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A Case Worth Taking

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It was a moment in time. 

No one thought anything of it, No one except you two. You were itching for some ancient inspiration, not finding success here. He was in the middle of a case on the brink of another revelation.  You both happened to be in the entrance National Antiquities Museum when you bumped into each other. Two passing strangers. For a moment neither of you did anything but all at once, time stopped. You stared intently into the stranger’s eyes. You recognized Him. The media’s current favorite detective, that being the great Sherlock Holmes. He returned your deep stare with a calculating glance of his own.

But that was it.

That was the moment.

 

There was a tug in your chest when you turned to leave. You found inspiration after all, though perhaps you would be using more color than you expected for your next painting. You later displayed a piece in a local gallery titled “A glance of Genius” featuring bright and gentle blues, greens and greys. It was bought days later by an anonymous customer. 

 

As Sherlock turned away, something in his mind clicked regarding his case. He stopped a second to turn back to give you another look, perhaps catch on to why something suddenly made sense. But when the detective turned to find you, there wasn’t a trace of you left. He later solved that case. Watson, Deemed “The Blind Banker in his flatmate John Watson’s blog retelling.

 

But you didn’t meet each other again, nor did either of you plan to. 

 

 

**TRAGEDY STRIKES , Beloved Lady of the Arts Found dead with her final work in hand.**

 

John Watson read in the headline of his paper one quiet afternoon. He and the infamous Sherlock Holmes had just wrapped up another case. It wasn’t of the caliber of the Blind banker, or his first case, A Study in pink, but all the same, it was a long and tiring case. Despite this, the detective was restless, itching for another test of wits that only a good mystery or some stashed drug could scratch. The aforementioned Holmes were presently composing on his violin. Short bursts of note, and then long pauses filled 221b Baker St. That was of course until one of those silent spells was filled with mutterings coming from downstairs. Following this, Mrs. Hudson prattling up the stairs to poke her head in the door. 

Her sweet older voice rang out, “Sorry to intrude, but do you have a visitor. She says she has a case for you boys.” She opened the door to step in and let enter another figure. You were clad in [vivid/monochrome] sunset colors, with sunglasses and a blue summer cap hiding your face. Nothing Big or outgoing in the accessories, but the elegance of your attire shone like the sunset it represented. For someone as nervous as you were, you held a powerful air about you.

John turned to take a look at you, and he was taken aback by the sight of you. He stood, Striding over with a smile he shook your hand. 

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Doctor Watson. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” He remarked sweetly while he eyed you over. All the while, Sherlock was still composing over this new sound. For someone so eager for a new case, he didn’t seem to jump too fast when one walked into his flat. Mrs. Hudson interjected. “D’you remember that wonderful woman author I  told you I met at a signing event last month?” 

“The one with the tv show or the one who wrote stories for paintings?”

“Both.” You and the previously silent detective said in unison, causing you to raise your shaded gaze to him. He stared back at you. Removing your glasses and hat, you smiled. His Cold, calculating gaze fell over you. So did John’s look of utter disbelief. You were the woman he had just read about and seen in the paper — the late Lady of the Arts.

‘I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself here. I’m {y/f/n} {Y/l/n}. And I believe I have a case for you.”

It seemed you finally held the Consulting detective’s Attention.

 ***

Chapter Text

Sherlock had deduced, the deceased Lady of the Arts was there in his living room. But for a moment, it appeared as though he couldn’t read past your base detail. The usual, recent endeavors. Where you’d been what you’ve been doing and tells of attitude.

But that was all he could read. However If he let on to such facts, you couldn’t tell. 

You looked up at him with surprised [Y/E/C] eyes. As his cold, calculating gaze bore down on you. You gave him something short of an awkward smile. “Hello Mr. Holmes.” he took a silent minute to look at you. It was quiet and uncomfortable. But you couldn’t forget those sunning eyes of his.

It felt like an eternity before Sherlock finally broke the silence between your battle of gazes. “Awfully colorful for a corpse Ms. [y/l/n]” 

You let slip a breathy chuckle. “I didn’t know the great Sherlock Holmes had a sense of humor.”

“I meant your clothes. Not exactly the attire one would wear when avoiding attention.”

“Oh.” You gave him an uneasy smile though his wit was rather entertaining. 

“Well, I suppose even the dead can be fashionable.” Dr. Watson smiled at this, but Sherlock acted as though he hadn’t heard you and began prattling off more questions. In reality, he was trying to hide the fact that his ability to deduce your ins and outs was still on the fritz. And the fact that you were rather attractive certainly didn’t help. You didn’t notice, and you were too caught up in trying to keep face even to try.

 “So then what is it exactly you came here for, Ms. {y/l/n}? Kill off yourself and the publicity to your living being then what? And for what reason? Obviously, it wasn’t to keep the eye off yourself. Your attire is louder than an orchestra.”

 

“Obviously?” You wondered aloud. 

Watson, once retrieving you a seat sat in his armchair.

“Well, It isn’t as complex as that.” You declared, shifting your gaze to the floor. “You see, I’ve come here to ask you to solve my murder. 

