A Strange Question
Title: A Strange Question
Author: Me
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Warning: None. No-Spoiler as well.
This is chapter 2.
You can find the first chapter >> here
I was on my way home, heading to the 221b Baker street, when I was startled by a loud wailing sound of trouble. I saw a police car zooming along the London's avenue, and then speedily disappeared around the corner. Pedestrians raced behind the trace of the police car with their eyes, some out of curiosity, some full of it.
Among the noise of the weeping siren that was haunting the bustling street, I heard the sounds of nervousness, panic and annoyance the nonstop horn called. The whole area, which had been in merciful peace for a week, was suddenly getting noisy all at once. I can't help hoping Sherlock was now dancing with joy.
Unable to catch a cab to follow the speedy police car, I trailed the siren to a neighborhood playground surrounding with yellow caution tapes and curious onlookers. Policemen and evidence technicians were roaming the playground. The bushes were wet from the afternoon rain. The soil was muddy and soft.
On the damp ground, there was a dead body of a white man with dark brown hair. His facial features were buried in the mud. The pitiful stiff wore a dark-colored jacket, worn out pants and a pair of Nike sneakers. Observing from afar, I assumed he got hit in the back of the head and was deceased. The fresh corpse was lying facedown encircled by tons of anonymous footprints which were left on the surface of the muddy soil probably by cops and onlookers. A young evidence technician, who was not Anderson, was collecting crime scene photographs. He was shooting a photo of a wallet sank in the mud beside the dead body.
I found Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan investigating a woman aged around 20 beside a police car. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked terrified but I couldn't see sorrow in her eyes. Donovan saw me first so she told her boss about me. Lestrade suddenly looked my way, nodded his head, allowing me to go to him.
"Robbery", The female officer said as soon as I approached them. And Lestrade nodded in agreement.
"You're alone today? Where's the freak?" Donovan was harsh as usual.
"I thought he might be here, so I came," I told her.
"Too bad, he ain't invited to the party."
The woman was the dead man's girlfriend. She told the police that her boyfriend had no violence nor drug history. He had started working at a hot dog stand for two weeks and hadn't gotten paid yet. He was killed at the time he was supposed to be at work, in the raining afternoon. The girlfriend, who was working at a cafe at the time, got a call from his boss complaining he didn't show up. Although his wallet was actually taken out and all of the money was gone, she didn't think he carried that much money or any luxurious items that could attract muggers. And she had no idea why he came to the neglected kids playground in the first place.
"He might be forced to come here," Donovan guessed, "by a gang of robbers or a gun pointing at him."
The girlfriend's story didn't help much. The collected evidences didn't help either. The trace of the afternoon robber was swept away by the afternoon rain.
I didn't believe it was a mere robbery. The victim didn't carry much money. He had no reason not to obediently give the robber money. Moreover, if it was just a robbery, why did the robber have to kill him? Why didn't the robber just take the money and let him go?
Despite my suspicion, Lestrade decided that this suspicious robbery was a closed case because there weren't suspects nor witnesses and the victim's girlfriend, who seemed to be his only family, didn't feel mournful nor furious enough to keep the cops busy.
"Greg, may I take some pictures?" I asked Lestrade for permission. He shrugged and told the young technician to let me join in.
I took some pictures using my cellphone and later, headed home.
****
I smelled food as soon as I opened the door. The food was left on the stove while Mrs. Hudson was, in the kitchen, cleaning the mess Sherlock did. She moved her hip around the kitchen as energetically as teenage girls.
I cleared my throat.
Mrs. Hudson greeted me with a generous smile. "Welcome back," she said. "a bit late, ain't you?"
I told her that I stopped by somewhere after work.
She waved her index finger at me, and then asked me in the teasing tone. "Went to sweetheart's place?"
I shook my head while taking off my jacket.
"You didn't go to the crime scene, did you? I heard the police siren awhile ago."
"Where is Sherlock?"
"In his bedroom", Mrs. Hudson waved her hand in the air, "I called him earlier but he didn't reply."
"Is he sleeping?"
"I don't know. You should go check on him. He's very weird today."
Sherlock Holmes was extremely weird every day and he was the oddest creature I had ever met but it was not necessary to correct Mrs. Hudson. I walked to Sherlock's bedroom and knocked. He didn't reply as Mrs. Hudson said so I just invited myself into his room. The room was slightly dark with a little of soft light spreading from the window. Sherlock was lying on his bed, hiding his phiz underneath the blanket. My flatmate was obviously awake. He stretched his leg when I walked in.
