Things you can expect explored: Sherlock's familial relationships, homelessness, drug experiments (hence the T rating), and more.

Edit: There's a very strong filter that is not allowing me to fake e-mail addresses within the story, so I had to edit the e-mail.

Edit 2: I changed some statements to better match the appropriate intensity intended, and also to make a few character motivations and clashes more clear. I also made Sherlock's statements a little more BBC Sherlockian. Also, I aimed at more "show not tell".

Edit 3: Attempting British spellings. God help me. Actually, no. British people help me. Thanks. Also, very minor grammar.


3:39 PM

SEND TO: "GThatcher"

CC:

Mrs. Thatcher,

The project has been moved forward and the new due date is Wednesday. I need the preliminaries on my desk tomorrow morning. Work late if you have to. I need this to be perfect.

-Mr. Holder

[E-mail Sent]

Sherlock let out a long, uninterested sigh as he hit the send button. "Why do executive types have to be so predictably dull? Don't name your password after your children. It makes things way too easy", he muttered to himself. His mobile buzzed, and he eagerly looked to see who was contacting him. 'Not whom I'm expecting. Mycroft. Oh God, what could he want this time?' Much more reluctant now, he checked on what his 'dear' elder brother had to say to him.

New Message:
Where's my car?

MH

Reply:
Using it.

SH

New Message:
You didn't ask.

MH

Reply:
Knew you weren't going to use it. Almost done.

SH

-
"Do you want to assist this case or not?" Lestrade said in annoyance as he looked over Sherlock's shoulder. The amateur detective put his mobile back into his jacket pocket, visibly annoyed at the breach of privacy. "I've already solved the case Lestrade. Just waiting for everything to fall into place."

This came as a surprise to all who overheard, which was something Sherlock secretly relished. "What? What is the final piece? Out with it Sherlock; you're making me look rather foolish." The phone interrupted again, and ignoring Lestrade's plea, Sherlock plucked it out of his pocket and read the text nonchalantly.

New Message:
I want you out of my house.

MH

Reply:
I am out of your house. I'm with an investigation.

SH

-
New Message:
Cowardly Dan is attempting to send a video. Download now?

[Yes]

Downloading...

New Message:
I am tired of supporting you despite your complete disrespect towards me and general indolence. You never do any chores. I'm constantly cleaning your messes.

MH

Reply:
You mean my experiments. Can't we talk later? I'm busy trying to form a career as we speak, ironically.

SH

Alert:
Download complete. View now?

[Yes]

The video was the final nail in the coffin. "This, Lestrade, is exactly what I was waiting for!" Sherlock displayed the video for all to see, smirking triumphantly. On the small screen, the police officers of Scotland Yard viewed a shaky video of a pretty young lady showing off an amateur magic trick.

In response, the group was mystified, bemusement written on their faces. Obviously, they could not figure out how this had anything to do with murder. "Don't you get it?" Sherlock finally said, tiring of the silence.

Sergeant Donavon shook her head. "I think I do. You've wasted all of our time", she observed caustically. "Come on all; let's make the arrest while he's still doing his rounds. Remember, he's one of us. That makes him potentially armed and dangerous." The crowd began to disperse, some of them still bewildered and others newly disappointed.

"Yes, Donavon, perhaps you're right. It seems I've wasted your time. You see, I mistook you for someone competent enough to see crucial evidence when it is waved right in front of your face!"

Donavon looked angry, but vigilantly continued in attempts to ignore this outsider. She nearly made it outside of the door when he physically blocked her, causing her anger to finally reach its boiling point. "Get out of my way, you freak! You're impeding justice!"

"No, I'm stopping you from embarrassing the entirety of Scotland Yard! You're arresting an innocent man, one of your own! The real killer is slipping out from under our noses as we speak!"

"Just because D.I. Lestrade thinks you might do us some good doesn't make you in charge of me." Donavon pushed the amateur detective out of her way with an angry huff and hurried to catch up with the rest of the force. The only one left in Sherlock's audience was Lestrade, who was utterly mortified. "I really thought you had a point with this-"

"I do! If you would just listen, I'll explain." Sherlock fussed with his mobile once more. Lestrade's face softened and he sat himself down at a chair. "I'm listening. You have two minutes to prove Thatcher innocent."

