Case Studies - ONGOING INVESTIGATIONS

[worldsonly]

[ The Science of Deduction.co.nm: ]
File #1: New Moore

Update: Have traced the stock of multiple island businesses to dockside warehouses. No ships have been observed making deliveries to the island during my investigation, so where the warehouses are acquiring their stock is unknown and better learned from within.

The number of guards on duty in the first warehouse, which delivers to the supermarket chain, is disproportionately large for a glorified storage unit, roughly what could be considered high security. Brilliantly unusual, for a few dozen crates of what ought to be simple off-island grocery stock.

Guard detail found to be decently trained and willing to exert physical force to restrain and subdue, but does not immediately default to lethal, despite being armed, provoked, and thoroughly startled.

Six theories. Data inconclusive, further investigative action required.

[ and an update on Sherlock, back in REALITYVILLE:
dislocated shoulder, shallow but profusely bleeding head wound, a merry medley of bruises across his chest and arms, and what is going to be a really impressive black eye within a few hours. also, elevated heartrate, breathing, and dilated pupils — he might be a little high, which might have made breaking into the dockside warehouses sans his crackshot soldier seem like a better idea in theory than in practice, but obviously he's confident John will never notice. ]

02:19 TEXT SENT: JW

Get out your med bag, if the beasts
haven't already consumed everything
within.

SH

Comments

[heartofbakerst]

[ John was not amused with the explanation and continued dabbing at his wound before affixing bit of gauze to his head and wrapping his head with a bandage and then beginning to clean up some of the cuts on his face. ]

You're lucky that you've got him by the balls. No other policeman would ever do this for you. You're lucky Lestrade did show up.

[worldsonly]

John, please. If he wasn't here, I'd have alternate plans. I really wouldn't call it luck.

[ good luck, at least, would have been John and Lestrade never showing up at all, leaving Sherlock with no cracks in his armor when he faces Moriarty. of course, not all luck is good luck, and Sherlock's never put much stock in something so flimsy and unquantifiable anyway. ]

Here, take my coat off.

[heartofbakerst]

It's luck.

[ John was not going to argue any of this. He took note of Sherlock's injured shoulder and carefully helped him remove his heavy wool coat and professionally unbuttoned his shirt. ]

And how many of them were there?

[worldsonly]

[ briefly, the number swims in Sherlock's head and he has a moment of panic because he can't remember the backstroke; then he shakes his head to clear it, huffing. ]

... Four.

[heartofbakerst]

[ John pauses and looks up at Sherlock, eyebrows raised. There's disappointment written all over his straight-laced expression. ]

Four. Four large, angry, armed men. And you decided you wanted to have a row with them.

Yes. Brilliant. I can see how this would have been a good idea at the time.

[worldsonly]

[ petulantly: ] I didn't want to. It was meant to be empty, I've been watching the buildings for days and no one ever goes in. I'd have brought you if I'd thought it would be dangerous, obviously. [ which is, for madmen like themselves, the most sincere form of apology Sherlock can consider. ]

Besides, you're ignoring everything important. Improbably high security for a supposedly unmanned market warehouse in the middle of the night?

[ the smile Sherlock flashes is the sort of bright manic thing that always comes on the tail of an exciting, unusual puzzle piece. ]

[heartofbakerst]

[ John couldn't help himself but to smile a little at the strange compliment of at least having been considered. John thought for a moment and shrugged as he examined Sherlock's shoulder. ]

Well, there's two things to consider. One: No one needs to go in there, so no one does, and there's actually no one going in there. Two: There's a second entrance somewhere.

[worldsonly]

Three entrances, actually, four including the roof, and the delivery door. I set traps on all the ones I couldn't keep an eye on directly and none of them were ever sprung, it's like they live in the warehouse. Round the clock security.

[ while he's talking, Sherlock very purposely does not brace himself for the relocation of his shoulder, only jerking his head to indicate that John can pop it back in any time. ]

[heartofbakerst]

[ John takes hold of Sherlock's arm and holds the man in place as he counts down and pops his shoulder back into its joint. He then goes back to looking for scrapes, cuts, and other bruises. ]

Have you thought about a tunnel entrance? There's loads of warehouses in that district. Maybe there's an entrance through one of those somewhere?

[worldsonly]

Well spotted. [ naturally, looking into that was already his plan, but he does so like it when John manages to make a connection or two. ]

We'll just have to — ah [ a wince and a quick sharp hiss, and the pain immediately lessens ] — find that out, won't we?

[heartofbakerst]

Problem is finding the right one. If they're using that method at all.

[ John looked up to Sherlock's face, checking his lips and teeth for damage before noticing the beginnings of a very nice bruise round his eye, and then finally checking for broken blood vessels or any damage to the eye. He frowns. ]

Are you feeling all right? I know that you've just been attacked, and everything, but your eyes should have gone back to normal by now. Hang on.

[ He dug into his med kit for a small flashlight, flashing it in Sherlock's eyes a few time to check their response. ]

[worldsonly]

[ hardly his first potential smuggling/weapons dealing-style rodeo, Dr Watson.

