[December 19th, 2017]
CHAPTER ONE - "Allie" and "Cheese".
Sherlock was having a good day, boring but good. He'd gotten up, his tea had been ready and there was a note from John, handwriting slanted unnaturally, he had been late for work. Obviously. Sherlock's day didn't take an extreme veer from mediocre to interesting until later in the day. In fact, it didn't become much more interesting until the arrival of an out of breath and red John, who had quite clearly ran most of the way back to the flat.
No, scrap that, it didn't become much more interesting until John handed over the bundle of papers, files, with a watermark, police report. And with that, he had leapt up from his seat whilst stripping his outer dressing gown and throwing on his coat. "Do hurry up, John" he called over his shoulder to the utterly bewildered man behind him, "We have a case!"
Storming down the stairs, he opened the file and sat in the cab, the door shut -John must have gotten in. He began to read through the information that had been printed on the the paper;
Victim: Lord Sylvester Selwyn
Gender: Male Age: 56
Assumed cause of death: Murder, disembowelment.
Beneath the information was an ID, not normal, a license of some kind, which had been photocopied, crooked, shaking hands? In a hurry, unsettled, and behind that a packet of pictures were attached. Depicted in the images was a man, presumably Sylvester, had been strung up his arms by two nails -common, can be brought from B&Q- there were cuts mauling the body, avoiding arteries - deliberate, didn't want the victim to bleed out- and then finally, the most eye-drawing feature of the corpse; the huge slit that ran across it. From this incision there was a cascade of blood, intestines and other such organs.
Personally, Sherlock had seen some cases of disembowelment during his time as a consulting detective, the criminals behind these unspeakable acts were always more intelligent and more erratic and much more careful compared to the average murderer. It made it so much more entertaining to catch them. However, despite having experienced similar cases in his career, he had never seen one quite as extreme as this.
Slowly, he handed the images over John, causing him to rapidly exhale as though he had been hit in his stomach and had the air forcibly expelled from his lungs -he is shocked, his morals will mean that he is horrified.
They were drawing nearer to the abandoned block of flats where the body was found, too little blood in the images for the murder to have taken place there, and examined the close-ups of the wounds; they were exact, made by a surgeon? But no, the lines were almost too perfect…
Blinking rapidly at John's exclamation, Sherlock realised that they had come to a stop and was instantly annoyed at his own inattention. Climbing out of the cab he threw the money for the journey at the driver. Emerging, he took in his surroundings. It had rained the night before, and there were only some stepping stones,which were buried beneath the overgrown grass to get to the entrance of the building, so it is probable that there are some footprints imprinted in the mud, but the mud and undergrowth remained completely undisturbed apart from the wooden planks that Scotland Yard had laid down to prevent the loss of evidence.
Seeing that Lestrade was approaching, he turned to him, "Where's the body?"
"This way," Lestrade responded, running his hands through his hair, a nervous habit that he has picked up recently, he is unsettled.
Lestrade guided them through the hall of the building, "We are still unsure as to who called us to come and investigate, they used a payphone and did not provide us with a name, we could see no sign of forced entry and all of the doors and windows were locked and undamaged at our arrival and, well, you are already aware of what we found."
John hummed in response, a frown marring his weathered features. Blocking them out, Sherlock examined the dark hallways of the abandoned block of flats, but nothing had been disturbed; even he could admit that it was rather unnerving.
Clearing his throat, Lestrade gestured behind him and begun to turn, "I'm just going to leave you two to it." And with that, he left the room -Sherlock could hear him yelling at offer officers in the building. Sherlock turned his attention back to the body.
His earlier deduction of the murder not occuring there still seemed extremely probable, "It couldn't have happened here," he informed John. "The wooden floors are sanded down and unvarnished, the blood from the body would have soaked into the wood -like it has under the body- and it would have been exceedingly difficult to clean out, even if the murderer were to try there would still be evidence of blood."
John stared at him, Sherlock noticed that he avoided looking at the body, it most likely makes him uncomfortable -reminds him of incidents in Afghanistan?
