A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

3) The Businessman

It was almost strange to have another person living at 221b Baker Street. For many months now Sherlock Holmes had been used to living in solitude, but with the arrival of John Watson everything changed. It had been one week now since his companion had first moved in and the two were getting along together just fine. As neither of them had jobs, the day's consisted of John sat by the kitchen table, a pen in hand and scribbling down ideas for an upcoming novel, and Sherlock lazing around waiting for something interesting to occur. But it wasn't until Early December when he received a visitor at the door. John at the time was out at the shops, leaving Sherlock home alone.
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson's voice drifted up the staircase.
"There's a man here to see you!"
Sherlock, who was just getting ready, stopped what he was doing and smirked to himself.
"Send him up Mrs Hudson!" He replied cheerfully, doing up the last of the buttons up on his shirt and slipping on his black jacket.
There came loud footsteps echoing up the set of stairs, and a few seconds later the creak of an opening door.
"Hello Lestrade," the curly-haired man said cooly, not bothering to face his visitor before taking a seat in his favourite armchair.
"How did you know it was me?" the man said gruffly, taking a seat opposite.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Well who else would visit me? Anyway what have you got for me?"
Lestrade leaned back in his chair.
"Damian Augustus, a business man, was discovered dead in his flat yesterday, everything was locked from the inside and there was no way anybody could of gotten in."
He held up his phone to show a photo of the man, he was middle-aged, his face covered in stubble and his eyes a cold black. Sherlock frowned slightly.
"Suicide?"
The visitor looked at him uneasily.
"The most likely scenario, but get this: there was no weapon, no blood, no nothing." Lestrade explained with a heavy sigh.
"Donavan said you liked all this stuff, so we're looking for you to help us. Please Sherlock?"
Sherlock crossed his legs and began to laugh.
"Thank you Lestrade, it must be Christmas already."
He got to his feet quickly.
"Though I would advise you all at Scotland Yard to use your brains for once, the killer is normally right under your noses."
Lestrade rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed, though you could see the slight grin on his lips.
"Is tonight okay for you? Six pm?"
"I'll meet you there," Sherlock replied, escorting the man to the door.
"Goodbye Gareth."
Lestrade turned on his heel and shook his head at the boy.
"It's Greg!"
He muttered something to himself before making his way back down the steps and towards the door.

There was a slight commotion outside and a few seconds later Sherlock watched as John strode into the room, a couple of bags of food in his hands.
"Who was that?" He asked curiously, setting the bags down onto the table.
"Hm? Oh that was just Lestrade, he works over at Scotland Yard."
All of a sudden John came over in a coughing fit.
"You're involved with Scotland Yard?" He said, not bothering to hide his surprise.
Sherlock smiled slightly, examining through the food bags.
"I work with them on murder cases sometimes, that's all."
His partner nodded, still obviously confused, before clearing his throat.
"Anyway I just wanted to ask you if you want to um, come out with me tonight," John mumbled with a small smile.
Sherlock snapped his head up and watched the boy, his face lighting up.
"Not a date, obviously. But it's a party I've been invited to by one of my old school mates, and I didn't really want to go alone," he continued.
Sherlock's face dropped like a kicked puppy.
"Oh. Yes that sounds, nice," the skinny boy muttered, trying to hide his disappointment.
"It starts at six thirty, is that alright?" John asked again, not realising Sherlock's sudden drop in excitement.
"Fine," Sherlock said, turning his back away.
"Just fine."

•••

Five-forty pm. Sherlock stood uncomfortably in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in his usual blue scarf and trench coat. John was sat downstairs, watching the TV as per usual. Sherlock carefully turned up his coat collar and stared back at himself in the gleaming mirror. The boy's face was a sheet white and he felt a small feeling of sickness in his stomach, which he immediately passed off as having not eaten for hours. Sherlock gave a final glance over before gently pushing open the door and hurrying down the hallway.
"Going out?" Asked his roommate, as soon as the curly-haired boy had reached the living room.
John was sat up promptly, watching Sherlock with curiosity.
"Just a little stroll," Sherlock plainly lied, grabbing for his phone.
John gave a satisfactory nod before returning to watch the TV. As soon as Sherlock stepped outside the cold wind battered against him. He tried his best to keep his cool whilst he adapted to a fast-paced walk, sticking out his arm as he reached the roadside. A sleek black taxi pulled up by his side a few seconds later and the pale boy clambered inside, glad to get away from the cold. Scotland Yard was only a ten minute drive away and Sherlock was greeted by an eager Lestrade on arrival.
"Alright," Greg said gruffly, waving towards the boy.
"The victim's apartment is only five minutes away, if you want we can-"
"I'd like to see the body first," Sherlock persisted snidely, digging his hands into his pockets.
Greg rolled his eyes.
"He's in Barts at the moment, with Molly Hooper," the man informed him, his grey hair flailing in the breeze.
"I'm guessing they're both having a nice chit chat," Sherlock commented with a smirk, staring at his feet.
"Sometimes Mr Holmes I'd like to see you in that morgue."

The morgue itself was almost empty, apart from a single woman and almost thirty other corpses. The two men slipped inside, catching the attention of the woman, who instantly stopped what she was doing to face them.
"Molly," Sherlock said sternly, facing her.
She was young-looking, wearing a pristine white lab coat and her slick brown hair tied back in a pony tail.
"Sherlock!" She cried unexpectedly, her checks burning a hot red.
"I didn't know you were coming."
"Damian Augustus," Lestrade explained casually, folding his arms.
Molly relaxed slightly, glancing over towards the freezers.
"You want to take a look?"
"If it's no trouble," Sherlock said.
She composed herself for a second before wheeling out one of the top drawers. The body looked almost normal, almost as if he hadn't been dead for the last seven days. Sherlock made his way over, staring the dead man up and down.
"How old?" He asked, turning to Molly.
"Fifty," she replied, leaning back against the table.
"See anything?"
Sherlock smiled to himself and pressed a finger to his bowed lips.
"He's tanned, suggesting that he's just returned from a trip somewhere abroad. There's a tattoo on his arm of a leopard, no cheetah sorry, often found in places like Africa or South America. Augustus must of had a fascination with the animals there, especially the dangerous ones, for instance his tattoo. Lestrade you said everything was locked from the inside, it must of taken something tiny to fit through. Something small yet deadly. What animal fits that category?"
The skinny boy clapped his hands together and spun around to face the two before him. He gave a smug smirk before leaning over towards the businessman and pulling open his mouth, exposing the tongue. On it lay a small object, deadly still and a coal black colour.
"The poisoned dart frog, shows how unfortunate things can get if one escapes really."
Lestrade stared at the man before him in shock.
"Bloody hell," he murmured, still bemused.
"How did you work it out?"
Sherlock stepped away from the corpse and dug his hands back into his deep pockets.
"Observation Lestrade," he replied calmly, tightening his scarf.
"Anyway if you don't mind me, I have a party to attend."