Sherlock Holmes's Story

Sherlock had been working on a particularly fascinating case. A man was found in his office, his face in a puddle of vomit. There was a strange drug in the mans vomit that basically made you choke to death. The weird thing about the case was that there was no sign of forced entry, all the keys were accounted for, and the door was locked. At first the police though the murder climbed through the window, but Sherlock quickly pointed out that it was impossible, seeing as the man was on the 5th story, and the only way to open and close the window was if you were inside. And all the windows were closed.

After a few days of figuring things out it came to Sherlock's attention that maybe it took a while for the poison to kick in. Needing to have his hypothesis supported with evidence he had gone to Molly's lab. He wasn't surprised to see Molly there, that's where she spent most of her time, but he was interested and seeing a young woman with Molly. With a quick glance he could easily deduct that the woman was from a family of high powers, seeing how she stood, but it didn't match the way she dressed. She stood tall and tense, as if she was trained to stand that way, be she dressed casually formal.

Sherlock ignored the muttering and whispering of Molly and her friend as he was too busy with his work. When Molly introduced her as Isabelle Sherlock simply gave her a extremely fake smile before looking back down at his work. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. When Isabelle pointed out his formula was written down incorrectly he looked at her, amazed. She grew up rich, so Sherlock instantly assumed she only had an average IQ, but seeing that she was able to talk to scientifically about chemistry he realized he thought wrongly about her.

Molly rushed Isabelle out too soon, so Sherlock was unable to thank her, or ask her anything else. He had a tight frown on his face at the mention of the tuxedo. He saw no point in getting a new one when he had one that would work perfectly fine. He made a simple "hmph," sound as he rolled his eyes and went back to his work. Soon he had figured out that his hypothesis was, of course, correct. There was a chemical that would offset the effects of the poison.

After a few hours working in Molly's lab Sherlock had gone back home. John was there, of course, and was working on his blog. Sherlock had gone and made himself a cup of tea, and he was now sitting in a chair, looking out the window at the dark apartment across the street. Remembering what Molly said about Isabelle living across the street from them Sherlock looked over to John, who was absorbed in his work. "Molly has friends," Sherlock said. John looked up from his work, and back at Sherlock with a confused face. "Okay?... Everyone has friends, even you... I'd expect Molly has friends... Why is that so weird?" John frowned a bit. "It's weird because her newest friend is our neighbor across the street... I just met her, she's interesting... Smarter than she looks and yet she acts stupid."

John's face grew more confused. "Well that's different... Was she nice?"
"Don't know, I only got to hear her talk a little bit, and even then she was correcting me on a formula... Oh, by the way, I was right."
"About?"
"The poison used on our vomit victim had something added to it to lengthen the reaction time of it."
With that Sherlock and John got talking about the case, thinking of motives and why the Vomit Victim, as they sweetly called him, was killed. They talked the rest of the night until John decided to go back to Mary. Sherlock sighed, and went to bed for the rest of the night.

Sherlock's morning started out with John coming over with Mary terribly early in the morning. Sherlock, who was reluctant to get up, had to be forced up by John. When he was actually up he looked to see Mary was holding something that was recently washed, seeing as it was covered in a bag. Sherlock looked between John and Mary. Both of them were already dressed, so the tailored whatever-it-was had to be for him. "I never told you I needed a new tux," Sherlock said looking back to John, who wasn't at all surprised that his friend figured out what was in the bag.

"No, but Molly texted me telling me that you need a new suit and to remind you," John said, shifting as he rocked on his heels a little bit. "But I've got my own," Sherlock protested, but he took the suit from Molly anyways. The Tuxedo was nice. A charcoal black with silk on the edge of the folded collar. It went with it's own bowtie, and undershirt. John and Mary were already out of the room and closing the door behind them before Sherlock could even protest more. Groaning and throwing a small fit he started to strip down from the robe he was wearing.

"I really don't like weddings," Sherlock growled to John, who only replied with a sigh. "You could at least act like you're happy... Molly will notice and she'll be cross if you don't at least smile," John said after smiling and greeting a few people. Sherlock was about to snob back when John suddenly asked, "Where is our neighbor that you're talking about? The brilliant one that acts like she's stupid?" Sherlock looked to John, surprised that he had even remembered him talking about it.

