Missing a Heart
Bored
Sherlock Holmes was lounging on his couch opposite the wallpapered wall, which now sported a yellow smiley face spray painted to it. Sighing, Sherlock cocked the gun in his hand and began firing at the smile. Of course, Mrs. Hudson had to come up the same moment he decided to try to end his boredom and bother him.
“Sherlock! What are you doing?! You can’t shoot at the wall!”
“Sorry Mrs. Hudson,” he said dully, no remorse in his voice as he cocked the gun again.
Mrs. Hudson cautiously walked over to him and put the gun down for him. “We just need to get you another case is all. Maybe there’ll be some triple murder that leads to a cannibal or something!”
“Boring,” Sherlock muttered to himself under his breath.
“Hello Mrs. Hudson,” a familiar voice rang out. It was Sherlock’s favorite voice; John’s voice. He was finally home from grocery shopping, a task that was even more boring than sitting on his ass and shooting at the wall.
“Hello John,” she replied sweetly as she made her way out the door.
“What have you been up to while I was gone?” John asked as he set the groceries down. Sherlock swiftly got up to help him, placing the milk and eggs around body parts that were in the fridge.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m extremely bored John,” he whined.
“What about the murders of the three girls on a backroad out of London, on the way to the country? The one where all the girls look the same and have their heart missing when they’re autopsied?”
“It’s a psychopath who is fixated on girls with the same appearance. After living with me this long I thought you would have picked up on that much,” Sherlock crooned. He led John back to the couch where they both sat down, John snuggling into Sherlock’s side under his arm.
“Well that’s what I thought, but the thing is, the girl’s hearts are gone, but there isn’t any wound or scar or scratch to show that the guy could have fished it out of them and taken it. There’s never any fingerprints, no DNA, no nothing to show that somebody did it. It’s weird, don’t you think? It makes you wonder if they’re being killed by something human.” John was tired, his leg was aching a little, and he wasn’t in the mood to be told by Sherlock once again how he missed a detail that no one else could pick up. Usually he found it amusing, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. He braced himself to be told the obvious when-
“What do you mean there’s no wound? Why hasn’t anyone told me about this?”
“The police don’t want the public to know about it, and since I’m a blogger I wasn’t supposed to know. But one of the lower guys let it slip, and now I know,” he shrugged.
“That doesn’t explain why they didn’t tell me.”
“It’s because I blog for you. And you’re kind of a public figure now. If anyone sees you sniffing around the crime scene then people will start to talk and think it’s more than just simple murders, which is what the police wants the public to think.”
Sherlock nodded, his long slender fingers running up and down the length of John’s arm. “We’ll have to go examine the bodies. I want to analyze them and see if anyone missed anything.”
“Can we go tomorrow please? I just want a quiet night home with you tonight,” John sighed, relaxing at Sherlock’s touch.
Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, we can wait until tomorrow.” He leaned over and kissed the top of John’s head, settling down so John could lean on him easier.
The two men sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the city. The sun had set already, and the room was rapidly becoming darker. Neither of the two wanted to get up to turn on the light, so they just stayed in the same position. “You know, I heard gunshots earlier. Please tell me you weren’t trying to kill someone so you could build a case for yourself to solve.”
“No, I wasn’t trying to kill anyone. I was just trying to end my boredom,” Sherlock laughed. “It’s not right when you’re not here. It feels.... empty.”
A smile tugged at John’s lips. “Sherlock,” he cooed before giving him a chaste kiss.
“You’re tired John.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Sherlock had memorized John’s sleeping patterns and noticed that he was getting close to falling asleep.
John yawned. “I know.”
“Just go to sleep John.”
The next morning, Holmes and Watson got dressed and ate quickly, since Sherlock was so eager to examine the bodies. He was in such a good mood about having another case that was more interesting than simple murders that he even complimented Molly’s new lipstick.
His good mood soon dissolved as he couldn’t see any plausible way that this was possible. Human hearts just don’t disappear without a logical explanation, but he couldn’t find a reason as he looked over the bodies and police reports.
“So who do you think it is?” John asked good naturedly as the pair walked to a cafe to get some tea.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s a who, John, but a what. I’m trying to come up with some theories, but for now I don’t think a human was the one taking the hearts.” Sherlock sat down at the cafe table and rubbed his temples.
