Orphan on Baker Street

Twentieth: Hanging

My doctor appointment comes around quicker than I expected. In the days between now and the serial suicides, nothing has been heard from this Moriarty character.

To put a long story short, I went to the doctor and had a few tests run. They made me do the usual ones, since I needed a check-up anyway, and I had to go into one of those big tube things - an MRI machine or whatever. Mrs. Hudson said not to eat breakfast, so now I'm hungry and still feeling like I have to stretch; I was stuck in that tiny MRI for about half an hour. My doctor told me I should recieve all of my results within the next few days.

After having a quick and hearty lunch at "Speedy's", Mrs. Hudson and I return to 221B. It's very calm here - John and Mary are out with the baby doing I-have-no-clue-what. Mrs. Hudson is about to get some groceries. The two of us go upstairs to get Sherlock's list.

When we enter, he's pushing bullets into a gun.

"Sherlock, I was just about to go out to get groceries. Is there anything specific you or John need?" she asks, adjusting the shawl over her shoulders. Without speaking, Sherlock takes long strides into the kitchen. He returns to the sitting room with an outstretched hand holding a small piece of paper. Mrs. Hudson thanks him and leaves.

"What do you shoot that at?" I ask him, gesturing to the gun.

"There," he says, aiming the gun at the smiley face spray painted onto the wall. My hands fly to my ears as he squeezes the trigger quickly. Some dry wall falls like dust from the hole he just shot into the wall. "Do you know how to shoot?" he asks.

I lower my hands and shake my head, walking over to him. Sherlock holds the gun out to me, and I take it. The metal is kind of warm, and it feels somewhat heavy. Sherlock stands on my right side as I raise the gun with my right hand. He holds the bottom of it and guides my other hand to the gun. I wrap my fingers around the handle - I don't know my gun anatomy.

"Raise it to shoulder level," he says softly. I raise the gun a bit and stare down the top. "This is the barrel," Sherlock says, tapping the top of it. "You have to look straight down that to know where your bullet's going." I nod as he takes a step back from me. "Now shoot."

I squint down the barrel and struggle to squeeze the trigger. When I do, there's a loud bang, and I stumble backwards a bit with a dumb grin on my face. There's a new hole just above the couch, even though I was aiming for the yellow paint about a meter north of there.

I look over at Sherlock who smiles childishly at the wall, then at me. The door opens, and I lower the gun quickly.

"Enough with that racket," Mrs. Hudson exclaims. "Lestrade is here to see you," she says, glancing to Sherlock. He quickly takes the gun from me and sets it on the desk.

"Bring him in," he says as he turns back around to face the door. Lestrade walks in from behind Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm off to the shops now," she says with a wave.

"Bye, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock and I say in unison. She smiles and turns to go down the stairs. Lestrade closes the door behind her as she goes.

"Oh, Mickey, I brought something for you," he says as he opens up his messenger bag. I watch as he extracts a folder. "These are if you decide to become an intern or just want to know more about it. There are some pamphlets and stuff in there, as well as an application." I take the folder from his hands and grin at him.

"Thanks," I say happily. He grins back at me before turning his attention to Sherlock.

"So," he begins, setting his bag down on the couch as he sits. "We found a body dressed up to look like you hanging from St. Bart's." Sherlock frowns over at him. "It was a real person - a dead person... Do you think this i-"

"Moriarty wouldn't go out of order," Sherlock interrupts him. Lestrade sits up straighter. I glance over at Sherlock, who stares around at the floor in obvious confusion. Then he looks up, seemingly examining imaginary things in front of him. He starts to shake his head, and I frown. "It's not... Moriarty," he says, suddenly sounding angry.

"You don't know that he was going in order at all. Maybe he wants you to think this; maybe he's trying to throw you off," I point out, crossing my arms. Sherlock stares over at me curiously. A full minute passes before he does anything again.

He looks surprised now - shocked, even - and he takes a seat in his arm chair. "I don't know," Sherlock says quietly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Lestrade inquires loudly. He stands up and walks over to a few paces from his consulting detective. Sherlock glares over at him and stands.

"I mean I don't know," he says sternly. The two scowl at each other for a moment.

"Um, I think we all need to just take a breath," I say nervously, dropping my arms to my side. "A little bit of violin might help, Sherlock." I step closer to him before glancing towards Lestrade. "And maybe I could make you some tea."

"I don't need any tea," Lestrade responds abruptly. "I don't need to calm down. I'm not a bipolar freak, like some." Sherlock stands straighter, and I quickly go to step in front of Lestrade.

"Get the fuck out," I say angrily, pointing at the door. He rolls his eyes and lazily goes to get his bag. I glare at him as he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

After a moment, I turn around to Sherlock. We exchange a look.

"We might have to take him down sooner than expected," he remarks, glaring at the door.

"We," I repeat with a small smirk.

"Yes, 'we'," he says, still looking at the door. I glance behind me at the door; it's still. Then I walk over into the kitchen to make some tea. Sherlock comes in behind me and lays down on the kitchen table, facing the ceiling.

"So, how do we take him down?" I ask, filling the kettle with water.

"Set him up," Sherlock says simply, as if it were more obvious than an elephant in a room.

I reach up to get some teabags from the top cupboard and smile. "I could ask him for some advice on my intern application."

"You're really going to apply?" Sherlock asks, turning his head to look at me. I nod simply and set the teabags on the table by his head before going to get some mugs. "So, while you do that, I could get his boss to walk in on you two. I could tell him something like..."

I jump in suddenly, saying, "You left some important files in there. But, his office is locked because he's out on lunch break."

"Exactly," Sherlock says with a smile. I set the mugs beside the bag of sugar cubes on the counter. "By that time, he should be all over you." Sherlock glances over at me, and I glance over at him. My face falls slowly.

"I don't know if I can do this," I say. He sits up suddenly, keeping his eyes locked on me.

"Why not?" he asks. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't. His genuine concern is a little shocking.

"I just... it's not... I don't think it's something I'd be happy to do," I manage to explain.

"Who cares whether you're happy or not?" Sherlock remarks, laying back down on the table. "We want to take down Lestrade, remember?"

I don't reply. The kettle whistles, and I rush to fix the tea. The rest of the day is filled with gunshots and a lot of snacking.