Orphan on Baker Street

Thirty Third: Victims

Lestrade shuffles around some things on his desk before handing a folder to Sherlock. The consulting detective flips through the papers slowly as Lestrade speaks.

"That's our file on the first victim. He was sentenced 3 years in prison for robbing a store back in 2005. Then in 2011 he got sentenced another 3 years for the same thing. He got out at the beginning of this year."

"It could be a bitter accomplice," Sherlock says, closing the manilla folder. His eyes dart back and forth as if reading invisible print in the air. He mutters softly under his breath. "Or he was killed by a vigilante."

"A vigilante?" the woman with the bushy hair comments. "What, like Batman?" She chuckles.

"Who even are you?" I ask, annoyed with her already.

"Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan," she replies with a sour looking face. "And you?"

"Mickey," I respond forcefully. Donovan smirks.

"Is that why you're here?" she asks curiously. It takes me a moment to process what she said.

"Donovan, could you please," Sherlock cuts in, "not pollute the room with your terrible voice and attitude. I'm trying to work on a case, and Mickey is trying to help and probably tell everybody some stupid proverb. So, do you mind being quiet, or better yet leaving?" He rolls his eyes with a huff and slaps the folder back onto Lestrade's desk.

"Wait, so who killed him?" the detective asks. Sherlock angrily turns his coat collar up.

"It was a vigilante. Just wait until tomorrow; there should be another body," the man replies as he walks for the door.

"Another body?" I ask, trying not to sound excited. "It sounds more like a Dexter than a Batman."

"Who lets you watch that? You're barely 12," Donovan remarks incredulously. I roll my eyes at her.

"I'm 16, thanks," I tell her angrily. Sherlock holds the door open for me, and we walk out.

"I see you're using your free time and Mrs. Hudson's Netflix subscription well," Sherlock says with a smirk. We trot down the front steps side by side, and I shiver; it's gotten 300 degrees colder since we were last out here.

The two of us stop at the curb and wait for a cab. One arrives almost instantly, and we make our way back to 221B.

"So, what's Donovan's deal?" I ask as I shut the front door behind me. Sherlock and I make our way up the stairs to his flat.

"She's got a thing with Anderson, but there isn't any real emotion from her side. After I--" He pauses, his hand clenching his coat just inches from the hook on the rack. "There was a period of time," Sherlock restarts slowly, "when Anderson wasn't all himself, and I think that's when she started backing off a bit." I eye him warily as he hangs his coat up and tosses his scarf onto his armchair. Then he turns into the kitchen, and I follow after him.

"She seems like the kind of person that doesn't enjoy things that differ from herself... kind of like the Dursleys," I finish with a smile. Sherlock's eyebrows are pulled together as he sets jars and test tubes on the kitchen table.

"Isn't that the family in Harry Potter?" I reply by smiling at him. He seems to hide a smirk as he shakes his head.

"What are you doing?" I inquire, sitting at the end of the table. Sherlock has a test tube rack, a jar of something that looks like ground up mulch, and a bunsen burner.

"An experiment," he says, arranging everything in an odd way. "I want to know what effects different chemicals have on tobacco."

"Why?" He glares at me. Then he returns to sliding on protective glasses and putting on some blue rubber gloves.