The Genius (A Sherlock FanFic) [COMPLETED]

Chapter Fourteen

"Where to?" the cab driver asked when Sherlock got into the car and closed the door.

"221B Baker Street," Heather said.

"Oi, isn't that where that famous guy lives? Sherlock... uh...."

"Holmes, yes. And we'd like to get back there by today," Heather said with a raised eyebrow, face stern.

"Oh! Yes, right away, uh, Mr. Holmes," The driver glanced at Sherlock in the rearview mirror with a curious look on his face before starting up the car and driving out of the parking lot, away from the site of the revelation.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and saw that he had five missed calls and ten text messages from John.

John: Sherlock.

John: You bloody arsehole.

John: Just please don't be you. She doesn't need that right now.

John: She's not another case for you examine.

John: Sherlock.

John: Just at least tell me what's happening.

John: Sherlock.

John: Where are you? Are you still with her?

John: I've got the case files, Lestrade let me take them.

John: Just respond, dammit.

Sherlock began typing out a response to John's tirade.

Sherlock: We're heading back to the flat. Meet us there.

He hit send and then pocketed his device. He looked over to his right to see Heather staring out the window at the passing city scape. He noticed that the bag with the bullet was still grasped tightly in her hand. He turned back to look out his own window and began to think more about the whole situation.

"Do you have any enemies, any people that would want to hurt you?" Sherlock asked.

"No," Heather replied bluntly.

"Anyone who knows about what happened, a family member or-"

"God, Sherlock. Stop analyzing me like i'm one of your cases. Because i'm not. I don't know why I am a part of this one, but i'd really like to find out. I think the only way to do that is to focus on solving the case. So please, just stop trying to deduce me and my life. I only told you about my past because I needed you to know that I was on your side. Now, I just want to know who is behind all of this. Are you with me or not?"

Sherlock stared into her eyes, "I want to solve this case just as badly as you do, Heather."

"Good," Heather replied. She turned back to stare out the window. Sherlock did the same. They remained that way until they arrived at the flat.

Sherlock opened the front door of their building to reveal John standing there in eager anticipation. He lit up at the sight of the two detectives.

"God, Heather, um, I'm so sorry for your loss," John moved over to Heather. He moved his arms towards her as if he was going to hug her, but decided against it after reading her annoyed face.

"John, I'm fine," Heather replied bluntly.

"Uh, well then, I'm also sorry for whatever Sherlock has done, he's an arse, but you probably knew that already. If I had known about where you were going and what had happened to you-"

"You would have what, John?" Heather said, cutting off John's apologetic and nervous rambling, "Comforted me sooner? I'm fine, it's in the past, it's done. Now if you don't mind, i'd like to get on with solving this case," Heather pushed past John and moved over to the door of her flat, unlocked it, and went inside, leaving the door open.

John's mouth was left slightly agape and his face of concern was being furrowed by his brow.

Sherlock smirked and followed after Heather into her flat.

John's face was still bothered by what had just happened, but nevertheless he followed after Sherlock into Heather's flat.

Heather was pulling equipment out of the cardboard boxes that still lined her living space and putting it on her dining room table. Amongst these things was a microscope, which she first began using. She put gloves on, took the bullet out of the plastic evidence bag, and placed it under the lens.

After a few moments of examination Heather began to disclose her findings, "The precision of the markings of the crown symbol is extraordinary. There are no over-drawn lines and the edges are extremely straight."

"Is the cut cylindrical or more triangle-shaped?" Sherlock asked.

"Cylindrical. Probably not from a knife then. But what other tool could be that small and not appear as an inscription from a blade? They must have had a very steady and strong hand or a very precise-"

"Laser," Sherlock interrupted, making Heather look up from the microscope, "There's a place in Chinatown that makes replicas of famous carved art pieces to sell to tourists. They say that they do it all by hand, but I know that they have a machine in the back that does all of the work for them. State-of-the-art 3-D laser cutter."

"And now how do you know that?" John asked, more out of habit than actual curiosity.

"I've used it a couple times, in exchange for keeping their secret," Sherlock replied.

"So much for that secret..." John mumbled.

"So you think that this place used that machine to inscribe this crown?" Heather questioned.

"Their business is far from legitimate, I wouldn't be surprised if they're supplementing their income through other illegal means, like inscribing messages onto bullets," Sherlock answered.

"It's a good place to start, anyway," Heather stood up, "Let's go," She began walking towards the door confidently.

"Hold on," John held out his arm to stop her in her path. Heather, mildly shocked at the John's obstruction, stopped, "We can't go now. They're surely closed by now, it's almost twelve," John argued, pointing to the clock that hung on the wall beside them.

"Why should that matter? Surely their security is minimal at best. And if there are any protective measures, Sherlock probably knows of them," Heather looked expectantly at Sherlock.

"I do," he stated.

"Okay," John exclaimed authoritatively, "one, we are not breaking and entering, not anymore. And two, i've had it for today and I don't want to start another round of deducing and interrogating and following you two around the bloody city so I say that we hedge our bets and just have a good nights rest and tomorrow we can go off solving crimes and saving the whole god dammed city or whatever."

John's rant struck Heather and Sherlock silent for a moment.

"I do need to do a few things before we go anyway," Sherlock said, looking at Heather to gage her reaction to this delay of her plans.

Heather looked slightly stunned from the realization of her brash and un-calculated action, "Oh, yes, of course. We've been at this all day," Heather looked slightly down and away from Sherlock's curious eyes, "We should wait until tomorrow morning," her mouth was in a tight, stressed line.

"Right, um, good night, then," John said. He then turned towards the door to return to his and Sherlock's upstairs flat.

Sherlock lingered a moment longer to observe Heather who had turned her back and was fiddling with the microscope on the table, "We'll solve this. We'll get whoever is behind this," he said in reassurance.

"I know that," Heather replied softly, "But-" She cut off her own sentence.

"What?" Sherlock asked when she didn't finish it.

"I- never mind," Heather backtracked, "Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock paused in thought, but ultimately just said, "Good night, Heather."

He turned and followed John out of Heather's flat and up to his own, leaving her alone with her thoughts.