Orphan on Baker Street

Thirteenth: Pool

At Scotland Yard, Sherlock and I stand in front of Lestrade's desk, arms crossed. He sits behind it, swiveling from side to side slightly in his chair as he speaks.

"A community pool has been filled with nothing but blood," he recaps for me and reminds Sherlock. "It's the second one in the month."

I flip my hair over my shoulder dramatically. "It took you a second round of basically 20,000 dead people to investigate?"

In my peripheral, I see Sherlock glance at me; it seems to be a concerned look - confused, maybe.

"Actually, we don't think it was human blood," Lestrade says, halting his swiveling and sitting up straighter. "A farmer reported missing animals just hours before the blood pool was called in."

"But the closest farm is miles away," Sherlock remarks, arms still crossed. "Why would someone go through such trouble?"

Lestrade just shrugs, saying, "Beats me. So, when are you two available to see the scene?"

Sherlock and I exchange a glance and a smirk. "Now," we say in unison.

On the way out to Lestrade's car, Sherlock rushes in front of us and hops in shotgun. I giggle, but Lestrade looks a little irritated. Most of the drive to the pool is silent. While looking out of the car window, Lestrade says something about an Anderson and forensics; Sherlock lets out an exaggerated sigh and a string of insults.

"Why is he still working for you?" Sherlock moans.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Lestrade says, a hint of a smile in his voice. I can't help but smile with him.

We arrive at the scene, which is swarming with people who I assume are all in forensics. Sherlock takes me by the wrist and walks me over to a man with his back to us. He turns around just in time to see us and frowns at Sherlock before looking at me.

"This," Sherlock says, pointing at the man, "is Anderson." He says it like it's a warning. Anderson stares at him, and I can't quite place a name for the look - shock?; envy?

"No need to talk about me like I'm some sort of leech," he says sourly. Without looking back at him, Sherlock walks away. I give Anderson a kind smile before walking off after the consulting detective.

When I go to stand beside Sherlock, who's beside Lestrade, I seem to zone out. My mind goes to multiple places at once - which I hate - and I get this pain in my shoulder. It's been off and on and bugging me since the orphanage, but it could just be like those pains that tie in with the weather or something. The shoulder pain brings back memories from the orphanage that I'd rather not relive. And the memories I don't want to relive take me to my buried feelings, which is never a good place. What does Greg see in me? That's a stupid question, and not because I know the answer. It's stupid in the sense that I should not be fidgeting every time I think of this man; it's stupid in the sense that it shouldn't have to be asked.

"Mickey?" I'm snapped from my thoughts as I look over at the voice, which is Lestrade's.

"Yes?" I reply, raising my eyebrows a bit.

"Are you okay?" he asks worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm," my breath catches as a pain shoots through my shoulder again. I roll it a bit and continue, "I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. What's wrong with your shoulder?" He walks over behind me and pushes my hair over my perfectly alright shoulder before pressing in with his thumb on my pained one.

It feels good for a moment, but then I feel the pain still. "It's not muscular," Sherlock and I say at the same time. My eyes dart to his as he walks closer to me and swats Lestrade's hand away.

"You'll be fine," Sherlock says to me, but he's looking at Lestrade. "Just don't use it too much," he says, looking to me now.

"Well, I've got some pain medicine," Lestrade offers, rifling through his coat pockets. I nod quickly.

"Thank you," I say, holding out a hand as he tips a pill out onto it. Sherlock eyes it, but I just smirk and pop it in my mouth.

"Did you just... swallow that pill?" Lestrade asks with an impressed smirk.

"Pretty cool, yeah?" I say to him with a grin.

"Anyway," Sherlock says loudly, turning his attention back to the pool. Lestrade nods to the pool, walking up beside Sherlock again.

"Forensics is going to take the blood samples from this back to the lab and set it against the samples from the other pool," Lestrade explains. I turn and look into the deep red color.

"What about the blood from the other scene?" I ask, looking up towards the two.

"We've covered that," Sherlock says, scowling at me.

"Don't be rude," Lestrade says snootily. Then he turns back to me and continues. "From the 50 samples they collected, only 3 of them were actually human. The rest belonged to cows, chickens, and pigs."

"I then assumed they were killing off entire farms - farmer, wife, and all," Sherlock adds as he stares out over the pool.

"And I agreed," Lestrade says. After a moment, Lestrade glances between the two of us. "Do you need a ride home?"

"Yep," Sherlock says simply before turning on his heel and walking back to the parking lot. He takes shotgun again.