"Less, if I want to catch you the real killers."

New Message:
Being a "consulting detective" is not a real job. You are wasting your talents and taking advantage of my kindness.

MH

Sherlock angrily exited out of his brother's message and then sent the video to the Scotland Yard computer database. He then turned the monitor to face Lestrade and played the video once more, pausing and zooming in on a face in the background. It was none other than Officer Thatcher, the man who was about to be arrested on murder charges. He was dressed like a homeless man asking for spare change. "This video was recorded in Hyde Park eight minutes before the murder. Thatcher is a man of loose morals, yes, but he's bound to the rules of time and space like the rest of us."

The lights came on. "This means he couldn't have been- we've made a grave mistake." Lestrade called the cars and then focused his attention back on Sherlock- but the amateur detective was in the middle of making a hasty exit. "Sherlock? Sherlock! What do you mean, 'catch me the real killers'? Sherlock!"

A smirk grew on his face as he heard Lestrade's puzzlement. Sherlock climbed into his brother's car and Lestrade hopped in as well, an aggravated look on his face. "If you know something, don't keep me in the dark. Thatcher and I were close." Sherlock wordlessly began to drive towards his destination, but Lestrade was quite insistent, so he showed him a picture of an unusual star shaped ring from his mobile. "This ring is the key to the mystery. It turns Lola from an alibi to a co-conspirator."

"Wait, what? How so? I don't get it, Sherlock. Do you mind explaining this to me instead of trying to be all secretive and dramatic?" After a few moments of silence, Lestrade sighed, agitated but giving up for the moment. He tried to figure it out on his own. "How could a ring turn an innocent girl into a co-conspirator? She was in her room that night with Brent Thatcher; the mother can attest to that. She heard them."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He just could not understand how Lestrade was the Detective Inspector. 'He has his moments of clarity, but all in all he is just as dull as the lot of humanity. There will never be a shortage of clientèle lining up at my door.'

Sherlock stopped on the side of a small quiet street where children were playing. He knew this was it. The killer was nearby, and he would never be able to resist the chance. He pulled out a different mobile and began to text.

Send New Message:
I'm going to be late again tonight. Don't wait up.

New Message:
Okay mum, thanks.

"The trap has been set. All that's left is for him to dispose of the hand, and then we will have the final damning evidence to arrest him." Sherlock watched the Thatcher house intently. Lestrade looked confused. "The hand? Are you saying the missing hand isn't out in the Thames somewhere, that it's in Thatcher's house? How does this prove Officer Thatcher's innocence?"

Sherlock glared at Lestrade. "It doesn't. All it proves is that the killer has been to that house and likely lives there. That's why I'm waiting for it to be disposed by the killer, who will therefore implicate himself with his actions. I've just given him the seemingly perfect window of opportunity. He's all alone for the evening."

"So, you're waiting for the son to bring out the trash tonight, which may or may not contain the hand. Do you even have any proof the hand isn't already disposed of, or that it's not in the Thames?"

"No, I don't."

Reply:
I can't believe you would say such a hurtful thing. I'm doing my best to get established, and I'm not trying to take advantage of you.

SH

Incoming Call:
Mycroft

[Send to Voicemail]

New Message:
Pick up the phone, Sherlock. I'm hurting you? That's convenient. It's always about you. That's your problem. You're selfish. That's why mother won't take you in.

MH

Reply:
How dare you bring mother into this.

SH

Incoming Call:
Mycroft

[Send to Voicemail]

New Message:
You need to hear this. Pick up the phone Sherlock!

MH

Incoming Call:
Mycroft

[Send to Voicemail]

Reply:
I get it. I won't come back.

SH

Incoming Call:
Mycroft

[Send to Voicemail]

New Message:
I never said I was kicking you out. I said you're no longer welcome in my house. You need to start being responsible for yourself.

MH

Reply:
Effectively, you're kicking me out. I never wanted to be your burden. You insisted I wasn't one.

SH

New Message:
I lied.

MH

Reply:
No shit!

