, “That woman was obviously attracted to you. It seemed reasonable to deduce that if all her interactions today were with you, and those interactions went positively then she would be willing to provide us with the required information.”
John shook his head ruefully. “I wondered why you were being so uncharacteristically quiet. And I hate to argue with your observations but Mrs. Burns was just being civil, probably just thrilled that I was being polite.”
Sherlock snorted at John’s words. “John, I have detailed the signs of attraction to you more than once, you really should be able to identify them by now. She touched your elbow as she escorted you to your chair, she deliberately chose to sit closer to you, she leaned forward towards you during the conversation, she smiled at you repeatedly during your conversation, and last but not least her pupils dilated as she talked to you. The woman was a short moment away from flirting with you, something I suspect she would have done if I wasn’t in the room.”
John sighed again, “Sherlock, I think I would notice if a woman as beautiful as Mrs. Burns was attracted to me.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “John, your observational skills for non-medical matters are barely better than Lestrade’s. The woman does have some small measure of wit and was attempting to be subtle. She currently does not wish to offend me, as she likely fears me taking my information about her manager to the police immediately, instead of on her schedule which will allow her to exercise some damage control within her own house. Although, she would probably attempt what I believe is referred to as a ‘pass’ at you, if I was to leave you alone with her for a few minutes.”
“Sherlock be serious, I doubt someone with her level of success is going to risk everything to start an affair with a married, middle-aged ex-military doctor who doesn’t even have his own practice. And if you are not careful you are going to sound like a jealous spouse.”
“John, I am not jealous,” Sherlock replied, apparently stung by the assumption of such petty emotion, “try not to be ridiculous. In order to be jealous one has to be concerned that the object of said emotion is at risk of being taken. Additionally, if you do not stop degrading my husband I am going to be forced to have words with you. As I have mentioned before you are considered a highly desirable mate; you are highly traveled and have led an exciting life even prior to joining me in the work, plus your general level of attractiveness alone would have made you attractive to that woman. She finds your life exciting and interesting, and your charming semi-flirtatious behavior with her earlier only encouraged her attraction.”
John enjoyed once again hearing himself described in such glowing terms by his friend even though he found it as surprising and unexpected as always. At the same time as he enjoyed the compliments a small hidden part of his heart clenched at Sherlock’s lack of jealously; of course he wasn’t worried about John being taken as he didn’t actually want him. John shoved that emotion as deep as he could and chose only to address the last sentence. “I was not flirting with her, I was attempting to be ingratiating so that she would ignore your behavior from yesterday and possibly give us the information.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John’s words. “I was not implying that your behavior was incorrect John, in fact you did an excellent job. I would not have expected you to be quite so good at obscuring the truth. My skills must finally be rubbing off on you. Your manner and charm while doing so worked exceedingly well. I did not expect her to be quite so willing to give us the required information after her diatribe on my manners last…”
Sherlock broke off suddenly and turned to face the door as it opened behind them. “Ahhh… Mrs. Burns, you must have a most efficient assistant, she compiled that information very quickly.”
Mrs. Burns frowned very slightly, obviously looking for an insult in that statement, before she turned to face John more squarely, a smile crossing her features as she held out the packet of information. John groaned internally. Sherlock had been right; the woman was attracted to him. The detective would be unbearable about his correct deduction all evening unless he could find a distraction. John made himself smile as he stepped forward to take the packet. “Thank you so much, we appreciate your assistance with this situation. You are really helping a lot of people.” John took the packet, sticking it under his elbow, and then offered a hand to Mrs. Burns.
“I am glad to help Dr. Watson,” she replied as she shook his hand, her thumb caressing the back of his hand as she continued, “please be sure to tell me what you find and call if I can be of any more help to you.”
“Of course, thank you,” John replied, unsure how to deal with the unwanted attention without risking the goodwill he had managed to create.
John was instantly relieved, and mildly surprised, when Sherlock suddenly stepped forward to place one hand on the small of John’s back, a motion John stepped sideways into, decreasing the space between their bodies in order to distance himself slightly but politely from the CEO. “We really must be leaving Mrs. Burns,” Sherlock said briefly as he steered John towards the door, his whole manner subtly displaying possessiveness and very mild jealousy which had John’s head spinning slightly at the implied intimacy, while a small icicle lodged in his heart at the falseness of it all.
