221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

I sat on the sofa next to Sherlock. He was watching me. I took a sip of tea and cleared my throat. "Any new cases? Or ones that you are currently working on?" He ignored me, so I repeated myself. "Any new cases? Or ones that you are currently working on?"

"No." He wouldn't face me. How rude.

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock."

"It's not necessarily lying. I'm just not telling you the whole truth."

"In my book, that's called lying."

"Fine then. Yes. I am."

"A new one?"

"Yes."

I cleared my throat and looked at him. I was pretty sure he was going to shoot me down. "Can I help you?"

"Hm?"

"Life gets so dull. Can I help you?"

He gave me a scrutinizing look, and I felt very small and exposed. He had a way of making someone feel so incredibly tiny, stupid, and insignificant in one look. "I mean, only if you want me to. I have just been so bored lately and nothing seems to-"

He cut me off. "Yes."

"Wait seriously?"

He nodded, and I could tell he was not making fun of me. "John doesn't help me much anymore, and I think better when I think out loud, so sure."

"Thank you."

"Think nothing of it." For the next hour, Sherlock and I went over the case, scrutinizing all the details and looking at pictures of the crime scene that he had taken yesterday.

I lay on my back on the sofa, my hands folded in a prayer position under my chin. I had seen Sherlock do it many a time, and decided to try it for myself. I found it rather comfortable.

He stood in the middle of the room, all the papers and photographs spread out around him.

"You need to shave, Sherlock." I told him. He had not shaven all day, and had a 5 o'clock shadow. He snorted.

"Why?"

I gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes and disappeared down the corridor. Ten minutes later, he reappeared, cleanly shaven, thank heavens. "Better?" he asked, in a tone that clearly indicated he didn't really care what I thought.

"Yes, finally." I exasperated.

"Now, who did it? Who killed Matthew Barnes?"

"You already know that."

"Well of course I do, but I want to see if you do." He rolled his eyes. How kind.

I sighed, and swung my legs down off the sofa, and my whole body lifted into a sitting position. I put my hands down behind me, locking my elbows and slouching my back against my upper arms. My hands sunk into the sofa, and my dark copper hair fell into my eyes and face. "It was the housekeeper. She was going through a rocky divorce and it was causing her to be mentally unstable. Mr. Barnes was underpaying her, and was very rude to her. So in a fit of rage, she killed him."

"Where?"

"In his living room."

"With what?"

"A kitchen knife. Even though his body wasn't in the living room, he was killed there, because that's where the majority of the blood was found, suggesting a knife. And, he has large stab wounds. Knife. You are making this sound very much like a game of Cluedo."

"Hate that game." He muttered to himself.

"I agree. Half the time the only explanation is suicide."

"Exactly!"

"But my sister says it never works like that."

"That's what John says!"