The Other One *Editing*

Chapter 3 - Hangman

John was walking up the stairs when he heard the first gunshot. Sprinting up in a panic he was surprised to see Sherlock firing a gun at the wall above his sister's head. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Bored." Sherlock moped from his chair
"What?"
"Bored!" Sherlock shouted repeatedly, standing up and firing more shots. Narrowly missing Lizzie's head.
"Why did you let him take the gun?" John asked, looking over at Lizzie. She hadn't moved an inch on the sofa despite the bullets shooting past her face.
"Huh?" She said, pulling out a headphone.
"The gun?" He said gesturing to Sherlock.
"Oh, I didn't notice. It's not that bad."
"He's shooting the wall!" John shouted as Sherlock swung the gun around his body, recklessly shooting.
"He's not shooting a person." She shrugged, as John confiscated the gun. "We all do things when we're bored."
"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them."
"So, you take it out on the wall?"
"The wall had it coming." Sherlock said tracing the smiley face on the wall with his fingers before lying down on the sofa. Pushing Lizzie out of her warm spot. Lizzie scowled at Sherlock as she moved to perch on the window sill instead.
"What about that Russian case?" John asked, taking off his coat. Sherlock pushed himself up on the sofa, kneading his toes into a cushion. "Belarus. Open and shut murder. Not worth my time." Lizzie grinned thinking about the trip to the prison earlier that week.

***

A few days had passed since Elizabeth Holmes had arrived at 221B Baker Street. John had got used to having another Holmes in the flat. Lizzie didn't always feel like a Holmes. Always smiling and bubbly, it wasn't until she opened her mouth her Holmes-ness came out.

Sherlock had been engrossed in his thoughts for hours and John had left to go see Sarah. Lizzie, having gotten bored of her brother's silence, was lying upside down on the sofa. Her feet were tapping a tune on the wall as a cigarette wiggled between her teeth. Suddenly Sherlock sprung to his feet. "We've got a plane to catch John."
"It's Lizzie actually." She said straightening up and moving the cigarette to her hand. Lizzie was used to Sherlock's peculiar behaviour.
"Oh," Sherlock said putting his scarf on. "You'll do then."
"Charming." She said, sliding the cigarette behind her ear. Sherlock stopped in the doorway. "Were you smoking?"
"No," Lizzie said, matter-of-factly. "I haven't lit it yet. I'm trying to quit." Sherlock took a step towards her, pulling the cigarette and looking at it. "This is one of mine."
"Well I was hardly gunna steal Mycroft's," she said in disgust. "They're low tar."
Sherlock thought about this for a second before saying, "Get your coat."
"Where we going?" She grinned.
"Belarus."

A few hours later Lizzie was shivering in a freezing prison. The visitor's room was dark and derelict. The bars on the windows seeming to keep out light. The chairs and tables spattered around the room reminded Lizzie of her boarding school. After-hours, when she liked it best. Lizzie's thin hoodie didn't protect her from the icy gasps of wind that blew down her neck and turned her breath to steam. Sherlock seemed unbothered by both the cold or indeed the case. He had told Lizzie on the flight that the man, Barry Berwick had been accused of murdering his wife. He'd requested Sherlock's help to prove his innocence fearing the death penalty.

Sitting across from the man, Sherlock seemed to be regretting accepting the case. "Just tell me what happened, from the beginning."
"We'd been to a bar." Guilty flashed bright in Lizzie's deductions. How rarely did an innocent person's story start in a bar? "-a-nice place- and, err I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that. So ... when we get back to the 'otel we ended up having a bit of a ding-dong don't we?"

Both Lizzie and Sherlock were bored by this point it was clear that Berwick was guilty. The rest of his story would only further prove this. Lizzie placed her newly stolen cigarette in her mouth lighting it as Sherlock let out a large sigh. The misty breath rising in steamy sarcasm.
"She was always gettin' at me, saying I weren't a real man." Berwick continued unaware.
"Wasn't a real man." Sherlock corrected, ignoring the smoke being blown across the table.
"What?"
"It's not 'weren't'; it's 'wasn't'."
"Oh."
"Go on." Sherlock said, ignoring Lizzie's glare.
"Well then I dunno how it happened but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives." Sherlock looked down studying Berwick's hands. They were large and rough with the tips of some fingers missing. "He learned how to cut up a beast."
Lizzie chocked on the smoke she'd inhaled at his mistake as Sherlock said, "Taught."
"What?" Berwick said, starting to get angry.
"Taught you how to cut up a beast." Sherlock said, taking advantage of a distracted Lizzie. Plucking the cigarette out of her hand.
"Yeah, well then-then I done it."
"Did it." Sherlock interrupted again, calmly putting out the cigarette on the filthy table. Unaware of the two angry glares plotting his murder.
"Did it! Stabbed her." He screamed, losing his temper. "Over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't..." He said, slamming his fist down on the table with every "over".

Sherlock didn't correct him this time just exhaled loudly from his nose. "Wasn't moving no more." Berwick correct himself. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and that's all Berwick needed. "Anymore." Berwick let out a shaky breath and softly turned to Sherlock, desperate now. "You've got to help me. I dunno how it happened but it was an accident I swear."

Sherlock ignored his plea and got up, Lizzie following lighting a new cigarette. "You've got to help me Mr Holmes! Everyone says you're the best." Sherlock stopped. Flattery was the best was to a Holmes' heart. "Without you, I'll get hung for this"
Lizzie looked over her shoulder eager to get some of the fun. "No, no, no Mr Berwick," She paused, taking a drag of her cigarette, savouring the joke. "Hanged yes." Lizzie and Sherlock smiled at each other before walking out.

***

"What a shame." John said, sarcastically. Bringing Lizzie back from the fond memory of the murderer who didn't know basic English. "Anything in? I'm starving." Lizzie called over, sensing an argument and eager to join in.

John went over to the fridge, opened it and immediately shut it again. "For fu-" He opened the fridge again, staring in disgust at the disembodied head "It's a head." He called.
"Yeah, I discovered I earlier, was wondering if it belonged to you?" Lizzie called back.
"Obviously not! This is a Holmes thing."
"I believe you mean a Sherlock thing, hun. Mycroft and I do not put body parts in the fridge." 
"Well, where else am I supposed to put it?" Sherlock asked, completely misunderstanding what was wrong with the conversation. Lizzie started to drift out when they got onto the topic of John's blog. That was until John stormed out the room.

Mrs Hudson swerved around John going down the stairs, seeing how angry he was she turned to Sherlock. "Have you had a domestic dear?" Lizzie grinned to herself, flicking through a book. "What have you done to my wall?" She cried. Sherlock rolled over on the sofa and grinned at the ceiling. Mrs Hudson walked off, without even noticing Lizzie. Muttering about how it would be coming out of his bill.

Well there we go part number 3!! This is dedicated to my buddy littlelucyb who told me she started reading this and encouraged and helped me write this new part :)
Please vote, comment, share and follow please :)
~EK xx