/// Hey guys, look at me actually getting some writing done! I haven't been on phones and stuff too much lately because I apparently need glasses now but due to the bitch COVID, I haven't gotten them yet. Hopefully tomorrow, though!
There wasn't an already-done prompt for this, I think it was actually my own idea for once! I wrote it in my notes app then completely forgot about it lmao.
ALSO, this story is in the same universe as "Shot" which is why there's already attachment to Nurse Vaila, etc.
Genre: Ehhh kinda fluff I guess? There's angst in the fact of who died, so I guess a lil angst. Also a lil bit of hurt/comfort
Ship: implied JohnLock
TW/CW: Just the normal stuff in Sherlock stories, they're examining a body, but there isn't too much detail.
Enjoy! ///

It was pretty common for Sherlock to be in a bad mood. One might compare him to a child; he tended to pout and throw something of a tantrum when things didn't go his way. Of course, he didn't scream or throw things because he was an adult and he knew better. Instead, he hid the milk in the highest cabinet when John needed it for tea, or wrap his dressing gown tightly around himself and just huff until John finally gave in and tried to console him.

Of course, John had grown used to his oddities by now, and had almost grown fond of them, had it not cost them some friendships, however 'unimportant' (in Sherlock's words) they may be. He didn't really mind that much anymore.
It was even better now, as the feeling was mutual from both men. Sherlock grew to enjoy John's presence and appreciated his input in many situations, which solved some problems that he faced commonly. Whenever Lestrade couldn't allow Sherlock to investigate a case, for example. Just as Sherlock was about to shout about how hopeless they'd be without him, he'd feel a light smack on the shoulder from John, reminding him of what he was doing. Obviously, he'd still huff and sigh to make his point, but he was aware that if he wanted to investigate more cases he'd have to be, at the very least, cordial with his favourite DI. So, you could say that John was Sherlock's rock, in that case.

Unfortunately, however, Sherlock was in one of his bad moods today. He wasn't telling John why, so the other man simply resigned himself to making cups of tea for Sherlock, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch on which the taller man was sulking and leaving him to it. After all, John still had some things that he needed to be doing; he hadn't uploaded Sherlock's latest case to the blog yet. And after being shot in the hand, it takes a little while longer to type, he had discovered. It was a pretty interesting case as well, so he figured now would be a good time to get on with it. He placed a biscuit down next to the coffee mug, patted Sherlock on the back, gently saying "feel free to talk when you're ready, alright?", and sauntered over to the table with his laptop waiting for him.
Deciding to do the blog thing afterwards, he clicked onto the latest update in the Nurse Vaila case. That wonderfully nice woman who had treated John (and tolerated Sherlock) at the hospital had been missing for the past few days, and they still didn't have a clue as to where she could be. John was truly saddened by this news, she was so kind to him and it was devastating to hear about these circumstances; apparently the case was quite a curious one, too.

Who knows, maybe we'll end up investigating it, John thought with a morose smile.

There was silence in 221B for the next few hours as both men did their respective activities; John had finally gotten around to typing up the blog entry after more scrolling through the Nurse case, and Sherlock... was still sulking. Well, sulking sounds like a rather unsympathetic word. John could tell that there was more than just a childish outburst to Sherlock today, and it really worried him. He couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had also heard the news about the poor nurse. John specifically recalled Sherlock saying she was "the only competent nurse in this whole damned hospital", or something along those lines.

A short while later, a thudding came downstairs, getting louder and louder.
Clients are never that in a hurry to get up the stairs, John thought, already knowing who it was bounding up the stairs.
Clearly his intuition was right as, seconds later (after knocking on the door of course) Lestrade hurried into the living room, his brown eyes scanning around for its two inhabitants.

"Hey Greg, what'cha need?" John asked, seeing Lestrade's chest heaving up and down as he stood, clearly trying to catch his breath.

"Well, y'know the case with Vaila Barne? Turns out, you two might be needed. Will you come take a look?" John was just about to press for more details when he heard shuffling from the sofa next to him.

"No." Despite his face being buried in the sofa, the 'no' was very distinct and matter-of-fact, causing John to scoff. Greg was clearly a bit miffed too, as he sighed in desperation.

"Why not?" John responded incredulously. He'd thought Sherlock would be interested in this case; he'd told him about it sometime yesterday. Granted, he wasn't sure if Sherlock had actually heard him, but he'd assumed Sherlock would want to know more about what happened; he certainly did. Sherlock lazily lifted his head and glared at John in annoyance.

"Don't want to. Please go away, Gunther. Safe travels." Giving each other a look, John stood up and walked over to Greg.
"Listen, I'll talk to him about it. I wouldn't hold out too much hope though, he's been in a bit of a sorry state today so just... keep doing whatever it is you're doing right now, and I'll try to get him to stop by." John whispered, slightly cringing at how he phrased it. 'Stop by' sounded a little too casual for a missing person case. Internally slapping himself, he patted Greg on the shoulder and walked him to the front door.

