The Dying Detective - Molly Hooper, John Hamish Watson, SH-221B

Sherlock Holmes spent 15 months abroad dismantling Moriarty's international crime organisation after Molly Hooper, and his elder brother Mycroft, helped him to fake his suicide from the roof of St Barts.

Within days of Sherlock's return to London he and John, back together as a team, trapped Seb Moran, Moriarty's right hand man, and saw him imprisoned for murder.

Inspector Lestrade, was delighted with Sherlock and John's work in bringing about Moran's arrest, and since he had never believed that Sherlock was a fake, he gloated happily at the private gathering for the official apology from Scotland Yard.

Four months after Moran's arrest the old friendships had resumed much as before. Life was back to normal. As annoyingly boring as normal as it ever could be for the consulting detective.

John had saved Sherlock's life when his fight with Moran went badly for him and it set Sherlock wondering again about his blogger, assistant and unfathomable friend.

Lacking a case to occupy his mind on this bright, sunny morning, John, was uppermost in Sherlock's thoughts while he was standing in his favourite window in their Baker street flat, playing his violin.

John could remember the incidents at St Barts as if they'd happened yesterday. Sometimes he still had nightmares. Terrible vivid dreams of Sherlock leaping off that ledge.

It had been such a shock when his friend returned nearly 5 months ago, suddenly just walking into Baker Street and announcing he wasn't dead. That it had all been a fake.

John went through a whole variety of emotions. Initially it was surprise, disbelief. Then happiness and joy, quickly turning to anger when he thought of everything Sherlock had put him through - those past three years had been the worst of his life.

Once he'd chinned the detective with a solid left hook, John felt considerably less angry, especially after he'd heard the whole story about what had gone on and the reasons behind Sherlock's decision. Pretty soon he was back to being happy again, deliriously happy. Sherlock was alive.

And he didn't exactly have much time to think about it because they were straight back into solving cases, chasing criminals, dangerous adventures. And John was loving every minute of it. Life became fun and interesting again, worth living. Even his job at the surgery didn't seem as boring now he had something to look forward to when he came home.

After a particularly slow day John was looking forward to spending the evening in with Sherlock. There were no cases on and they didn't have anything planned. Even if Sherlock spent the whole night glued to his microscope and ignoring him, John would be happy. Just to sit in the same room as him was more than he could ever have imagined. As he jogged up the stairs to the flat he heard the familiar strains of Sherlock's violin and smiled.

"Afternoon," he called cheerfully, heading straight to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Looking out of the window down onto Baker Street Sherlock saw the movement of the familiar figure of his friend coming home. He watched John bounce up to the front door and spent a fraction too long bowing the E string.

He cursed himself for mistiming the note and, starting the passage again, wondered what John was doing coming back from the surgery so early. He heard John closing the door with a thump then take the stairs energetically. John was clearly in a good mood, which was a surprisingly regular event, even when they didn't have a case to work on.

“Is it?” Sherlock broke off playing and looked at his watch as John breezed through the living room and into the kitchen. He realised that he had been playing his violin and thinking about John for over 5 hours. John did storming which was like a roll of thunder but he also did breezing, like a breath of fresh air.

"Yep," John replied, pottering around in the kitchen. "You been playing the violin all day again?" He chuckled, realising Sherlock must have forgot the time.

He managed to locate two clean mugs and started boiling up the water to make tea and coffee, then headed to the fridge and opened the door, jumping back slightly as he saw what was inside.

"Sherlock...there's a human lung in the fridge," John stated, knowing full well it would be part of one of his flatmate's latest experiments.

Spending so long away from John and not trusting anyone else to talk to Sherlock's grasp of the art of having conversations had grown rusty. He wondered if it was partly to have someone to talk to about things other than cases that John went on dates. It worried him that one day John he might find a girl and leave him and he didn't want to think about that.

“Yes, I was thinking.” he called through to the kitchen, he didn't like to lie to John. It seemed pointless to him to state the obvious but that's what people did, it was classed as conversation.

Sherlock put away his violin and sat in his chair looking forward to a coffee when he heard the fridge door being opened and John remarking about the lung. “I could only get one fresh one,” he bleated, “Molly wasn't there.”

John rolled his eyes and finished off making the drinks, carrying them through to the living room.