Sherlock quickly scoped the crowed of people, just in time to see Molly and her friends walking into the room. "Over there," Sherlock pointed. John looked, following his finger. Upon seeing Isabelle he smiled, gave Mary a kiss, and went over. Sherlock followed after giving Marry a small smile, but when he got there he pretended to look around like he was looking for something. In all reality he was paying close attention to John and Bella's conversation. When she 'Sherlocked' John Sherlock looked down to John, fighting a smile that was coming to his face.

"I told you," Sherlock said, a playful hint to his voice. He didn't bother holding back, "She's incredibly smart, but acts stupid." Sherlock looked over to Bella, who was watching them with a weird look. "You're very interesting, Ms. Winston," Sherlock smiled. John continued to star at Sherlock, who gave him an equally weird look. "You googled her?" John asked. Sherlock frowned a bit. "No! first off there's not many powerful women in London who have the name Isabelle!... That and it's recent news that a certain Dukes daughter had recently left the life of royalty. It wasn't all to hard to find out. But even then Molly told me her last name when we first met..." John looked to Bella, lips pursed. "Sorry about him..."

Sherlock was having a dreadful time. At least 10 people tired to talk to him, and each one he snobbily outsmarted by saying big words and being very blunt. Oh how he hated weddings sometimes. The instant Sherlock even went into the reception area he knew his night was going to be awful. When Molly came over he was at least some what relieved to see someone he liked talk to him. Of course the instant she started to talk about him dancing with Isabelle his hopes dropped.

Sherlock was sure she was a lovely girl, he even dared to say he kind of liked her, but he couldn't help but get the feeling that Molly was trying to force them into a relationship just because both of them were smart and clever. He was reluctant to talk to her unless he had to, even with the mention of her being a good dancer. So instead of talking with her, he watched her, studying her a bit. She was extremely hard to read, other then past her lineage. He couldn't see what her past was like. All he knew is she was monitonly prim and proper, but hid her knowledge.

That was also something that bothered him. Bella was one of the smartest people out there, from what he could see, but she refused to show it. Although some things did slip, like the fact that incorrect things bothered her to the point where she couldn't help correcting you, or the way she stood. She stood like she had power, which she actually did in certain places, but when you talked to her she dumbed herself down. It bothered him, to the point where he was actually kinda glaring at her. Finally after a long time of being passive aggressive towards everyone, he gave into his curiosity and went to talk to Isabella.

The conversation was actually nice, much to Sherlock's dismay. He was hoping that Isabelle was only smart when it came to some things, but as he talked to her more and more he realized that she was just as smart as him. She was stronger in some subjects but on the contrary she still was intelligent. Sherlock reluctantly admitted to himself that he actually... Enjoyed her presents. Which was rare seeing as Sherlock never really enjoys anything accept tea and murders.

It was late in the night by the time Sherlock and John had left to go home. Isabelle has left a while before them, but Sherlock was rather surprised to see her when they were walking home. He was even more surprised to see that at least 5 men in black were harassing her. They were shoving her around, growling crude sexual saying. Sherlock's face flared with anger seeing the revolting men pick on someone he deemed worthy of his attention. Without a second thought he hurried into the dark alleyway. John, seeing who was being harassed, also followed him.

Sherlock grabbed the first guy by the back of the jacket. He quickly jabbed him in the mouth, hearing the satisfying crunch of the man bitting his lip. His hand instantly throbbed as he let go of the man. Deciding not to punch another one, he quickly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. "I advise all of you leave, now," Sherlock growled, lifting the gun into the air and shooting off a round. Instantly the kids scurried away, yelling and cussing like a sailor. The one he punched in the mouth was the last to scurry away. Sherlock looked back to Isabelle, John already investigating her wounds. "Really?... A gun?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged it off.

