The Holmes Called A [Sherlaide III]

Demeaning

Mid February

"Ah! There you are, Sherlock! I was wondering if you'd make it this time," Greg greeted the consulting detective as he hopped out of the taxi and strode towards the crime scene. Sherlock dipped under the police tape and paused by the DI, "Where's John?"

"At classes with Mary. I do believe I can handle this one alone, Greg. It's only a level six. Now, details?"

"Lola Grant, thirty years old. Stabbed to death and dumped in the skip."

"Mm," Sherlock approached the victim who for once had not been moved and contaminated by Metro. He climbed up, snatching a pair of surgical gloves from Andersen's pocket on the way, and started his examination. And as always, he ignored Donovan and Andersen's usual chatter while he worked.

A lot of their gabbing that day was speculation on why their favorite psychopath had been, for the past several weeks, showing up late to crime scenes or turning even the big ones down. It was suspiciously unlike him to pass up such juicy cases. Scotland Yard had been gossiping about it for a few weeks- rumours ranging from a surge in clientele to whispers that he had been preparing to retire and try out a criminal life. His marriage to Adelaide had not been publicized, in fact they had shielded it as much as possible, and few bothered to notice his wedding band. The rumours were far from the truth however. His inbox of client cases had been almost empty for a while and he most certainly was not turning into a criminal wannabe.

Rather, he had been caring for Adelaide as her pregnancy sickness and blackouts had intensified. Running to the Museum with food or medicine, picking her up after a syncope, or staying at home with her during particularly nasty episodes of either symptom. However, they seemed to be fading now that she was nearing the second trimester, so he was tentatively returning to crime scenes.

Sherlock, after gathering all the information he could on Lola Grant, finally began calling out his deductions to Greg. As he did he climbed out of the skip and peeled off the gloves as he faced the DI. Completely disregarding that nosy Donovan and Andersen were in close range as he rattled off every bit, mind racing.

Of course, Andersen saw the glint of polished silver on the detective's hand and nudged Donovan, "Hey, look! He's got a ring."

She gasped and grabbed his sleeve, "That's it! It makes sense now!!"

"That's pretty extraordinary for you to say, Sally." Sherlock inserted, thinking she was talking about the case.

"What do you mean?" Andersen questioned his cohort.

"If he's married, and has a wife I bet, then he may have been absent these past few weeks because he knocked her up," Sherlock, upon hearing it said out loud, froze. Greg did as well, having been told the news a couple weeks prior. The two exchanged glances and Donovan took it as confirmation, "Oh, so I'm actually right then? Freak's got himself a wife and freak number two is on the way. Maybe even freak number three, depending on his wife."

Sherlock cursed the fact that she had figured it out, but was so shocked at how sharp her words were that he couldn't say anything. Even Greg was caught off guard, since Donovan had been fairly well behaved for months. The two men slowly turned to face her and Andersen, who had taken a few steps away from her.

Greg finally warned, "Sally..."

"Really though, how did our favorite psychopath find someone who willing to put up with him? Whether she's insane like him or desperate for attention, now she's pregnant and I bet he's been all over her trying to do his freaky experiments on her just for science."

Sherlock clenched his fists, "That is rather ambitious of you to assume."

"Well, considering you've had ladies swooning over you for years and just now decided to shack up with one, why else would you have chosen this woman? Who was it you used last time? Janet Hawking or something?" Donovan hummed and kept on talking, "It all makes sense, considering your habit of using those around you as guinea pigs. Besides, you couldn't hope to raise even half-normal children. They'll all end up like you- that's really what you want isn't it? A new generation of freaks parading around as consulting detectives, giving everybody headaches."

Sherlock tried to ignore her cruel words. He had been successful for years at it. But this was an all new low for her. She was not only attacking him, she was berating Adelaide and their unborn child. Her insults hit him hard this time- digging up his insecurities until the delicate shield that had previously contained them shattered.

Why does she sound so correct?

Externally, there was barely a hint as to his breaking resolve and rapidly deteriorating confidence. But his heart felt as if it was being squeezed into putty and his mind was overrun with self-criticism and fear.

"Sally, I think you've said enough."

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