He handed Sherlock a coffee then sat down in the opposite armchair with a sigh, placing the cup down on the table before fluffing up the cushions.

Then he took a sip of tea and looked at his watch. "Got a date tonight," he mumbled. "8pm. What are you up to?"

Sherlock's mouth turned up in a half sided smile and he thanked John for the coffee.

John's news didn't surprise him it was bound to happen, sooner or later, the man's good nature radiated from him. It was no wonder he managed to find girlfriends with such ease.

It was unfortunate that none of John's dates were ever good enough for his friend in his opinion though, or fortunate for himself since they didn't stick around for long.

“I'm up to anything, but dinner would be nice. Did you have anything in mind?” Sherlock asked with careful interest.

"Dinner?" John laughed, surprised. "Are you asking me for dinner Sherlock?" He grinned and dragged over his laptop, opening it up to update the blog.

"I'm uhh...I'm kind of supposed to be having dinner out with um..with..." John frowned, the name of his latest date escaping him completely. "With um...my date."

He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. "But I'll make you something before I go out."

“I don't understand.” Sherlock frowned, perplexed by John's reaction. “We've had dinner before, after a case. I sit with you when we are on a case so that you can get something to eat.”

Sherlock was curious, bewildered and a little offended. “It doesn't suggest that you are that into someone when you can't remember her name. Why date someone who doesn't interest you? Why would you want to go for dinner with someone whose name you can't remember when you could have dinner with me?”

"I know we've been for dinner before Sherlock and it's...it's great," John replied, backtracking slightly, aware that he'd probably been jumping to conclusions about Sherlock's intentions. It had just sounded a little odd the way he'd asked him for dinner right after John had announced he had a date.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I really do need to remember her name before we go out though," he muttered.

Just then, his thoughts were interupted by the phone ringing. He took it out his pocket and had a look.

"Ahhh. Kim," he cried as the name flashed up on the screen. "I saved it on my phone. Lucky." He hit the answer button.

"Kim, hi..." He gave Sherlock a little smile. "Yeah of course...8 o'clock yep...yep, see you then...OK bye."

He grinned and hung up, rubbing his hands before looking at his friend again feeling a little guilty for leaving him. "Um...maybe we could go for dinner afterwards," he suggested. "I won't eat much with her I'll uhhh...I'll tell her I'm not hungry."

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, twitching the hand up at his face “she might think you aren't interested in her if you can't remember her name”

“Why do you want to go out with this woman if you aren't interested in her?” Sherlock was fidgetting in his seat becoming impatient. He instantly regretted his words because he knew why people went on dates and what that could lead to.

He scowled when John answered his phone and realised it was his date on the other end.

“You intend to tell her you aren't hungry, that's as good as saying,” Sherlock's phone rang interrupting him, he delved into his jacket pocket and flipped the phone open to reply, “Sherlock Holmes...yes...where...fifteen minutes” he snapped the phone off “that's like saying you aren't interested in eating and have other ideas.” he said crossly.

“That was Lestrade. We've got another case.”

"Well I don't know if I'm interested in her or not yet Sherlock, because I've only met her once," John explained a little impatient. God it was like talking to a child sometimes.

"That's why I'm going on a date with her, so I can get to know her better," he added, then hesitated. John couldn't really answer the other question because he didn't actually know the answer.

He was planning to say he wasn't hungry, not eat very much then duck out of the date early just so he could spend time with Sherlock. Why? He realised that made no sense. Sherlock, who he saw every single day, who annoyed the hell out of him, made fun of him, acted like a selfish arrogant prick and who couldn't offer him anything in the way of a physical or emotional relationship. Not that he'd want that anyway. He wasn't gay.

John was pretty glad when the phone rang to avoid him having to make sense of something that was completely stupid, and his heart gave a small leap when he heard the business like tone in the detective's voice.

"A new case," he repeated, already thumbing at his phone. "I'd better just um...just cancel this date," John mumbled quietly, realising Sherlock had won after all. There's no way he'd give up helping Sherlock on a case to go on a date.

Sherlock had answered Lestrade's inconveniently timed call with the most professional tone he could muster up while half his brain cells were still occupied with his ongoing problem of John one day leaving him. It was inevitable if John was straight but he still had doubts about that.

