Believe in Sherlock

Chapter 17-Maggie's POV

I read John's reply.

Fine... -JW

I smirked in satisfaction. John was going to help if the case got a bit fishy.

I didn't bother to reply and resumed my original position on the couch. The ceiling was cracked and looked as if it would fall any second now, yet it still held on.

I found myself relatable to my flat ceiling strange as it sounds.

We're both cracked from tension and hardships yet we still held on, although I felt more cracked everyday now.

Like I was going to fall apart one day.

*******THE NEXT MORNING******

I stayed up all night with random thoughts buzzing in my head.

The sound of my phone buzzing brought me out of my concentration. It was a call from Lestrade.

"Yes?" I answered.

"We have another one." He said simply.

"Text me the location." I requested.

He muttered something that sounded like sure and hung up. Not a minute later, I got a text with the location and I immediately rushed out of my flat barely stopping to slip on my shoes.

I read the location to the cabbie and added a loud, "Hurry!" in my excitement. He just rolled his eyes and sped off.

I saw the yellow police tape up ahead and this guy wasn't going very fast.

"Stop!" I yelled and he screeched to a stop. I paid him quickly even though he didn't really deserve it and shot out of the cab. I ran full speed with a small smile growing on my face. I saw Lestrade talking to Sally Donavon, one of the other officers.

"Oh look who's here." Sally said with fake enthusiasm.

"Hello Sally. Nice to see you haven't flirted with anyone recently, for once. Although you do look a bit desperate." I smiled and looked at Lestrade and ignored the glare I was receiving from Sally.

"The body's over there." Lestrade tilted his head to gesture over to the crime scene.

"Good Lestrade, you're learning to point out the obvious finally." I said and headed over to the body and swarm of officers.

They all backed away slightly as I came up and I was mentally thankful for that. I don't like crowds.

The man was early thirties and wore a black business suit. He lay on his back and his black hair lay straight and barely reached the tip of his earlobes. He had a thin face and a rather small nose.

He also resembled Sherlock.

What was I thinking? Someone is killing every man that looks like Sherlock? Unlikely.

The man had the same wounds.

Bruising on the neck. Outlines of a man's fingers. Nothing much to go by.

There was blood pooling around his black hair by a large gash probably caused by smacking his head on the pavement.

So the killer choked the man to death and then smashed his head on the pavement. But who's the killer?

I decided to call John and tell him to get down here.

He picked up quickly.

"Hello?" His voice made me smile a bit before replying.

"I need you." I said.

"For what?" He asked and I heard a clinking sound like that of a teacup being set down on the table.