It had been a few months since the murder of Lord Drebber. Everyone could tell that the lack of leads in the case of Hope's benefactor was getting to Sherlock.
Phoebe had gone to spend a few days at her family's vacation home, but came back only for John to drag her upstairs.
So there Phoebe and John were, stood in the doorway to the flat, both watching as Sherlock laid curled up on the loveseat, a pou etched onto his face as he rested.
"He's been like this for days. He wouldn't even eat the pie that you left with us," John whispered.
"It's that bad?" Phoebe spoke sympathetically as she kept her voice low.
"You have no idea. He won't see clients. This mystery mastermind has been plaguing his mind and I don't know how to help him. I was hoping he would listen to you," John said as he looked at Phoebe with pleading eyes.
"I'll see what I can do," Phoebe replied as she stood up straight. "But I'll do it later. I want him to get his rest."
"Alright. I'll be in my room. If you need me," John said before he went up the stairs that led to his room.
Phoebe walked into the living room quietly and made her way over to Sherlock. She knelt down and stiffled a laugh as he snored. She gently ran her fingers through his silky hair.
She lied her head on the sofa beside Sherlock's head and sighed softly as she closed her eyes.
"We'll figure this out," Phoebe murmured as her eyes fluttered closed.
🔎
Sherlock woke up after a few hours and when he opened his eyes, he saw a mop of brown hair beside him.
He sat up and saw Phoebe asleep, leaned against the loveseat with her head rested on the cushion.
He smiled to himself as he looked at her before she slowly lifted her head.
"Sherlock?" She mumbled as she looked up at him.
"I'm up," he said as he stretched out his arms.
"John wanted me to talk to you. He said you haven't been taking care of yourself and that you didn't even eat my pie," Phoebe said as she sat up straight, rubbing her neck that was now stiff.
Sherlock sighed as he leaned backwards and dragged his hand down his face.
"I'm fine, I just can't seem to get this case out of my head. I need to solve it Phoebe," Sherlock grumbled as he stared at the ceiling.
"I know there probably isn't much I can do to help, but if there's anything you need from me, just let me know," Phoebe said as she stood up from the floor, some of her joints clicking as she stretched a bit.
"You'll be the first to know," Sherlock replied, giving her a small smile.
"Good. Just promise me that you'll at least take care of yourself. I don't want you to drain yourself to the point where you can't work at all," Phoebe said.
"I'll be okay. Phoebe. Thank you. How was your trip though?" Sherlock asked, standing from his spot on the sofa.
Phoebe smiled a bit as she walked towards his desk. "It was fun, but I've been there so many times. I only go because of my family. Speaking of family, have you spoken with Mycroft recently?"
Sherlock scoffed, standing beside her to go through different telegrams and letters that he was sent by potential clients. "No. He only talks to me when it's convenient for him. I'm surprised that he never wrote to you."
"I would've written to him, but I didn't knew where to send anything. I'll admit that it hurt when your family just disappeared. I loved your parents," Phoebe spoke softly, reading a couple letters, deciding that they were too boring to catch Sherlock's interest for now.
"I'm sure they'd love to see you again one day. You could probably go to dinner one night. They would be thrilled. My mother always loved having you around," Sherlock admitted.
"You wouldn't come with?"
"Would you want me to come?" Sherlock looked at her as he set aside the letter he had been reading. "Aren't I just an annoyance to you?"
"Well I was just an annoyance to you growing up, yet you kept me around," Phoebe shot back with a small smile. "I still care about you, and why wouldn't you come with me to visit your parents?"
"You know I was never as close with my parents as you are with yours. I don't just go over for dinner," Sherlock replied, picking up a telegram.
"Well you can this once," she said to him, bumping his side lightly. "Then I'll never make you do it again."
"Alright, fine," Sherlock gave in, cracking a small smile.
"Thanks, Sherly."
He huffed but nodded, bumping her back with a light chuckle.
🔎
Phoebe was down in her flat baking, trying to clear her mind as she normally did.
She could hear the faint sounds of Sherlock's violin, swayiing and dancing to the serene melody as she moved about her kitchen.
