August 17, 2010

What a night. I'm glad to be back in the flat, even if the smell of that experiment is still lingering. I don't think we'll be rid of that for a while, even though the source has been taken care of.

I left off rather abruptly, so here's what happened. I was writing, when I noticed that the pins on the map made a letter. Three guesses as to what letter they formed.

The moment Sherlock saw it, the 'S', he muttered, "come get me," and took off.

"Where are you going?" I called after him.

"Just need some air. Say hi to Sarah!"

First off, I didn't have any plans with Sarah. He knew that. Secondly, since when does he say things like say hi to Sarah? He doesn't give a damn about being polite, and he doesn't care what she thinks of him. I may not have his mind, but I worked this out. He didn't ask me to come because he wanted me to follow him. I didn't know why at the time, but he wanted to give the appearance of being alone.

I've always wanted to say, "Follow that cab!"

We stopped, and once outside the cab I could hear the water rushing nearby. There was a bridge not too far away, and it wasn't hard to make out Sherlock's form standing on it.

I managed to get close to the bridge without being seen. It was dark around the bridge, though the bridge was lit; that was an advantage I used. I watched Sherlock carefully. Another figure came into sight and walked slowly towards him. Female, with long dark hair.

"Sherlock Holmes," the voice sounded pleased. "I had hoped you'd solve my little puzzle."

"You murdered nine people just to get my attention," he stated coldly.

"Now, you can't prove that I killed them," she smirked, slinking closer. Something in her voice sent a chill down my spine. "There isn't a shred of evidence connecting me to them. And you had fun solving my puzzle." She was only a few feet from him now. In the dim light, I could see her hair colour; Auburn. Now the picture of Maxwell and Eve made sense! It had been a message for Sherlock. Maxwell had naturally straight, blonde hair according to every picture on the camera. When we found him, it was dark, and definitely not straight. "Just as much fun as I had setting it up for you."

He didn't answer, but kept his same emotionless stare fixed on her.

"Ah, you did," her voice was sultry, as though she were trying to seduce him. Good luck to her with that. Sherlock is possibly the one man incapable of ever being seduced. "I thought you might-"

"You killed nine people," he stated again.

"Everyone dies, Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock?" She asked, sounding almost sweet. "In death, everyone is the same, whether they were wealthy or..." She chuckled. "Homeless. Almost as though we're levelled out." She held out her hand, examining her fingers.

"Who are you?" He asked, and she smiled.

"Wren," she answered simply. "And it's not as though I killed those with the will to live – now, I'm not saying I did kill them," she added, "but if I were to know of their deaths, you might say they were aided."

"The bridge," I heard him say. "That's the link. Every one of the victims was depressed. They all came here with the intentions to jump. You found them. Each of them had life insurance; if they were to be murdered, money would go to their families, is that right?" He knew it was. He just enjoyed her confirmations.

"That is the logical conclusion one would come to," she agreed, twisting a ring she wore on her smallest finger. "Murder's not reallly my style; creating puzzles is. You see, Sherlock, what if they agreed? What if they injected themselves with the poison? I merely helped them with their wishes. Though, as I've said, there isn't anything that can point to me. Not that you'll call the authorities, not on me, anyways."

"Why?"

She chuckled. "Because, it takes a lot to get your attention, Sherlock, and this was exciting, for both of us." She took a step forwards. "You're not the kind for relationships, I can tell. That's fine, because frankly, neither am I. They're dull." She took another step forwards, put a hand on his shoulder and lightly kissed his cheek. Sherlock didn't move; he barely blinked. "I can make things exciting every now and then. Remember Sherlock," she ran her hand along his jaw, "you're a lot of things, but you're still just a man."

He grabbed her wrist suddenly. "And you remember, Wren," he hissed her name, "you're still just a woman."

She winced a bit, but quickly allowed her smirk to return. "Indeed I am." He released her hand, and she turned and walked away. "Farewell, Sherlock. I'm sure we'll meet again soon. I look forward to it."

Somehow, I have a feeling that Sherlock does too.

I had questions later when we met up again, and he had plenty of answers, as well as plenty of remarks for me to start thinking on my own. How did he know to go out to the bridge? It was in the center of the large 'S' formed on the map. How'd he know that she'd be there? Her final clue:

Age before beauty - Chloe, Odette, Melanie, Elaine

Youngest to oldest - Geoffrey, Edgar, Tony

Forever together - Maxwell and Eve

She was right, of course. Sherlock didn't go to the authorities, not exactly. Wren had slipped him a note with her accomplices, and he had reported them, as well as promising Lestrade that the deaths would stop. Her accomplices had never seen her. As she'd told Sherlock, there was nothing that connected her to anything. Only he, she and I know the truth, and it

"Writing another blog?" Sherlock asked, startling his friend.

John looked up and smiled thinly. "Yeah, just following orders; blogging about normal life."

Sherlock sniffed. "You've been blogging regularly. Normal life is quite boring, John. No one wants to read about that."

John stared at his computer screen, and managed a small laugh. "Yeah. Right." For a moment, his hand lingered over the 'delete' key. Before he could change his mind, he pressed it.

August 17, 2010

The killers were caught thanks to a tip Sherlock managed to pick up. Lestrade's got them all in custody. Though, they can't really be charged for murder as the victims all administered the fatal poison willingly and on their own. I'm not sure how things will turn out.

I found the source of that wretched smell. He had hidden it beneath the floorboards. The floorboards! He said something about monitoring the progressing of the smell as they rotted, but I think he was just trying to get to me.

He said he knows a nice place for dinner, and is putting on his scarf. I think he wants to make it up to me; not because it would be a nice thing to do, but because he doesn't like it when I'm angry with him. I'm not interesting then because I tend to go out or I don't talk to him.

This is my life now, and this is about as normal as it gets.

-Dr. John Watson