Darkness Follows...(BBC Sherlock Fanfiction).

Chapter 9- Lowering I.Q.'s Left Right and Centre.

Darcy's POV.

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed and everyone in the room frowned at him, except myself and John. He looked startled by Sherlock's reaction whereas I just smiled widely.

Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "How, when and why? Is there a connection?"

I frowned at the Detective Inspector, "There must be. Rachel... Rachel..." I said the name softly and trailed off, slowly sitting back down in the armchair and resting my head on my closed fist.

"Well, I doubt it you two, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive." Lestrade told us and I narrowed my eyes at him slightly as he continued, "Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

I noticed John turn away and grimace, why would it upset him? It wasn't his child.

Sherlock looked extremely confused and I imagined my expression was the exact same, "That's not right... no." I frowned, staring at the coffee table in front of me.

"Why... why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock mused lightly to himself and his eyes flicked around the room in confusion, as if he was looking for something.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup- sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Anderson sneered sarcastically from where he was still searching in the kitchen and my eyes shot in his direction, glaring at his smug face.

I stood up sharply and walked over to him, pointing at him almost menacingly, "She didn't just think about her daughter, though, did she Anderson? No, she scratched her name into the floor with her fingernails. It took effort. It would have hurt." I explained to him pointedly, "She was dying, Anderson. Do you have any empathy?" I continued, sarcastically and rolled my eyes. I turned back to Sherlock and shook my head exasperatedly, he smirked in reply but became straight faced as soon as Lestrade glanced at him.

He paced backwards and forwards across the room, I stepped over the coffee table and dropped into the armchair once again. Sherlock's head snapped in my direction and I smiled back at him before turning my attention to John, "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." He suggested.

Sherlock stopped pacing in between John and Lestrade, turning to John frowning, "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" I nodded in agreement, until I saw everyone looking at us in shock and John was just staring at Sherlock. He turned back to me and looked awkwardly at me, before giving the same look to John, "Not good?" He asked, frowning.

John looked at the others in the room and his gaze landed on me, I smiled awkwardly and he turned back to Sherlock, "Bit not good, yeah."

Sherlock just shook it off and stepped closer to John, "Yeah, but if you were dying... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" He was intently looking at him as he spoke.

"Please, God, let me live." John answered, almost sarcastically. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to me, "Darcy, what about you?"

I thought about it for a moment and smirked, "I don't want to die!" I exclaimed dramatically and fell back into the chair with my eyes closed, I sat back up to see Sherlock glaring at me, "What?"

He tutted and exclaimed, "Use your imagination! Both of you!" He glanced back at John and then to me, looking at me exasperatingly, "Darcy, get out of that chair."

I rolled my eyes and pushed myself out of the chair, sighing, "Whatever." I stood and leant to one side, crossing my arms and staring at Sherlock.