Evidence for his case; the first time they had gone to Angelo's he had gained a firm impression that John was on a subconscious level interested in him. Add to that now that John was prepared to leave his dinner date early to have dinner with him. Cancelling a date for a case didn't count because that wasn't to do with him personally, that was their work.

Sherlock was disgusted with himself a solid 5 hours to work through this and he still hadn't got to the bottom of the wretched problem that dogged his life.

He went to get his coat and stood tying his scarf while looking at John “You didn't have trouble remembering my name when we first met” Sherlock reminded him.

He could tell that John was slightly irked at explaining how dating worked. “I see, thanks for explaining. I've wondered about that. I've never been on a date.” he admitted hoping that John wouldn't laugh.

John hit the call button to ring Kim and in an awkward conversation explained that he wouldn't be able to go on their date after all.

"It's um...work," he muttered.
"Work? I thought you worked in the surgery? During the day?" She snapped, a little annoyed.
"I do," John persisted. "But remember when I told you about my flatmate Sherlock - "
"How could I forget? He's all you ever bloody talk about!"
John visibly blushed then cleared his throat and continued, "yes well, remember I told you I helped with the cases, well one's just come up tonight and I need to - hello? Kim?"
The line was dead. John put the phone back in his pocket and looked a little sad. "I think she hung up on me."

He started putting his coat on wondering why all his potential girlfriends seemed to get insanely jealous over his relationship with Sherlock. It didn't really make sense to him.

It didn't surprise him that Sherlock hadn't been on a date, but he decided not to say anything about it. He didn't want to embarrass his friend.

"I could never forget your name," John laughed, as if it was a silly question. "You're...you're...special." He frowned then looked at the floor, aware that there was some kind of tension between them. "Are we um...ready to go?"

From the raised voice at the end of John's phone Sherlock got the gist of the call. Special? John called him special! The evidence was surely stacking up. If not he was going to make himself look a fool of epic proportions and John would no doubt make a hasty departure but if he didn't try John would leave anyway so there was nothing to lose.

“I'd say you did quite a bit more than help.” Sherlock knew that to be true in subtle ways as well as the times John saved him from being 'toast'. It was a new phrase Sherlock had heard and he liked it.

“Yes, come on,” Sherlock agreed and headed off downstairs at a trot. “The game is on Mrs Hudson, don't wait up” he yelled, jumped down the last two stairs and went out into the early evening air not waiting for a reply.

“Taxi” Sherlock threw up his arm at a cab making its way unhurriedly down the street looking for a fare.

Before John could finish putting on his jacket Sherlock was off, dashing down those stairs in that old familiar way.

It was great to have him back. Some things had changed quite a bit since Sherlock's return, but John was happy to note that some things were exactly the same. He grinned as he raced after the detective, his heart racing with adrenalin already.

John closed the front door behind them and clambered into the already waiting taxi that Sherlock had so expertly managed to procure for them.

As they sat down and did up their seatbelts John turned to his friend and asked, "so what exactly is it then? This case?"

Sherlock looked out of the black cab's window at the city going about it's business. “There's not much to tell you, Lestrade was very brief, except he's in a flat spin about it.”

He turned his head toward John. “It's a murder, a man, no ID. In the boot of a car, in the grounds of a derelict warehouse. They've not touched him at all.”

Sherlock, sitting back in his seat and looking very relaxed, glanced out at the city streets and waited for the right moment. “So, you go on a date to find out if someone's interesting. What would make them interesting?” he asked in a casual but interested tone.

John listened intently to the precious few details they had been given, already looking forward to arriving at the scene of the crime. He was quite sure Sherlock had made him into some kind of morbid freak who got excited about murders although he wasn't certain. Perhaps deep down he'd always been that way. Even so, he liked to think he didn't jump about acting like it was Christmas the way Sherlock did.

He played around with his bottom lip trying to think of an answer to his friend's question. "What makes...someone...interesting..." he repeated slowly, trying to bide himself some time. "I dunno. I guess...they'd have a good sense of humour, an exciting job, exciting hobbies. You know...interesting things."

John sighed, realising Sherlock would insist on specifics. "OK OK. So...like what we're doing now for example. That constitutes as interesting. And y'know...there are other people...who have interesting jobs..."

