Double Dose, Part 3/?
Title: Double Dose
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Family/Drama/Mild Humour
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
A week later, Rory's chest infection had all but passed, and Sherlock was rapidly approaching dangerous levels of boredom. John had taken to carrying his gun with him at all times to avoid further damage to the flat's walls, and, that morning, after Sherlock had disturbingly hinted at a developing interest in experimenting upon identical twins, he had firmly ordered his flatmate to go the Barts' morgue and find something dead to play with.
So, John now found himself sitting in his armchair, with Rory occupying Sherlock's usual spot lying on the sofa, watching Doctor Who reruns on BBC3.
“Why don't they just blink one eye at a time?” Rory mused, as the sounds of heavy, rushed footsteps on the stairs echoed into the room.
“Not so good from a plot point of view.” John commented dryly, turning to face Sherlock as he ran through the door.
“Case!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, bouncing into the centre of the room and standing right in front of the television. “Grab your coats!”
“What, both of us?” John asked incredulously. “You want Rory to come?”
“Well I can't leave him here alone!” Sherlock said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Sorry, why can't I be left alone?” Rory asked, sitting up and looking affronted. “I'm not going to wreck the flat.”
“John has the gun.” Sherlock stated. “John is coming with me. Hence, you're coming with me as well. Now, get your coat. God only knows what Anderson's doing to the crime scene while we sit here chatting.” Rory nodded, and he and John stood up to quickly pull their coats on, while Sherlock impatiently stood and watched.
On their way out of the flat, Sherlock turned round and pointed at Rory. “Make sure you buy some hair dye when we've solved this - you've got nearly as much root as hair.”
*
The crime scene, it turned out, was at the Dorchester Hotel. Getting out of the cab and walking into the hotel lobby, John turned round to address Sherlock.
“Do they know Rory's coming?” He asked, watching as the detective pressed the button to call the lift. “Police don't generally like just anybody wandering onto crime scenes.”
“He's with me.” Sherlock replied as the lift opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “They'll let him in because I want them to. Lestrade needs me too much to refuse something I want.”
John nodded, smirking at Rory and rolling his eyes.
“Good to know you haven't let your ego get too big.” Rory commented dryly.
*
Rory was staring at all of the activity going on around him as they walked up the corridor towards the hotel room in which the murder had taken place.
“Oh Christ.” Donovan exclaimed as she saw Sherlock approaching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as usual, Sally.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Lestrade seemed to think you need me.” He lifted the crime scene tape and stepped under, holding it up for John to follow, before glaring up the corridor at his brother, who had stopped to look at one of the paintings lining the walls. “Rory!”
“Hold on.” Donovan objected. “This is a crime scene. You can't just bring anyone in here, freak.”
Rory whirled round, stomping up the corridor and coming to a halt in front of the Sergeant.
“Freak?” He repeated, looking angry. “Did you call him a freak?”
“Leave it, Rory.” Sherlock said with a warning look.
Sally looked horrified. “Oh god.” She said. “There's two of you.”
“Excellent deduction, Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock smirked. “Although a quick glance at my file at Scotland Yard would have informed you that I have a twin. All immediate family members are listed for emergency contacts - including my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Donovan repeated, drawing a hiss of irritation from Sherlock. “How many of you are there?”
“Five.” Sherlock responded. “Now, if you don't mind, that corpse isn't getting any fresher. John, Rory, come on!”
The scene was one of the worst John had seen since meeting Sherlock. A dark-haired man was lying face-up on the bed, his chest cut open, blood soaking the sheets underneath him. The smell of blood instantly brought up images of hot medical tents in John's mind, soldiers bleeding beneath his hands.
Rory let out a groan as soon as he entered the room. “Fucking hell, Sherlock.” He groaned. “You could have warned me.”
“About what?” Sherlock asked, pausing in his examination of the body to look at his brother.
“About what?” Rory cried with a horrified look on his face. “There's a bloody mutilated corpse on the bed! Christ, were you always this disgusting?”
“Has been as long as I've known him.” Lestrade said, appearing with Anderson in the doorway behind Rory and stepping around him. “Sorry, who are - oh bloody hell.”
