Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Six Thatchers- Two

Chapter Two

In the living room, Sherlock is currently stabbing his multi-tool knife down into a large pile of letters on the mantelpiece. "If this gets any better, I'm gonna need two knives." He turns to John and I. I read over John's shoulder of his blog:

221Back!

And we're back! Sorry I haven't updated the blog for such a long time but things
really have been very busy. You'll have seen on the news about how Sherlock and Michelle
recovering the Mona Lisa. Sherlock described it as "an utterly dreary case" and was
much more interested in the case of a missing horseshoe and how it was
connected to a bright blue deckchair on Brighton beach.

I'll try to write everything up when I get chance but it's not been missing portraits
and horseshoes that have taken up my time.

We also have news, Michelle and Sherlock are engaged. FINALLY! AT LAST! I feel like a proud parent. Also, following that inquiry...

I'm going to be a Dad.

I mean, I thought I'd spent the last few years being a Dad to Sherlock, but it
really doesn't compare. The baby runs all of our lives. (Maybe not THAT different
to Sherlock then!) If I'm not changing nappies, I'm buying nappies.

I chuckle lightly, patting his shoulder. "It pays to advertise." Sherlock falls in his chair, looking to his phone. Mary sways, clutching on to her stomach. "Mary, come here love." I cooed her over, lying in between my legs on the sofa she lays her head on my chest. I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. "So, what about Moriarty, then?" She mumbles. "Oh, he has a plan." I answered, gesturing to my sociopath. Grimacing again, she rubs her bump. "You getting braxton hicks?" She nods her head tiredly.

"I'm going to monitor the underworld, every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move."

"Basically your 'plan' is just to sit there solving crimes like you always do."

"Awesome, isn't it?!" Sherlock smiles. He jumps up, steps across to the mantelpiece and rips the top letter off the pile...

Over the weeks we had:

"He drowned, Mr Holmes." The female client spoke. John sat begun writing up a draft:

Dusty Death
I won't name the client out of respect
but she came to us because of her late
husband. His body was recovered from
the sea near Falmouth...

Sherlock paces back and forth in front of the fireplace, looking at his phone. John sits in his chair with Mary perched on the arm. I sat, curled up in Sherlock's chair. "That's what we thought but when they opened up his lungs..."

"Yes?" Mary questions, gesturing on. "Sand."

"Superficial." Sherlock murmurs and not a minute later, his phone whistles a tweet alert...

On another occasion Sherlock sat in his chair holding a pair of Mars binoculars to his eyes while he peers at a small plastic bag containing a dark pink item held in pieces of ice.

John's blog entry for this case was:

Mr Hatherley came straight round to Baker
Street in a terrible state. He was white as a
sheet and bleeding from an awful wound in
his hand. Exactly how he came by this wound
was at first confusing...

Still holding the binoculars in place over his eyes, I shout: "Come back! It's the wrong thumb!" Sherlock looks up as the downstairs front door slams shut.

Another case, photographs were scattered over the dining room table and the Mars binoculars lie on top of some of them. I began reading John's blog entry:

The Duplicate Man
How could Dennis Parkinson be in two places at the same time? And murdered in one of them?

"Sherlock..."

"It's never twins, Watson."

Sherlock sits in his chair with his laptop open on his knees whilst I was typing on his phone. Mary sits in John's chair holding a mug and rubbing her tummy while John stands at the fireplace. "Hopkins, arrest Wilson. Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes." I order.

"Wilson?!"
"Lymph nodes?!"

Hopkins and Dimmock chime. "Michelle..." Mary presses gently. I look to the laptop, which have Detective Inspectors Dimmock and Hopkins, who are separately looking into their mobile phone's camera as they talk with us over Skype. The windows showing them are side by side on Sherlock's laptop screen. Dimmock is walking along a road while Hopkins is indoors, possibly in her office.

"Yes. You may have nothing but a limbless torso but there'll still be traces of ink left in the lymph nodes under the armpits. If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the signs'll be there." Sherlock backs me up. "Bloody hell! Is that a guess?"

"Are you looking to have your jaw bone shattered?" I retaliate to Dimmock. "We never guess." Sherlock corrects, before I end the call. "So he's the killer? The canary trainer?" Hopkins addresses. "Of course he's the killer."

"Didn't see that coming."

"Naturally." I reply, before Sherlock ends the call, completely. "You two can't go on spinning plates like this." My eyes widen whilst Sherlock's mouth falls open in realisation. "That's it! The place was spinning."

John's later blog entry reads:

The Circus Torso
A limbless body found
decomposing inside a trunk in left
luggage office in Waterloo station
couldn't be identified...

The Canary Trainer
Andrew Wilson was an unusual
man with an unusual hobby.
He seemed to have no connection
with the man whose life was so
abruptly ended one freezing night
in November...

Sherlock walks across the room checking his phone whilst he talks to a man sitting on a dining room chair: "The heart medication you are taking is known to cause bouts of amnesia."

"Yes, I think so. Why?"

"Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck are your own." I answered, filing my nails.

The Cardiac Arrest
Joel Fentiman was found strangled in the
bedsit he shared with his brother. They had
always got on well and there was no sign that
this situation had changed. we could never have known there was a potential assassin lurking close by.

An assassin who turned out to be...

A jellyfish!

Mary was breathing heavily whilst she was riding out her contraption. "Come on Mary, you've got this!" I cheer on. She groans in anguish. "Where's John!"

"I've called him, don't worry, I'll twat him and Sherlock when they arrive... Those bastards!" Mary laughs slightly before gripping onto the chair for dear life.