Helping John take Isabelle up to the apartment, which was close by, it was clear she wasn't in her right mind. She was dazed, and was blacking out for a few seconds. By the time they got her to the apartment she was starting to clear up. She had scratches all over her, but the most noticeable wound that Sherlock found himself worrying over was the deep gash on her arm. Helping John set her down in a chair he did as was asked, going to find the medical kit John was talking about.

When Isabelle started to protest against getting fixed up Sherlock looked to John with a 'this girl really got knocked around' look. He turned back to looking for the medical kit in the messy cabinets, a frown on his face. After finding it he silently cheered in his head, going over to Bella and John, handing the doctor the medical kit. "Should call Molly?" Sherlock asked. John frowned a bit. "No, I don't think so... It's her wedding night..." Sherlock made a weird face "So?" John looked back at him with a 'are you an idiot?' look in his eye. It took Sherlock a second to fully understand why John was giving him that look. "Oh!... Yeah, let's not do that.."

Sherlock had found himself interested in Isabelle. Not in a romantic way, of course, he just liked how she understood his 'language'. She was always interested in whatever he was doing, and thanks to her comment when they first met the police were having a wonderful time figuring out more to the Vomit Victim case. That and she was one of the only people he found incredibly hard to read. He knew that back a few weeks she had lied about it being the first time she was roughed up like that. It was a horribly executed lie, but he didn't push when he heard it. Something he also noticed is that her arm, although healing up well, wasn't held close to her side.

Most people, when they're injured, try to keep their injured lib as close to them as possible. They're always afraid they'll bang it against something, and it'll hurt more. Isabelle, however, acts as if she's completely forgotten about her wound. While someone with her injury would refuse to use the hurt arm she continues to use it as if it wasn't stitched up. It's as if she's forgotten that her arm is injured, but she hasn't forgotten. Whenever she's offered something heavy, or bulky that's when she seems to realize she's injured, and shifts to use her good arm.

Sherlock had found himself lost in thought when Bella came into the flat, but when she did he felt a flicker of excitement spring from his chest. He mentally furrowed his eyebrow, not sure why the emotion even came to him. It's not like seeing her was anything special. He was just... Lonely. When she saw she noticed the violin his interest was instantly drawn from what he was working on. He didn't know she played violin. Nothing really indicated that she played an instrument, but then again he wasn't surprised. It was always a costume for higher up families to have children that master one or two instruments.

He watched her tune it, and when she started to beautifully play it he found himself in pure awe. He felt his body absentmindedly sway slightly to the music as he listened, and he closed his eyes. When the beautiful tune stopped his eyes flickered open. She put the instrument down, and went over to see what he was working on. She asked him questions he was a little loss for words. It was weird, for some reason, going from listening to a beautiful tune to suddenly being snapped back into work.

"It's uh... Work related," He said, itching his nose. He paused when he realized Bella was giving him an expectant look. "It's a bunch of ancient drugs... The police thing the drug used on the Vomit Victim is significant to the killer, like it's a trade mark or something... We're hoping it'll take us farther along in the case, seeing as we're kind of stuck right now..." Sherlock leaned back in his chair, looking up to Isabelle who was leaning over and looking at the book. "Any thoughts?" He offered, gesturing to the book. He was hopeful that she could help, seeing as her sudden visit was making it hard for him to think.

Sherlock had been engulfed in the case the entire day. He really refused to leave the apartment unless it was to do field work. When John finally pulled him away, he needed Molly's help and encourage meant, saying that they wanted to go see Bella, who hadn't been active for the past few weeks. Even then Sherlock threw a little fit on the way across the street, saying Isabelle could figure things out on her own. When he actually walked into the apartment though a wave of realization hit him when he saw Alyssa, Isabelle's sister.

His detective side instantly shut down as he looked between the two siblings. "We've very sorry for your loss," He said, squatting down in front of Alyssa. He was frowning, his eyes showing that he was actually sad for the two girls. "Me and John are doing everything in our power to figure out who murdered your brother..." He looked to Isabelle, who looked as stone faced as always as she made biscuits. When she caught his eye he offered her a smile, standing up. John gave him a weird look. He'd never truly seen him act.... Human.