“You’ll think of something Sherlock. You always do,” John whispered, giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze before going inside to get their tea.
“Sherlock! What are you doing?! You can’t shoot at the wall!”
“Sorry Mrs. Hudson,” he said dully, no remorse in his voice as he cocked the gun again.
Mrs. Hudson cautiously walked over to him and put the gun down for him. “We just need to get you another case is all. Maybe there’ll be some triple murder that leads to a cannibal or something!”
“Boring,” Sherlock muttered to himself under his breath.
“Hello Mrs. Hudson,” a familiar voice rang out. It was Sherlock’s favorite voice; John’s voice. He was finally home from grocery shopping, a task that was even more boring than sitting on his ass and shooting at the wall.
“Hello John,” she replied sweetly as she made her way out the door.
“What have you been up to while I was gone?” John asked as he set the groceries down. Sherlock swiftly got up to help him, placing the milk and eggs around body parts that were in the fridge.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m extremely bored John,” he whined.
“What about the murders of the three girls on a backroad out of London, on the way to the country? The one where all the girls look the same and have their heart missing when they’re autopsied?”
“It’s a psychopath who is fixated on girls with the same appearance. After living with me this long I thought you would have picked up on that much,” Sherlock crooned. He led John back to the couch where they both sat down, John snuggling into Sherlock’s side under his arm.
“Well that’s what I thought, but the thing is, the girl’s hearts are gone, but there isn’t any wound or scar or scratch to show that the guy could have fished it out of them and taken it. There’s never any fingerprints, no DNA, no nothing to show that somebody did it. It’s weird, don’t you think? It makes you wonder if they’re being killed by something human.” John was tired, his leg was aching a little, and he wasn’t in the mood to be told by Sherlock once again how he missed a detail that no one else could pick up. Usually he found it amusing, but right now he wasn’t in the mood. He braced himself to be told the obvious when-
“What do you mean there’s no wound? Why hasn’t anyone told me about this?”
“The police don’t want the public to know about it, and since I’m a blogger I wasn’t supposed to know. But one of the lower guys let it slip, and now I know,” he shrugged.
“That doesn’t explain why they didn’t tell me.”
“It’s because I blog for you. And you’re kind of a public figure now. If anyone sees you sniffing around the crime scene then people will start to talk and think it’s more than just simple murders, which is what the police wants the public to think.”
Sherlock nodded, his long slender fingers running up and down the length of John’s arm. “We’ll have to go examine the bodies. I want to analyze them and see if anyone missed anything.”
“Can we go tomorrow please? I just want a quiet night home with you tonight,” John sighed, relaxing at Sherlock’s touch.
Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, we can wait until tomorrow.” He leaned over and kissed the top of John’s head, settling down so John could lean on him easier.
The two men sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the city. The sun had set already, and the room was rapidly becoming darker. Neither of the two wanted to get up to turn on the light, so they just stayed in the same position. “You know, I heard gunshots earlier. Please tell me you weren’t trying to kill someone so you could build a case for yourself to solve.”
“No, I wasn’t trying to kill anyone. I was just trying to end my boredom,” Sherlock laughed. “It’s not right when you’re not here. It feels.... empty.”
A smile tugged at John’s lips. “Sherlock,” he cooed before giving him a chaste kiss.
“You’re tired John.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Sherlock had memorized John’s sleeping patterns and noticed that he was getting close to falling asleep.
John yawned. “I know.”
“Just go to sleep John.”
The next morning, Holmes and Watson got dressed and ate quickly, since Sherlock was so eager to examine the bodies. He was in such a good mood about having another case that was more interesting than simple murders that he even complimented Molly’s new lipstick.
His good mood soon dissolved as he couldn’t see any plausible way that this was possible. Human hearts just don’t disappear without a logical explanation, but he couldn’t find a reason as he looked over the bodies and police reports.
“So who do you think it is?” John asked good naturedly as the pair walked to a cafe to get some tea.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s a who, John, but a what. I’m trying to come up with some theories, but for now I don’t think a human was the one taking the hearts.” Sherlock sat down at the cafe table and rubbed his temples.
“You’ll think of something Sherlock. You always do,” John whispered, giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze before going inside to get their tea.