Patchwork - Sherlock Holmes (BBC)

Chapter 2

John let them into the flat and put the kettle on as Sofia walked around the darkened living room. Her eyes skimmed over the books that were haphazardly crammed into the bookcases, the skull on the mantelpiece, the sword hung on the wall which was still crusted in blood.

Finally, she saw the yellow smiley face spray painted into the wall that was peppered with - wait, were those bullet holes? John walked into the room carrying two mugs and saw her looking at the face in concern.
"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," he said. "Sherlock gets bored."
"Oh, yeah, and that naturally means shooting the wall," Sofia laughed. John raised his eyebrows - at least she was laughing; most people left abruptly so they wouldn't have to encounter the 'high functioning sociopath' that was Sherlock Holmes.

Next she was looking at the pile of nicotine patches by the sofa.
"Sorry," she said, seeing John watching her. "I'm very nosy. I guess that's why I became a detective."
"Makes sense I guess," John said, gesturing for her to sit down. She sat in the chair Sherlock usually occupied, cradling her mug in her hands.
"So, you live with him?"
"Yeah, I have done for five years now."
"Five years! How did you manage that long?"
"Well, actually there were three years in the middle where we didn't live together, but I tend to forget about them."
"How come?"
"Because I thought he was dead."

Sofia stared at John for a moment.
"You thought he was dead for three years? How the hell did that happen?"
"He did it to save me. He was threatened by a criminal mastermind - Moriarty - that if he didn't kill himself, then everyone he loved would die. Seeing as it was Sherlock, he didn't love that many people, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice us, so he obeyed."
"Luckily, being Sherlock, he had worked all of this out before hand and planned how to fake his death - don't ask me how, he refuses to tell me," he said, seeing that Sofia was about to interrupt. "Then, three years later, when most people had forgotten about him and Moriarty's web of conspiracy had been destroyed, he came back."
"What, he just waltzed up to you and said 'Hey John, guess what, you've been mourning for three years but it's
ok now, I'm alive!'" John laughed.
"Pretty much," he said.

"Wow," Sofia breathed. "That must have been lonely."
"It was ok; I had other friends, and Mary my wife; although at that time she was my girlfriend."
"Yeah, but not just for you; for Sherlock. To have to abandon you all, knowing that he was causing you pain, knowing he couldn't comfort you, knowing that he didn't have a choice. What an awful way to feel."
"Actually," a voice said from the doorway, "I quite enjoyed it. I got to know these really nice tribesmen in the Amazon rainforest. Lovely people, until they tried to sacrifice me to their gods." John rolled his eyes as Sofia blushed.

"Sherlock," John said. "How nice of you to join us."
"Well, this is my house," he said.
"Our house," John corrected.
"And that's my chair," Sherlock said pointedly, looking at the armchair in which Sofia sat.
"Our chair," John corrected again. "And I offered for Sofia to sit there; that's what you do when you have guests."
"Oh God, you're on first name terms now?" Sherlock groaned. "Just remember that you're married, John."

There was a painful silence as Sofia got to her feet and slowly walked over to face Sherlock.
"As it happens, Sherlock, I'm married too. Or did you fail to notice that, despite the deduction skills you love to gloat about?" She asked in a quiet voice.
"As it happens, Sofia," Sherlock mimicked in a barely audible whisper - Sofia blinked as she heard the way her name rolled off his tongue so eloquently - "I did notice, but I also noticed the state of your marriage, and I thought it best not to mention it. Don't you agree?"

As Sofia's blush deepened to scarlet Sherlock at least had the grace to look guilty as he saw how badly his words at affected her. They stared at each other for a moment, their chests rising and falling as if they had both run a race, although neither of them had moved from where they stood. Then Sofia cleared her throat, the blood in her cheeks fading, and the tension snapped like a cut cord.

"So what did you get up to after you disappeared?" She asked, turning away and lowering herself deliberately slowly into Sherlock's chair.
"Oh, nothing much," Sherlock said, going over to the mantel piece and absentmindedly stroking the skull that sat there. Sofia rolled her eyes at John in frustration, then bit her lip as he mouthed silently, 'Wait'. Sherlock picked the skull up and gazed into its gaping eye sockets. "I found the next clue," he said casually, looking as if he was speaking to the skull rather than the two humans who had just leapt to their feet.
"You found what?" Sofia gasped.
"The next clue. It was easy; I just got the scientists -"
"Sherlock, I don't care how you found out, just tell me what the clue is."

"The blood. We were right, the dried blood belonged the body - who was called Michael by the way - but the fresh blood was someone else's. Their name was Alexander Morgose; he's been missing for a few days, but no body has been found."
"How do we know the blood is his?"
"It was already on the database, I've got people trying to find out why."
"Ok...so how does this help?" Sofia asked.

"As well as identifying the blood, I found the presence of a very rare drug within the sample. It's a refined form of cocaine, called Polariaine. It only lasts within the blood for five hours, and because of the rarity of the blood I think I can work out where he is. There's just one more thing I need to check. John, will you come?" He asked, turning to look at his best friend.
"Of course," John replied. "Sofia?" Sherlock groaned.
"No, don't invite her," he complained.
"Why thank you John, I'd love to come," Sofia smiled. "Sherlock, do you mind?
"Of course I mind."
"Good. I'd hate for you to start enjoying yourself," she retorted.

Sherlock turned away, but not before she saw him smile.