More Human Than Meets the Eye- A Study in Pink-part 2-chapter 3
Here’s part 2, chapter 3 guys! Thanks for the likes.
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Adaline hummed to herself as she finished the last two bites of her garlic toast. Mrs. Hudson had taken pity on the young girl being left behind by her father, so she'd fixed up her favorite meal for her, other than ice cream of course. Spaghetti and meatballs.
Mrs. Hudson walked into her living room and chuckled warmly as she watched the young girl eat her dinner quite contentedly. Unlike her father, Adaline quite enjoyed eating. She did forget to do so sometimes when she got too caught up in something, but she was always more than willing to accept an offer for a meal or a snack. "Adaline dear," she began. "Don't forget to wash up when you're finished with your dinner."
Adaline looked up and smiled at her landlady. "Ok, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you again for dinner." Mrs. Hudson laughed and waved her off. "Oh it's not a bother sweetheart. Thank you for keeping me company!" Mrs. Hudson did not of course have children of her own, which was quite sad for the simple fact that the kind older woman had a sweet persona that was perfect for being a mother or grandmother. When Sherlock and Adaline first showed up at Baker Street, it wasn't very hard for Mrs. Hudson to fall in love with the child. She very quickly 'adopted' her as her grandchild, and Adaline was more than happy to act the part.
Adaline heard the front door swing open, and footsteps that could only belong to her father echoed through the flat. She looked at the time in confusion. It was still rather early, and hadn't her father told her he'd be out late? She shot up and shouted a goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, who peaked her head around the kitchen wall. "See you later dear!"
Adaline jogged up the stairs into the flat. She stepped into the living room and watched as her father went over to the kitchen area, placing a very bright pink suitcase into a chair. "You're back early, aren't you?" she asked him. Her curiosity took hold of her and she walked to the pink suitcase, examining it. Sherlock glanced at his daughter, noting that she was already dressed in her night clothes. "It didn't take as long as I thought it would," he answered her.
She looked around then, noticing that something, or rather someone, was missing. "Dad, where's Mr. John?" She became suspicious when he opted not to answer her question, and after three seconds when he still acted as though he hadn't heard her, she scolded him, "Dad…"
Sherlock looked at his daughter then and tried very hard not to laugh when she put her hands on her hips and began tapping her foot in an impatient manner. She was trying to be serious and would get upset if he laughed at her efforts. "I may or may not have left him…." he began.
"Dad!" she cried, her mouth falling open.
"Mr. John has a limp! You can't abandon a man with a limp!"
"Adaline," he sighed. "He's a grown man. He knows how to call for a taxi."
"It's still very rude to do something like that! Mr. John is a nice man. We don't do rude things to nice people dad," she scolded. He looked at her for several seconds, taking note of her pleading expression. He sighed, defeated. He supposed he wasn't setting a very good example for his daughter.
"Very well then." Sherlock took off his scarf and coat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and typed a quick text. He hit the send button and looked at his daughter, who was now wearing a smile on her face. "What did you say?" she asked, already having known what he was doing. "To come at once if convenient."
"What if it's not convenient?" she pointed out innocently. He paused and then scowled, sending another text out.
If inconvenient come anyway. SH
Adaline nodded, seemingly satisfied. She went over to her father's chair and plopped down, watching as he went into the kitchen. She rolled her eyes when she realized what he was doing. "How many are you going to use this time?"
"Three," he answered shortly. Sherlock pulled a box of nicotine patches out of one of the kitchen drawers. He took out the necessary patches and walked over into the living room. Rolling up his sleeves, he applied the patches on his arm and laid down on the sofa in his favorite praying position.
"Mrs. Hudson made me spaghetti," the child started, folding her feet up under her. Sherlock merely hummed and pressed on his patches, trying to release the substance more quickly. "She fixed that really tasty garlic bread I like."
Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to his daughter ramble on. He could easily block her voice out if he needed to, but he found he actually enjoyed listening to her speak about her daily activities. His eyes closed for a bit, and then snapped back open, staring at the ceiling. Adaline heard the door open and looked over to see John come through. She smiled at him in greeting and he smiled back for a second before looking over at her father.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock showed John his patches and commented, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He clicked the 'k' on the end of his last word, and John looked at him incredulously. "Is that three patches?"
"It's a three patch problem," he explained simply. John looked at Adaline. "Does he do this a lot?" She simply shrugged and said, "He says breathing is boring." John rolled his eyes. "Well?" he prompted.
Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced at him in question. "You asked me to come," he continued, " I'm assuming it's important." "Oh yes, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"
"My phone.." John repeated slowly. "I don't want to use mine," Sherlock explained. "There's always a chance my number will be recognized."