“Rory, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock said as he pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. “Lestrade, my brother Rory.”
“He's -“
“If you state the obvious, Lestrade, I will lose my patience entirely.” Sherlock interrupted. He looked up at Lestrade, and gave a huff of irritation when he spotted Anderson behind him. “Did you have to bring him with you? His stupidity could infect my poor brother.”
“You're turning crime scenes into family outings now?” Anderson commented with a look of disgust. “He's not a psychopath as well, is he?”
“Hey!” Rory spoke up, looking angry again. “Less of the -“
“I said leave it, Rory!” Sherlock snapped. “Now all of you be quiet. Don't talk to me. Anderson, don't talk at all.”
Sherlock started examining the body, peering closely at the gaping wound in the man's torso. Rory nudged John gently and nodded his head towards the door.
“What's up?” John asked once they were outside the room and Rory had closed the door.
“They call him Freak.” Rory commented, looking irritated.
“Yeah.” John sighed. “Have done the whole time I've known him. That's just Sally's name for him.”
“It bothers him.” Rory said simply.
“What?” John asked. “I don't think -“
“Believe me, I know my brother.” Rory told him. “He looked at the floor when she called him Freak, and again when he called him a psychopath. It bothered him.”
John felt a coil of shame twisting in his stomach. “I didn't think anything really bothered Sherlock.” He said quietly.
“It's hard to tell with him.” Rory told him. “I only notice because I know him so well. I was there at school with him, and at home. I'd see him pull that face every day. All he ever heard at school was 'Freak' and 'Psycho' and 'Monster'. Hell, even Edwin got that face out of him sometimes.”
“God, I had no idea.” John sighed, staring at the ceiling.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Sherlock appeared, his eyes darting between John and Rory for a moment, before he beckoned John into the room with a brief “Need you to look at the body.”
“What was that about?” Sherlock asked, watching as John examined the victim's open torso.
“Hmm?” John asked, glancing up at Sherlock and then over at Rory by the door. “Oh, he was asking about the things Donovan and Anderson call you.”
Sherlock huffed in irritation. “Typical.” He said. “He's got more morals than you have. I don't want any concern, thank you.”
“Doesn't mean you don't need it.” John commented, pulling back the victim's eyelids one at a time before standing up straight. “He was suffocated.” He said as he peeled off his latex gloves. “Chest was opened up after death, probably immediately or there wouldn't be as much blood, and the heart, lungs, kidneys and liver have all been removed.”
“Exactly.” Sherlock said, before turning to Lestrade. “The incision is perfectly neat, made with surgical precision, so you're looking for somebody with medical training. Either a doctor or a vet. Check all hotel staff to see if any of them have been or are currently at medical or veterinary school.”
“How do you know it's staff?” Lestrade asked, taking notes. “Could have been someone in the room with him.”
“No, no.” Sherlock said, waving off Lestrade's suggestion like a fly. “There's only one suitcase in the room - smart clothes, in London for a few days on business from New York, so doubtful he knows anybody in London. He was wearing his pyjamas, and the duvet has been turned up on one side. You don't bring strangers to your hotel room and then get into bed alone. He was obviously murdered during the night, so it's unlikely he would have got out of bed to let another guest into the room. Inference: a member of the hotel's staff used their key to enter the room and commit the murder.”
“And what did they do with the organs?” Lestrade asked, ignoring John's muttered “Brilliant.”
“Black market.” Sherlock replied. “Human organs sell for tens of thousands of pounds. Useful money for a man stuck working nights in a hotel. I think that's enough to keep you busy, for now, don't you?”
“What?” Lestrade asked, looking shocked? “Where are you going?”
“Home.” Sherlock stated, walking towards the door. “I'm going to find out where the demand for human organs is coming from, and I need to get my brother away from this crime scene. From the look on his delicate little face, I'd say five more minutes and Anderson will be complaining about vomit contaminating his precious crime scene.”
