The Great Game [Reader Insert]

Queen

     After the bomber/murderer's hostage was rescued, John insisted on stopping somewhere to eat. You and Sherlock agreed to go somewhere nearby, somewhere it wouldn't be hard to dash out of in case the pink phone rang again. Speaking of the phone, Sherlock had it laying in front of him on the table, and was scowling at it as if he expected it to crumble at his cold blue stare and give him a new case; a new game to play.

     John paused from shoveling bacon into his mouth. "Has it occurred to you-"

     "Probably," you and Sherlock answered at the same time.

      "No. Has it occurred to you-"

     "Definitely," you and Sherlock once again harmonized.

     "Listen!" John sighed. "I can't handle the two of you at once. Just let me speak. What if the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, Power's shoes. It's all meant for you two."

     "Yes. I know," you said. Beside you, Sherlock smiled faintly.

      "Oh. So is it... them?"

     Sherlock gave John a weird look. "Them?"

      "This... organization. Crime Ltd...Whatever!" John glanced around the room and then leaned in. "Moriarty."

     Sherlock and you exchanged thoughtful looks. You considered it. "Perhaps..."

     The iPhone beeped.

     "You have: One new message."  The all too familiar Greenwich pips sounded, but this time it was two short beeps and one long one. Then, a picture appeared.

     Sherlock scowled at the photo, which was of a middle-aged woman with heavy makeup. "Well, that could be anyone."

     "Oh, could be, yeah," John said. He smirked. "But lucky for you two, I've been more than a little unemployed." You gave him a quizzical stare. "Lucky for you two, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly." He scooted back the chair and went up to the counter where a small black remote lay. John picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels of the TV in the corner. Soon enough he stopped, and on the screen was the same woman from the picture! You and Sherlock watched with puzzled expressions. Suddenly, your personal iphone rang. You winced. Mycroft? Could be. Bomber? Well... 

     You took your phone out of your pocket and answered it, noting Sherl's annoyed expression. Clearly he believed it was Mycroft.

     "Hello?" you said into the phone.

     A trembling voice spoke haltingly. "This juan's... a bit... defective. Sorry... she's blind." It was a frail, old voice. "This is a funny one. I'll give you... Twelve. Hours."
     "Why are you doing this?" The calmness of your own voice surprised you.
     "I like... to watch you... Dance." The hostage woman began sobbing.

     The call ended.

     Connie Prince was a popular TV personality who recently died. Foul play was not suspected, but you and Sherlock knew better than Scotland Yard (what else is new)? The bomber wouldn't've set you on this trail if it wasn't murder. You, Sherlock and John just needed to find out how it was done.

     "Aged 54," Lestrade stated, staring at some papers on his clipboard as he led the group to Connie's body. "Had one of those makeup shows on the telly. Seen it? She was going places." You and Sherlock examined the pale corpse.
   
     "Not anymore," John remarked. He seemed to realize what he had said a moment later and a horrified expression spread across his face. You smirked. Oh, JAWN.