"Does Mrs. Hudson not have a phone?" John questioned, voice rising a bit. "Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. I don't want to walk all the way down there just to use her phone.." he explained in a "duh" voice.
"I was on the other side of London," John exclaimed angrily.
"There was no hurry," Sherlock said innocently. John sighed angrily and looked up to the ceiling in exasperation. Adaline giggled at their antics from her father's chair. John dug around in his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Here."
Sherlock merely held his hand out towards John, palm up. John glowered at him and then stepped forward, slapping the phone into the detective's hand. John turned and walked towards Adaline before facing Sherlock again. "So what's this about the case?"
"Her case." Sherlock corrected softly.
"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John. "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."
"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked.
"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it," Sherlock quietly. His voice rose and he said, "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."
"Wait a minute," John started, his temper building again. "You brought me here…to send a text?"
"Text, yes. The number on my desk."
John snatched his phone from Sherlock and ignoring his instructions, went and looked out the window. Adaline frowned, sensing John's unhappiness. "Dad," she started. "You're being very rude."
"It's alright Adaline," John soothed. "I met a friend of yours," he stated in Sherlock's direction. "A friend?" Sherlock said, wearing an expression of mild confusion. "Dad doesn't have friends Mr. John," Adaline informed him, shaking her head.
"An enemy then." Sherlock relaxed and nodded, but Adaline frowned at John. "Which one?" John looked down at her when she asked this question. She sounded quite serious. "Your arch-enemy according to him. Do people even have arch-enemies? Is that a thing?"
Sherlock looked at John, narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. "Did he offer you money?"
"Did you take it?" he questioned, looking very closely at the shorter man.
"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Adaline nodded and John realized that they knew something he didn't. "Who is he?"
"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number."
John shot Sherlock a dark look, but dutifully moved towards the desk. He picked up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. "Jennifer Wilson. That was…hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" "Yes," Sherlock confirmed. "Just enter the number." John shook his head but began to type the number into the phone.
"Yes."
"Have you done it?"
"Ye…hang on!" Adaline looked at Sherlock disapprovingly. "Dad don't rush him." "Sorry dear," he replied absently. "Type these words exactly. 'What happened to Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'"
John started to type, but stopped when he heard what Sherlock was saying. He looked at him, briefly, mildly concerned.
Sherlock continued his narration. " 'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'"
"You blacked out?" John asked, frowning at his new flat mate. "What happened?" Adaline questioned her father, her voice rising with her worry. Sherlock sat up and looked at the both of them. "Nothing happened Adaline. I did not black out." Sherlock stood up, walking over the coffee table to get to the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly." Sherlock went into the kitchen, grabbing the pink suitcase from the chair. He walked over to the dining table, lifting a dining chair and flipping it around, setting it down in front of the two armchairs near the fireplace. He put the suitcase into the dining chair.
Turning around, he shooed his daughter out of his chair with a flourish of his hands. She scowled, and instead of going over to the couch, decided to sit on the floor next to him and his chair. "Have you sent it?" Sherlock inquired.
"What's the address?" "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Do hurry up!" John finally finished the message. He looked up only to see Sherlock unzipping the case and flipping open the lid, revealing the contents.
Adaline looks inside, curious. She saw a few things of clothing and underwear, all an alarming shade of pink..big surpise, there…a washbag, and a paperback novel that was definitely not for young children. She picked it up to examine it, but before she could get a good look at it Sherlock had snatched it out of her hands. "I don't think so," he muttered, setting it to the side. She huffed.
"That's….that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." Adaline looked up at John then, her eyebrows creased. Did he just now figure that out? Sherlock, continuing to study the case, only commented, "Yes, clearly."
John continued to stare, and Sherlock, becoming aware of the silence, looked up and studied him for a second. He rolled his eyes in irritation. "Oh, perhaps I should mention. I didn't kill her."
"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" John asked worriedly. Adaline nodded, and her father smirked. "Now and then, yes." Sherlock leaned back into his chair, lifting his feet up and under him. He clasped his hands under his chin.
"Okay." John limped over across the room and dropped heavily into the chair on the other side of the fireplace. "How did you get this?" he demanded. "By looking." "Where?"
Adaline listened to her father explain how he found the pink suitcase. She realized that her bottom was beginning to hurt because of the hardwood flooring, so she stood up, and plopped right into her father's lap. He grunted a little, glaring at her, as if to say, you did that on purpose. She merely smirked and cuddled back into his chest. "Took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock finished. He mindlessly began running his fingers through his daughter's hair, and John took a second to admire the sweet moment. "You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" he asked, though he figured he shouldn't be too surprised by now.