The taxi began to slow down as he turned left into a side road and the driver informed his passengers that he couldn't go any further. “It's taped off down there, police all over the place.”

“This is fine” said Sherlock and reached over to pay the fare, “Thank you”.

Sherlock looked up and down the road and towards the warehouse “Up here, by the look of it” Sherlock grinned at John who was also looking around taking the in the crime scene.

Reaching the tape first Sherlock pulled it upward, ducked under and waited for John to join him holding the tape up for him.

A burly policeman who had been looking bored became galvanised “Oh, it's you, you're both expected, go through.” he spoke into a walkie talkie to inform his boss of their arrival.


[Only admins are allowed to see this image]

((Nice...you're rather good at this, I've never thought about using pictures in RPs before!))


John clambered eagerly out of the taxi, almost as keen as Sherlock to take a look round the crime scene.

He thanked the driver and quickly jogged behind, trying to keep up with the long strides of the detective, ducking under the tape he was holding up for him with a mumbled "thanks."

It was easy to see where the main part of the action had taken place, as just beyond the police tape there was a hub of activity around the opened boot of an abandoned car outside the old warehouse building, and John recognised the backs of a few heads - Lestrade and Anderson to name a couple.

Lestrade turned round as they approached and gave them a friendly smile. "Sherlock...glad you could make it." He gave a wave of his hand and beckoned them over. "Love to know your opinion on this one..."

((Thanks, I just thought why not, see if it adds anything ))




“Good evening, I'll see what what I can do for you” the detective smiled back at Lestrade

The body in the car boot was that of a severely overweight middle aged man, dressed in a cheap dark suit and lace up shoes, one of which had come off the foot. There was very little blood, an insignificant amount matted around a minor head wound. A single blow sufficient to have knocked the man off his feet but not to have killed him. The expression and colour of the man's face suggested heart failure. The only evidence of other injury on the man's body was a deep graze on the edge and heel of the man's left hand.

Sherlock began examining the man's body and the car in detail making deductions. At length he straightened up and looking satisfied, smiling expectantly at John took his arm gently bringing him closer to himself and the body.

"John, your medical opinion please," Sherlock requested in a quiet authoritative tone. He then stepped back to let the doctor work.

John stood a few paces back next to Lestrade and watched Sherlock do his work, slightly mesmerised and baffled at the same time. God knows what nuggets of information the detective could glean from just a few quick glances.

When Sherlock turned back to take hold of his arm, John knew what was expected of him and gave a quick glance to Lestrade, always respectful to get permission before invading the scene any further. Lestrade responded with a small nod and John stepped forward to give his opinion.

He leant over towards the man's face, touching his neck slightly, testing the stiffness of the skin, looking closely at the colouring. "I'd say he's been dead about 6 hours, maybe less but definitely no more..."

He turned the man's head slightly to get a good look at the wound. "Hm...hit on the back of the head with um...some kind of blunt object..although there's really not that much bleeding so...this...probably wasn't what killed him..."

John noticed the man's hand and crouched down almost to his knees, carefully picking up the arm. "This cut's deep. Must have been done with a really sharp knife...um...possibly something surgical? It would have bled quite a bit but...there's no blood here so..." He trailed off, unsure, and glanced up at Sherlock to check he was meeting expectations.

The detective went to stand with Inspector Lestrade a little way back giving John room to examine the body in the boot of the car.

When John remarked on the cut Sherlock rejoined the doctor and looked carefully at where the doctor was indicating.

“Excellent. That narrows it down, a very sharp glass shard, John, not an instrument. 6 hours, 6 hours. First class.”

“Ok, what you can you tell me?” Lestrade asked unfolding his arms and walking over to the car.

Sherlock, deep in thought, wearing his least readable blank expression, checking his deduction in the light of what John had added paused before answering.

Lestrade looked disappointed, “I hope you have something.”

Sherlock smiled “More than something. But I’ll need more samples than normal to confirm it and give you the details. I'll do the analysis at Barts as usual. Much quicker.”

“Of course, so what's your theory?” Lestrade asked a little impatiently.

“This is a complex one, I'll need a dozen of Anderson's evidence sample canisters.” Sherlock replied.

