His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 25: How To Get Away With Milkshakes and Murder

She was so young. Hell, she was probably my age. The thought of my body in her place made me queasy. I risked a glance at Sherlock, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, he would be jumping around, already spouting off facts about the murder. Not today. Today, he stood stiffly by the doorway, mouth pulled into a firm line. What's the matter with him?

"Jean Carter." Lestrade began, pulling me from my train of thought. "(Y/age) years old. No type of connection to the other victims, as far as we can tell. Estimated time of death: 6 a.m. Could you take a look, (Y/N)?"

I nodded solemnly. The room was silent as I crouched down by her body. Just by looking at her, it wasn't hard to tell that she'd been very beautiful, once. Now, her dirty blonde hair was matted with blood, and her body mutilated beyond recognition. There were empty sockets where her eyes were supposed to be. I shuddered in disgust, kind of creeped out. Whoever did this was sick human being. Judging by the awkward silence in the room, I knew everyone else was a bit uncomfortable as well.

I studied the wounds in her chest and stomach, making a few deductions before standing. "What have you got so far, Sherlock?" I wanted to know what we had to work with before voicing my opinion.

He wasted no time, taking a deep breath and spitting out the facts in rapid-fire. "University student, works... well, used to work at the burger joint down on the corner. Had parents, but not a good relationship with them. Cause of death was blood loss because of the stab wounds on her abdomen- they're clean, but random cuts. The killer knows how to handle a knife, but not necessarily how to kill someone."

I nodded, satisfied. Nothing I hadn't gotten. My brain racked itself for answers, puzzle pieces fitting into place. Connection... connection. I was taking my gloves off when I froze. "Oh!" It all made sense, really.

"What?" the three of them chorused in unison.

"You said there was no connection between the victims, right?"

"That's right..." Sherlock answered tentatively. "As far as we can tell."

"Uh-huh. What color were her eyes?"

Silence. "I- I don't know. Why?"

I smirked proudly. "Oh, Sherlock. You're getting slow."

I was met with confused, blank looks from everyone in the room. I sighed in exasperation They're a bunch of idiots, they are. "What?!" Sherlock crowed. "What did I miss?"

At first, I ignored his question, turning to Lestrade. "Greg, I need every file you've got under the four victims. All of them. I want their entire biological profile. Hell, I want to know where they so much as breathed on the day they were murdered. Got that?"

Lestrade was already typing my instructions into his phone. "Yes, ma'am. Who are we looking for?"

"A butcher." I said confidently, pulling up Google Maps on my iPhone.

"I don't understand." We all looked at Sherlock in surprise. Hearing those words from his lips was rare. I rather liked it.

"You should get that on a t-shirt, Sher."

He rolled his eyes, dismissing my comment. "What does her eye color have to do with anything?"

I looked up from my phone, having found the destination I needed. I grinned devilishly as I turned to face him. "Sometimes, Sherlock, the connection is in the evidence that isn't there." I looked around at the three of them, watching realization spread across their features. "Let's have lunch, shall we?" I asked casually, holding up my phone. On the screen was a map from here to the diner where Jean had worked. "I hear the burgers at this diner are... killer."