"Well, it had to be pink, obviously," Sherlock stated. "Why didn't I think of that?" John muttered to himself. "Because you're an idiot," Sherlock stated plainly.
John looked across to him, feeling very wounded. Adaline sighed in dismay at her father's lack of tact, even as she snuggled deeper into his chest. It was definitely past her bed time…
Sherlock waved off John's shock with a placatory movement of his hand. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is."
"Everyone huh?" John repeated, nodding his head towards the little girl half asleep on her father's chest. Sherlock sniffed and hugged his daughter briefly. "Almost everyone." John rolled his eyes.
"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"
"From the case? How could I?" John cried.
"Her phone," a small, very sleepy voice said suddenly. Both men looked down towards the girl. Sherlock smiled and hugged his daughter close to him. "Good job, darling," he whispered to her. "Her phone," he confirmed, a little louder so John could hear. "Where's her phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. That's her number there—you just texted it."
John shrugged. "Maybe she left it at home." Sherlock readjusted his daughter in his lap, shushing her when she murmured in disapproval. "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home." John looked at Sherlock, looked to the phone, and then back to Sherlock again. Realization came over his face. "Why did I just send that text?"
"The question, John, is where's her phone now?"
"She could have lost it," John suggested.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes, or…?" "The murderer," John started slowly, "you think the murderer has her phone?" "Maybe she left it when she left her case," Sherlock provided. "Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."
John's heart beat sped up, and he could feel himself beginning to feel..panic? Yes, that had to be panic. "Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?!" His voice rose quite a bit for his last sentence, and Sherlock quickly reprimanded him. "Shh!" He glanced pointedly down at the child in his arms. "If she wakes up it'll be hell trying to get her to go back to sleep."
John sent him an apologetic glance, and lowered his voice. "What good will texting him do?" As if on cue, his phone begins to ring.
He looked across to Sherlock as the phone continued to ring. "A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If someone had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that. But the murderer…" He trailed off dramatically until the phone stopped ringing.
"….would panic." Sherlock stood then, very carefully mind you, easily lifting his daughter off of his lap into his arms. He cuddled her close to his chest and headed to his bedroom. He passed John and then paused, looking back towards the man. "Do you mind?" he gestured. John instantly nodded, knowing what he meant. He pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed his cane. The two men walked towards the bedroom, John opening the bedroom door for the detective. Sherlock gave him a whispered thank you and walked over to the bed. He pulled back the covers and carefully laid his daughter down in the middle of the bed, just how she liked it. He pulled the covers around her tightly, tucking her in. John watched as Sherlock stepped back from the bed, looking around his room for a second.
He walked over to the corner of the room where a chair set, and picked something up out of the seat. When he turned around, John smiled softly at the stuffed kitten toy he held in his arms. Walking back over to the bed, he tucked the cat in close to his daughter. The girl smiled in her sleep and hugged it to her tightly. Sherlock smoothed the hair away from her face, kissed her forehead, and whispered a loving goodnight to her.
He walked out of the bedroom and grabbed the door, pulling it shut just enough to where the bedroom stayed dark, but making sure that a tiny amount of the hallway light could still be seen. He turned to face John then, and scowled when he saw the look on his face. "Not one word," he warned, eyes narrowing.
John snickered. "I wasn't going to say anything." Sherlock hummed disbelievingly. The two of them quietly walked back to the living room, Sherlock walking towards his jacket. "Have you talked to the police about all this?" John asked, watching him. "Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police." "So why are you talking to me?" Sherlock reached behind the door, grabbing his greatcoat from its hook. He looked towards the mantelpiece then, noticing something missing.
"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." John huffed, "So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"
"Relax, you're doing fine," Sherlock praised, putting on his coat. John didn't move from his position. Sherlock, stopping his movements as well, lifted an eyebrow towards him. "Well?"
"Well what?" "Well, you could just sit there and watch telly," Sherlock began. "What, you want me to come with you?" John asked incredulous. "I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk out loud. Adaline is asleep and the skull attracts attention, so…." John smiled then.
"Problem?" Sherlock questioned. "Yeah, Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock looked away in exasperation. "What about her?"
"She said you get off on this. You enjoy it."
Without missing a beat, Sherlock stated, quite nonchalantly, "And I said 'dangerous,' and here you are." Sherlock turned and walked out the door.
John sat there thoughtfully for several seconds, then angrily grabbed his cane, following his new flat mate out the door.
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