 

You now had the whole room’s attention. Sherlock cocked his head to the side to give you another stare down. He walked to his armchair. “Elaborate” He urged, his in-depth and thoughtful look never leaving you. 

“I have a sort of stand-in, a doppelganger if you will. She keeps my public face when I need to get away or de-stress.” you looked up at the Baker St. Boys. “I need you to solve the murder of my stand-in… I need to know who wanted me dead. The police are too oblivious to solve this. They’ve already blamed it on nonexistent drug abuse.” 

You’re surprised that Sherlock had let you speak so long, but when you finished, you realized you were shaking like a leaf. Every look in the room was that of sympathy, to some degree or another. Even Sherlock looked on with pity, which from what you understood of the man, was absolutely unheard of. You tried to pull yourself together. 

 

Everything was catching Sherlock off guard about you. He wouldn’t have even guessed you were a celebrity of any kind had it not been pointed out. And then how you so quickly proved him wrong, his initial attempt to keep up his appearance, inquiring of your clothes. Shut down the instance you spoke. Then a bizarre sob story that would give the paparazzi a field day. For a moment, he believed it all. But a thought came to mind that explained it all away. Of course.

 

“Sorry, Publicity stunts are for amateurs.” He stood. “No, thank you.”

 

Finally straightened out it was his turn to catch you off guard. “Publi- What?! Mr. Holmes, please reconsider.”

 

“Sherlock-” John scolded. But the detective retaliated.

 

“A lack of popularity or a generally small audience, a doppelganger, and a bit of money. Instead of going straight to the media or the police with a few cameras, you came here, begging for my help. Headlines read ‘Detective Sherlock Holmes finds presumed dead celebrity?’ The media explodes with theories and false stories. Instant exposure. Publicity stunt. Good day!” Sherlock turned his desk to flip through papers. 

 

Suddenly, you were torn aback. Now you also stood, as he did his best to ignore you. Currently, you were working yourself up. What do you say to that? It’s not true, but would anyone believe you? 

 

That is when, without thought, you snapped and yelled.  What you exclaimed next even you couldn’t believe you said. After calling out the witty detective, you openly spilled the very secret you’ve been keeping quiet for all these years. How could you betray her so quickly? Even in death? Words of comfort reached you from John, but it was utter white noise for a few moments.

 You collapsed back down, taking a moment to breathe and to ground yourself. “I just want to know why she…why I had to perish, Mr. Holmes. So desperately.” 

 

Whom you just mentioned, definitely caught the boy’s attention. Both John and Sherlock wandered back to their respective chairs, silently. Their confused silence urged you to continue.

 

“I’m not asking much gentlemen. I would like, when the police arrive, for your opinion on the case that you solve it. Keeping my status of living under wraps would be a given additon. Killers are easier caught when off their guard. I can remain a consistent source of information if need be.”

John turned to Sherlock, and his mind was pretty made up. But the consulting detective still wasn’t entirely satisfied.

 

“And what of all your, publicly sensitive information, Ms.{Y/l/n}? What makes you so certain I’ll keep it a secret?”

 

Fully recomposed you huffed. “Honestly, Mr. Holmes, I don’t know. All I know are simple facts.”

 

“Which would be…?” John interjected, not quite picking up what you were suggesting.

 

“I need help, and I am not hurting for money. You are the help I could use, and more or less could use said resources in some way I’m certain. And frankly, I would be downright disappointed if you did Mr. Holmes.”

 

Sherlock looked as if he might protest, but one hard look from Dr. Watson told the detective otherwise. 

 

John and Sherlock declared, almost in unison;

“We’ll take the case.”

 

They glanced at each other again before returning the respective looks of confidence and relief your way. 

 

Relief also washed over your features. Like a switch, your demeanor changed completely. You were utterly confusing Sherlock yet again. You stood and smiled. 

 

“Thank you so much. You won’t regret it, I promise.” The second part is more direct to the good Doctor. Your smile seemed to lighten the mood of the room. John also stood to shake your hand again. 

 

“I’ll leave you my contact details so someone can let me know as soon as you’re on the case.” You began rummaging through your pockets for a paper and pen. Coming up with nothing, Sherlock held out just what you were looking for from the desk on the other side of the room.

 

“Ah, thank you.” Your hands gently brushed over his as you took them from him. In a moment, you locked eyes for the third time since meeting him. His deep blue-greens searched your shining [y/e/c] orbs for something he couldn’t place. All the while, you looked back in admiration and curiosity. But it was you this time to break the gaze to write your initials and number. Sherlock didn’t stop staring, however, and John caught on.

 The army doctor stared between the two of you for a moment. Shrugging, he brushed off another feeling there was something he was missing.  

You gave Sherlock your details and once more adorned your hat and sunglasses as you padded for the apartment’s exit.

Before you could be turned down again, you remarked. “Don’t forget, not even forensics can know that She isn’t Their Lady of the Arts.”

 

“How demanding,” Sherlock muttered.

