Hello fellow 'Sherlock' fans! Ok, so this is my first 'Sherlock' fanfic, and I'm really quite excited as, not only do I love the series, but judging from what I see, you guys do too…You wouldn't be reading this otherwise.
So anyway, I've only watched the first two episodes, so I've tried my best to keep the characters accurate. As an all out Sherlock Holmes fan I've read a lot of the books as well, and seen different interpretations, so where I might fail to get the characters completely right, I revert to the original, so they won't be too far out.
So this fic focuses mainly on Sherlock, John and Lestrade, with emphasis on Sherlock being very slightly crazy. The fic will be in two/three parts, but depending on the feedback I can always extend.
I hope you all enjoy this fic, and please review with any feedback, or constructive criticism.
Warnings - Drug mention (later), Swearing, Craziness, Anderson bashing.
Disclaimer – I do not own Sherlock Holmes, or any of the characteristics or places described in this interpretation.
"Bla" – Normal
"Bla" – Phone/Shouting
"Bla" – Memories.
John Watson gave a low sigh, running a hand up through his short army-cut hair, as the passing torrent of rain continued ceaselessly before him, offering no chance of left up. He was anxious to return home, having been away for the night, and left Sherlock to his own devices…which really wasn't a good idea. Of course the man was a brilliant master-mind, a narcissistic genius in-fact, but he often neglected to think about the important things. Such as eating, drinking, sleeping oh – and breathing, as that was fairly important too, no matter how boring Sherlock may have claimed it to be.
When the Doctor had last left his friend, Holmes had been lunging frantically around the apartment in a fit of zeal, blabbering triumphantly to himself in what appeared to be an interesting merge of French, English and Latin. He'd been up on a thirty-six hour stint without food, or sleep for that matter, and had been high as a kite on his own adrenalin and nicotine. Watson had managed to negotiate the release of 'the skull' with Mrs. Hudson in the vague hope that it would act as a good alternative until John returned the next day. Judging by the fact that he hadn't had any panicked phone-calls from their landlady telling him the house was a on fire, or that Holmes had managed to shoot himself in the eye in a mad moment of hysterically lonely experimenting, John was feeling confident that 'Yorik', as he had so named the skull, had done its part as an audience member in keeping the Detective's active mind as sane as was possible. Of course, the Doctor reasoned, it had been he originally who had been the alternative for Yorik, so he doubted that Sherlock had even noticed the Soldier's disappearance at all – as long as you fed his ego by listening to his ramble the Detective was happy to amuse himself, without issue, for days.
With a quiet grumble Watson looked to the dark clouds above, and darted out into the street, his collar turned up against the wind – the time in Afghanistan had made his tolerance of bad weather worse. Striding down the path he considered a cab momentarily before dismissing the idea with shake of his head – the problem with working with Holmes was that you saw possible killers everywhere now. Plus Mycroft wasn't the most trust-worthy character that the Doctor had ever been associated with.
With a low buzz his phone began to vibrate in his pocket and he fished it out, staring at the screen with a squint as he tried to make out the caller – Withheld number. Perfect.
"Hello?" He answered wearily, looking both ways as he hurriedly crossed the street.
"Dr. Watson? It's Lestrade."
Watson raised his eyebrows, "How did you get this number?" He asked instantly.
"Sherlock gave it to me in-case I needed to call him in an emergency, or for un-work related issues."
"Oh." Watson muttered dryly, "He would." Taking a sharp left he jogged down through the street, head bend down as rain thundered over him. "This is my mobile number."
"I guessed as such. I'm sorry to be calling you, but as Holmes is refusing to answer his own phone I was wondering if you could pass him over."
Watson looked down the street after him, darting through an alley which offered a longer, but drier route to Baker Street. "He's not with me right now, where are you?"
"Outside your house – your Landlady isn't in, and Sherlock isn't answering either. So if he's not with you, where the hell has he gone? I don't like the idea of him running around without some form of a conscience with him."
Watson groaned, a dull feeling of dread filling the pit of his stomach. "Are you sure he's not ignoring you."
"I'm hoping he is."
"Alright, I'm nearly there – hang on, I'll let you in." He ran out into the open again, grumbling quietly to himself as a dull ache filled his shoulder – the cold always made him stiff. Crossing the street again he ran to the door where Lestrade stood, true to his word, beneath an umbrella. Sally stood with him, as well as a very smug looking Anderson. Clicking his phone shut John ran to them and stood beneath Lestrade's umbrella, shaking and wet. "God, it must be important if you're waiting out here for him." Watson almost accused, fumbling in his pocket for his set of keys as he let himself in, allowing the others to follow. "What's going on?"
