A Study in Dance - A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 6

John slammed the taxi door and made no effort to hide his confusion.

"What do you mean by not enough?" he asked.

"I mean it like I said it," Sherlock replied, looking out the window. The sky had turned a dark grey by now and it looked like London would soon return to its old habit- rain.

"We've found out something, but not enough."

When, after a few seconds, he still made no move to elaborate, John rolled his eyes.

"Do you actually have to have everything pulled out of you one by one?"

"Um, no. No one would even be able to do that."

He sighed.

"So?"

"The room's not very decorated." 

John raised his eyebrows. Seriously?

"No shit, Sherlock. Believe it or not, I noticed that too", he said.

"Yeah, but that tells us something. A lot to be exact. Did you notice that too?"

When John remained silent, Sherlock averted his eyes from the window and looked at him.

"Either the owner of the room is pretty boring, doesn't have any money, or doesn't want to commit for some reason."

John's eyebrows drew together sceptically.

"That last one is a very bold conclusion, though," he said.

"The only plausible one," Sherlock retorted.

"But what do we know about Juliet? How can we know which of these three conclusions applies to her?"

"Well," John shrugged, "No money she obviously won't have, after all, if you've had a look at her wardrobe."

"Exactly. So that leaves only two solutions. But Juliet and boring? No." He shook his head with a laugh.

"No, Carrie's description fits her one to one. All you have to do is look at the pictures on her phone." He shuddered and John leaned forward.

"Wait. What pictures?" he asked and Sherlock pulled the phone out of his coat pocket and out of the plastic bag. He typed something briefly and then held it up to him. Instead of the background picture of Carrie and Juliet, another photo spread across the screen. However, only Juliet was to be seen on it. With a champagne bottle in her hand. And half naked.
John quickly averted his eyes and leaned back again. Jesus.

"Exactly. So she wasn't boring for a start. So that just leaves the last option."

"Yes, but why wouldn't she want to commit? That's absurd. I mean she could just...just..."

"Just what, John? Not feel like it?", Sherlock interrupted him, looking at him doubtfully.

"That's the same as being boring."

John sighed and looked at the window. There was no point in arguing logic with Sherlock anyway. He just hoped he was right.

"So...Juliet doesn't want to commit, apparently. Subconsciously or consciously, I don't know," Sherlock continued.

"The clothes that were hanging over the edge of the bed, she was wearing them- you could smell her perfume, which was also what the whole bathroom reeked of."

John saw out of the corner of his eye Sherlock shudder again and the corners of his mouth twitch.

"But the perfume didn't smell quite as intense and there was a minimal film of dust on her jumper and jeans. So the last time she wore them was a week ago at most. So it also fits Carrie's statement.
In addition, her room door was unlocked and her wallet and mobile phone were still in the room - why would anyone go on holiday without a wallet and mobile phone? A new proof that she is not on holiday."

"But you said something could be deceptive," John interjected, looking at him again.

"Then haven't we been deceiving ourselves at all?"

"Well...", Sherlock hesitated, "Not directly."

"And indirectly?" asked John.

"There were eight fifty pound notes in Juliet's wallet," he explained and John raised his eyebrows.

"Four hundred pounds?" he asked incredulously and Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. Clearly not a sum you just carry around. Even if you have more than enough money judging by the clothes. So she probably wanted..."

"...Blackmail someone," John finished his sentence and leaned back in his seat.

"But it didn't work."

He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

Shit. The perp didn't want money, he wanted her. Juliet. Of course, that made it a different matter. She probably wasn't dead then, but she was trapped. Would the perp then spare any measures at all to get her to come with him wherever? John didn't even like to imagine what it was probably like for Juliet right now. Maybe death would be a real release for her.

"And that's the point," Sherlock said.

"I had assumed that Juliet still owed someone from her past or that this someone was jealous of her new life in England and wanted money. But no, he or she never wanted that. The perpetrator wanted Juliet from the start. The perp knew her. And she knew him or her too. She knew the perpetrator or she wouldn't have been so afraid of the news. She wanted to do everything she could to keep the unsub away- but how could she have done that when the only thing the unsub wanted was herself?"

John knew the answer. She couldn't.

The taxi stopped with a jolt and John almost crashed into the front seat. Slowly he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, while Sherlock pressed the money into the driver's hand.

An icy wind blew across Baker Street, rustling the leaves of the few trees that stood there. John rubbed his arms, shivering, and looked at Sherlock, who was already waiting for him a few metres away. He also had his arms crossed and his curls hung tangled in his face. The dim light from the streetlamp made his skin look almost white and his lips sallow.

John fumbled his keys out of his jacket pocket and walked over to him.

"Don't give up prematurely," he said quietly and John paused at the door.

"In all things, after all, hope is better than despair isn't it?"

It sounded as if Sherlock was talking to himself rather than to John.

He smiled half-heartedly and nodded before inserting the key into the keyhole and unlocking the door of 221B Baker Street. Yes, he thought. The only question was whether it was realistic.