 

“You’re not very observant for a detective Mr. Holmes” you teased lightly, taking your last steps toward the door.

 

“And you withhold a lot of details for a writer, Ms. {y/l/n}” He retaliated on your teasing remark.

You took hold of the door frame and peered back into the room from behind your {F/c} shades.

 

“Well then it must have been a case worth taking.” and with that, you closed the door behind you and continued departing from Baker street. 

 

Sherlock stared after the door mulling through his thoughts during your brief encounter. 

“What could she possibly mean by that” his statement was cut short as he looked at the what you had left on the paper. Immediately he recognized it. It was Mrs. Hudson’s phone number.

 

Perhaps this really would be a case worth taking.

 

***

 

Chapter Text

Barely a few days after, Lestrade came knocking down baker St.'s door. Mrs. Hudson was entertaining a guest, so the door was almost literally battered down. This being due to the inspector's growing impatience and Sherlock's reluctance to part himself from his instrument. Indeed the Chief Inspector had come asking for help on the Lady of the Arts case. There was something amiss in the autopsy.
"Well?" Sherlock initiated.

 


"Everything was good and normal at first. Your basic celebrity suicide..."

 

"But...?" He enunciated the T sound to lead him on.

 

"Her tongue is missing."

 

Sherlock merely raised a brow. "Her tongue?"

 

Lestrade nodded. "the team has put forth the consideration of creative symbolism, Well mostly Anderson-"

 

Holmes scoffed. "Of course he did."

 

"But I think you should take a look anyway. I'm not entirely sure it's suicide myself, but the facts add up too... cleanly."
At that moment, John walked down the stairs into the living room. "What's going on?" He looked between inspector Lestrade and Sherlock, who was now putting away his instrument.

 

"We have a case." Holmes gave Dr. Watson a knowing glance. One that the unfortunate military Doctor was oblivious to.

 

"So your coming?" The two residents were questioned.

 

"We'll get a cab and meet you there," Sherlock smirked sarcastically. With that, the Chief inspector headed out the door. At the same time. Mrs. Hudson's guest was on her way. A pale blue scarf wrapped around her face and neck, she walked to the door alongside Lestrade. Each gave the other a curious look until the door was opened for the inspector. He nodded in thanks and shuffled off into the chilly autumn air. Following close behind, the Baker boys came tapering down the primary flight, and the door was held for them also. John gave a verbal "thanks" Barely sparing a glance to who was holding the door. But Sherlock locked eyes with the woman. It was easy to tell that it was you. He'd know those eyes anywhere. And the fact that you had been visiting Mrs. Hudson to discuss novels for the past couple days over tea gave the rest of it away. It was rather obvious to the consulting detective.

You had calculated everything very carefully. Hours of thinking and overthinking any significant part of this case you could. In all honesty, it was a little cocky to not actually leave your information with Sherlock after the ordeal of enlisting him. But there was an easy solution, the ever in awe Mrs. Hudson. She loved discussing your works and other such novels almost as much as you enjoyed the moments you could see those fridged, calculating gazes of Sherlock's directed at you. But of course, you would admit openly to neither, especially not the latter. You couldn't shake that thought out of your head as you followed the great detective out of the flat complex.
John was hailing a cab, with little avail. However, Sherlock hung back with you.

 

"So, the game's afoot then, huh?" Your words muffled from under your cozy scarf. A feeble attempt to get another look from him as well as a confirmation on the current situation.

 

"If you are referring to the case, yes." He didn't turn but stood directly next to you. It was almost as if you could feel his warmth as a chill fall breeze blew by. "However, I must inform you that this may be more gruesome than you had anticipated." this struck you worried, and you flinched.

"Its nothing you need fret about. She's only missing her tongue." He declared casually. This only set you more on edge. "By the way, how on earth did you manage to switch you and your sister's DNA in government computers? is being a creative influence really that swaying?"

 

You only tilted your head, obliviously. "what?"

 

With an annoyed sigh, he continued. "Inspector Lestrade didn't bear any mention of how the DNA wasn't an exact replica. Seeing as it isn't actually you, well. I thought your Divine creative sway had something to do with the records being, just so."

 

"I-... No, it isn't."

 

Finally, he could pick up on something about you. You were hiding something. Something big. But his sense of your tells was still rendered ineffective by something he couldn't place. Before he could put much thought into it, A cabbie pulled up to the curb. John called him over. Assessing that it was you that had been there the whole time, the military Doctor finally caught hold of the circumstances. Sherlock took a few steps only to turn to you and suggest. "I could use some expertise on the situation." it took him a moment to collect his thoughts into words.

"a second opinion from an inside source would get this done So much faster."


You couldn't help a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth from behind the scarf. Even though it was about 'your' death. His subtle way of asking you to tag along was well received, and, if you were being completely honest, a little adorable. In the 'I won't admit it, but I need you' kind of way.
You nodded and followed shortly behind him. Jumping in the taxi between him and John. And that was it.

You were off to solve another murder.

...

Your murder.

 

 

***