beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 16

Over the next few days, Sherlock buried himself in his work. Everywhere John looked, he saw flashcards, files and post-its. Rosie wasn't neglected - when John wasn't home, Sherlock talked to her, as if her baby knowledge could shed some light on the mess. John hadn't seen him this manic in a long time, and he was glad that Sherlock was somewhat returning to normal. He hadn't been the same since they'd found out about Eurus.

Neither of them had alluded to their kiss in any way, shape or form - Sherlock choosing to give John his space and John taking it. They had settled back into their same easy routine, with perhaps a slight edge to it. John was glad. He wouldn't want to rush and ruin this - whatever this was.

Seated in his armchair by the fire, John observed Sherlock at work now. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, in a sea of yellow-coded files and post-its. He looked up, caught John's eye, and gave him a small smile. This was new - Sherlock being freer with his smiles and glances.

Tousled hair, wrinkled dressing gown, and he's still as attractive as ever - god, I could write poetry about this man.

John's thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock tearing up a post-it. He heaved an angry sigh and curled up into a ball on the floor, pouting like an obstinate child.

"Sherlock, you need to eat. You haven't touched food since day before yesterday."

"You're not my mother."

"No, but I am your doctor. Eat."

"No."

John could tell that Sherlock wasn't going to budge this time. He would probably starve himself till he got some sudden ray of inspiration.

"All right, er, here's an idea. So you've been looking into minute details of all the cases for the past few days - "

"Observant. What tipped you off? Was it the colour-coded pile of files?"

" - maybe it would help if you looked at the bigger picture. Connect and compare the crimes by their broader similarities."

"Oh, John, I've tried it all! If you would just let me have one cigarette -"

"Absolutely not. Look, you've often said that sometimes a fresh perspective helps you think things through - so let me read out my notes of the case, okay? Just the general outlines."

"I don't see how it would help, but by all means, go ahead."

John retrieved his notebook and flipped through, then cleared his throat.

"Crime number one -"

"Oh, how very creative."

"Sherlock, if you don't shut up, I swear I'll throw your mould cultures away. Right, then. Crime number one - victim: Yardley Oliver. A red 5 painted on the front door. Wife Susan died of cancer. Three weeks later, her reanimated corpse - do you want to keep the mould? - broke into the house and created a distraction. The Golem murdered his son, James Oliver. Led us to Irene Adler's real identity."

"Crime number two - victim: Upton Adams. A yellow 4 painted on the front door. Sister Bertha Adams died of a drug overdose. A week later, she visits Upton. Bertha was being blackmailed about her past, as was Mrs Hudson."

"Crime number three - victim: Rachel Evans. A red 3 painted on the front door. Husband Fred Evans was murdered. A month later, his corpse visits the house, let in by the house help, Mark. Er, where did this lead us?"

Sherlock had uncurled himself now, and sat up with rapt interest on his face. "To you. Mark knew about Noel's beating - he's evidently a heavy drinker, probably had a drink too many and yelled about it at the pub. Someone heard him and decided to manipulate it as part of a bigger plan - oh, this is deeper than I imagined..."