"We've been trying to contact him for hours – one of the pieces of evidence he gave us for the Hemlock case is false, and we've had reopen the investigation."
"Oh. So that's why you're here." Watson eyed Anderson for a moment, before turning and going up the stairs. The house smelt oddly of smoke, but this was nothing to the overpowering stench of fumes which pooled into the hall-way as he opened the door to the living quarters. With a cough he waved his hand in-front of his face, stepping into the hazy room and looking around to the cluttered mess everywhere. It looked like a bomb had gone off in a scientific lab, test tubes lying, some shattered, all across the different surfaces, different coloured liquids lining every open space and books cluttered into high towers in ever corner. Watson took in the familiar sight of his home and walked into the room without a backward glance, listening to, with some humour, the sound of Sally and Anderson's surprise and horror. Apparently Lestrade had known Holmes long enough to no longer be shocked.
Glancing into the kitchen John sighed at the mess and turned toward the small sitting area which appeared to be the only part of the room not completely taken over by Holmes' experiments.
Lounged across the sofa with his eyes closed and breathing deep the very man himself lay asleep, his long, pale limbs, clad in a wrinkled suit, strewn over the sofa with one hand hanging down and clutching the neck of a violin loosely.
"Hm, you're right – he was ignoring you." Watson said across to Lestrade as he came over and peered to the sleeping Holmes who lay still as death, his expression oddly peaceful and reserved.
"He's asleep?" Sally asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief, "That's his excuse? Oh come on, there is no way he could sleep through us ringing the doorbell that many times and calling – he's faking."
"No, he's asleep." Watson replied, narrowing his eyes, "From what I can see it's the first time in over fifty hours as well." He calculated as Anderson began to grumble.
"Great – now you're doing it." He muttered.
"Deducting. Look it's not impressive anymore. You probably left when he was awake, and came back when he was asleep. Aka, you deduce – he fell asleep while you were gone. Why do you have to make that sound like it's such a mystery?"
"Because you're right, he was awake when I left, and he's now asleep. The fact of the matter is that I left the house at noon yesterday and haven't heard, or seen him until now."
"Then how could you possible know?"
"Well, for a start there's the morning papers, so he must have got them today which means that he was still awake. And I know he only fell asleep recently because I judged it from this…frankly questionable looking tea. It's lukewarm." John paused, "Which means that, as he's still wearing those same clothes from yesterday when he had already been awake for thirty-six hour, he hasn't gone to bed at all since then either." Watson paused.
"Oh God." Sally muttered, "He's rubbing off on you."
"Please don't say that." John replied, his face oddly mortified as Lestrade laughed faintly and Anderson moved over toward Holmes, nudging his violin with his foot.
"That still doesn't prove the psychopath isn't faking." He announced looking around just as a firm, frustrated voice spoke.
"Sociopath, Anderson please – for the love of God – look it up." Sherlock grumbled, his eyes still closed as a sudden deep crease across his forehead displayed a rapidly thinning temper.
Anderson, leaping a foot in the air, whirled around with a triumphant smile as he pointed to the Detective. "So you were faking!"
"And you're wife is having an affair and just left you." Holmes replied without hesitation so that the other paused at this statement before speaking angrily.
"Now don't try and pull that one on me! There is no way you could have figured that out! Someone told you!"
"Yes - the leaking bottle of perfume in your pocket told me."
For a moment nobody moved, and then Anderson pulled from his pocket very said item, his eyes wide as he stared, open mouthed to the Detective who gave a faint smile, his eyes still closed as Lestrade straightened, eyebrows raised and Sally gave an embarrassed cough, looking away. "How the hell did you know about all that!" Anderson finally asked and Sherlock gave a low whistle.
"Because they're all interlinked." He paused, before throwing himself into an explanation. "You bought your misses a bottle of perfume yesterday evening on the top floor of a multi-complex shop in high-street – Chanel, if I'm quite correct. This morning however, as you removed it from it's box, you dropped said bottle before hurriedly putting it into your pocket. Your wife found the box, yet instead of confronting you, she took your car, and you arrived home tonight to an empty house this evening. Any mistakes?"