"So, if the murder didn't take place here, where?"
Sherlock considered John for a moment, thinking back to the hallways of the old flat building, all of which had been lit almost blindingly by the lights that Scotland Yard had brought, but there was no blood on the floor, no sign that the mutilated body had been dragged to the room that he currently stood in. He turned to stare at what was once the victim's face, Selwyn's jaw was unhinged, he was missing his tongue. The man was also lacking his eyes, instead there was a bloodied mass of gore which was vacantly gazing at the doorway. Sylvester Selwyn was the embodiment of barbarity.
"I can't be sure," Sherlock informed him after a moment. "Everything appears to be too unnatural. There is no evidence to show how the body got here, all of the blood that we can see is not a result of Selwyn being butchered -there's not enough of it."
John stared at Sherlock, and Sherlock watched as his companion approached the body, wondering if John's medical career could offer him an alternative insight. Pulling on the gloves provided by Scotland Yard, John reached out to to look at the lacerations when the sound of loud voices interrupted them.
Sherlock watched as John's brow furrowed and he turned towards the door. John scowled.
"What is going on down there?" Questioned the blonde man, as he marched out the door and towards the disturbance.
Ignoring the sounds, the consulting detective turned back to the victim, fully intending to continue with his investigation; but the shouting grew louder and he could have sworn that he recognised one of the many voices amongst the pandemonium downstairs.
However, the longer he stood there, the more his curiosity pestered him, the harder he found it to focus on the crime scene in front of him because why does he recognise a voice that isn't John or Lestrade? Sherlock growled in frustration and turned with a swirl of his coat.
Tumbling down the stairs, he listened to the the shouting, attempting to figure out what they were talking about, the imperative 'leave' is frequently repeated, Scotland Yard wishes for the newcomers to leave? Or is it the other way around?
Stepping into one of the many downstairs room -seems to have set up at as a base, equipment is scattered around the room- his vision was immediately bombarded by red and people in red robes.
The room fell silent as its occupants turned their attention to him, oh no please don't let them be here- "Allie!"
Sherlock's shoulders tensed.
"I no longer go by that name, Cheese."
"Oh you'll always be Allie to me Allie!"
Sherlock observed how the detectives from Scotland Yard watched the truly bizarre conversation between him and 'Cheese' play out in bewilderment. He felt John shift closer to him as a man with auburn hair pushed himself through the sea of red robe, a slightly crooked grin on his face to go with his fly-away hair. His eyes sparkled.
"Cheese, call me Allie again I dare you." Sherlock felt his face harden, he was acting completely differently to his normal aloof self, but damnit that man always knew just what to say to infuriate him.
"Aw, c'mon Al-"
Sherlock turned towards the voice, it had come from the direction of Lestrade but it wasn't the man himself. The consulting detective found himself staring into a pair of eyes that, although hidden behind glasses, reflected his own, and said eyes belonged to a man who was slightly shorter than Sherlock, and he had the same fly-away style hair as 'Cheese' but it is obvious that his hair had once been as dark as the consulting detective's, yet it had begun to lose colour with the man's age -greying at his temples and along the sides of his head. Sherlock froze.
"Now," the older man began, noticing that he had caught everyone's attention. "James, stop antagonising your brother, Albus, please ask your, do you consider them friends? Uh, ask your associates to leave. I am officially taking over the investigation into the murder of Lord Sylvester Selwyn." He trailed off and Sherlock was able to hear him mutter "what an unfortunate name".
Sherlock continued to stare at him, he had left the name Albus behind just over a decade ago.
James responded and Sherlock echoed him with a "Yes, dad."
When John burst out an astonished, "What?" and Sherlock thought that it summed up the situation perfectly.
[December 20th, 2017]
Right, I haven't posted anything since my first story, and I completely blame school and exams. Anyway, I had a brain wave (with a few inputs from 'Oρειαδ) and just had to write it down. And this is the result!
I'm considering turning this into a short but sweet story, any opinions?
Alright, that should be everything,
Until next time,