Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Fifty

*Author's Note: The case in this chapter was inspired by S1E4 of BBC's Jonathan Creek.

(PSA: If you love Sherlock, you'll love JC!)

III

In the six weeks Sherlock had shared his flat with Margaux and Vaughan, the living room had become a graveyard of toys; a sea of plastic and primary colours. With every step Sherlock took, he triggered a flashing light or sound effect as he kicked his way through the mess.

He felt a crunch under his foot, stopping suddenly and closing his eyes with a sigh, before lifting his foot to see a broken toy car beneath it. He kicked it aside and made his way to his armchair, throwing himself down and gesturing to the client's chair.

"Have a seat."

The man sat down tentatively as he looked around the room.

Sherlock glanced at the mess. "My son has an acute aversion to tidying up after himself."

"Wonder who he got that from?" John chimed from the kitchen.

The man laughed nervously. "Oh, I- I don't mind. Y'know, I read online that you had a kid. But you didn't strike me as the hands-on type."

"Why's that?"

"Oh... God, no, I didn't- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, Mr Holmes. I think I just–"

"Stop talking. It's exhausting."

John walked in carrying a mug of tea. He handed it to the man and sat down, shifting in his seat as he felt something under his leg. He reached down and pulled out a toy magnifying glass.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to the man. "Mr Rathbone, I understand you're here with the hope that I'll take your case..."

"Yes, Mr Holmes. Very much so."

"Okay then. Go on. Sell it to me."

The man's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"

"He gets off on it. It's nothing personal," said John.

"Tell me about your case and I'll see if I want to take it," Sherlock continued.

"R-right." The man cleared his throat. "So, I own a white goods shop, and er, just a few days ago me and my employee Craig-"

"It's 'my employee Craig and I.' But go on..."

John glared at Sherlock before turning his attention back to the man.

"Right. Well, the two of us delivered a fridge to this woman who lives in one of those new apartment buildings in the city. Posh place, gorgeous views-"

"Yes, yes, get on with it."

"Anyway, she lived on one of the top floors and it didn't fit in the lift, so me and-" He stopped himself, straightening his posture slightly. "Craig and I... had to carry this fridge all the way up the stairs. We get to her flat, shimmy it down her little hall into the kitchen where she opens the fridge door to have a look. And there, inside, is a dead body, Mr Holmes – a woman."

John's eyebrows raised in horror, but Sherlock didn't flinch. Instead he sighed.

"Mr Rathbone," he began. "This is an enquiry for–"

"No, no, please, Mr Holmes. The police have named me a suspect, they'll be coming to arrest me for murder any day now, I just know it. Which is why I came to you for help." His eyes were wide, desperate. "Mr Holmes, we looked in the fridge when we got it out the van outside the building. It was empty."