Sherlock went over and stood next to Isabelle in the kitchen and offered his help. His body language kinda gave off what he was thinking, though. 'I know you're in pain'. He was seeing if she could read him. He could easily see, in the way Isabelle hesitated sometimes, and seemed to have something on her chest, but he never pointed it out or said anything. if Bella wanted help she would go to someone on her own accord. It wasn't his place to pry. "I really am so-" He started, but Molly, who wouldn't stand for any questioning went over, mishearing the conversation Sherlock was trying to start, so she slapped him over the head. He winced away, giving Molly a shocked look. It was a full on back hand. "Leave the case alone will you?" Molly growled. Sherlock glared at her. "I was saying sorry," He growled back. Taking a deep breath he regained his composure. Grabbing the tray of biscuits and tea from Isabelle he went over into the other room, giving everyone anything they wanted from the tray.

Sherlock would occasionally stop by Isabelle's flat. It was the most he could do, seeing as he wasn't very good at consoling people, but he liked Bella enough to at least see how she was. When she came over he enjoyed being able to talk to someone, usually buried in work. It was all he ever did these past few weeks, is figure out who killed the two lovers. So far he was getting nowhere. It was bothering him, day after day looking the evidence over hundreds of times a day and still not think of anything.

When him and Isabelle were talking in his flat, he was sitting on the floor surrounded with work. He visibly showed is annoyance when Mycroft walked into the room, and quickly the annoyance turned into anger when Mycroft started to treat him like a child. "Have you come here to help, or just hinder my ability to think further?" Sherlock snapped at Mycroft. The bothers glared at one another. "I've come to help," Mycroft admitted finally. "Well we don't need it," Sherlock growled. Mycroft started to laugh, and Sherlock looked to Isabelle, who was giving him a weird look, as if saying 'screw your pride, accept his help'.

Sherlock's lips pursed as he looked back to Mycroft. "What information do you have to give us?" He mumbled. Mycroft gave his brother a smile. "Have you thought of seeing who's bought the items for the poison anytime soon?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock instantly grew impatient, looking annoyed again. "Mycroft, all of the stupid mixtures are common all over the world..." Mycroft had a little, annoying, triumphant look on his face. "Not in the added poison in the first victim... It has violet extract... It's extremely rare, and there are only a few buyers in the entire world..."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft, standing up. "If you're going to be an ass about everything then get out," He snapped, having just about enough of is brother. It was bad enough that he was uselessly helping, but now he was just insulting him. Mycroft returned his glare, the brothers having a stare down. The only reason Sherlock looked away was because John cleared his throat. "Will you two stop?" He huffed, already done with hearing the two brothers 'tiny' fuss. Sherlock frowned, going back to his files. Mycroft got up, patting his pants down. "Well then I assume this is my queue to leave... Miss Winston, John.... Sherlock." He gave a little bow to his head, Sherlock giving him a venomous look.

When Mycroft left Sherlock went back to his normal chatter to Isabelle, almost always answering his own questions. Around midnight John had left to go back to Mary, so it was just him and Bella left. Sherlock looked up from the file Mycroft had given him, and over to Isabelle who looked like she was taking a break from reading. "I'm sorry that my brother questioned you when he first got here, about what our friendship was... He's a jackass."

Sherlock was reading, taking a break from looking over files. He didn't sleep very often, but it never bothered him until one day Molly came storming into his flat, her face as white as a bed sheet. Sherlock's eyebrow went up, but when he saw Isabelle instantly worry came over him. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, standing up from where he was sitting. When Molly gave him the note he stared at it, seemingly reading it 500 times before looking up at Molly. His face was starting to lose it's color, too.

"Call John," he said to Molly before turning to Isabelle. He grabbed her hands. "Is this the first time he's contacted you?" Sherlock completely ignore her 'I'm not special' statement. He knew you didn't have to be special for Moriarty to go after you. Anger started to boil inside him. James should be dead! Why is he sending letters to Belle? "Is this the first time he's contacted you?" Sherlock looked Isabelle dead in the eyes, his were full of anger, worry, and confusion. In the background Molly could be heard franticly talking on the phone. "I don't know how he's still alive, just come over!" she yelled.