Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

Painting Evidence

Everything that happened from that point onwards was a fast paced blur.

Firstly: the whole place was suddenly flooded with light from big, black cars and police officers holding torches and men in suits. The sirens on the police cars bleared and flashed intesnse reds and blues hypnotically and the noice obliterated every nite if silence it come across.

Next: I was suddenly aware of John trying to get me to move out of the way, half carrying me and half dragging me away, saying my name over and over as as a few men in suits ushered us away from the body, shielding it from our sights.

Also, I was vaguely aware of Sherlock shouting and ranting about wanting . . . no - needing, to see the body, buts several officers were patiently trying to explain that he couldn't and that he had the option of either leavening the premises now or being be arrested and escorted off.

So I guessed that was how Sherlock became handcuffed and put over the bonnet of a police cruiser being recited his rights.

John was sat on the floor, his arm around me, our backs against the same police car, watching from a distance as men and police wiped the whole scene clear of anything that could be considered evidence and drove away; leaving the place as if nothing had ever even happened.

"What the hell was that?" John asked as Sherlock turned around so that his back was also against the cruiser, much to the police officer that was watching us' dismay.

"I mean, that was just . . . what the hell was that?" John continued to ramble, gesturing with his free hand.

I shivered and tried to draw my coat around me. I felt like I was laid on the bottom of a dark pit that I'd been thrust into. I was alone and cold but slowly I was regaining my senses, dizzily pulling myself out - breaking through the shock that consumed my body like smashing through a sheet of ice.

I felt stiff; jerk and wooden like a puppet - only partially in control of my body.

"Stop sniffing, Everly!" Sherlock snapped in annoyance as I only just managed to wipe my nose on my sleeve; my hand trembling violently.

"Sherlock!" John scolded, "She's in shock." He drew his arm around me tightly as I rested my head against his chest, only slightly aware that I was probably being pathetic. But I couldn't do anything different. I'd never experienced shock like this before at all, ever. But then again it wasn't every day I found dead bodies.

However, Sherlock shouting a me had helped in the way it made me focus on composing myself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, huffed, then glared as Lestrade trudged over to us looking tired.

"Everly, I'm taking you home. Now." He said sternly. I swallowed and straightened up a bit, getting easy to argue.

"Never mind that," Sherlock protested, "Are these necessary?" He gestured to his handcuffs.

Lestrade pulled a face of annoyance, "You're still under arrest," but signalled for the uniformed officer to uncuff Sherlock.

"Where's the body?" Sherlock asked as soon as he was free.

"Sherlock, by now you know I can't tell you." Lestrade said sealing his lips for emphasis.

"You can't say or you don't know?" Sherlock remarked bitterly.

"Can we see the scene?" John interrupted them.

"No."

"We can't do much, can we?" I mumbled, putting my head back against the cool metal door of the car and closing my eyes to try and ease the throbbing pain in my mind.

"You look like you need a doctor," Lestrade observed, eyeing me up critically.

"It's only shock." I said looking to John for support.

"Yeah, it is." John stated in his professional, medical officer tone.

"Get her one of your blankets." Sherlock scoffed before beginning to pace vigorously, his eyes closed and fingers to the sides of his head.

Lestrade held his hand down to me but I batted it away.

"I'm fine." I stood, leaning on the car for support, then regretfully wished I hadn't.

"I'm still taking you home." Lestrade said through gritted teeth.

"I left some stuff at Baker Street." I lied quickly, "John will make sure I get home safely when I've got it. I'll be fine, really." I said willing him to just leave. He looked to John for confirmation and John just nodded his response.

"I'll put her in the taxi myself." He vowed.

"Fine." Lestrade said in defeat, then turned to Sherlock, "Far be it for me to give you advice, Sherlock, but I advise that you leave this case alone. I'm not taking the fall for your meddling." He warned.

Sherlock frowned, "Dually noted and forgotten." He hissed, "Have you though that this investigation might move quickly if I had some kind of involvement in solving it? Then again it seems to me that you enjoy going around collecting bodies."

Lestrade bit down on his bottom lip before nodding to us, "Night John, Everly."

He turned to Sherlock, "Sherlock." He said bitterly before walking away towards a group of cars.

I could tell he wanted to tell us something important but it seemed like he had been sworn into silence.

I shivered again but I couldn't work out whether it was the shock or just a cold night. I tested my legs by taking a timid step forwards. My knees were ready to buckle but I managed to stay stood up and sighed. Although in my mind I wanted to run and jump and be okay - my body refused to comply meaning I was probably going to be a shaking wreck for a couple of hours yet.

Suddenly I had the heavy material of Sherlock's coat draped over my shoulders. I looked up at him and he squeezed my shoulder gently.

The material was warm inside and the coat smelled of Baker Street and chemicals and a tiny bit like cigarette smoke.

"Right," John said unenthusiastically, "What now?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I haven't the foggiest."

"We could go talk to Mycroft." John suggested.

I snorted, "Well I'm not going with you if you do. I am actively avoiding that man." I scowled.

No way was I going anywhere near that man ever again . . . ever.

Never.

I stomped my feet and began to walk in circles when something stuck through the sole of my shoe. I hissed in pain before grabbing my foot and looking on the underside of it. A big stone was lodged there and I flicked it away, judging the amount of damage it had caused. Then I saw it.

"Uh, Sherlock?" I said as he stopped pacing to look at me.

"What?"

I pulled off my converse and held it up to him, showing him the sole.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Sherlock and John came over to get a better look as I pointed to a patch of yellow that was covering the bottom of my shoe. Gravel and small stones had gotten stuck to a bit of it but when I brushed them away, the yellow was still visible.

"I must have walked in some." I mused as Sherlock grabbed the shoe off me and inspected it closer.

"Is it worth something?" John asked critically, holding me steady as I stood on one foot.

"Well it can tell us the kind of paint being used, maybe narrow it down to a few manufacturers or places that would have paint like this, but it's a start." Sherlock said, deep in thought.

"How we going to do that then?" I asked, thinking that a smudge of paint on a shoe wasn't really illustrated with clear evidence.

"St Barts." Sherlock said before dashing off to hail a cab from the roadside.