Deducing Tragedy Part One: See No Evil

Sherlock stood near the wall. Before him the table where the cat head still sat. In the other room John and Lestrade watched at the Detective circled the table yet again. This would be the fourth time in the space of ten minutes that he did this.

“What’s he doing?” John whispered to the Inspector. “When Moriarty gave him those clues he solved them like they were nothing-“

“Moriarty was a whole different set of rules,” Lestrade said. “I don’t think Tomas even has rules- not really. Moriarty was order and structure, Mathers is pure chaos.”

John nodded slowly, “then there’s the other thing too.”

Lestrade glanced at the shorter man, “what thing?”

John turned his expression plaintive as he spoke. “It’s Hanna.”

Sherlock moved towards the cat and lifted the head carefully from the table. Blood still dripped from it as Sherlock turned it to examine the cut. The pure frustration on his face told John and Greg that he had no clue. Sherlock Holmes was stumped.

John walked around into the room where his best friend was angrily staring at the cat head. “Anything?”

“There is nothing about this that would tell me what to do next,” Sherlock growled. “He said there were clues- but then he gives me a dead-end!” he shouted the last bit as he flipped up the table, the cat head rolling across the floor.

“Hey!” John said moving to Sherlock’s side in an instant. “Hey- it’s okay. We will find her Sherlock. We will.”

“Hanna means everything to me John,” Sherlock said in a low voice. “He said-“

“Don’t think about that,” John said. “What is it you said to me when Moriarty was the one leaving you clues? You said caring about them will not help save them, right? I know you care about Hanna, Sherlock, but right now- you need to turn that off. Whatever Hanna turned on in you, whatever switch she flipped, you need to turn off so that you can focus and save her.”

Sherlock looked at his best friend, the tears that had formed in the detective’s eyes spilled down his pale cheeks. “What… if I can’t flip it back again?”

John knew what he meant. Sherlock was a man ever adapting. Hanna had turned on the emotions in him before but that didn’t mean it would work again. There was no guarantee that he would after this was over he would still care for her. If he flipped the switch now… there was a very real possibility that it would never be moved again.

“You won’t be able to,” John started, looking into the silver-blue of Sherlock’s eyes. “But she will.”

Sherlock paused, nodding slowly before he spoke. “Tell… tell her I love her… just in case I can’t.”

Before John could say anything, before he could tell him that he would be damned if he let Sherlock push her away, Sherlock turned around to face the wall. John waited, praying, wishing that Sherlock would be able to come back from this. That whatever happened now, after all was said and done, Sherlock would seek out the Little Blind Girl.

When he turned back around, the change was noticeable. He stood taller, like the weight of his emotions had been lifted. He looked at John, who could still see the faint tear tracks on the detective’s’ face, and smirked. “I believe there is a case to solve, yes? Well what are we waiting for?” He turned and picked the table back up. Grabbing the cat head and replacing it on the cold metal surface he started to pace again. This time it was with purpose, his eyes reminding John of a tiger stalking its prey.

“Well,” he said after making one revolution. “John I believe you have Mark’s number right?”

“Mark?” John asked. “Why?”

“He took care of her cats while she transitioned into Baker Street,” He said simply. “This cat bears a resemblance to that of Babs. I suspect they are related maybe the child one of his litter mates- though that line of thinking is useless now. We have less than twenty-four hours to follow the clues or Mathers wins the game. John I really must thank you for making me realize this.”

John blinked, “what- what, did I do?”

“Emotions cloud the judgment and take focus away from the most obvious of things,” he said. “Like the fact that this game is not about me. It’s about Miss Hooper the younger. It’s quite obvious now that I don’t have sentiment blinding me. Lestrade was wrong in telling you that Mathers has no rules- he does, everyone does-”

“How did you-“

“Not of importance,” Sherlock waved off the short man. “Mathers’ rules are to create chaos for the sake of creating chaos while Moriarty created chaos to profit from it. Compared to him, Mathers is some untamed child; acting on every impulse that crosses his mind. And in a child’s mind the cat is simply who took care of them while Hooper couldn’t. There for we need to contact Mark Hooper, cat sitter to our victim.”

“Sherlock,” John said slowly, his voice low and concerned. “Is there any hope-“

“Not now John,” Sherlock turned away and walked to the door, pausing a moment in the frame. “When the case is over you can ask your questions.” And then he walked swiftly out of the room and down the hall.