Improbable Truth (Sherlock Fanfic)

Chapter Two

Watson's POV

Location: 221B Baker Street

Time: Shortly after His Last Vow /The Abominable Bride (Present Day)

I, Doctor John H. Watson, was utterly and royally stumped.

"Sherlock," I began. "Erm... what on earth is that?"

I was referring to the pile of garbage that now called 221B Baker Street's living quarters its home. Luckily, the amount of organic waste was kept to a minimum, but still...

"Garbage, John. The waste products of mankind, trash, waste, litter, compost, things that we don't need, don't want, or forgotten." Sherlock stated plainly, not even glancing up from his rummaging about in the garbage pile. At least he had the good sense to wear some measure of protective gear, if you would call an extra coat and some goggles protective.

"For your information, John, Mrs Hudson insisted in the strongest of terms that I put this ridiculous outfit on. I wouldn't have worn this otherwise. And yes. You were thinking about it, judging by the look you were giving me, open mouth indicating that you had something to ask, something most likely to be about my outfit, seeing as I'm in a coat all the time-"

"Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"You're doing it again."

"Oh."

Of all the things he loved to do that was generally frowned upon by the public, this one would be ranked in my Top Five list. Eyeballs in my tea, heads in the fridge, bullets in the wall- I was starting to sound like Mrs Hudson in my head. The kindly old landlady of Number 221, Baker Street was helpless to protest against these extraordinary happenings. And now the pile of garbage.

"Remind me again, Sherlock. What exactly are we doing this for?"

"Hmm? Oh, the... pile of evidence. Yes. I'm looking for a lead to the Black murder case. The one that I told you about earlier-"

"You just sent me a text saying:

Murder. Baker Street. Bring gloves.
-SH.

How was I supposed to even figure it out?"

"Oh yes, hmm... well you could have read between the lines, Lestrade just only handed me the crime scene photos. I was already there. Not much to go on for the body, so I took surrounding evidence."

"Surrounding evidence. I see. So... is there anything I can do to help?"

"Get me some tea from downstairs, Mrs Hudson already has two cups on the ready. Oh, and my nicotine patches."

I sighed. Typical Sherlock. I did as he said- Mrs Hudson said she never told Sherlock there was tea for him, but he was right anyways- and sat slumped in my usual chair by the fireplace. The pile of garbage was precariously close to the guest couch, Sherlock hidden from view by the small mountain it formed.

I sat in my usual chair, booting up my laptop. A quick email reply from Lestrade brought me up to speed on what on earth Sherlock was doing with all that garbage. Sophie Black, twenty year old woman was found dead in a dark alleyway, cause of death thought to be strangulation. Sherlock took one look at the body and ordered it brought to the lab. He then had apparently, in Lestrade's words: 'taken the whole dumpster back in a squad car.' A whole lot of exclamation marks after that statement told me that Lestrade was quite unhappy. At least I didn't need Sherlock Holmes' brain to figure that one out.

"She was part of the Network." Sherlock suddenly spoke up. There was something strange in his voice I could not place. Regret?

"Sorry, what? A network?"

"My Network. The Homeless Network."

"Oh, that," I now remembered the organization Sherlock had formed to gather information and use it to solve cases. Much like a group of undercover police, this unofficial civilian group were Sherlock's eyes and ears all over London. And now one of them was dead?

"Hey, look. Couldn't this have been a coincidence? I mean she could have been involved in some kind of quarrel. Just because she was in your Network-"

"Don't assume anything, John. If there's one thing you could pick up, it's to-"

"Never ever assume, yes. I get it. But how could this be related to- oh."

I had forgotten the message. In my haste, I had forgotten the reason Sherlock was still in London. After he shot Magnussen, he was forced to leave the country on a suicide mission. Seemingly impossible. But as he was leaving English airspace, the threats started showing up. Broadcast simultaneously on every television, every channel- he had to come back. It seemed that Jim Moriarty was not as dead as we thought him to be- he was perhaps still alive.

Sherlock continued rummaging in the pile. Suddenly, he straightened up, a smile visible even through those ridiculous goggles. In his hands was a small piece of cloth. He sniffed it. "Chloroform. Now we're getting somewhere."

"Somewhere?" I could only utter weakly. Sherlock wasn't his usual self. That much I could tell. But since I wasn't Sherlock, that was all I could 'deduce' from what I saw.

"Sherlock" I tried again. "Erm... it wouldn't hurt if you could, I don't know, maybe share what's going on in that absurd Mind Palace of yours?"

He ignored me. As usual.

Instead, he started blabbing on and on about chloroform and whatnot. Typical Sherlock style, except that this time I was worried for my friend. Moriarty's supposed return obviously meant something to him. It was a mystery he could not solve, an enigma yet undeduced. He could not focus entirely on the case before he solved the mystery of the resurrected consulting criminal. Moriarty.

I tried to offer him some help, since he wasn't in the mood of asking for it. "Look, Sherlock. If anyone can solve this, it's you. You-"

I was cut off by the beep of Sherlock's phone. He opened it, then showed me the text after reading it.

A picture of a man presumably in his forties. Dead, eyes unfocused and unblinking. A phone in his hand. And underneath it, the caption:

This will be the second one.
We're going to have so much fun.
Miss me, Sherlock?
Time's running out, tick-tock tick-tock... - JM

Quick as a flash, the glint I knew so well in Sherlock's eyes was back. I knew that this case and the Moriarty conundrum were somehow related. But how, I could not say. Only Sherlock could unravel the mystery- I hoped.

We dashed downstairs, surprising a thoroughly bemused Mrs Hudson coming up the other way.

"Oh dear me, what is it now, boys? And I've already made you biscuits! All this rushing about, even when you just got back from who-knows-where..." she trailed off. Sherlock was donning his coat and scarf. I offered Mrs Hudson an apologetic look amd opened my mouth to explain, but Sherlock beat me to it.

"No time for words, Mrs Hudson, we've got a murder to solve. Maybe even a serial killing. Ooh, how I love serial killings. Come on now, Watson. The game is on!"

And with a short goodbye kiss on Mrs Hudson's cheek, he started off. At that point, I was almost certain that the old Sherlock was back.

But sometimes, you can never be too certain.

END

Heyya guys!!! I'm doing an early posting of this chapter cos a certain someone... *cough @severusdowney cough* wanted me to post fast hahahaha

Anywayyyyyyyy....
Did you like the first glimpse of Hat-Man and Robin (aka Sherlock and John) in action? Please do forgive any ooc moments, I'm still getting the hang of this. Hope yall like this chap, stay posted for the next one!

Until then,

Read, Vote, and Comment!