You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 12*

"No, no you don't understand... He's back," I tell Lestrade through the phone that's pressed up to my ear.

"For the fifth time, who?!" Lestrade yells over the phone in response. 

"M is back and he's a very bad man."

"Who's that? Could you have just said that before?" He asks.

"I can't give you more information than that. You don't want to get wrapped up with this guy," I inform him while pacing in front of 221B.  "You won't be able to do anything to stop him. I know, I- I have worked for him before... But you can help prepare us. I want eyes all over 221B, Greg. This is a terrible man, and I don't want anybody hurt."

"We can do that. I'll have my best men... Wait, you said my name," he blurts out in excitement.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Greenwald, but thank you for the help," I quickly respond before hanging up and heading back into the flat.

***

"Let's go," John says as he opens the door of 221B ready to leave. He looks decently dressed with freshly combed hair; he's going grocery shopping.

"Why?" I inquire, casually sprawled out over the couch scrolling through my phone looking at any possible cases. Nothing much seems to pop up, leaving me beyond bored. After spending the day moving my few boxes into the flat downstairs I am absolutely exhausted.

"You never even asked where we are going..." John says with a look of annoyance on his face.

"I didn't have to... Let's go, Sherlock," I articulate. I pull my coat on as I look over at the Detective. He lays on his back, eyes closed and hands pressed together like he is praying.

"You know what? You two stay here, and I'll get the groceries," John says annoyed. He opens the door to 221b before walking out and slamming it shut.

"What's his problem?" Sherlock asks, his deep voice rumbling.

"Annoyed," I say. Sherlock doesn't open his eyes, he only lays there. Suddenly Sherlock's phone starts ringing. I look at the caller ID. "Molly?" I ask Sherlock.

"Yes, answer it."

"Hello?" I question into the phone.

"Hi, who's this? I-is Sherlock there?" The woman-Molly- asks over the phone.

"Yes, he is. Anyways, what do you need?" I ask, almost rudely as I am unsure of why she's bothering us.

"There was a murder. The body is at the morgue right now, if Sherlock wants to come see it..." She trails off.

"I'll be there," I respond before hanging up and throwing the phone toward the curly-haired man who still lays on the couch. "St. Bartholomew's?" I inquire aloud. Sherlock doesn't even respond before he suddenly jumps off the couch before grabbing his coat. In a second we are out of the flat and in a cab.

***

I rush in through the door, with a peculiar smile plastered on my face. I walk right past a woman and head straight to the body.

"How long has it been here?" I question, as Sherlock slowly walks in behind me, ready to inspect the body. I pull on a pair of medical gloves before pulling the cloth back off the body.

"An hour," The Molly from the phone answers while she steps out of the way, turning her attention to the detective next to me.

"An hour? Wonderful. Thank you, Molly," I thank her with my most genuine-seeming smile.

"Molly, this is Rachelle," Sherlock introduces us leaving an awkward silence as neither of us speak up. My eyes shift between the two, noticing an odd tension. Molly seems to be smitten with Sherlock, if I may deduce.

"Hello," She grudgingly greets me after a long moment of silence. I send a nod her way before inspecting the body. I'd hate to get between whatever it is those two have. Sherlock doesn't seem to glance her way at all, yet Molly is completely drooling over the man. 

"There aren't any marks, can I see the back?" I look up from the body, waiting for Molly to answer. She flips the body over and I smile even wider. I look at what's etched into his back.

55

"What would that be?" Molly asks.

"Measurements!" I shout in excitement. "But of what?"

"Measurements? Why measurements?" Sherlock inquires, confused by my deductions.

"How do you know it's measurements?" Molly wonders aloud, questioning my ability.

"Well, it's not an age, because this man does not look 55." I look around quickly before giving up. "Do you have a measuring tape?" I ask Molly. She scurries off but is soon back with one in her hand. She hands it to me and I measure the body's height. "Five feet five inches," I reply back with a smug smirk. Sherlock's eyebrow twitches but no other movements happen on his face-- he's completely void of any emotion.

***

I glance over at Sherlock who is sitting on the couch, looking at his laptop. Rather than being bored, I am utterly exhausted. I slowly trail over to the couch, placing my hands together as Sherlock did earlier. Sitting down on the couch, I get comfortable before I slowly start leaning over to the point where my head is in Sherlock's lap. I close my eyes, thinking over the case and wondering why the man's height matters to any of it. It just doesn't make any sense-- it almost seems unnecessary. I can feel his eyes boring into me as he lets out a sigh.

"I am very busy. I'd appreciate it if you didn't put your head in my lap," Sherlock mumbles with a slight tone of annoyance in his voice as he attempts to reach for his laptop.

"Shut up. Put down your laptop," I snap without opening my eyes. He lets out a defeated sigh as we sit there for a moment before he places his hands on my head, petting my hair.

"Like this?" He questions, making sure I'm comfortable.

"Yes, that's fine," I mumble in response, drifting back into thought. I hear a door open then I soon hear footsteps that sound like John's. I ignore it and continue thinking. Soon, before I know it, I am falling asleep in Sherlock's lap.