<--<To: Sherlock Holmes,
1288, 4B, Islander Drive.
There was never any silence in New York City. The cars, people, trash cans rattling and subways passing. The cacophony of screams in your mind, the begging that could be repeated word by word from you.
The lights flicked off in the apartment, bodies laying still and silent. They didn't breathe, they didn't move or even live. And you didn't regret it. There was no other way.
"Watson, I may be gone for awhile."
Sherlock yanked on his coat and pulled a scarf around his neck while Watson came running forward. She shook her head at the sight but didn't waste time saying anything. The argument was always the same. She pulled on her coat and followed the man whose eyes were now set and still, anger flashing beneath the surface.
He opened the door and stared blankly at his feet the entire ride over. Watson tried countless times for him to talk. She eventually just let the detective lead her through a labyrinth of alleyways.
"Where are we going? Sherlock, you can't do that!"
Sherlock looked back at Watson as the door slowly opened. The detective put the pick locks back in his pocket as he braced the door open with his forearm and moved inside. He stepped silently around, carefully scanning the room for any signs of Moriarty. He found none.
"Sherlock, I found something."
Sherlock spun around on his heel, feeling slight disdain at the fact Watson found a clue before him. Still, he went towards her and unfolded the sheet of paper meticulously placed on the desk top.
This is not Moriarty, but someone you should nevertheless be searching for.
I have no doubts that you will identity me, but I will not let you catch me.
Not until your find out my motivation and put an end to it.
If you do so, I will confess and plead guilty.
I do not need a lawyer, I will not put up a fight.
I will kill myself if that is what you wish.
But if, and only if, my motivation is served.
I have faith in you as a human and a detective.
End it. Solve me. And let them sleep in peace.>-->
"Is it Moriarty? He could be messing with us."
Sherlock slowly folded the letter and placed it inside his jacket as he slowly shook his head.
"No. Moriarty always wants me to know he is personally responsible for ruining my life. It's not him. Not by a long shot. I already know who it is, Watson."
Sherlock took slow glides to a bedroom door and opened it slowly. The door was unlocked and inside he found a young girl sleeping. He sat down on a chair near her bed, beside where a story book lied. The page was tear-stained, a nearby chalkboard had the words 'Good morning' written on it. On the bed was a teddy bear with the words 'sleep peacefully' stitched into its plush stomach.
"Then shouldn't we call Detective Bell or Captain-"
"Shush, Watson. Let them sleep."
Sherlock moved to sit on the side of the bed and he carefully stroked the girl's hair behind her ear. He leaned down closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and action which stunned Watson.
"She's not breathing, Sherlock. She's dead. You're tampering with a crime scene."
Sherlock stood up and made sure the teddy bear was close to the girl before turning to Watson.
"She's not dead. She's sleeping."
"Trust me, Watson. Didn't you say a companionship is based on trust? Now come on, we have a case to solve. And it isn't here."
Sherlock strode out of the room with more vigour, almost slipping into a smile as Watson followed, texting a certain captain of the NYPD.
The words were whispered in your ear as you laid on Sherlock's bed, eyes having closed long ago in boredom of the wait. He had taken his time, it seemed. It took him much longer than the other hundred times you played such games with him.
You opened your eyes to see nothing but black. Had you slept the entire day? Was it night? You raised your body only to fall back down by the fact your hands were handcuffed. You rattled them as if questioning them and Sherlock smirked to himself.
"You said it yourself, my handcuff collection goes to no practical use."
His lips teasingly pressed against the edges of your mouth as his warm breath crossed your wet lips.
"I enjoyed that little chase. But I think I'll enjoy this much more."
You didn't need to see to know that Sherlock was smiling as he traced his lips over yours.
"Blisters were found over the arms and neck of the body. The girl was the only one we found, though evidence points to someone else being inside the room. There is another person in the city with the same method of death-"
"Then that's where I'll be."
Sherlock grabbed the file out of Bell's hand and was already leaving the room as Watson quickly followed. Sherlock found himself tapping his foot in the small confines of the elevator, slipping through the doors sideways to save a few precious seconds. He needed to find the killer. He needed to find you again.
"Three hours so far..."
You stood up from your chair, sidestepping the body of the man who was draped over a counter. Police tape surrounded the office, but they all rested outside. You picked up a box hidden in a set of drawers which appeared to not yet have been opened. Nothing was yet to be disturbed.
You placed the box in a satchel and pulled on a hood as you slipped through a window shattered by someone else.
"Alright then, this was the work of a thief, not a killer."
You gave a small, nostalgic smile as you heard Sherlock speak. Three hours was a new record. He was so close, but he didn't know that you were walking down the street beside the house, carrying a vital clue.
"Why'd you say that, Holmes?"
Sherlock had an extra bounce to his step as he pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and crouched down beside the body.
"There are no signs of injury besides burn marks. This man studied entomology-"
"How did you-"
"His diploma is on framed on the wall and over there, the shattered case is one made to hold live bugs. That's a fascinating model, I have one myself for bees."
Sherlock looked almost proud for a moment before Watson looked at the blisters, putting her medical degrees to use.
"There are some minor lesions which are healing without any scarring... It seems like cantharidin, it's used in dermatology, but it's a problem drug. He doesn't seem to have any use for it though medically."
Sherlock glanced up at Watson as his mind began connecting things together.
"Actually, he does. And it's worth billions."