SOCIOPATH'S ROMANCE // Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Chapter 17 - The Great Game part 5

A.N: The meme I put this time had me wheezing since I had found it HILARIOUS but maybe that's just me running on not enough sleep or having crappy humour. You tell me lmao. 
By the way, my friends are so done of me rambling about Sherlock so. Here's me doing it right now. ah. well. 
Anyhoo, enjoy the new chapter!

- Hannah

________________

Bart's morgue was were the duo was, as usual. No longer did the receptionnist ask for their names or even bother to look up. They didn't own the place but it somehow felt like they kind of did.

Connie Prince's body has been laid out on a slab in the morgue, with a sheet covering her body, leaving solely her head, arms and upper chest bare. Lestrade led them into the clinical white room, reading from a file as he goes. Y/n still hadn't finally arrived, the meeting with Mycroft lasting longer than what they expected. 

"Connie Prince, fifty-four." Lestrade read off a clipboard as he led them in, "She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?" 

The mere idea of watching TV shows was ludicrous in Sherlock's mind as he answered quite firmly, "No." 

"Very popular. She was going places." 

"Not any more." the detective said matter of factly, making John snort a little, " So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound. Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna." 

He stalked around the slab where Connie Prince's body was laid out, observing overall before going to make any close analysis. 

"I suppose." John mumbled, shifting on his feet. 

After his little rounds, Sherlock muttered,"Something's wrong with this picture." 

That broke Lestrade out of his bored daze, exclaiming, "Eh?" 

"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong." Sherlock narrowed his blue eyes, looking down at the body more closely especially near Connie's arm. He pulled out his iconic magnifier from his coat pocket before inspecting her skin with it, hovering. Scratches that he identified as claw marks covered her upper arm, still a little crimson in their trail. Then, he moved up to her face to notice some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. 

The gears in his mind started turning; something itched at it. There definetely were some holes and flaws here, and he was going to find out what. "John? The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" 

"Yeah." the doctor confirmed, studying the body as well but with much more distance than Sherlock. He didn't particularly like the paleness or coldness that corpses had, but then again, who would? Sherlock had grown comfortable to it, but John, despite his war experience and job, couldn't quite stomach it quite yet. Also, trust Sherlock to bring you to see a body after having just eaten, John sighed.

A click! went off inside his mind as he continued,"But the wound's clean – very clean, and fresh. How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" 

"Eight, ten days." mumbled John, now stepping away from Connie Prince. 

Sherlock quirks a little smile and waits for John to add two and two together, knowing that at this point on, it wouldn't prove that difficult. 

"The cut was made later." John deduced, looking up at Sherlock for confirmation. 

"After she was dead?"