A study in black-- closed

[Artemidorus]

It was around noon and the doctor was still asleep. Sherlock had tried everything to get his attention. He started by making tea; the smell occasionally woke his late sleeping companion. When that didn't work he burnt breakfast. Perhaps the smell would rouse his flatmate. It did not. He continued his charade by making stronger tea this time. Then burning the tea. At this point the flat was full of smells and stained dishware, but still no doctor.

Hours after Sherlock had awoken, paced, made a mess, read a book, made another mess, all while awaiting John to come out and declare 'Good morning' so he could start his day. He could not start his day without that. That's how mornings went in 221B. Sherlock woke early, dressed, read a book or emails, and then a few hours later, John emerged with bed head and sleep eyes and uttered "good morning." And then they had tea and the day started.

But so far, those events had not unfolded. And it was after noon.

"Must have had a late night." Sherlock shouted to himself. Rather loudly. And to no avail. The detective had been asleep when his assistant came home, he imagined John had gone to a pub or perhaps on one of those- He shuddered at the thought of it- Dates. So he paced. And paced. And stomped and paced.

Sherlock stomped over and grabbed his violin and began playing. Badly. It was a stunt he resorted to for two things. When he wanted John's attention- and when he wanted Mycroft to leave.

 

[SherlockianMan]

The sharp, broken staccato notes pealing from Sherlock's violin reverberated inside John's skull like the stabs of a knife. He tried covering his head with his pillow, but the down filling was not enough to drown out the sound.

He knew this game of Sherlock's, trying to annoy him on purpose. He didn't want to give in to the childish attempt, but his head was killing him. He couldn't take much more of it.

He sat up abruptly in bed, immediately regretting it as the contents of his stomach and those of his head seemed to spin in opposite directions. He took several slow, deep breaths to fit the onset of nausea brewing below the surface. When the sensation passed, he rummaged around the bed for the wool jumper he had haphazardly discarded on the floor the night before. He tugged it over his short frame before a stumbling search for his pants could be made.

Dressed enough to venture out of the room, he took a few hesitant steps towards the door. Stepping out into the hallway, he walked slowly towards the sounds of the tortured instrument, cradling his head in his hand.

"Do we have to do this this morning, Sherlock?" He squinted against the light coming into the sitting room behind his friend. "I had a late night."

 

[Artemidorus]

((You're doing wonderful! Not rusty at all!))

"Finally." Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he heard the fumbling coming from John's room. He set down his violin and gazed out the window to the streets below, waiting for John to come out and say the words. 'Good morning Sherlock. Did you make tea?'

"Do we have to do this this morning, Sherlock?"

He was taken aback, but he didn't pull his gaze from the streets below. "Those aren't the right words." He groaned, before turning towards his flat mate. "Do what?" He feigned innocence. "Tea?" He gestured to the kitchen before taking a seat.

"Mrs. Hudson brought up the mail. I didn't read it. Mail is always boring." He chewed on a pen while sitting in his chair, spurring his laptop to life beside him.

 

[SherlockianMan]

((Sorry for the delay, it's been the week from hell so far...))

John surveyed the landscape through squinted eyes. Something black and slightly still smoking was on the stove of the small kitchen. The sight gave his stomach a sharp twist and he turned quickly away.

He accepted the proffered tea, but one sip told him it was Sherlock's attempt and not Mrs. Hudson's masterful craftsmanship with a cuppa. Sherlock lacked the patience for a proper brew, resulting in a murky substance that was almost, but not quite unlike tea.

John sat down in his chair, scooping up the discarded mail and started leafing through it.

"Is that my laptop again?" John spoke over the top of a letter. "Just because something is in the flat does not mean you get to treat it as your own."

 

[Artemidorus]

"Nonsense. I take ownership of everything in my domain. Quite like a dragon." he smirked up at John. He studied the laptop intently, his legs crossed and the computer on his knee.

"How was your night last night?" he asked, not looking up. His stomach twinged with jealousy, but he would never let on. Even if he had spent the night alone, watching reruns of a too predictable cop show and researched the affects of different types of metal on decomposing bodies. With John absent from the flat he couldn't even find the motivation to finish preserving the uterus in the fridge. And now it was moldy. And it was all John's fault.

Of course, none of this showed ln his face. "Anything good in the mail?"

(no problem at all!)

 

[SherlockianMan]

"You do know dragons are fictional, right?" Despite his throbbing head, John couldn't help but tease his companion. "Unlike the solar system you claim is unimportant."

It was an old jab, but one that had become an almost lovingly playful way of reminding Sherlock that despite his vast intelligence, there were still times when John could get the upper-hand. Besides, John liked seeing Sherlock's cheekbones rise in his customary smirk whenever the incident was mentioned.

He sipped at his "tea" a moment as he scanned the mail for anything of importance.

"Doesn't look like anything much worth reading." John said, setting the mail down once more. "Maybe an inquiry about your services, but probably another one of the nutjobs."

He looked back up at his friend. Sherlock sat with an impatient stare, as if willing him to say something further.

"Oh, my night. My night was...interesting." He gave a bit of a half-smile. "Well, what I can remember of it. I remember a decent amount of alcohol and losing Stanford somewhere along the way. And I definitely remember a woman. Very friendly."

The last bit he delivered with a smile as the scraps of memory tried to come back into focus.

"What about you? Do anything interesting?"

 

[Artemidorus]

"The solar system isn't important." Sherlock pouted. "At least dragons are interesting. What's so neat about big balls of hot gas? I already deal with one of those; he calls me 'brother.'"

He tried not to frown as John described his night. Alchohol, Stanford and a woman. Well he didn't remember her name. There. Sherlock was already winning in that catagory. Very friendly? Nonsense. John didn't like friendly. He liked rude-but-intelligent snark. That's why he liked Sherlock. Right?