John glanced at Rory as they followed Sherlock out of the door. Judging by his expression, he would have taken issue with Sherlock's reference to his 'delicate little face' if he wasn't so busy feeling grateful to get away from the sight of a bloodied and mutilated corpse.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Family/Drama/Mild Humour
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
A week later, Rory's chest infection had all but passed, and Sherlock was rapidly approaching dangerous levels of boredom. John had taken to carrying his gun with him at all times to avoid further damage to the flat's walls, and, that morning, after Sherlock had disturbingly hinted at a developing interest in experimenting upon identical twins, he had firmly ordered his flatmate to go the Barts' morgue and find something dead to play with.
So, John now found himself sitting in his armchair, with Rory occupying Sherlock's usual spot lying on the sofa, watching Doctor Who reruns on BBC3.
“Why don't they just blink one eye at a time?” Rory mused, as the sounds of heavy, rushed footsteps on the stairs echoed into the room.
“Not so good from a plot point of view.” John commented dryly, turning to face Sherlock as he ran through the door.
“Case!” Sherlock exclaimed happily, bouncing into the centre of the room and standing right in front of the television. “Grab your coats!”
“What, both of us?” John asked incredulously. “You want Rory to come?”
“Well I can't leave him here alone!” Sherlock said, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Sorry, why can't I be left alone?” Rory asked, sitting up and looking affronted. “I'm not going to wreck the flat.”
“John has the gun.” Sherlock stated. “John is coming with me. Hence, you're coming with me as well. Now, get your coat. God only knows what Anderson's doing to the crime scene while we sit here chatting.” Rory nodded, and he and John stood up to quickly pull their coats on, while Sherlock impatiently stood and watched.
On their way out of the flat, Sherlock turned round and pointed at Rory. “Make sure you buy some hair dye when we've solved this - you've got nearly as much root as hair.”
*
The crime scene, it turned out, was at the Dorchester Hotel. Getting out of the cab and walking into the hotel lobby, John turned round to address Sherlock.
“Do they know Rory's coming?” He asked, watching as the detective pressed the button to call the lift. “Police don't generally like just anybody wandering onto crime scenes.”
“He's with me.” Sherlock replied as the lift opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “They'll let him in because I want them to. Lestrade needs me too much to refuse something I want.”
John nodded, smirking at Rory and rolling his eyes.
“Good to know you haven't let your ego get too big.” Rory commented dryly.
*
Rory was staring at all of the activity going on around him as they walked up the corridor towards the hotel room in which the murder had taken place.
“Oh Christ.” Donovan exclaimed as she saw Sherlock approaching. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as usual, Sally.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Lestrade seemed to think you need me.” He lifted the crime scene tape and stepped under, holding it up for John to follow, before glaring up the corridor at his brother, who had stopped to look at one of the paintings lining the walls. “Rory!”
“Hold on.” Donovan objected. “This is a crime scene. You can't just bring anyone in here, freak.”
Rory whirled round, stomping up the corridor and coming to a halt in front of the Sergeant.
“Freak?” He repeated, looking angry. “Did you call him a freak?”
“Leave it, Rory.” Sherlock said with a warning look.
Sally looked horrified. “Oh god.” She said. “There's two of you.”
“Excellent deduction, Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock smirked. “Although a quick glance at my file at Scotland Yard would have informed you that I have a twin. All immediate family members are listed for emergency contacts - including my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Donovan repeated, drawing a hiss of irritation from Sherlock. “How many of you are there?”
“Five.” Sherlock responded. “Now, if you don't mind, that corpse isn't getting any fresher. John, Rory, come on!”
The scene was one of the worst John had seen since meeting Sherlock. A dark-haired man was lying face-up on the bed, his chest cut open, blood soaking the sheets underneath him. The smell of blood instantly brought up images of hot medical tents in John's mind, soldiers bleeding beneath his hands.
Rory let out a groan as soon as he entered the room. “Fucking hell, Sherlock.” He groaned. “You could have warned me.”
“About what?” Sherlock asked, pausing in his examination of the body to look at his brother.
“About what?” Rory cried with a horrified look on his face. “There's a bloody mutilated corpse on the bed! Christ, were you always this disgusting?”
“Has been as long as I've known him.” Lestrade said, appearing with Anderson in the doorway behind Rory and stepping around him. “Sorry, who are - oh bloody hell.”
