I Still Remeber John Watson's Daughter

Chapter 17 A Killer, A Painting, and Stars

A/N: Here's another chapter. Thank you for all the votes and the reads. I just thought I would mention the Van Buren Supernova doesn't actually exist but the way Sherlock dates the painting is real. I'll put the article address below.

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/gadgets-and-tech/how-sherlock-style-forensics-allowed-astrophysicists-to-date-this-monet-masterpiece-9087773.html

Chapter 17

The next morning the story hit the news, more than just the old lady had died. A whole block of flats had been taken out, killing 12. John was pissed at Sherlock because he wasn't showing that he cared; John seemed to think that Sherlock didn't care about all those people. If he only knew; Sherlock had cried himself to sleep last night. All I had been able to do was hold him. The pink phone went off which I learned the bomber was using to contact Sherlock and a picture of the river was sent.

Sherlock asked John to help look for any reports of bodies as I got onto the police database to look for any new reports as Sherlock got on the internet. John was resistant. "John just drop it. You don't know him the way I do so don't act like you know something when you know nothing."

"Let it go, Bella, not much cop this caring lark," Sherlock said looking on his phone. "You find anything yet?"

"Several reports, nothing along the river. Call Lestrade," I said. I dropped it as he asked but I was still annoyed with John. I continued to look as he did call. Soon enough we were on the river looking at a dead body, most likely a security guard though all symbols had been removed from his outfit. I immediately grabbed a pair of gloves and started to look over the body.

"Not at all shy about this sort of thing are ya?" John asked.

"He's dead, he won't bite," I replied rolling my eyes. Lestrade chuckled at that. I had seen far worse working with Sherlock, but I also never felt more at peace. This was the world I belonged in; this is what I was meant to be doing. What I had been through had given me understanding for the victims; Sherlock taught me how to make that strength. Mycroft had taught me how to hold my tongue; the Holmes family had taught me so much.

Sherlock soon joined me in looking over the body to try to figure this out. "He was a security guard that worked at a museum; the painting that's been advertised in town is a fake. Why else send an assassin after this guy?" I asked.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"She's right," Sherlock said. "Go onto the museum, I'll catch up."

"Bella wait. There's a killer out there and my daughter is going to go alone to the museum?" John asked.

"This killer won't strike in broad daylight, he's seven foot tall. He sticks out like s sore thumb," I replied. "Don't be long hun, you know I don't like waiting." With that, I was off leaving Sherlock to insult the intelligence of the cops and crime scene investigators. When I got to the museum the doors were locked, "of course. Getting ready for tonight." I went round to find the back door. Security had to get in somehow and so did the paintings. I sure as hell wasn't going to try to scale the building.

A side door was open and I found some extra uniforms. Were people really that dumb to leave uniforms that close to an unlocked door? I pulled a uniform on over my clothes and slipped back out to look for the painting. I texted Sherlock to tell him what door was open and where the uniforms were as I walked around. None of the paintings were up till I reached the back, there was one. That was supposed to be the one that was lost long ago. I noticed the problem with it immediately.

"Do you see it?" Sherlock asked coming to stand beside me.

"Yes, the stars, the supernova. If I recall correctly that's the Van Buren supernova. It appeared in the sky in 1856, way after the painting was done."

"Don't you have something to do?" a voice asked. She sounded Russian. I looked at Sherlock to see how he wanted to play this.

"Just enjoying the view," Sherlock replied.

"Yes, now get back to work. We open tonight," the Russian woman said again.

"Does it not bother you?" I asked. She remained silent, trying to figure out my unusually phrased question. "That the painting is a fake."

"What you on about?" she asked.

"That's why one of your security guards was killed last night. The painting is fake," Sherlock said walking to her. I looked at the painting for a moment longer and moved to stand beside him.

"Oh, you trying to get you and your friend fired?" she asked.

"That won't be a problem," I said removing the cap I was wearing. My long hair fell down my back.

"No?" she asked surprised. God, she was thick.

"No, you see we don't work here," Sherlock explained getting into her space.

"How did you get in?" she asked.

"You left the back door unlocked and the perfect disguise by said unlocked door," I replied starting to strip out of the nasty uniform. I preferred my jeans and tees.

"The perfect disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight," Sherlock said dropping his cap and coat on the floor and we left telling her to have a nice day. She had no clue who he was. That didn't matter; odds were she would be in jail before the end of the week. We headed back for the flat and I fell asleep against Sherlock in the cab. I had pushed myself too far for the day. My stitches were starting to hurt and I needed some pain meds. Sherlock helped me inside as John pulled up with some information.

Sherlock told him to hold the cab as he took me inside. Sherlock helped me get some tea going and get my meds as Mrs. Hudson brought me something to eat. "Be careful, both of you," I said hugging Sherlock as he set up my tea before he headed for the door; telling me what they were going to do. They were going to go chase a killer and I was going to sleep. "If you fight him, go for his knees, aiming any higher will advertise what you're about to do. Aim low and hit him fast. If you can dislocate a knee then you can at least try to break some ribs."

"Thanks, Bella, get some rest," Sherlock said kissing my forehead.