Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Life

Chapter 11

We left the building of St Bartholomew's behind us as we hopped into yet another cab, which seemed to be a popular choice of transportation with these two, and headed back towards Baker Street. I was crammed in the middle between Sherlock and John; I tried hard to keep myself to myself but that was hardly an option in such a small space. My right leg was constantly slipping causing it to rest against Sherlock's left leg. My left leg seemed easier to control as if it had some kind of aversion to going near John. After a while I just let my legs do what they wanted, bored of trying to control them.

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid- champion swimmer- came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." Sherlock said flashing us both an image of a newspaper headline on his phone. "You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But you remember it." John replied, more like a statement than a question

"Yes."

"Something fishy about it?" I asked. My body was much closer to Sherlock's than I wanted to get today. So close, in fact, that I could feel his shoulders rising and falling against the top of my own with every breath he took. It was oddly soothing, actually.

"Nobody thought so- nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers." he said, looking me in the eyes . His own were pulling me in, as if they had their own gravitational pull.

"Started young, didn't you?" I spoke, exchanging the same glance. We continued speaking about how Sherlock had tried to get the police involved in his case. The ride seemed to be taking so much longer than it did before but that might have been my doing. I had settled myself into observing Sherlock as he spoke. He was so interesting. Razor sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to hold the universe, chocolate brown curls that bounced lightly as the taxi moved along; the way he only used his hands in conversation when he was particularly concentrated on the subject and didn't realise that he was moving them. The closer I looked, the more there was to investigate. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know the cause of the small cut on his bottom lip. I wanted to know why his nose was slightly out of line. I had no idea what had come over me but I needed to know.

John nudged me out of my trance after God knows how long. It was dark now and we were back at Baker Street and disembarking from our transport. Sherlock had already gone, carving a path of open doors for us to follow. I stepped out of the cab, pulled my coat tighter around my body and turned to cross the road to my flat when Johns voice sounded behind me

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I didn't think you'd need me anymore.". As soon as the words left my mouth my phone vibrated in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and opened the text that I had received

'Don't leave, I need you. Can't cope with John on my own. SH'

I smiled at the screen before turning back to a waiting John who was rubbing his hands together to keep himself warm. "Maybe I will stay for a bit." I walked back towards the door of 221 by Tiny's side,

"Good because I don't think I can put up with Sherlock on my own for much longer without strangling him." I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud at the similarities between Sherlock's text and what John had said.

Inside 221B the living room was coated with a thin layer of newspaper clippings, headlines about Carl Powers' sudden death. The kitchen doors were shut and I could see Sherlock's silhouette through the frosted glass. I hung my coat up on the back of the door and cautiously parted the brown framed doors that lead to Sherlock's den that he had made for himself.

"Am I alright to come in?" I asked tentatively. He looked up from a stack of photographs and printouts that he was sifting through and grinned at me with sparkling eyes. I took that as a yes and grabbed a stool so that I could sit beside him at the kitchen table. "What are you looking at?"

"Pictures from the police files on the Powers case."

"How did you get them?"

"Lestrade. He'll give you anything if you know how to talk him into it." We chuckled. Reaching across Sherlock's body, I brought the trainers over to my end of the table and removed them from the plastic bag that they were in. He looked at me for a moment, as if he were about to say something but, instead, he continued with his work. I tilted the trainers to all angles so that I could get a good look at them. The laces were particularly interesting. Around the edges of them and close to the opening where his foot would have been inserted into it there was another substance that I hadn't picked up on earlier. The closer I looked the clearer it became. It was a white, creamy substance but, as I discovered when I prodded at it lightly, it had become solid and stale from twenty years of not being removed.

"Sherlock, look at this." I patted my hand on his to get his attention. His gaze fell on the solidified cream and his eyes widened. I could see him internally cursing himself for not seeing it.

Just then John entered the room and, without a greeting, began to complain.

"It's your brother. He's texting me now.". He frowned and then spoke again, "How does he know my number?"

"Must be a root canal." Sherlock hummed

"He did say 'national importance', Sherlock. Maybe you should at least take a look." I reminded him.

"How quaint." he snorted

"What is?" John asked

"She is. Queen and country."

"I'm not telling you to look because of the missile pans, I'm telling you to look because an innocent man has been murdered for those plans and I'm not going to let it go unsolved."

"How do you know that Andrew West was murdered? Maybe he just disappeared with the plans."

"Nope." I stated

"But how do you know?" John joined Sherlock in his inquisitions

"I did my own research into it earlier."

"Research?" clearly John was not picking up on what I was implying.

"She hacked into Mycroft's emails." Sherlock chuckled, "Well done. What did it say?" he said directly to me

"Thank you." I gladly accepted his compliment. "Mycroft got an email from an MI5 agent named Wiley James claiming that his body had been found on the tracks of Battersea station at approximately 5:30 the previous morning by one of the rail workers who was doing his routine maintenance check to make sure that there was nothing wrong with the lines."

"Hold on," John interrupted, "Isn't it illegal to hack into the private accounts of government officials?"

"Yes but I was very careful not to leave any signs that I was there."

"See John, Sarah's a smart girl. Very careful when breaking the law."

"You really should tell your brother to get a stronger password.". For a moment the room was doused in silence again but John piped back up before long.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore it?"

"Nope. I'm putting my best man on it right now." Sherlock retaliated without lifting his head from his work

"Right. Good." he said, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding in satisfaction before looking at Sherlock in puzzlement. "Who's that?"

"Well it's hardly going to be me is it? I'm not a man." I laughed at his obliviousness. With a groan of realisation, John collected his coat and left. Sherlock and I went on to figure out that the residue on the trainers was eczema cream and, since this was our only lead, we investigated further.