"Sounds fine to me, but make sure he's okay before bringing him down though, alright? As much of a prick as he can be sometimes, I don't want him outside if he doesn't wanna be, y'know? Also, I only came around to you guys because some poor sod found Vaila Barne's body less than an hour ago, but there were a few problems with the scene. I'll text you the details, okay?" John nodded solemnly, and shut the door after Greg left.
So they'd found her body. She wasn't alive anymore, and her case couldn't even be so nice as to be open-and-shut. John sighed, looking up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat. 

Leaning against the doorway, John turned around to face the balled-up Sherlock on the sofa next to him.
"Why no?" It was a simple question, yet Sherlock stayed huddled up and didn't answer him.
"Sher, come on. I'm assuming today's a bad day for you, but if that's the case, then you can't just lie there lamenting the whole time. It'd be good for you to get up and do something to take your mind off of whatever it is, right?" Hearing a loud, drawn-out sigh come from the body next to him, John smiled a bit, knowing he'd gotten through to him.

Sherlock sat up, wrapping his dressing gown further around himself and sitting cross-legged so he could face John. He had a sour expression plastered on his face, but there was a certain sadness to his eyes that almost made John relent. However, he pressed on, feeling that Sherlock needed to do something other than wallow in his own sorrow; as well as making himself sadder, it was creating such a depressing environment that John almost couldn't stand it.

"I mean, you don't even have to talk to that many people, right? Just go down there, use that brilliant brain of yours to figure out what you can, tell Greg then we can come back. And," John hesitated, feeling Sherlock staring at him and wondering if it was even worth telling the detective, "I kind of want to investigate this one, or at least help in any way I can. Vaila was so nice when I was in the hospital. I kinda want to do this for her, I guess. I don't know, if you really don't wanna do this one then that's alright, but I do think it'd be beneficial for the both of us." He met Sherlock's eyes and immediately looked away again, clearing his throat awkwardly. Why he was trying to appeal to Sherlock with emotions, John didn't know. But he was desperate to provide Nurse Vaila's family with piece of mind, and that started with Sherlock.

"Fine." John looked up into Sherlock's iridescent eyes once again, his own wide yet relieved.

"Really?"

"Don't make me think about it too much, let's just go." John huffed a brief laugh, standing up and practically running to get his coat. Sherlock stood up, immediately feeling the ache of being in the same position all day. He felt the joints in his neck crack and he cursed, disappearing into his room to get changed. Though it wouldn't surprise John if he ended up going in pyjamas with his coat thrown over top. He had done so once before, and Donovan had pissed herself laughing, for whatever reason.

Three minutes later they had left the flat with Sherlock fully dressed in his usual clothes and John in tow.
"So, what happened?"
"Huh?"
"At the crime scene, John."
"Doesn't Lestrade normally tell you all that?-"
"Yes, but I don't normally listen. He always picks the worst time to explain it all; I'm always just beginning my deductions."
"He explains it as soon as we get there-"
"Exactly." John scoffed and shook his head before pulling his phone from his pocket and beginning to read the text Lestrade sent him.

"Alright, Miss Vaila Barnes was found dead at 10:24, so about an hour ago. She was found by a random passer-by on the outskirts of London, with no kind of weapon nearby. However, she appeared to have been injected with embalming fluid. Her body was in very good condition when they found her, despite her being dead for three days. She had no marriages, no previous lovers, no kids. She lived with her mother in central London. That's all he's written, sorry." Sherlock smiled at him.
"That's more than enough. Thank you, John." John returned the smile, still feeling a bit non-plussed about... well, everything.
"Wait a sec, how'd you know Greg sent a text?" Sherlock's eyes flitted over to him.
"You've been glancing at your phone ever since Lestrade left. You don't normally, and Graham prefers texting rather than standing and chatting, a rather sad habit of his seeing as he could miss out some crucial information while doing so." John shrugged.
"Eh, that's fair. Brilliant work as always, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock smiled lightly again.

John soon learned to treasure that smile, though, for as soon as they got there Sherlock's demeanour changed so drastically it felt like whiplash for him. He was half-expecting this, so he didn't know why he was so surprised. Still, seeing Sherlock so... personable and downright human one second, then watching his face harden and his whole body stiffen up was a bit saddening. Sherlock practically marched over to the crime scene, already looking around from soil to sky.
It was a garden/park sort of area with many trees providing cover, basically blanketing the entire area and blocking out the sunlight, save for a few breaks in the leaves where the beams of light could stream through. In the near distance, John could spy some buildings, most likely pubs or an Inn. The bustling city that John knew was a bit of a walk away, yet could still just about be seen through all the foliage. As Sherlock would probably say, it was a pretty good place for a murder.

