𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 || 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

30: The Duet

I found the perfect one. It was beautiful, made of polished mahogany. Brand new. I was practically salivating over its perfection. I clicked 'order' and smiled, delighted with my new purchase. Finally, I had something to alleviate the boredom.

Recently, cases had been slow, and Sherlock and I had been bored senseless. Oddly, John didn't seem to mind it, but then again, this is the same guy who would spend two hours getting ready for a date. I glanced at my watch. It should be coming later today.

Same day delivery was awesome.

I took that time to look around my room and I frowned at some irregularities.

One of my books was out of place. I eyed the book suspiciously.

Sherlock, I thought, peeved. Standing up, I walked over to my shelf, where the book was resting on top of it. Upon taking it down, I saw it was my copy of A Tale Of Two Cities. The book had a strong floral scent I couldn't quite place, yet there was a vague sense of familiarity.

I carefully lifted the book, and a single dried flower fell out. My frown deepened. I picked it up carefully. It was a purple hyacinth, perfectly pressed, is delicate leaves in perfect condition.

Don't you feel guilty?

I threw the book across the room, where it hit the wall with a dull thud.

Someone had been in my room.

No doubt it was the person behind the envelope.

But how did they manage to get into my room unnoticed and leave no trace?

I examined the hyacinth closely, wondering what it could mean.

Placing it carefully on the bedside table, I decided to wait until I made my next move.

Some puzzle pieces needed to fall into place first.

I wandered into Sherlock and John's flat and was amused to find John attempting to throttle Sherlock. Standing by the door, I watched the scene with a smile on my face.

"What's he done now,?" I drawled. John looked at me, exasperated. "Something unholy is in the fridge, and Sherlock is refusing to clear it out." He shoved Sherlock in the direction of the kitchen.

"You better clean it, or else," John hissed. I wrinkled my nose as the stench hit me.

"Well, that explains the smell," I said, strolling over to the fridge, now curious.

"Alex don't-" John began, but it was too late. Opened the fridge, observing its contents silently despite John's warning.

I turned to face Sherlock, my face a mask of false calm.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am going to murder you in your sleep and use your blood to paint my bedroom walls," I said calmly. Sherlock looked alarmed.

"It's for an experiment. You see, I was measuring the exact about of time in which the blood drains from it," he explained, as if that absolved him from blame.

"That is not a sufficient enough answer to explain why you also have two severed arms leaking blood in OUR fridge!" I yelled.

"But the experiment-" Sherlock began, but I cut him off.

"Why didn't you google it?" I asked. Sherlock stiffened.

"It's more accurate this way," he replied. I sighed in frustration.

"Just clean it, now," I snapped. Surprisingly, he listened to me and began cleaning the fridge out. John stared at me in surprise.

"Wow, he listened for once," he said. I nodded.