A dead silence followed, and John found himself smiling slightly as he watched, still amazed at Sherlock's incredible deducting ability.
"So, how did I figure it out? Well, let's see. First of all, I know the smell of Chanel distinctly because it is – coincidentally – Sally's favourite perfume, and I can smell it from here as it's leaked all over your coat – a fact you didn't realise because of the ongoing rain today. How did I learn so much from the perfume though…Well it's simple really. I know where you bought it because your wife is in a wheel-chair, meaning that the only place you felt safe buying the perfume was in a place inaccessible for the invalid. The multi-storey shop in High street is close to where you live, but the lift is broken – a perfect place to roam unseen. Then there was a crack in the bottle, which meant that you must have dropped it, but then put it in your pocket without noticing. Your line of work makes you observant, and you need a steady hand, which means you that you dropped the bottle out of surprise and then had to hide it quickly. But who could you be hiding it from? Why, the only person who would know it was intended for a lover – your wife. So this morning when you dropped the perfume it was because your wife entered the room. In your hurry to leave, and the relief of your success at hiding the perfume, you did not check the bottle for breaks, nor think of the box you left behind. And I know she found it, or somehow realised, because of what's missing. Hm…Distinctive sound your car makes when it drives, an unnecessary purr hardly found in this side of London, yet today you came in a Cab. Why is that? You flaunter your jaguar everywhere you go, yet now, when you've clearly come to tell me I made a mistake, or to arrest me, or whatever, you don't bring your pride procession. That hardly makes sense unless, of course, you don't have it anymore. But you had it this morning – I saw you drive past when I picked up the paper. So your wife took it, as she's only other person with access to a set of keys. It knew it couldn't be stolen by anyone else, otherwise you wouldn't be here looking for a kick after such a bad day, you'd be looking for it. As for your wife's lover, it's difficult to drive with a broken leg, so your wife must have had help. As you didn't worry about being seen when you bought the perfume I can assume she doesn't have many family or friends close by that you know of. A lover would be the only thing that you wouldn't be aware of. There, see – simple."
John sighed, rolling his eyes at this nonchalant behaviour as he began to tidy, rearranging this. "How do you know he didn't just lend the Car to his wife?" He asked and Holmes snorted.
"Please." He murmured, "Anderson's not the type."
"Actually-" Anderson began but the Detective cut him off.
"-Oh, don't try it, it won't work. Now shush – I'm sleeping." For a moment he was quiet before, with a sudden grumble he spoke again. "Oh, and Anderson, if you ever kick my violin - or so much as touch it for that matter - ever again, please note that I will break you."
"Wha-…Are you threatening me!" Anderson demanded as Lestrade gave an exasperated grumble and spoke, cutting across Holmes' reply.
"Enough! Both of you. You're like a pair of bickering children, this is ridiculous. Sherlock, we need your help."
"We've had to reopen the Hemlock investigation, you made a mistake on one of the pieces of evidence we found."
"Oh." Holmes murmured, "So that's why Anderson's here." He stated, as Watson had done and John chuckled silently to himself, pouring the awful looking tea down the sink where it seemed to actually fizz. "So I made a mistake…Hm." He murmured, "Interesting."
"Not interesting, bad – we might have the wrong person in jail, for God's sake." Lestrade attempted to prompt the other into action, yet Sherlock did not move, maintaining his strewn out pose, eyes closed. From across the room John stifled a groan and all but wrung the air before in anger as he came across a huge spillage of liquid on his floor.
"Ugh! Sherlock – what is this!" He demanded, hoping with all his might that the man hadn't been experimenting with poisonous toxins again.
"What colour is it?" Holmes replied, "I can't see with my eyes closed."
"Oh good, you do have some similarities with normal human beings." Sally bit as Watson replied.
"It's clear. Dammit - It's all over the curtains too! Ah, wait, I think I found the bottle. It's - …Sherlock, please tell me that this isn't the right bottle, because it's labelled Benzene."
"Oh, then there's no need to worry, it's just gin."
"Why did put gin in a bottle of Benzene! And where the hell is the Benzene then?"
"In the fridge."
"Why, God, why? That stuff's poisonous, you know?"
"Pah, not that much." Holmes shifted a little deeper into the sofa as Lestrade picked up another open bottle from the table directly beside him. "Everything in this room is totally harmless as long as it is treated with the correct level of respect."
"So what have you put in this one then?" Lestrade asked, swirling the contents around curiously.
