Death Becomes Them

Chapter 5: Switched at Death

Sherlock had been anticipating the inevitable moment in which John would finally materialize in order to lecture him over his recent social infraction, but said moment never came. Evidently, neither Molly nor Lestrade had felt the need to lodge a complaint with the good doctor.

Well, good. Of course, Molly had never replied to Sherlock's text inquiring as to the current availability of certain tissue samples, but then, Sherlock told himself, he'd not been particularly keen on doing that experiment anyway.

And then, one morning, with almost a week gone by, during which he'd filled his time largely with walk-in clients and various brief monographs, Lestrade finally sent him the details of a new case, and just like that, equilibrium was restored. To Lestrade's credit, the case did have some intriguing features attached to it, and though the crime scene had already been documented and released, Sherlock was welcome to come down to St. Barts' later that afternoon and examine the body. In the meantime, Lestrade had forwarded all the relevant records and details they had amassed so far in the investigation.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm solving a case, John."

"Right, and for some reason, that meant you had to break into my flat this morning?" John said exasperatedly.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John glowering down at him as he lay, reclined, on one of their couches. Mrs. Hudson had been kicking up an insufferable racket in Baker Street that morning as she'd done her monthly cleaning, mostly through her incessant litany of complaints and rebukes concerning his living habits. Considering the circumstances, Sherlock had decided it would be best for both parties involved if he were to escape to John's and Mary's for some solitude, where he could think uninterrupted for a few hours while they were out with Rosie for the morning.

Unfortunately for him, they had returned rather earlier than he'd anticipated.

"Needed some quiet," he said, feeling it should be rather self-explanatory. He really wasn't sure why John still affected the pretense of being surprised each time it happened. He pushed himself up to sitting from the couch. "Besides, I thought you might want to join. It's a decently interesting one; going to inspect the body in a few hours."

"Can't, sorry. I've been called in to the practice later today."

"Oh, come on, we can at least hear it, can't we, John?" Mary was leaning against the doorway to their living room, back from putting Rosie down for a nap.

Sherlock exchanged an approving look with Mary, and then arched his eyebrow up at John. "Come, John. We wouldn't want to disappoint dear Mrs. Watson, now, would we?"

John threw a reproving look at Mary, something along the lines of don't encourage him, but then, clearly sensing he'd been outnumbered, he gave a faintly frustrated sigh, and plopped down in the chair across from Sherlock. "Oh, go on, then."

Smiling, Mary joined them by settling into the other armchair.

Sherlock relaxed into the back of the couch and began to relate the details, clinically and precisely. "A young nanny by the name of Anna Musgrove shows up dead in her flat yesterday morning. The flat's been ransacked. She was employed by a certain well-to-do political family whenever they resided in London, watching their two young children. She's held her position for almost two years now. She has a sister in Sussex and a boyfriend who's finishing up university, but otherwise no familial attachments. The boyfriend is taken in for questioning after her death, and her sister comes up from Sussex to identify the body."

"What about her employers? Have they been questioned?" John interrupted, with his usual brisk matter-of-factness.

"Not yet, to my understanding," Sherlock said, steepling his fingers. "They were just in the process of departing to their second residence in the countryside, in fact, when all this happened. Besides, I'm sure with the influence they exert, the police want to be quite certain of the narrative before approaching them."