Sherlock goes very still for a brief second, then quirks a sardonic brow. ]

Surely you can deduce from my head wound the likelihood of a mild concussion, if anything? You don't have to fuss anymore, I can take care of myself from here.

[heartofbakerst]

No.. no you're not dizzy, and you've got more energy than someone who's been concussed.

[ John eyes Sherlock for a long moment and takes the advantage of Sherlock's open shirt to check his arms for tiny puncture marks. Finding nothing, and apparently satisfied, John puts the little torch away and rises to his feet. ]

I'll get you some ice for that eye. Don't move. And if you feel sick, use the bin.

[ John then turns to leave, and coming in after him is a small ginger kitten, who sniffs at the bag and then Sherlock's shoe, and immediately begins playing with the discarded scarf. ]

[worldsonly]

[ aware of exactly what John is looking for and exactly how guilty he is, Sherlock allows the examination with an expert poker-face; when John leaves he immediately yanks his shirt shut, ignoring the ache of protest from his bruised chest. ] For God's sake, I'm fine.

... No, stop that, you beast. [ he launches the loo roll at the offending kitten in a huff, utterly unmoved by its fluffy tail and giant eyes, and snatches back his scarf. ]

[heartofbakerst]

[ There is a sound of the snapping of some threads as the kitten desperately clings to the now-moving scarf that is infinitely more interesting than when it was just lying there being boring. But then the scarf was gone, and being too small to adequately jump, the fluffy cat claws its way up Sherlock's leg to get back at the thing. ]

[worldsonly]

[ sob that's Italian cashmere, you tiny heartless monster. also, while it's not exactly agonizing compared to what Sherlock's sustained over the course of the night, needle-sharp kitten claws digging into anyone's calf is going to be uncomfortable. Sherlock jerks his leg in an attempt to dislodge the thing, only succeeding in making it dig deeper. ]

Ow — John. John! Control your animal!

[ this is not funny. ]

[heartofbakerst]

[ Wrong. It's hilarious. John hurries back in with a small bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel and pauses to examine the scene of Sherlock trying (and failing) to dislodge the animal from his leg. It's nearly impossible to keep himself from smiling, but he at least tries. He then hands Sherlock the bag and reaches out to pluck the kitten up by the nape of the neck. ]

Don't much care for animals, do we?

[worldsonly]

[ Sherlock scowls, not mollified in the least by John's poor attempt to conceal his mirth. ] Irrelevant. They hardly hold my attention enough to matter.

[ though the look he gives the kitten makes it clear he can think of six different experiments for it off the top of his head; possibly seven if he can get another, which obviously wouldn't be hard. ]

[heartofbakerst]

[ John can almost see that brain of his working and he shakes his head, holding the tiny animal close, as if to protect it from Sherlock's thoughts. ]

No. You aren't experimenting on her. I don't care how many presidents it will save or what sick curiosities you've got going on in your head. She is not to be experimented on. Understand?

[worldsonly]

[ Sherlock rolls his eyes, putting as much dignity and affront into the gesture as physically possible from behind a black eye and a bag of ice. 'sick'? ugh. ]

Boring. If I saved a president, Mycroft would probably try and have another go at knighting me.

[ then, huffily, to stave off what he's sure is John gearing up for a good long lecture on morality he's in no mood to hear: ] No, fine, don't give me that look. I won't bother with it.

[heartofbakerst]

[ John had been giving Sherlock a look. ] Regardless, she's not to be touched in anything other than petting or carrying, do you understand? Maybe a gentle scolding, but that's it.

[ The doctor lifted the kitten to look at her, as she struggled in his hands to free herself. ] I was thinking 'Elizabeth'. What do you think?

[worldsonly]

[ oh no, he really is getting attached to it. Sherlock rolls his eyes; frankly, he's almost surprised John didn't try and name it Mrs Hudson in a fit of sentiment. ]

Properly Queen-and-Country, John. Well done.

[heartofbakerst]

That obvious, was it? Well, I'd considered 'Mrs. Hudson' for a bit, but she looks a bit more like an 'Elizabeth' to me.

[ John took care in cradling the cat against him and nodded to Sherlock's shoulder. ]

How's it feel? It's been a while since I've needed to relocate a shoulder. Did I do all right?

[worldsonly]

[ it looks like a cat to Sherlock, but who is he to argue, John knows more about boring things like that than Sherlock does. he's hardly going to make a blog post on the Naming of Cats. ]

I can assure you your medical skill has not flagged with lack of exercise. But if you like I can go and get myself stabbed so you can practice suturing, you haven't done that in a while either.

[ ... he says, with utter sincerity. ]

[heartofbakerst]

I really would rather that you didn't. I'm not sure I'm well-equipped enough to do a full invasive procedure on ruptured organs. And you should stay away from there for a while. Those.. warehouses. They'll have strengthened security for a bit, and I don't need you getting hurt even worse. Still not sure about that head.

[ John sighed and set the cat down, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. ] Why didn't you text me to come along?