Sherlock kept his hand on John’s back all the way out of the building as he ushered him towards the street and into a cab. As they settled into the back, Sherlock’s hand darted out and he snatched the file, which he instantly started to peruse. Once John had gathered his thoughts, and his heart had slowed slightly, John asked, “So if you wanted my apparently natural charm to work on the woman, what was with the display at the end?”
Sherlock’s eyes were focused on the file as he flipped rapidly through the papers, his answer absentminded. “She was intending to call you to inquire about the progress of the case as a cover towards further development of a possible sexual relationship. The small display of my attention toward you and your response has convinced her that such an effort would be futile, therefore she will leave you alone, thus preventing her from becoming a distraction during the case.”
John surprised himself by laughing softly at the detective’s reasoning. The man was ridiculous; of course he would preemptively drive a woman away during a case to prevent her from interfering with the work. John supposed he really should be offended at Sherlock’s attempt to run his life, but he was just glad the man had done it in such a way that John wouldn’t have to deal with a mortally offended CEO if they needed more information from her later.
Sherlock frowned at him, obviously wondering about the laugh, before he shrugged, apparently deciding that it wasn’t worth pursuing. “Do you have any additional clinic work this week? Or are you done after this afternoon?”
“Done after this afternoon,” John answered, “Sarah doesn’t need me until next Tuesday. Why?”
“There are several small leads in these files. I want you to follow up on a few of them for me,” Sherlock replied. “I wanted to be sure that you would have the time tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow is fine, Sherlock. Just tell me what you need me to do in the morning,” John answered, smiling as he settled back into his seat, enjoying the confidence Sherlock placed in him to help follow up leads on such a convoluted and obviously intriguing case.
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The next twenty-four hours were a small disaster in John’s book. When he arrived home from the clinic that evening, Sherlock was deep into the case, as he continued his attempt to follow the funds from the accounts that had been emptied. Sherlock’s increasing frustration during the evening caused the detective to be excessively snippy at John. The end result of the snapping and short temper was John growling in frustration at Sherlock and stomping up to his bed, before he was forced to strangle the genius for being a pompous arrogant git.
John’s informational gathering interviews on Thursday didn’t help Sherlock’s frustration levels any. Most of the people Sherlock had John interviewing were almost too young to even be considered as possibilities, and even then John was easily able to confirm alibis for them for one or more of the kidnappings. As the day wore on John was rapidly becoming as frustrated as Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock kept him running down leads all day, all of which went nowhere. It seemed like the more information they gathered the more their leads led them down blind alleys and dead ends. They couldn’t seem to find any connections that led between the victims and their unknown kidnapper at all.
When John finally got home from his last interview, he found Sherlock pacing in front of the case wall, muttering distractedly under his breath. He sighed in frustration as John shrugged off his coat. “John finally, did you get anything from the last two interviews?”
“Sorry Sherlock. Both of them have such solid alibis, even I could confirm them, and neither of them even recognized Mr. Williams’ daughter or his son-in-law,” John replied as he moved into the kitchen, desperate for some tea and perhaps a biscuit after running around London all day.
“I feared that was the case but I had hoped I had missed something. All of my research went nowhere as well. It turned out that in all of the banks from which the kidnapper actually stole the money, someone withdrew all of the money in person.”
“Shouldn’t that be good news?” John asked in confusion, hearing Sherlock follow him into the kitchen. “Banks are big on security cameras and IDs aren’t they?”
“True, but our kidnapper is once again proving his intelligence. I contacted all of the banks as Lestrade and got them to e-mail me copies of their surveillance videos from the time in question. Although it is likely the same person making the withdrawals, he managed to prevent his face from being seen on the surveillance and therefore facial recognition software is useless.” As Sherlock expounded he slammed photos that were apparently printed out from the surveillance feeds on the counter next to where John was preparing his tea. “Each video also shows a man of differing heights, weights, and in the three tapes that show color the man had different hair colors. He obviously wore different height shoes, or changed how he stood or a combination of both to disguise his height, and weight as well as his hair color. The only useful information I can determine from them is that he is a white male, twenty-five to thirty-five years of age. And the age determination is mostly based on the tellers’ admittedly vague remembrance from the second to last case,” Sherlock finished, frustration apparent in his voice and mannerisms.
“I don’t suppose they are close enough in appearance to convince Dimmock this time that the cases are actually tied together?”
