The play is utterly boring. Enola and I make quiet jokes to each other while our friends actually watch the play. She leans over to me and whispers, "Wanna hide in the bathroom?"
"Absolutely."
We excuse ourselves, though the men didn't seem to notice or care. As we walk down the stairs, I notice a door is open, one that is normally closed. Enola sees it as well, and we share a look before walking through it.
When we begin walking down the hall, I realize that there are several doors. This must be where they store their costumes and have their offices. The hallway begins to curve, and I notice the actors' voices are getting louder.
"We're close to the stage," I whisper.
The hallway ends abruptly and opens up to what I assume is backstage. A man notices us, "What are you two doing? You can't be back here."
"Sorry, we were looking for the bathroom."
He sighs, "Go back down the hall until you get back to the entrance. It should be to the right of the entry doors."
We nod quickly and run down the hall, our laughter echoing slightly. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle it, but Enola laughs louder. The two of us walk back into the main lobby and shut the door behind us. One look at each other has us in fits of laughter again.
"What were you two doing?"
Sherlock stands in front of us, his arms are crossed, and he has a stern look on his face. Enola clears her throat, "We were looking for the bathroom."
"Get back to your seats."
We walk ahead of him, still giggling to ourselves. I can hear him sigh as he falls into step behind us. When we get back to our table, Tewkesbury smirks, "I figured he'd find you two."
"We weren't doing anything bad," Enola says.
I pay attention to the play now, resting my head on my hand as I stare boredly. Sherlock sits next to me, looking at his pocket watch. The man on stage trips, and everyone laughs loudly. Something above us catches my eye. I stare up in confusion.
Something suddenly drops from above, landing on a man sitting at the table next to us. Loud screams of terror fill the room now as everyone begins to run. Sherlock and I share a look before quickly making our way over to the man.
Our friends follow us, and Timothée gasps, "Oh my God."
There's a heavy sand bag resting on the floor. The man that had been sitting there had blood pouring from his head, while his neck was twisted at an odd angle.
Timothée covers his mouth in shock, "Is... is he dead?"
"Yes."
Timothée stares at Sherlock in horror. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Stay unemotional," Tewkesbury says, pulling Timothée away from the body.
The two boys sit at a table further away. Timothée has his head resting against the table while Tewkesbury rubs his back. John walks around the man, "I know him. He's a detective."
"A detective?" Sherlock asks.
I look above us again. Movement catches my eye. "Someone's still up there."
I take off running downstairs. There should be another staircase leading up there, I just have to find it. Policemen walk in, I recognize Lestrade and yell.
"Secure the exits! The killer is still here!"
The men disperse, so I continue looking for the staircase. My eyes finally spot it, and I waste no time running up. My foot slips as I walk across the narrow walkway. I curse to myself and continue moving.
"What the hell are you doing, (Y/n)?!"
I look below to see Sherlock staring up at me. "Thanks for announcing to the whole world that I'm up here, Sherlock! I'm sure the murderer will be glad to know that!"
I continue moving, dodging the dangling sandbags. Sherlock is cursing to himself as he runs to the staircase. A sandbag above me suddenly drops, barely missing my head. I suck in a deep breath and look above, catching the sight of a moving person.
They run over to the staircase in front of me, managing to get down to the ground quickly.
"Shit," I mumble.
My feet thud against the walkway as I run to the staircase. I can hear Sherlock yelling behind me but ignore it. When I'm downstairs, I run to the nearest exit.
"Running away from a crime scene?"
Greg stands in front of the exit a smug look on his face. I slowly back up, "I was chasing the killer until you stopped me."
He walks forward, "All on your own?"
"Sherlock is behind me. Although I have to say, it is a bit weird to find you standing by yourself where I saw the killer run to. Where's your brother?"
He grips his cane tighter but still holds the same smug smile, "He's at the entrance, discussing what happened with your friends."
"Don't ever take off like that again," Sherlock stops when he notices the man in front of me.
Sherlock steps in front of me, "What are you doing here?"
"Investigating another murder."
"Yet he just so happens to be where I last saw the murderer," I add.
Enola runs up, "Did you catch him?"
"He must've slipped by me," Greg says.
I continue staring at the man. He's acting suspicious. Sherlock seems to think the same because he gives me an unsure look as Greg walks by us.
"We should talk to Lestrade," Greg says.
The three of us follow him. We get to the entry, and Timothée and Tewkesbury run over to us. Tewkesbury pulls me into a hug, "You scared the hell out of me!"
Lestrade walks over to us, "Please tell me you at least saw their face."
"I didn't, but based on their build, I'd say they're a man. About five-foot nine, maybe a bit taller."
He nods at my words, "Anything else?"
"He tried to kill me as well. Dropped a sandbag from above me, I'd say he isn't a fan of detectives."
Sherlock shakes his head, "This is why you shouldn't run off on your own-"
"Now is not the time, Sherlock," I say, interrupting him.
He clenches his jaw but doesn't say anything else. Greg lets out a whistle, "Feisty."
"We've got this. You can all go home now."
John gives Lestrade a flabbergasted look, "Seriously?"
"We have enough detectives working on this case. Your help isn't needed," says Greg.
Timothée rolls his eyes, "You turn down help from the greatest detectives? It's no wonder you haven't found the murderer yet."
"Shouldn't you be tending to your duties as a Lord, Mr. Chalamet?" Greg snaps.
"I'd watch your tone if I were you," I warn.
Greg looks between Timothée and I, a sour look on his face. "I think it's time for you all to leave. I'd hate to arrest any of you for disrupting an investigation."
I open my mouth to say something, but Sherlock wraps his arm around me and pulls me out the door. When we're outside, I pull away from him. "How dare you scold me like that in front of them?"
"You know better than to run off on your own," he says.
"I know that, and I'm sorry. But, don't ever speak to me like that in front of other detectives. It's taken me a year to gain what little respect I have, and the last thing I need is for you to tear it all down."
His eyes soften, and I sigh. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly, but I don't regret what I said. Because it's true.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
I straighten my back, trying not to show my shock at his apology. "You should be."
The others slowly make their way over to us. Tewkesbury leans over to Timothée, "It's like watching your mum and dad fight."
"You all plan on investigating this. Don't you?" Timothée asks.
John nods, "Of course. Lestrade is an idiot, and the brothers are suspicious."
I walk up to Timothée and Tewkesbury, grabbing their faces with a smile. "And you, my dear boys, are going to help us."
Tewkesbury pulls away, "What? No, absolutely not!"
"I'm afraid this may require all hands on deck," Enola says.
"Don't worry, it'll be fun," I add, smiling.
Timothée shakes his head, "It's never fun."
Author's Note: I love Timothée. Anyways, drop your favorite fanfics below, please. I wanna support my fellow authors ♡