SH

New Message:
Obviously find someplace else before you leave here.

MH

Reply:
I refuse to stay anywhere I am not welcome. I am not coming back. You will never see me again.

SH

New Message:
Stop being so dramatic!

MH

Reply:
You have got your wish. I'm gone, the imperfect and troubled little brother, away from your life, out of your hair. Goodbye.

SH

Sherlock stared at his phone defiantly as he typed, tears brimming in his eyes. He threw it and it clattered violently onto the dashboard of Mycroft's car. The mobile continued to buzz, crawling across the dash, but Sherlock had reached his limit for his brother's antics.

'I'm not one of his little pawns! I'm not being selfish, nor am I lazy. How could he say I'm using him? I can't prove my innocence in such a subjective matter. I can't prove I'm worthy of my family's kindness. Is that something normal families do? Demand proof in areas like that?'

He felt hurt.

'Synonyms for [Hurt]: Aching, agonised, battered, bruised, busted up, contused, damaged, distressed, harmed, indignant, marred, offended, pained, sad, sore, stricken, suffering, wounded'.

Sherlock's mind had looked up the synonyms of 'hurt' while scraping for a more appropriate word, a more clinical word. But he was 'hurt'. This argument with his brother had reopened so many old wounds.

'Mycroft always knew how to affect me.'

He was supposed to be concentrating on his trap, but these 'feelings' were getting in the way. 'Feelings. Hah. Mycroft pretends to be so emotionless, but everything he does is based on how he feels. He rationalises based on it.'

"He's the lazy one", Sherlock mused to himself aloud, his voice unsteady. "If it were up to him he would just sit in his damn chair all day doing nothing!"

A throat cleared and Sherlock stopped short, turning to look at Lestrade, also clearing his throat and looking back at the house. Neither man broke the awkward silence. Lestrade didn't know Sherlock Holmes very well; he had only just met him in person a handful of times (previous, it was all communication via text message). He could tell that the man liked his solitude, and he respected that. Whatever was going on, it was personal matters, and it had no bearing on what was unfolding before them.

Any moment now, Brent, the son was going to dispose of his trophy, anyone's only hope for real evidence. This boy thought he was so smart because he was in the academy and his father was a veteran police officer. He thought that his father's scandalous habit of pretending to be homeless for additional revenue would keep him silent as to his alibi, and that he could point the crime at his father and get off scotch free.

Sherlock was painfully aware he was operating based on a hunch, and this was a long shot. He hadn't confirmed one-hundred percent where the hand was, but he was still certain it had been kept with the killer, who would now be too spooked to keep it. The boy's closet was filled with pictures of hands! It had to be with him. How could Lestrade have missed something so obvious? Daylight turned into evening, and the accursed waiting was beginning to drive them mad. The killer hadn't much more time. He had to dispose of it soon. Garbage pickup was in the morning and the trash hadn't been taken care of just yet. He was home alone; he would just throw out the hand and be free of all damning evidence!

Suddenly, there was movement. The girlfriend was taking out the trash. Sherlock seemed pleased. "Sending out your accomplice instead?" Lestrade looked out as well. "You think he noticed us?" "No." They waited until she pulled out the bin for pickup and went back inside. Sherlock motioned for Lestrade to stay and then put on gloves and stepped out of the vehicle, grabbing the bag and picking at it right in the street.

The son of Officer Jeremy Thatcher soon came out holding a bat and screaming obscenities at the amateur detective, who disregarded him, completely devoted to his task. Lestrade stepped out and came between the two, holding up his badge. "This is official police business!" Lola came out once more, screaming. "Brent, what do you think you're doing?! Put that bat down! Put it down!"

Sherlock found what he was looking for. "Hah! Here we are." Everyone froze as he pulled up a wad of newsprint and began to unravel it. A finger appeared, polish on the nails. He stopped once the great reveal was over with, an evil smile aimed at the couple now white with fear.

The game was over.


I'm participating in NaNoWriMo,so expect chapters fairly quickly.

Review! Yes, please correct my grammar. Yes, please say hello and introduce yourself! :) The only thing I ask is no spoilers, please.