The Undefined Criminal - A Sherlock Fanfic

Welcome to Your New Job

"This is the famous 221B Baker Street?" I asked. "I was expecting better. And... cleaner,"
"Cleaning is boring," Sherlock replied as we walked in the living room. "Plus, I have much more important things to do with my time,"
"Like what?" John asked. "We haven't had a case in months! And it's not like you leave the house much,"
Sherlock didn't answer. He walked over to a worn out armchair and plopped down, dragging my arm down with him.
"Okay, we're back at your house or whatever, can we just get these handcuffs off?" I asked as I struggled with the chain.
"Why? Lestraude said these were to stay on," Sherlock replied.
"And do you do everything he asks of you?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He seemed like he was in another world to be honest. What is it with him?
Dress shirt, nice pants. He likes to look proper in public, but also doesn't care too much about his appearance. Nice shoes, but worn. Again, he likes to look nice, but he also does field work so his wardrobe has to be functional. Scars and a few bruises, knows how to fight, surprising. Those eyes, thoughtful, yet worried. He's seen things, in his past maybe, that he never wants to see again. He's got the face of someone who is broken. What broke him?
"Amy? Earth to Amy!" John called.
My mind snapped back. Both the men were staring at me. "Sorry, I just... Saw something"
"Well whatever you saw must have been interesting. You've been staring at me for about thirty seconds straight," Sherlock said. "Okay, we need a plan. We are on a case that left us with no leads, and they will strike again,"
       "Right, we're on a case that I know nothing about, and I'm supposed to know what to do?"
       "Oh, yeah, you don't know. Okay, time to get you up to speed," Sherlock smiled. "We are looking at murderers. A family of serial killers-"
       "How do you know that if you have no leads?"
       "They left a note. Anyway, Chad Dunbarr, a family psychologist was murdered yesterday. What's different about it, is that he was murdered four different ways. He was strangled, stabbed, beaten, and shot, we don't know what actually did the killing, which also means that we don't know what the murder weapon is. Our main suspects are the Montgomerys. Husband Charles, wife Melissa, son Stephen, and daughter Claire. They were patients of Dunbarr, they were filed with having family issues. Dunbarr advised that they do some family bonding activities, I guess coming together and murdering someone is bonding. We found Dunbarr's body in his office when police received a distress signal he installed in his office just in case any of his patients turned violent. Police arrived to ding his body hanging from the ceiling with the other wounds,"
       "Great, a human piñata. They left a note?"
       "I was getting to that. Yes, on his desk were the words 'Courtesy of the M family' etched in the wood,"
       "Sherlock," John said.
       "Not now John. Anyway, the police and I searched the entire office, there was nothing to connect the weapons or anything to the Montgomerys-"
       "Sherlock!" John repeated.
       "What, John? What is it?"
       "There's been another one. Another murder,"
      "Ah! About time!" Sherlock jumped out of his chair. "It feels like it's been years!" He practically skipped towards the door, dragging me along.
       "Come along," he smiled. "The game is on,"
       I rolled my eyes. "Really, did you really just say that?"
       "Just go with it," John whispered. "It's his thing,"
       "Great, I'm handcuffed to a freaking three year old," I mumbled.
       "Yeah? Try living with him!"
       The taxi ride to the crime scene was as awkward as the drive to Sherlock's flat. We all kept eyeing each other. I finally cast my gaze out the window. How the hell did I end up here? Helping detectives that would lock me up under any other circumstance. How am I supposed to get out of this, without waiting a few years behind bars after all this is done and I'm handed back over to Lestraude? The streets of London are so normal. Normal people with normal lives, and I'm handcuffed to the first consulting detective in the world, who considers himself a high functioning sociopath. My life is far from normal.
       We were dropped off a block away from the crime scene. The whole street was blocked off. Caution tape and police cars lined the street. Reporters and photographers were struggling against officers. Sherlock and I linked arms again, so the reporters don't see the handcuffs. With every step I take, I feel like I'm stepping further and further into enemy territory. As we got closer to the reporters, they recognized Sherlock and started approaching us. Soon, my eyes were flooded with camera flashes and faces. We pushed our way through the crowd. The officers let us past and into the crime scene. When we were hidden from the reporters view, I yanked my arm out of Sherlock's. "This has to be the worst day of my life!" I exclaimed.
       "And why is that?" Sherlock sighed.
       "Well, I was just having a lovely time with accidentally robbing you guys, when I'm caught and forced to spend three hours in a police station, where I'm handcuffed to the smartest idiot in the world! I'm then thrown into a murder case and reporters photographed me, an underground thief, linking arms with Sherlock Holmes, the man who put half the people like me behind bars!" 
       Everyone was staring straight at me. Even some officers on the other side of the street were fixated on me. I sighed, "Where is the bloody body?"
       "Follow me," Lestraude finally said.