“No problem.” Lestrade turned and ordered Anderson to bring what Sherlock had asked for.

Anderson who had been watching gritted his teeth and stalked off to the van for the canisters”

“For now, he is a probably a travelling sales rep who worked for something like a printer's, right handed, suffered from iron deficiency and he's a bigamist who owns two dogs. It's not premeditated murder but obviously it's not an accident either." Sherlock explained his theory.

“How do you know that?” Lestrade was taken aback, his eyebrows perched high on his forehead.

“I don't know, I see, I won't know until I do the lab work” Sherlock began slowly. Then he began speaking quickly while moving round the car indicating the evidence as he explained his deduction.

“But...this is a man who's longest daily walk is from his front door to his garage. The blow to the back of the head felled him but it didn't kill him, nor did the laceration to his arm, his age and condition suggests a heart attack. Why? Fright, not just surprise, he was unexpectedly attacked.”

“There is green slime and moss in the head wound. He was looking forwards when his attacker struck him with possibly a tree branch or a fence pole, wet wood. Wood that his attacker picked up at the scene of crime. Bashed on the head, he falls. His left hand is deeply scraped, that means he put it out when he fell, the force of the fall caused a sharp piece of glass to lacerate his skin.”

“He has a wide wedding ring which he takes off and he puts a smaller one back on. You can see there is a groove of the narrower, tighter wedding ring, that's overlaid by this greeny black staining, the staining from his wider ring, this indicates iron deficiency. The ring he's wearing has scratch marks from when he puts it in his pocket with coins or keys.”

“He is right handed, the callous on his right hand is from resting it on a desk using a mouse, so an office worker, but the mud on his shoes and the grit in the car, his car, means he travels. There are traces of printing ink on his wrist, from carrying freshly printed material.”

“So...a printer's sales rep, two wedding rings which he wears alternately. He has two wives, he lives a double life and lives in two places, not one. Scene of crime within 6 hours drive. Probably in the Southern Lakes National Park. Which is why I need more samples than usual.”

Satisfied that he had given a full explanation Sherlock began collecting samples.



((whew ))

John stood a little taller when Sherlock complimented him, glad that he could be of some help.

"I've seen lacerations like that caused by scalpels but a shard of glass could work too, providing the impact was swift," he agreed with a small shrug of his shoulders, already looking forward to hearing Sherlock's version of events.

"Heart attack through fright. Of course!" John exclaimed, slightly annoyed that he didn't think of it himself. "That would explain that sort of...frozen expression on his face."

He leant over the corpse once more, noticing for the first time that there was indeed some green mossy substance near the wound. Once again he'd seen the obvious but not observed the detail.

John stepped back to listen to the rest of Sherlock's deductions, his mouth slowly gaping open.

When he finally stopped he managed to find his voice. "Amazing Sherlock," he muttered in astonishment. "Just brilliant."

"Just let me know what you need Sherlock," Lestrade chimed in. "I'll get everything sent over to Barts for you right away."


((It really was amazing btw! XD))

Sherlock knew how much it pleased John whenever he remarked positively on his friend's input and noticed him standing up confidently that little bit more soldierly and tall. He also saw the twinge of annoyance in the tightness of John's lips when he realised he had missed some tiny detail. John was very hard on himself at times he thought. Harder than Sherlock ever intended to be about correcting John while trying to teach him how to make accurate deductions.

“Meretricious” Sherlock tried to be modest but it still went against his mould to pretend anything and he let John see that he appreciated his attention and the compliment. It had been a while since John had been so effusive and it always made him feel secure and confident.

Sherlock and Lestrade had an even better working relationship now than they had in the past and he could afford to be more gracious whenever Lestrade asked for help and a little less formal. Lestrade often called into Baker Street for a chat about cases.

“Thank you,” the consulting detective turned to Lestrade again, “My samples should go a long way to solving this case but additional evidence from places I can't reach without disturbing the body will help. If you are calling into the flat the notes from your doctor to confirm the COD, copies of photographs, the usual case notes really.”

The two men nodded to each other which served as a 'goodnight' and Lestrade wished John goodnight.

“Right John, we're done here” Sherlock called and they set off down the street to find a cab.

“Dinner now?”




(( Coming from you that means a lot, thank you. - All we need now is our Molly ))