The boys upstairs

Pessimist

A week later and Sherlock is once again bent over a body, a teenage boy this time and somehow it is worse. Strangulation wasn't the chosen method but asphyxiation, as deduced by Doctor Watson. Once he points out the ruptured eyeballs and pinpricked marks you can't unsee them. So you look away.

"What is it this time?" asks John gravely and Sherlock straightens up with a small flat book in his hand.

"A Streetcar Named Desire" he says, deep in thought. His usually mellow face is torn in concentration and you can't help but marvel slightly. He clutches the book between his fingers, flipping through furiously for clues but is frustrated by the lack of result. He shakes his head and begins spinning on the spot, glancing over the body with a calculating look before sighing in exasperation.

"Use your words Sherlock" says Watson with an eye roll and the detective bites his lip.

"There must be another book here somewhere- this one hasn't got any clues! Maybe it was dropped...?" He ponders while you think. Then he is still.

"Or... or maybe..." and that's when you get it also.

"Maybe that's all we need?" You suggest quietly and he smirks.

"We assumed there would be a connection, the murders were similar. The point was that the killer changed the pattern." He straightens up, excited now. "Dr Watson, Miss (Y/n), it would seem we are being tested"

You exchange a glance with Watson who looks a little lost. You try to help.

"So, this time the passages are irrelevant, we're looking for a different clue in the book...?"

Sherlock nods encouragingly. "Keep going" he says, scanning you with his piercing blue eyes.

"So not the content... maybe the author?" You suggest and Sherlock clicks his tongue.

"Guess again"

"The front cover? It's a couple, the man kneeling in front of the women. Stella and Stanley? No ok... it's the title." You state suddenly and Sherlock grins properly.

"A Streetcar Named Desire. Well we don't see streetcars any more, the closest mode of transport might be a bus... or perhaps a train? Desire is a town in Luton, so train is looking good. There's a train leaving for Luton in two hours, and we're going to be on it." He finishes quickly and you marvel in silent rhapsody. How, just how did he do that?

"That was... wow" you say and he looks puzzled

"That's John's job" he remarks with a small smile, suddenly going back to seriousness.

"I'm going alone" he states to immediate protest

"Oh no you're not. You're not doing this- this running off into danger with your coat flapping and your stupid cheekbones- you'll get yourself killed!" says John and you watch with amusement as Sherlock rubs his face.

"What's wrong with my cheekbones?" He sulks quietly

"They're very slappable" says John and they both stare at each other.

"Well I'm coming" you say and they both turn to look.

"Nope"

"Yes"

Sherlock scowls. "Have you such a thirst for adrenaline? Take a day off"

"I could say the same to you"

You all stare at each other before Sherlock's mouth twitches.

"Fine- we're going to need a cab"

*