“Unlikely, but also unnecessary as Lestrade will be back tomorrow and he will be much easier to convince than Dimmock,” Sherlock answered with a negative shake of his head. “Although at this juncture it appears entirely pointless to approach him with the information as I am rapidly running out of lines of inquiry.”
John was startled at the level of frustration in Sherlock’s voice. It was unlike him to admit to irritation at not being able to solve a case instead of excitement at the puzzle. He finally responded with, “You know, I am sure Lestrade will just be glad to have the information that this serial killer is out there. It’s not like the police are even aware that he exists. That has to be an advantage in finding him. Not to mention, Lestrade can get the word out to other cities, maybe he has done this in other cities, and that will provide fresh leads.”
Sherlock groaned, “Fine. I suppose you are correct. If nothing else, it will point out the incompetence of the officers who made the initial investigations.” As he turned and headed to the living room John heard him muttering under his breath, “Need to defragment and delete extraneous information.”
As Sherlock wandered back into the sitting room he picked up his violin before positioning himself in front of the window. John was surprised to hear actual music coming from the violin. He quickly grabbed his cup of tea and plate of biscuits to go into the sitting room, settling in his chair to watch the genius play. Watching Sherlock play the violin was a joy in and of itself. When he actually played, instead of just torturing the poor thing or meditating with it, he threw his whole being into the playing, the emotions he claimed not to have coming through loud and clear. When he played fast pieces he tended to move around the room, almost dancing and whirling with the instrument, and one could almost feel his soul trying to escape its bonds as he tried to play away his frustration at people’s stupidity or at the irritating boredom of his life. When he played slower tunes like tonight, he would sway with the music gently, often with his eyes closed or unfocused, staring off into the distance. John wasn’t always sure what brought on the slow contemplative playing but tonight he thought he knew. As he watched Sherlock play, he could almost see him moving things about the case around in his mind palace, his eyes occasionally flicking to the case wall with its now invisible bullet-ridden smiley face.
John watched for almost a half hour as Sherlock played, his violin running through bits and pieces of music. He would play a small stretch of one piece and then switch to something completely different. John thought he recognized small snippets of Bach and Mozart - although even after knowing Sherlock for so long his abilities to identify specific composers was still severely limited. No matter what Sherlock was playing however, this evening it carried a haunting undertone. At the end of the half hour, an entirely too short amount of time to John’s thoroughly entranced eyes and ears, Sherlock finished flourishing his bow, before dropping like a stone to lay on the couch, violin in his lap, bow on the coffee table.
John shook himself, almost coming out of a meditative place himself. He smiled at his flatmate who was now strumming the violin with the tips of his fingers, contemplating who knew what about the case. With a grunt, John shoved himself upwards out of the chair and he moved towards the sitting room table to dig his laptop out of the rapidly spreading disaster area the research from this case was creating. He wanted to start summarizing all the details and conclusions that Sherlock had found about the case before he forgot them. Lestrade had started asking him to give him copies of his notes after the first case with Moriarty. Between his case notes and what Sherlock explained to him, Lestrade was finding it less difficult to ensure that he had enough understandable information and evidence for the prosecution. It worked out well for everyone and helped keep Sherlock on Lestrade’s good side. Keeping detailed case notes also made it easier for him to remember everything when he wrote them up on the blog, even if Sherlock did find his blog ‘a tad overly romantic.
When John finally finished up his case notes an hour later, he stretched and looked over at his supine flatmate, relieved to see that he was continuing to look more relaxed, so he must have found a new thread to follow when he was messing around with his violin. As John opened up his internet browser and logged onto his e-mail account, he took a risk of getting snapped at for interfering with the detective’s thought process by asking, “You’re awful quiet over there, Sherlock. Did you come up with a new theory?”