She always found his playing quite beautiful when they were kids. Of course he had gotten better with time and practice.
The sound stopped abruptly and Phoebe looked towards her door, wondering what had happened. Maybe he just ran out of inpiration to play? Maybe he had a client come up?
She was pulling out the pie that had been in her cookstove.
As she was about to set it on her table to cool down, she heard a gun shot, followed by three more.
Phoebe practically threw the pie on the table before grabbing the nearest utensil to her, which happened to be a spoon, and ran upstairs.
She saw Miss Hudson with a pot on her head and a frying pan in hand while John looked confused as he ran down the stairs.
"John! What's going on?" Martha asked as she looked at the doctor with worry.
"I'm not entirely sure. But I definitely know where it came from!" John said before he burst open the door to the living room of 221B. "Sherlock! What-"
They all stopped at the sight before them. Sherlock sat hunched in his chair, one leg propped up on the seat as he kept his head down with his hand on the back of his neck. His gun laid on the floor in front of him.
"It appears we've discovered the triggerman," John said as he stepped forward.
Phoebe sighed before turning around after hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. SHe saw Lestrade and motioned towards the living room.
"I heard shots! Are you all right?" The inspector asked as he looked at the four of them.
"Well, we are, but Sherlock..." John trailed off as he looked from the inspector back to Sherlock.
Lestrade hummed as he approached the consulting detective. "I see. So the shots were from you?"
"Yeah, to get you to come up," Sherlock replied as he kept his head down. "You're far too predictable. At this hour, you're off duty, getting a routine trim at the nearby barber."
Lestrade felt that he still had shaving lather on his cheek. "Then come and get me like a normal person!"
"Lestrade," Sherlock started with a bored tone. "Have there been any recent cases involving the sudden death of aristocrats?"
"That's rather specific. Why are you inquiring?" Lestrade asked and Phoebe sighed, knowing where this would lead.
"Just tell me. Have there been any?" Holmes asked, still keeping his head low as he continued to sit hunched over in his chair. "Now that I no longer have a line on this fellow, I have no choice but to grasp at any possibility no matter how slim."
"Well actually," Lestrade began, catching Sherlock's attention as he finally looked up. "I heard the Viscount of Redshire passed away on his estate in York."
"Tell me more!" Sherlock demanded as he leaned forward, desperation all over his face.
"Let's see. As I recall, he wrote a note saying he was going for a late night walk, then collapsed near the lakefront. The man was ill and there was no sign of foul play, so the death was ruled natural," Lestrade explained the story to the man in front of him. "Now that I've told you, what are your intentions?"
"We're taking a trip to York," Sherlock replied as he stood up, going over to his sofa to grab his jacket.
"And why would we do that?" Lestrade questioned to which Phoebe sighed, knowing that there was no way Sherlock would let this go now.
"Isn't it obvious? To see whether or not his death was a homicide," Sherlock said.
"But I just said-"
"He's set on going now, Inspector. You won't change his mind," Phoebe said and George sighed as he looked down.
"Alright. We'll get the earliest train to York. Let's go," Lestrade said before they all made preparations to leave, save for Miss Hudson.
🔎
The ride there was silent as Sherlock stayed staring out the window for the entirity of the ride.
Once they arrived at the Redshire estate, Phoebe, Lestrade, and John followed Sherlock to where the body of the late viscount was found.
"We're here," Sherlock said as he walked up to the edge of the lake near where they had been informed was where the viscount had taken his final breath.
"After the viscount left his mansion for an evening walk, where exactly did the body ultimately end up?" John questioned as he looked back at Lestrade.
"Should be... yeah. That's right. It was right beside the base of that oak tree," Lestrade said as he pointed to said tree.
Sherlock went over quickly and dropped to the ground, searching for anything to show that this death was a homicide. He was desperate for any little clue.
"Several days have passed," John said as he watched Sherlock. "If this was a crime, I rather suspect there aren't any clues left to be found."
"Mind your own business and keep quiet," Sherlock snapped as he scanned the ground.
"Really, Sherlock? This is pointless? You know that there's nothing here. Let's just go home," Phoebe said and Sherlock sat up to look at her.
"But what if there is something here?"