The detective sat up when John asked about his night. "Me? Oh. I solved a case with Lestrade." he lied. Maybe John would get jealous that he didn't need his help. "Yeah, a stolen painting turned into a hostage situation. It was all very dramatic. I would have called but I didn't want to disturb your night out." Sherlock held his finger tips together, his long legs crossed.

 

[SherlockianMan]

"Oh, sounds interesting." John said as he stretched his back into his chair, shaking off the last of the morning stiffness. "You'll have to tell me more about it sometime so I can get it on the blog."

John stood up and headed for the kitchen. He pushed past Sherlock's burnt offerings and opted for a simple bit of toast and jam.

"I don't suppose you have a case going now, do you?" John called back as he waited for the toast to brown. "I think it's probably best I stick with you for the next couple of days before Standford drags me out to the pubs again. In fact, I'm making it a doctor's order to myself."

 

[Artemidorus]

"A doctors order to stick with me?" he asked, surprised. "And here I thought it was pure angelic adoration for my wit and charms that kept you by my side. Not the Hippocratic oath. Hm." he faked intrique.

"There is a case, actually." he said, standing and striding to the kitchen. "A serial kidnapper." He leaned on the counter, showing his laptop screen to John. He scrolled through pictures of kidnap victims, all very battered and bruised; swollen eyes, busted lips, cuts and swelling. All adults, on the older, wealthier end.

He displayed about half a dozen pics. Then scooped the laptop back up. "None of the victims will talk. They won't say anything leading us to their captor. Meaning they are either guilty of something or very scared."

 

[SherlockianMan]

"I'll admit to the wit part, but charm might be pushing it." John gave a half-smile after biting into his toast.

John examined some of the photos on the purloined laptop as Sherlock cycled through them. The injuries looked bad, but as a doctor, he could tell they were mostly superficial. Painful and certainly left their marks, but not necessarily life threatening.

"Interesting," John said, the new information clearing some of the fog from his alcohol addled brain. "Quite sadistic, isn't it? I mean, he obviously likes to rough them up, but they've all lived. Almost like the beatings are more for his pleasure than part of the intimidation."

 

[Artemidorus]

Sherlock smiled. "Interesting you'd say he. What have you seen that decerns our attacker as male? If you'll notice, a large amount of the victims are male. Most of them, in fact, and they were all taken in various methods, very few them involving exerted force."

Sherlock zoomed in on a few of the photos. "Look here. On the cheek, how its busted and bruised more so on the surface? No abraised or broken veins? I would suggest an open handed slap, and its radius is rather small. Theres also-"

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. "There's also another inkling towards a female captor." he cleared his throat, bringing up a male captive. He zoomed in on their zipper. "From the fold in their pants and- a small amount of liquid residue here-" he pointed. "I'd say they were aroused." his brow furrowed and he seemed a bit confused by the whole sexual aspect. "Sadistic is right."

 

[SherlockianMan]

"I know you're a stickler for details," John gave his friend a raised eyebrow look, "But I must say I'm a little shocked you caught that last part."

He studied Sherlock's face for a moment. Was there embarrassment on it? A hint of a blush. He thought about ribbing the detective about it, but felt it a low blow.

"I only say 'he' because violent crimes and kidnappings seem to usually involve male perpetrators. I mean, if only for logistic reasons of attacking someone, you'd assume a male attacker."

John leaned back against the counter, taking a minute to finish his toast.

"So are we looking for some kind of S&M link between the victims, or is it merely the kidnapper's obsession?"

 

[Artemidorus]

"I'll admit, that last detail took me a bit of research." He said sheepishly. This timidness, the venture into unknown territory, it was a new emotion for Sherlock. He didn't know how to control it, how to express it, or how to channel it.

"I think partual bits of both your theories are correct. But I think this mostly leans to a third. My theory. She was getting information from these victims. But was she also enjoying it? I think that too."

Sherlock beemed a proud grin. "And thats how I found her. I had the homeless network track down hired hits. Then I narrowed it down to the female, which was a miniscule number. Narrowed that down to attractive female, and-" he drew out a note card with a phone number.

"Here's our attacker." he handed John the card. "I'd like you to put a hit out on me."

 

[SherlockianMan]

((Gah, life gets in the way again. Haven't had a chance to get online for nearly a week. Sorry about the wait.))

"Well, she is certainly attractive." John said, studying the picture. However, his brain took a moment to catch-up and he did an abrupt about face and stared at Sherlock.

"Hold on. Did you just say to put a hit out on you? You do know there are easier ways of meeting pretty women, right?"

John gaze at his friend's face, trying to judge how serious the almost frozen in seriousness appearance was.

"That's your plan? Bring her to us, simple as that."

 

[Artemidorus]

"I'm not interested in the woman John. At least not in the way you're insinuating. She is valuable; I could give the information to the yard, but they would just arrest her. I have a feeling she is working for someone. Gathering information from these people, but I can't put together what. Two of her victims were retail managers, but one was a member of parliaments son and another was a secretary at the brittiah embassy."

He paced. "These are interrogations, but for what? And what does she know?" he walked for a few more moments, then he turned back to his doctor.

"That's why I need you to call her. Put a hit out on me. She'll kidnap me and then I can get my information. Easy."

 

[SherlockianMan]

[I officially suck at keeping this thread alive]

"Of course you wouldn't be interested in her." John mumbled under his breath. When Sherlock gave him an inquisitive look, he quickly dismissed it by changing the line of discussion.

"Where does one go about putting hits out on people?" John laughed at the absurdity of the topic. "I don't exactly keep criminal's numbers on my mobile...but I suddenly have the feeling that you do."