Sherlock’s head swiveled to look at him, glaring slightly but the genius chose to answer, “Yes, I am considering the PI’s investigation of the Davidson’s disappearance. The killer ended the movement of the money very quickly after the death of his great-aunt, which means that in some manner the kidnapper was keeping a close eye either on the PI or the Great Aunt, or possibly both. If I can determine how he was following them, perhaps I can find another link to follow.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” John said, throwing a smile over at the detective, before focusing back on the laptop. John frowned and muttered to himself as he noticed his inbox was once again full. He was used to getting lots of e-mails after a blog post and from people trying to reach Sherlock for help on a case, but he didn’t usually have this much junk mail both in his inbox and in his junk e-mail filter. There were sixty-three messages in his inbox (according to his new message counter), fifty-eight of which were junk e-mails for credit cards (more debit, just what everyone needed), coupon websites (where were those before he had a steady job?), internet matchmaking services (hello, married - okay technically civil partnership), auto-clearance (who bothered to drive in London?), and even erectile dysfunction meds (something John did not have a problem with, thank you very much). Two of them were newsletters from the clubs they had joined, which John printed out and dropped on Sherlock’s lap, who looked at both briefly before crumpling them up and tossing them into the fireplace. Of the final two, one was from Stamford asking him out for a celebratory pint this weekend if he could bear to be away from his new husband that long, and another from Sarah confirming his work hours for next week.
Once he finally marked everything junk and then deleting everything in the junk buffer, he turned to his sprawling temporary husband and groused, “Sherlock, you are either going to have to use your computer magic and figure out how to stop all this junk e-mail from coming through once we finish this case, or set me up with a new e-mail address. All those stupid newsletters and online accounts you had me set up for all those bloody nightclubs, the Heathside, the bowling alley, and I think even that charity, must have sold my e-mail address to every damn spam e-mail list under the sun! I must be getting close to a hundred junk e-mails a day and my filter isn’t catching most of them.”
Sherlock suddenly bolted upright, his bare feet hitting the floor with a bang. “What did you just say?”
“Huh?” John asked, startled by his flatmate’s sudden movement, “what, that I am getting a hundred junk e-mails a day?”
“No before that!” Sherlock said excited as he stood up off the couch.
“Ummm… That the nightclubs, and those others must have sold my e-mail address to one of those internet sales list places?” John asked slowly, thoroughly confused.
Sherlock continued to stare at him fixedly for a long moment, before striding over to him, and landing a firm hand on both of his shoulders and pulling him up out of his chair until he was standing before Sherlock, all the while Sherlock’s gaze never left his face. John started stuttering at this behavior, which was stretching even Sherlock’s bounds of normal, “What? What did I say Sherlock?”
“John Hamish Watson, you are the single best conductor of light on the planet. No scratch that, in the universe!” Sherlock announced in an excited voice, before his hands slid rapidly up to the sides of his face, and before John even realized what was happening Sherlock leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. Almost faster John had registered the sensation, Sherlock spun away diving into the pile of paper work. “That is a brilliant observation, John. What do all of these activities we have explored have in common?”
“Ummm….” John said, trying to gather his scattered brain cells and focus on Sherlock’s words instead of the unexpected kiss. “Their group activities.”
Sherlock threw him an exasperated look. “True, but not what I am going for, and how does that relate to what you were saying? Think John! What’s the common thread between your complaint and all the activities?”
John frowned in thought, trying to follow where Sherlock was attempting to lead him. “I was ranting about junk e-mail I am getting because you had me create all those accounts.” John looked up suddenly at Sherlock as his mind caught up. “Oh… the internet. They all have websites and e-mail newsletters. But Sherlock, everyone has those nowadays. Businesses can hardly exist without websites and e-mail,” John objected.
“You are correct John, but each of these groups didn’t just have a sign up for their personal newsletter, they had a mandatory questionnaire as part of their registration. Remember the activity questionnaire for the Heathside? Is any of that junk e-mail you have been getting for running shoes, hiking and outdoor activities?”
John tried to think back over the last few days to the e-mails he had cleaned out. “Yeah, I think some of them were, in fact I remember there was one for kayaks that I was tempted to open, but then deleted it. When would I have time to kayak, even on the Thames?”
“How about for other charities?”
“A few, but there are always one or two of them. I always just deleted those under the assumption that they are a scam of one kind or another,” John said with a shrug.
“You’re probably correct about most of them being scams. But do you see the common thread? The junk mail is being tailored to you,” Sherlock said, excited as he continued to pull papers out of the pile, before suddenly jabbing a finger at one of the sheets. “There John, look at this. The corporation that owns all those nightclubs offsets the cost of the website by contracting with a direct marking corporation. That must be why the employees get a bonus when a customer signs up for an account. Every time someone signs up for an account and fills out that form the information is sold to the direct marketing corporation, who then sells your e-mail address to corporations looking for clients who might be interested in their products. Like sending kayak information to someone with an adventurous military background who works out.”