"Got any cases?", I asked.
He shook his head.
"I have something to show you," I told him.
He stayed quiet beneath the blanket so I couldn't see his face. But I knew that he was waiting for me to approach. I didn't have the other choice but to step forwards and climbed into his bed. I pulled out my cellphone, open one of the pictures I took at the crime scene, and then slipped it underneath the white sheet that was covering his body.
"What did you see in the pictures?",
I heard his low voice murmuring.
"Boring."
I became to hate this word for he had been saying it since as far as I could remember.
I thought these pictures would cheer him up but I was wrong. I was awfully wrong to want to cheer him up in the first place. I was terribly wrong to think that after I showed him the pictures, he would dash out in a joyous to solve the crime and finally stop caging himself in bottomless self-destruction. I told him all about the crime scene and what the victim's girlfriend had revealed to the cops. Still, the boring "boring" was his only expressed opinion. I wouldn't bother him anymore, if it was not for my curiosity.
"What did you see in the pictures?", I asked again, raising my voice in noticable annoyance. "Lestrade thought it was robbery. I think otherwise."
All of a sudden, he got up from the bed and scratched his head with frustration. He almost yelled.
"This was not robbery. It was murder. Too tedious. Too tasteless."
"How can you..."
Before I could finish the question, Sherlock shut me up with a deadening glare. I was stupid to ask anyway.
"This man was poor. He didn't carry any money. He haven't gotten paid yet. Then, why was he wearing a brand-new sneakers?"
I didn't have a clue. "The robber wanted his sneakers?"
"No!" This time, he actually screamed. "He got them from someone."
"The one gave him sneakers wanted them back?"
"No!" He scratched his head again since my idiocy was starting to get under his skin. "How could you be so blockheaded?! You should have checked the soles!"
"The soles?"
"A notch cut in the sole."
"You mean someone gave the sneakers to the victim with something concealed in the sole?", I raised my brow, "the victim was a drug dealer?"
"He was just a small fly in drug dealing system so his task was to deliver whatever tucked in his sneakers. He was killed because he refused to pass it down."
"So the murder is another drug dealer?"
"Exactly." Sherlock groaned, crinkling his nose "Look for a notch cut in the sole and footprints of anyone who crouched near the feet. You'll find the murderer in no time."
I stood up real quick, "I'll call Lestrade."
I was almost able to pick up my cellphone from the bed sheet but Sherlock was faster. He pulled up the blanket to cover himself along with my cellphone, curling up and mumbling, "as I said, what a humdrum murder."
"Sherlock," I called him.
Firstly, he kept silent. I didn't know what he was thinking or considering, however, eventually he asked, "what?"
"My cellphone", I requested.
My flatmate growled with chafe then reluctantly kicked it out.
I managed to gaspe it before it hit the floor. I frowned at him. Indeed, he didn't see. And I knew so well that it was no use asking for an apology. Why not just signed heavily and let it go?
"I'll call Lestrade. You get some rest."
Mrs. Hudson was waiting for me when I got back to the living room. She was drinking coffee and considerate enough to offer me some. I accepted her kindness but I told her I needed to make a call first.
"Calling your girlfriend?", she giggled.
"No, Mrs. Hudson. I'm calling the cops."
"How's Sherlock? He has been so quiet since last night."
I didn't come home last night. "Did he eat?"
"Not that I recall. He hasn't touched the food I left in the fridge."
"Did he come out of his room?"
"Once. He asked me a strange question," and then, she laughed pleasantly.
I knitted my brows, having no idea why Mrs. Hudson was so pleased that Sherlock asked her a strange question.
"Well, what question?"
Mrs. Hudson giggled again.
"He asked me IS KISSING FUN?"
**THE END**
แต่งมาสองตอนเชอร์ล็อกยังไม่หายดื้อเลย... เพราะดิฉันชอบมาก ดื้อๆ แบบนี้โคตรชอบเลย
ให้หมอตีซะเลย!! //ไม่ใช่... เดี๋ยวหมอตาย...
ไม่แน่ใจว่าจะมีตอนที่สามมั้ยนะ //สั่น... แบบว่าไม่ได้คิดอะไรต่อจากนี้เลย....
ซีซั่นละตอน รอซีซั่นสามนะ ...
รออยู่นะ T A T
No comments:
Post a Comment