Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

A whole load of paint

I must have dozed off because I woke up with a start when Sherlock shouted, "I've got it!"

I shot up so suddenly that I rocking slightly on the stool I was sat on. it took me a moment to remember where I was and how I got there.

John snorted awake beside me before looking at his watch and groaning loudly, slumping down again and propping his head up on his balled fist.

I glanced at the clock on the wall: six O'clock in the morning.

I rubbed my eyes and stretched, cringing as my joints crunched and clicked hollowly and dryly. But it felt good, all the tension relieving itself from my limbs.

"Got what?" I asked croakily then coughed to clear my throat, clicking my tongue around my mouth in order to moisturise it.

Sherlock typed something into the computer next to him then jotted a few notes onto a blank piece of paper before pocketing it.

"The type of paint." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I could tell he hadn't slept; his hair was tussled like he'd continually raked his hands through it. His eyes, although not shadowed, were weary.

"What about it?" John asked, propping his face up on his hand again after sliding off the first time, closing his eyes again.

"Originally I thought it was a kind of oil paint, because of the way that, in the photographs, the paint looked to be clinging to the clothes with small greasy patches around the coloured droplets. But upon observing the paint on the bottom of Everly's shoe, I tested its reaction with water, which was negative for oil pigments so I had to rule out oil paints." Sherlock explained. John looked to be dozing off again so I nudged him with my foot, making his jolt awake again. I felt awful for doing it but I needed him to also hear what Sherlock was saying.

"So my next thought was that it was acrylic paint, just common acrylic as it matched the reaction with the water. But acrylic paint has a certain smell about it when it dries and is almost instantly rehydrated with water. The kind of paint on the shoe isn't. In fact it took more than a few droplets of water for me to get any kind of thick paint consistency out of it again." Sherlock gestured boldly with his hands, "So I ruled out Acrylic paints. I was also able to rule out block, powder and water colour paints due to their watery consistency and their lack of being able to dry in a bold colour. The fibres of all the victim's clothes would have soaked up the water instantly and just left tiny stains instead of thick distinctive splatter marks." Sherlock stood still then turned to us briskly.

"So, I asked myself, what kind of paint could possibly dry in distinctive bold marks, isn't oil based, has the same kind of properties as acrylic paint but isn't soluble in water and has a lingering smell about it that doesn't match any of the latter paints listed?" He said then looked at both me and John eagerly. I glanced sideways at John who was still slowly taking in everything Sherlock had said.

Sherlock willed us with his eyes, "Come on!"

I thought hard then shrugged as John said, "We don't know Sherlock, varnish maybe?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes back as if we exhausted him.

"Dear God, what is it like in your tiny minds?" He mumbled then clicked his fingers, "Wall paint, John!"

John sat blankly as I blinked a few times, "What? Like decorating paint? Matt emulsion and such?" I asked and Sherlock beamed happily.

"Yes, in fact it is Matt Emulsion." He smiled.

"I'm failing to see how this is helping." John grumbled.

Sherlock made a snorting noise, "Your ignorance is a curse John."

"Go on," I said sensing Sherlock hadn't finished all his explanation and was dying to continue.

Sherlock clasped his hands, "Once I knew the kind of paint I cross referenced the colour against all the popular paint brands."

"Sunflower yellow, is it?" John said sarcastically.

"Buttercup Linen, if you must know." Sherlock grumbled.

I couldn't help but smile at the silly discussion about colour. It also giggled at the silly, cheerful names that companies gave their paint colours.

"Anyway, it's a DIY shop colour that they mix themselves." Sherlock said, placing his clasped hands under his chin and tapped his fingers rhythmically together. "But the colour of the paint on Everly's shoe is slightly lighter, so it must be someone's attempt to mimic the colour." He mused.

I sighed, "So someone has mixed it themselves with the intention of trying to pass it off as a professional mix?" I asked.

"Obviously." Sherlock stated.

"Why would someone do that?" John asked and Sherlock smiled.

"Now you're asking the right questions." He continued to tap his fingers together.

I stretched, "Well, I'm glad we know something even if it really is just something." I stood up and pointed to my shoe, "Can I have that back now?" I asked and Sherlock nodded. I pulled the shoe on and then hopped over to where the other one was before pulling on my jacket.

"I think I'm going to go home then." I announced and Sherlock to frowned.

"Why?" He asked, genuinely not understanding my motives.

"Well I haven't been home all night and I have a Dad who is probably worried sick." I explained in a simple and slow voice.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and I knew he still didn't fully understand why I was leaving.

"Need company?" John volunteered.

I shook my head, "Nah, I'm going to walk, catch the train." I was already planning the tube journey in my head.

Sherlock suddenly stood up and strode over holding out John's phone to me.

"I'll call when I need your assistance with the hacking." He said.

"That's my phone!" John exclaimed.

"Yes John, well done. Full marks for observation." Sherlock scoffed, "Everly needs it now."

"Couldn't you give her yours?" John asked bitterly.

"No." Sherlock said flatly as I pocketed the phone.

"I'll keep it safe." I promised then turned to leave, holding Sherlock's oyster card carefully that he had passed me, as well as the phone, with a tiny wink.