John considered Sherlock’s words for a moment, before asking, “But how does this help? I mean, it literally opens up our potential suspect pool to millions. The killer could be at any of the companies who buy the lists to sell their goods.”
“No, no. John you missed the direct link. Think about it. How likely is it that all of these people with all of these disparate personalities were sold to the same corporation for targeted advertising, and that the information crossed the same desk? Highly unlikely, right?” Sherlock asked, looking at him intently as John slowly nodded. “However, think about how much more probable it is that all of the information from the nightclubs went through one or two people at the direct marketing company.”
“That would seem to be a lot more possible,” John answered him slowly. “But what about all the other couples? Only three of the couples attended the nightclubs. And didn’t you say that first night when you sprang this on me that one of the couples wasn’t involved in any of the activities we checked out?”
Sherlock’s grin widened, “Ahh… two very good questions and exactly why I need to do more research. I expect that what I will find is either all the groups we are investigating used the same marketing company, or if there are two or three marketing companies, the same individual worked at all of them. As for the Davidsons you are correct, but what if the wife had signed up for one of those loyalty cards from a grocery store or a chemists? At this point that particular link may be lost to time, but if we can link all the other couples we can deduce the theoretical linkage for the Davidsons”
John thought about Sherlock’s deduction, turning it over in his head, looking for holes in his genius flatmate’s logic, and was unsurprised when he didn’t find any. “Seriously, Sherlock how do you manage to make those odd connections? I doubt that I will ever stop being amazed by how your mind works. No wonder no one but you made the link. Is that how he is stalking them? Does he plant a virus or something on their computers? Or is he tracking them in person”
“Likely, he sends them an e-mail that they will open and which loads a Trojan horse that lets him into their system. Once he’s in their computer, it’s not hard to follow someone’s life. People keep everything about their lives on their computers, their blackberries, their mobiles. And none of them are as secure as anyone would like. Once he has their schedules it would take no effort to stalk them in person or break into their homes when they’re out and gather more information, or to prepare for the actual kidnapping,” Sherlock finished, obviously excited.
John couldn’t help it - he smiled as he shook his head at Sherlock’s enthusiasm at finding another way to track this predator. “So what’s next Sherlock?”
“Well I suggest that you, my wonderful conductor of light, have some dinner and then get some rest. If my research goes well tonight, I should have narrowed the list of possibilities down one or two dozen individuals by morning. With that small of a suspect pool it should be a simple matter to investigate their lives in depth quickly and discover our kidnapper,” Sherlock answered animatedly as he started reorganizing the piles with one hand, while appropriating John’s laptop with the other.
John laughed out loud at Sherlock’s exhilaration, “Alright, alright. I can handle that. You want anything to eat? You last ate what - Monday night at Angelo’s?”
Sherlock frowned at the interruption, but stopped to consider John’s words. “I had some toast Tuesday morning. I should perhaps eat some toast or a biscuit, need to not slow down my brain for a while.”
John frowned at the severe lack of nutrients in that suggestion, wishing once again that he could convince Sherlock that regular meals would actually increase his brainpower. “How about some pasta with steamed veggies, Sherlock? That should be light and the carbs and vitamins might give you an energy boost.”
“Fine, just a small portion.”
“Sounds reasonable. One light meal of pasta and steamed veggies coming up,” John replied, hurrying into the kitchen to pull something together, thrilled that Sherlock was willing to eat anything with calories and vitamins while he was on a case. He focused once again on wondering if he could crush a vitamin-mineral supplement and hide it in the pasta sauce (unlikely Sherlock’s taste buds were ridiculously sensitive) as a way to determinedly keep his mind away from that sudden kiss. John wanted to wait and consider its meaning until later tonight when he was safe in the privacy of his own room and he could ruminate on it without anyone invading the privacy of his own skull.
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FanFiction Writer Notes: I want to thank all everyone who took the time to review. You all encourage me to do better and improve myself. Thanks to those of you who pointed out grammar and Brit-pick errors. I really do love those polite tips, they help improve the story.
Once again thanks to my wonderful Beta Ivory Winter, who was kind enough to put up with an insane number of changes to this chapter after I sent it to her for proofreading.
Thanks,Rairakku
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