"You know there's not. He died becuase he was ill. There's nothing more to it. Now get off the ground and let's go. You look ridiculous," Phoebe scolded and he sighed, pushing himself off the ground to stand up.
"Fine," he grumbled, sulking as he walked away.
"I'm sure something will come up soon," Phoebe said as she walked beside him.
He just huffed and stayed silent as they made their way back to the trainstation.
🔎
"Damn it. I came all the way to York for nothing," Sherlock grumbled as he sulked. "The old man croaked from illness. What a waste of time."
Lestrade let out a hearty chuckle from behind. "What'd I say? Looks like you bet on the wrong horse."
Sherlock stopped so Lestrade ran smack into his back. The consultant turned to give the inspector a glare.
Lestrade cleared his throat. "Think I'll go buy a paper for the ride home. I'll find you later and catch a drink."
"Well then, see aboard, Inspector Lestrade!" John called and Phoebe waved.
"God. Why couldn't you die properly? To hell with death by illness." Sherlock complained, earning a swat from Phoebe.
"Holmes! Really! You're acting like a child," John said as he grimaced at his flatmate. "Just because things didn't end up going your way- this is unbecoming of you."
Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and felt around for his matchbox.
"Damnit, I'm outta lights," Sherlock grumbled before turning to the doctor. "John, gimme a match."
"No, I think not!" John turned him down.
"Sherlock, you know that this excess is bad for your health!" Phoebe said as gave Sherlock a look, silently pleading with him to caalm down.
"I agree with Phoebe. You should quit," John added with a stern look.
"Would you shut up and just give me a blasted match already?!" Sherlock shouted with a glare.
"Why must the most brilliant man I've ever met lack such decency?!" John shouted right back, both men getting in each other's face.
"Boys!" Phoebe tried, not wanting them to argue in public.
"Ugh! This useless doctor can't even light a cigarette!" Sherlock continued, ignoring the attempts of Phoebe.
"What is that supposed to mean?" John huffed with a glare.
"This entire mystery would've been solved by now if you hadn't gone and interfered!" Sherlock accused as he pointed at the doctor.
"Sherlock! Cut it out!" Phoebe scolded, but John persisted in the argument.
"I bed your pardon?"
"You heard! Why'd you have to stop me? Phoebe didn't even try to step in!"
"If I'm not mistaken, you mean when I prevented you from killing Hope," John inferred as Sherlock dropped his head.
"Yeah, exactly!" Holmes confirmed, a scowl etched onto his face.
"If I wasn't there, are you really saying that you would've shot the man right where he stood?" John's tone became smoother, but his eye displayed his anger.
"And why not? At least then I wouldn't suffer this enigma," Sherlock admitted and Phoebe's face turned downwards in a frown.
"You don't mean that!" John tried to knock SHerlock out of this insanity, only for the detective to push him back.
"Hope and I would've both got what we wanted! A quick death for him and for me the answer to this damn mystery!" Sherlock shouted once again.
"Sherlock! Enough!" Phoebe scolded.
"I'm speechless," John said as he tilted his hat. "You're no sleuth. All along you were nothing but a worthless scoundrel."
"What?" Sherlock looked at John in shock as he thrust his cane towards Sherlock's throat.
"If you wish to be a murderer, then do so on your own. I don't know about Phoebe, but I refuse to be an accomplice in your degeneracy. Good day," John said before turning to walk off, throwing to two tickets that were for Sherlock and Phoebe.
"How dramatic," Sherlock grumbled and Phoebe nudged him with a grimace. "What?"
"You're being childish," Phoebe scolded as she crossed her arms.
"Not you too," he groaned.
"He's only looking out for you, Sherlock. And you know as well as I do that if you had been given the answer just like that, you would be mad that you didn't have a challenge."
Sherlock huffed, looking at her with a stubborn look before it faded with a sigh. "You're right. But I just need something! I've been given absolutely nothing to work with!"
"Well, all you can do is be patient. I know that word isn't in your vocabulary, but at least try," Phoebe said as she let her arms fall to her side. "And in the meanttime, we should get on the train before it leaves without us."
Sherlock nodded and walked with her to board the train.