A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

A Killer Conversation

     "Three patches?"

     Sherlock smiled. "Well, it's a three patch problem."

     You couldn't stand this useless chatter anymore. "Sherlock, you asked us to come. Is it important?"

     "Oh, yeah!" Sherlock suddenly remembered. He swung his legs to the side of the couch and sat up. "Can I borrow someone's phone?"

     You sighed. "John, could you? Mine's dead."

     John pulled out his, shaking his head. "My bloody phone!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Mrs. Hudson has a phone, you know!"

     "Well, I tried shouting, but she didn't hear," Sherlock defended himself.

     "We were on the other side of London," you chided.

     "There was no hurry. By the way, I know your phone's not dead," Sherlock said to you. "You just didn't want to take it out of your coat."

     "What's this about, the case?" John asked, seething as Sherlock's fingers raced wildly on the number pad of the phone. "Her case," Holmes clarified.

     "The suitcase, yes. Murderer took her case. First big mistake," you said.

     Sherlock nodded. He closed up John's phone and held it up for John to take.

     John yanked it away. "...We just met a friend of yours," he said.

     "A friend?" 

     "An enemy."

    "Oh! Which one?"

     You shook your head in disbelief. "Sherlock..." His addiction to drama was ridiculous. 'Oh, which one?' Seriously?

     "Your archenemy, apparently," John said.

     Sherlock stared at the two of you now. Troubled. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

     John nodded confirmation. "Of course, I declined."

     "Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

     "Actually, I accepted after John left," you said. Sherlock grinned at this, but Watson looked at you like you'd betrayed him.

     "He's the most dangerous man you'll likely ever meet, you know," chuckled Sherlock. "But not my problem!"

     "Mycroft didn't seem too dangerous," you commented. Sherlock frowned at you. "How'd you learn his name?" he asked.

     "Well, he told me." 

     Sherlock was obviously disturbed by this. "Why would Mycroft do that? Mycroft wouldn't do that... unless..."

     "What? Go on," you demanded.

     Sherlock laughed, looking at John with an excited face. "She impressed him!" He turned to you. "You impressed him!" But when you smiled back, his own hardened. Sherlock cleared his throat. "You, er, yeah, must have impressed him somehow, which, in my experience, is very hard to do. He wouldn't have revealed his name otherwise; I know him."

     What was that about?  you wondered. You decided to change the subject. "What did you text?"

     "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come," Sherlock recited.

     John stared. "You blacked out?"

     "No, John," you responded with an annoyed sigh. "He's messaging the murderer. Didn't want to do it on his phone, there's always the chance that the murderer could find out it was him. It was on his website."

     Sherlock stood up, looking at you from the corner of his eye. "Yes, true. So you read a bit more of it, then?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen  John limped over to the couch and plopped down. Sherlock returned from the kitchen with a wheeled pink case.

     "Jennifer Wilson's case," you observed.

     John seemed to choke on your words. "What? " He swung his head round and stared at the case, clearly a little thrown.

     "I should mention I didn't kill her," Sherlock muttered. 

     "I-I never said that... you did," John stuttered. 

     You tsked. "Why not? Given the text he just sent and the fact that he has the case, it'd be a perfectly logical assumption. And it's not new for people to assume he's the murderer."

     Sherlock squinted at you. "How could you possibly know that, (Y/N)?"

     "Because the same thing happens to me all the time."

     "Okay..." John blinked. The air in the room was tainted with awkwardness. "So, wait, Sherlock, how did you get this?"

     "By looking. The killer had to have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He'd only keep her case by accident, if it was in a car. No one could be seen with this case without drawing attention, particularly a man."

     "Which is statistically likely," you put in.

     "Yes. So, obviously he'd want to get rid of it the second he realized he had it- wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize the mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens and looked for anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

     "And..." John frowned. "You got all that cos you realized the case would be pink?"

     "Had to be pink," you told him as if it were obvious- which, to you, it was.

    "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" John's voice dripped with sarcasm, but Sherlock's response did not: "Because you're an idiot."

     "Sherlock!" you objected, knowing how stung John was by that.

     "Don't look at me like that, (Y/N); Practically everyone else is." Sherlock moved on. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing? From her case? How could I? Oh, Sherlock, do explain! You're so smart and wonderful and better than everyone else!  Thank you, I will! Her PHONE! Where's her mobile phone? Wasn't on the body, wasn't in the case. She must have one; I just texted it."

     "Maybe... she left it at home," John offered.

     "She had a string of lovers and was careful about it!" scoffed Sherlock. "She'd never leave it at home."

     "So why did you send that text?"

     "Obvious," you said. "Where's her phone now? The murderer could have it. Maybe she left it in his car when she left her case, or perhaps he took it for some reason, but the balance of probability is leaning toward the assumption that the murderer has her phone."

     "You- technically, I- just texted a murderer? What good does that do-?" John's phone suddenly rang. He looked at the number on the screen, then his eyes went to the luggage tab on the case. "A few hours since his last victim," you murmured, listening to it ring, "and now he's got a text that can only be from her. Now, someone who'd just found the phone would ignore such a text, but the murderer..."

     The phone stopped ringing, and Sherlock's eyes lit up.

        Yours and Sherlock's eyes met. He finished your sentence for you. "Would panic."