"What's the bottle labelled as?"
"Oh. No, that one is chloroform." Holmes confirmed as Watson darted across the room, grabbing the bottle and closing it hurriedly with a fit of panic.
"How long has that been open for!" He demanded.
"Oh…A few minutes…-Hours." Sherlock mumbled contently.
"Are you completely out of your mind!" He exasperated, before pointing to Anderson and Sally wearily, "Open all of the windows."
"But it's raining."
"Just open them, please – we need to clear the damn fumes out of this place."
"It's not that bad." Sherlock whispered, a small smile on his lips as Watson flopped down into a chair, suddenly exhausted.
"You're getting high on this, aren't you?" He accused, but it was without venom and Holmes just smiled as a blast of wind suddenly burst through the room and Watson was given his first breath of fresh air in minutes.
"Right. Now that we've gathered you're a complete lunatic," Sally began, crossing over to Holmes, her arms folded, "Could you perhaps explain your mistake so that we can end this case once and for all, and go home."
For a moment nothing happened, and then with a small grumble Holmes opened his eyes and stood so quickly that Sally jumped back with surprise as the Detective marched straight toward the kitchen, stumbling a couple of metres to the side halfway there, as all the blood rushed from his brain.
"What was my mistake then?" He asked, all but crashing into the kitchen counter as he attempted to coordinate his way across the kitchen toward the cupboards. In the light he suddenly appeared very tired and haggard and Watson watched him with a faint touch of worry.
"The phone." Sally stated. "You told us the victim had stolen it, but we have recently discovered that it actually belonged to his mother. We based our entire case on that theft!"
Holmes chuckled, taking out a coffee cup from the cupboard and placing it on the counter with a smirk. "That wasn't a mistake." He said simply and Anderson approached.
"Didn't you just hear us? We discovered that the phone wasn't stolen, you told us it was! You made a mistake."
"Anderson." Lestrade interrupted. "That's not what he means." The Inspector looked over to the young, dark haired man as he began to pour almost the entirety of the jar of coffee grains into his single cup. "You lied to us on purpose."
"Of course I did." Sherlock whistled, his hands shaking faintly as he moved to the other side of the kitchen once more and plugged in the kettle. "If I hadn't you would have gone straight for the obvious choice of the mother being the murderer, and wouldn't have listened to a word I said. Peer pressure had you under to end the case quickly, but I was under none, so I saw clearly. The phone was a minor detail, I simply tied it in. I actually gained most of the evidence from the stolen watch he was wearing, but I didn't think it best to mention that." He went to the table in the centre and picked up a bottle, "Any more questions?" He asked, measuring out some of the liquid with his eyes.
"So you tricked us…But all of the other evidence was real?"
"Of course…with a few alterations so that the phone somehow fit into it." Holmes replied returning to the kettle with the bottle. Watson watched, eyebrows raised in surprise, as the fair-skinned man went to pour some of the contents in, and spoke quickly, stopping him.
"Holmes, why are you putting that in the kettle?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "…I can't believe I just heard that question, can you honestly not figure it out?" He asked. "I want coffee."
"Sherlock, that's a bottle of hydrochloric acid." John watched him closely, face dubious as Holmes tilted his head to one side.
"No, I finished the bottle of hydrochloric acid this morning – this is now water." He stated as his four observers watched him in dead silence.
"There were two bottles." Watson finally said, his eyes sharp as Holmes stopped, a little surprised by this news as he looked over to the table to see that, in-fact, yes – there were two bottles. Silently he dipped two of his fingers into the bottle he was holding, looking oddly vacant before, pulling them away. After a moment he breathed out, "Ok, you were right, this one is aci-i-i-i-i-i-i-d." He sang suddenly, hopping up and down as clutched his hand with a fit of pained giggles, before rushing over to the sink and sticking them beneath the flow of the cold tap. "The other one is water." He continued calmly.
"I…I am not honestly sure what I just witnessed." Sally murmured as Holmes shook out his hand and blew on it, observing this fingers with suspicion – as if they were the feigns responsible.
"Holmes…are you alright?" Watson asked slowly as the other looked up, flashing him a charming smile.
"I am as perfectly sound as a man should be when he's asleep." He replied and Watson frowned. But before he could answer Anderson had spoken.
"Why is there a skull in here?" He asked, pointing to Yorik who was balanced on the back of one of the chairs.
