~Sherlock's Roommate~ (Sherlock x Male!Oc) //On Hold\\

Chapter 18 ~ Boom

(Easton's POV)

It was a bleary morning, it's been two days now, and there was already another man threatened and he called Sherlcok.

Sherlock, John and I sat in a small little diner. I didn't feel like eating, so I just drank a coffee. John was eating, sitting on the opposite side of me and Sherlock.

The pink iPhone is on the table in front of us. I looked around the diner, watching the tv that was silently playing.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked John.

"Mm! Christ, we haven't stopped for breath since this thing started!" John said, he continues to eat. I noticed Sherlock glance at me, John looked at me, "You look awfully pale Easton." He said.

I looked at him and hummed in response, taking a sip of my coffee.

"The bomber's playing a game with
you, Sherlock. The envelope. Breaking into the other flat. The dead kid's shoes. It's all meant for you." John said to Sherlock.

"Yes. I know." Sherlock said with a small smile.

"So? What you talked to Lestrade about. Is it...them?" John asked. I raised a brow, who?

"Them?" Sherlock questioned.

"This...organization. Crime Ltd... Whatever!" John said, "Moriarty."

"Perhaps." Sherlock replied. I became more confused.

"I'm sorry, who?--" I asked but.. The iPhone beeps. We all exchange glances.

Sherlock turns on the phone as another picture appears. A middle-aged woman with heavily mascara covered eyes. Sherlock and John stare at it.

"Could be anyone." Sherlock said.

"Could be. Lucky for you, I've been
more than a little unemployed." John said.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucky for you that Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly." John then gets up and picks up the grubby TV remote. Flicks through the channels. Sherlock was puzzled, is making to follow when.. the pink iPhone rings.

He answered it, "Hello?" He said, I leaned in closer to him, listening..

"This one... Is a bit... Defective. Sorry... She's... Blind." A woman said. Sherlock and I gave each other a look, "This is... A fun... One. I'll give you... Twelve hours..."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

"I like... To watch you... Dance..."

The line goes dead in Sherlock's ear. He glances over at me then to John. He's found what he was looking for. A news channel with the same woman on the screen. Under the photo a running strap-line" "Make-over queen Connie Prince dead at 48."

A clip of a 'Ten Years Younger' type show with Connie supervising a make-over for a plump, vaguely camp
man.

//Time skip\\

Track across various things pinned to the wall. The bomber's hand-written envelope. Photos of Carl Powers. The Crying Woman. Ian Monkford's abandoned car. The Terrified Man.

Below this is a map of the London Underground and reams of Sherlock's hand-written notes.

Sherlock is typing away madly at his laptop and cradling his phone under one ear. I watched him, feeling like I was gonna faint or something.

"Great. Thanks. Thanks again." Sherlock says in the phone. Mrs Hudson glances over at a morgue photo of Connie Prince.

"It's a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colors." She said.