Sherlock - The Game Is On!

A Scandal In Belgravia- One

Chapter One

I held the gun steady in my hands. Aiming at the pile of Semtex on the floor besides Moriarty. We were staring at each other... Staying alive starts to play tawnily. Sherlock and John start to look around. My eyes never leave him. Closing his eyes he sighs in exasperation. "D'you mind if I get that?"

"No, no please. You've got the rest of your life." Jim takes his phone from his pocket and answers. "Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Jim mouths a 'sorry' to us. Sherlock sarcastically replies back 'it's fine'. Jim turns around for a moment, turning back in fury. "SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you." Hissing the S's in 'skin'. Jim gazes at the jackets before lifting his eyes to face us. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock casually replied. "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock. Michelle." Strolling towards the doors he continues with phone conversation. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." Reaching the doors he snaps his fingers, instantly all lasers focused on us disappear.

"What happened there?"

"Someone changed his mind. The question is: Who?" Sherlock responded.

John was sitting at the dining room table in the living room, typing away on his blog. Sherlock was wearing his red dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, leafing through a newspaper. I was updating Mycroft and Sherlock's wellbeing. "What are you typing?"

"Blog."

"About?"

"Us."

"You mean me."

"Actually I'm typing up on Michelle." I look over John's side and read what he had written. "Known as a women of mystery, but can give a good kick in the backside... How thoughtful John." I brush my hand through his hair, messing it up a little. The door bell rings. "Right then. So, what have we got?"

Over a period of many weeks, people came to 221B to consult with Sherlock. Each of them sitting on the dining chair facing the fireplace as they spoke: "My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office."

"Boring."

"I think my husband might be having a affair."

"Yes."

"She's not my real aunt. She's been replaced, I know she has. I know human ash." Sherlock pointed to the door. "Leave."

"We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, 'cause people miss a lot of the themes... But then all the comic books started coming true."

"Oh. Interesting." Later on, John sat in his chair updating his blog. Sherlock was leaning over his shoulder. " 'Greek Interpreter'. What's that?"

"It's the title."

"What does it need a title for?" Sherlock huffed, walking away...

Sherlock was using his magnifier to look at a woman's body lying on the table at St Bart's. I was going over my analysis for abbreviation too. "Do people actually read your blog?"

"Where do you think our clients come from?"

"I have a website."

"Yes, In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody's reading your website." Sherlock straightened up, glaring at him. Then pouts adorably as John continued to look over the body. "Right then: Dyed blonde hair; no obvious case of death except for these speckles, whatever they are."

Back at the flat, John was on his laptop. Sherlock walked past with a piece of toast. "Oh, for God's sakes!"

"What?" I asked. " 'The speckled blonde'?!" I heaved out laughing.

On another occasion, two young girls came by the flat whilst Sherlock was pacing. "They wouldn't let us see Grandad when he was dead. Is that because he'd gone to heaven?"

"People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special room and burned."

"Sherlock!" The little girls looked at each other in distress...

John titled his latest case as 'Sherlock Holmes baffled'. Much to Sherlocks disagreement. "People want to know you're human."

"Why?"

"Because they're interested."

"No they're not. Why don't you ever discriminate Michelle on your blog? Why are people interested?"

"John, look." I point to his counter shown on the laptop. "One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five."

"Sorry, what?"

"I re-set the counter last night. As Michelle has stated, this blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock. Not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash."

"It was two hundred and forty-three actually, John. Get it right." Sherlock briefly smiled thankfully towards me...

The boys and I were at the backstage of a theatre. "So, what's this one? 'Belly Button Murders'?"

"I thought 'The Navel Treatment' has a bell to it." Defending John. "Eurgh!"

"There's a lot of press outside guys."

"Well, they won't be interested in us."

"Sherlock that was before we became an internet phenomenon..." I stated, lazily. Lestrade turned around. "A couple want photographs of all three of you." He then pointed in my direction. "And some want photo's of just you and Sherlock."

"Why?" I was unsure. Lestrade burst out laughing as well as John. "She seriously doesn't know?"

"Nope. Their oblivious." Sherlock eyerolls before passing a costume rack. "John." He tosses a cap at him and hands me a over-sized scarf. "Cover your face and walk fast."

"Still, it's good for the public image, a big case like this."

"I'm a private detective and she works for the Government. The last thing we need is a public image." Sherlock placed a deerstalker on his head, tugging his collar on his coat, he places his hand in mine and we walk bristly down the street full of reporters...