"Because it reminds me of you." Sherlock replied sweetly and Watson grabbed the offending object and tucked it under his arm.
"Ok, I'm not going to ask what it was doing in the kitchen, or why there are…burn marks in the eye sockets… But I've returned now, so it's going back to Mrs. Hudson cellar, alright?"
"Watson, you're no fun."
"It's a Skull Holmes…A. Human. Skull."
"…-He wasn't always."
"-That's not an excuse!" Watson barked, before sighing, "At least you didn't take him out into public – Oh, God, yes you did…Your expression says it all…aha, I'm living with a madman."
"This is ridiculous." Sally interrupted, "I'm going home."
"Oh, wonderful." Holmes cried, "I would show you the door…But I can't remember where it is."
"Oh, you are so cute." Sally spat and Sherlock smiled in return. Meanwhile John had moved across toward his roommate and was observing him intently. After a moment he picked up a book from the table and waved it in-front of the man's face.
"Holmes, read this." He said and Sherlock looked around to him in surprise, before replying with a prompt –
-And moved happily away as Watson continued to observe him, shaking his head slowly.
"Extraordinary." He whispered, "I honestly cannot…Holmes, are you really asleep?"
"I thought that was already evident." Holmes replied, filling the kettle with water, Watson snorted in amazement.
"I don't…I don't believe it." He murmured, "They say your brain sorts through problems in your sleep but…This is incredible."
"What are you talking about?" Anderson asked, staring to the Doctor with curious distaste as Watson watched Holmes prepare his coffee.
"He's asleep." Watson replied.
"Alright, we get that he's tired but-"
"-No. He's actually asleep – he's sleeping right now."
"He is sleeping – he's…he's, sleep-talking, sleep-…Sleep-deducing?" John looked back towards the man, "He's fast asleep and he's totally aware of it." He said with amazement.
"Of course I'm aware of it. Half of this doesn't make logical sense as actual matter, but only as a collection of thought."
"Half of what…?"
"The M painted in blood on the back wall, those Chinese dolls moving across the windowsill, the giant lucky cat, the coil of rope, the hanging woman, my brother sat by the fire, my grandfather's portrait, numbers in the air, thoughts, lives, memories, that humungous periodic table hanging from our curtains!-"
"-No, no Sherlock, that's actually there." John confirmed calmly and Holmes gave a small 'Oh' in response, chewing his bottom lip as he watched something pass in the air in-front of him, invisible to the rest.
"O…K…That is wrong." Sally whispered, eyes a little wide with disturbed fear, as she watched the Detective. "How do you know he's not just hallucinating?"
"He couldn't read the book." Watson replied, "When you dream or sleep you use the opposite side of your brain needed to be able to read. He can see the 'M' because it's a concept in his mind, and he knows the periodic table because he recognises it's shape, but he can't read."
"Oh, dear God - he belongs in a freak show." Anderson murmured as Sally turned away.
"I'm going – Good night inspector, Doctor." She stated, leaving the room as Anderson watched her go, biting his bottom lip.
"Go with her, then you can split the fare." Holmes suggested deviously, his eyes gleaming as the other growled and disappeared after his girl-friend. Sherlock gave a small laugh before resting his head on the counter, and closing his arms with a contented sight. Lestrade gave a small cough, looking briefly over to John before giving him a small nod and turning away.
"Well, I had better be going." He began, but Watson stopped him before he could go.
"Inspector Lestrade…Before you go you probably want to hear this…I didn't want to say it in-front of the other two, because I didn't feel it was fair, but as you've had to deal with Sherlock for over five years, I thought that maybe you would like to be included in a little piece of information."
"When people sleep, they are given raw access to their own minds. Apparently Holmes can also use logic, but he can't tell for certain the difference between thought or reality. He knows he's sleeping, but he doesn't know that we're real."
"What are you trying to say?" Lestrade questioned.
"Like this," Watson began, dipping his voice into a whisper, "He is incapable of lying."
There was a pause, and then Lestrade smiled to him, sudden excitement burning through him as Watson smiled in return.
"Anything you'd like to ask him?"
-End Part 1-
Ok – just quickly,
Chloroform – The fumes are poisonous and knock you out very quickly.
Benzene – Poisonous to drink, make you light head, lead to long term illness (Cancer).
Can anyone tell me where the reference of 'Yorik' comes from? A cyber-cookie to anyone who knows!
Watch the space for the second chapter!