“Rory, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock said as he pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. “Lestrade, my brother Rory.”
“He's -“
“If you state the obvious, Lestrade, I will lose my patience entirely.” Sherlock interrupted. He looked up at Lestrade, and gave a huff of irritation when he spotted Anderson behind him. “Did you have to bring him with you? His stupidity could infect my poor brother.”
“You're turning crime scenes into family outings now?” Anderson commented with a look of disgust. “He's not a psychopath as well, is he?”
“Hey!” Rory spoke up, looking angry again. “Less of the -“
“I said leave it, Rory!” Sherlock snapped. “Now all of you be quiet. Don't talk to me. Anderson, don't talk at all.”
Sherlock started examining the body, peering closely at the gaping wound in the man's torso. Rory nudged John gently and nodded his head towards the door.
“What's up?” John asked once they were outside the room and Rory had closed the door.
“They call him Freak.” Rory commented, looking irritated.
“Yeah.” John sighed. “Have done the whole time I've known him. That's just Sally's name for him.”
“It bothers him.” Rory said simply.
“What?” John asked. “I don't think -“
“Believe me, I know my brother.” Rory told him. “He looked at the floor when she called him Freak, and again when he called him a psychopath. It bothered him.”
John felt a coil of shame twisting in his stomach. “I didn't think anything really bothered Sherlock.” He said quietly.
“It's hard to tell with him.” Rory told him. “I only notice because I know him so well. I was there at school with him, and at home. I'd see him pull that face every day. All he ever heard at school was 'Freak' and 'Psycho' and 'Monster'. Hell, even Edwin got that face out of him sometimes.”
“God, I had no idea.” John sighed, staring at the ceiling.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Sherlock appeared, his eyes darting between John and Rory for a moment, before he beckoned John into the room with a brief “Need you to look at the body.”
“What was that about?” Sherlock asked, watching as John examined the victim's open torso.
“Hmm?” John asked, glancing up at Sherlock and then over at Rory by the door. “Oh, he was asking about the things Donovan and Anderson call you.”
Sherlock huffed in irritation. “Typical.” He said. “He's got more morals than you have. I don't want any concern, thank you.”
“Doesn't mean you don't need it.” John commented, pulling back the victim's eyelids one at a time before standing up straight. “He was suffocated.” He said as he peeled off his latex gloves. “Chest was opened up after death, probably immediately or there wouldn't be as much blood, and the heart, lungs, kidneys and liver have all been removed.”
“Exactly.” Sherlock said, before turning to Lestrade. “The incision is perfectly neat, made with surgical precision, so you're looking for somebody with medical training. Either a doctor or a vet. Check all hotel staff to see if any of them have been or are currently at medical or veterinary school.”
“How do you know it's staff?” Lestrade asked, taking notes. “Could have been someone in the room with him.”
“No, no.” Sherlock said, waving off Lestrade's suggestion like a fly. “There's only one suitcase in the room - smart clothes, in London for a few days on business from New York, so doubtful he knows anybody in London. He was wearing his pyjamas, and the duvet has been turned up on one side. You don't bring strangers to your hotel room and then get into bed alone. He was obviously murdered during the night, so it's unlikely he would have got out of bed to let another guest into the room. Inference: a member of the hotel's staff used their key to enter the room and commit the murder.”
“And what did they do with the organs?” Lestrade asked, ignoring John's muttered “Brilliant.”
“Black market.” Sherlock replied. “Human organs sell for tens of thousands of pounds. Useful money for a man stuck working nights in a hotel. I think that's enough to keep you busy, for now, don't you?”
“What?” Lestrade asked, looking shocked? “Where are you going?”
“Home.” Sherlock stated, walking towards the door. “I'm going to find out where the demand for human organs is coming from, and I need to get my brother away from this crime scene. From the look on his delicate little face, I'd say five more minutes and Anderson will be complaining about vomit contaminating his precious crime scene.”
John glanced at Rory as they followed Sherlock out of the door. Judging by his expression, he would have taken issue with Sherlock's reference to his 'delicate little face' if he wasn't so busy feeling grateful to get away from the sight of a bloodied and mutilated corpse.