Lestrade walked up to them, looking quite surprised, yet very pleased at the sight of them. After getting over the initial shock of them actually showing up, he beamed at John.
"Oh my god, thank you so much, everyone here is being useless and I'm losing my mind. Is he okay to be here?" Greg said the last part in a hushed tone and glancing over at Sherlock, who was staring intently at the ground near the body.

"Yeah, I think he's alright. He was in a slightly better mood when we left, but you know how he can be, he's so emotional sometimes." John laughed, and Lestrade joined him.
"Just," He continued, "Don't let Anderson get to close to him and I'm sure we'll be fine." John whispered, looking over at Anderson, watching as he glared at Sherlock in dislike.

Seeing Nurse Vaila dead on the ground was quite horrible. John could feel his heart clench as he looked at her. Did he harbour romantic feelings for her whatsoever? No, not at all. He liked someone else. But anyway, she was more of an acquaintance, someone that John would've liked to have been friends with, had it not been unprofessional under the circumstance in which they met. He barely knew her, yet she treated him and Sherlock with such kindness, it was still hard examining her lifeless body. They'd arrived about ten minutes ago and Sherlock was still carefully observing her, probably piecing everything together in his fantastic mind. It was clear he was still in a bit of a sad mood, but thankfully there weren't many annoying characters to put him off. Donovan was off duty, and her replacement seemed nice enough.

After about five minutes, Sherlock walked over and faced Greg.
"I need to see the tapes from the hospital she worked at from the last four days." John raised an eyebrow at him. "Please."

A short while later they found themselves in a small security room in a small-ish hospital near the centre of London. Sherlock had a computer in front of him which displayed the surveillance footage from the previous four days on it. He was every so often flicking it back and forth, constantly playing and replaying and replaying... it was enough to drive a normal man mad. Not John, though, he knew he had to be patient in order to get the results he wanted. Lestrade had left the room about two minutes ago, saying "I'll be right outside the door if you need me, but that noise is starting to give me an' headache. Please don't let him do anything with the footage or anything like that, 'probably gonna get questioned enough already." John had the good conscience to make sure he fulfilled Greg's wishes, making sure Sherlock didn't tamper with evidence, record it or anything alike.

Eventually, Sherlock straightened up and rubbed his hands together, a small, smug smile playing at his lips. Clearly he'd solved the case. It was odd, though, he'd normally be shouting about how great he was to the entire hospital. Today really was an off-day for him. Quickly calling Lestrade in, they both stood side by side and waited.

Sherlock said nothing, only looked at John expectantly.

"Sherlock?" John questioned, tilting his head. "You.. wanna take us through it?" Admittedly, he was curious to know what had happened; he was keen to give Vaila's mother some piece of mind, at that started by Sherlock explaining what took place.

"No." He stated bluntly, making the two other men pause. Not gloating was a bit odd, sure, that could be overlooked. But this? This was downright unheard of. Suddenly, John noticed a trace of the sad expression still on Sherlock's face from before, making him bite his lip in thought.

"Please?" He asked, causing Sherlock to freeze momentarily. He looked at the shorter man, standing with his shoulders slightly hunched. Sherlock sighed in resignation, moving past Lestrade and over to John.
He might as well tell him, he was here for him, after all.
He leaned down slightly, right next to John's ear, and began muttering.

"Alright. Four days ago, Harold Wilkinson-"
"The embalmer?" Sherlock glared and John immediately shut his mouth.
"Yes. He came to the hospital as his brother was receiving surgery and he was there for support or something. Miss Vaila was assigned to ensure he was doing alright. Check vitals, blood pressure, all that. Unfortunately, the information was written down wrong so he ended up dying on the operating table. By no means her fault, but Harold blamed her. Therefore, he decided to take matters into his own hands and kill her. Revenge, pettiness, it doesn't matter. Either way, he lured her by courting her, as you can see on the video. It clearly shows him giving her a piece of paper, most likely his number and, being in the social situation she was, few friends, still living with mother, she decided that she didn't have much to lose. He lured her out to that secluded park, and killed her by an overdose on embalming fluid."

"Embalming f-"

"Yes you can die from an overdose of embalming fluid, it's composed of formaldehyde, methanol, and ethanol mainly. Injecting over a certain amount could kill anyone. The person who did this was either very inexperienced , or careless, we know this because of the spilling of the embalming fluid on the ground next to her body; it was leaking out of the injected area. The second option is more likely because they had access to embalming fluid in the first place, which means they either had a certain interest in it or worked in that area of expertise anyway. Embalming fluid is meant to preserve the body for things such as funerals, wakes, whatever, so relatives don't get perturbed at the sight of them. Which is why Lestrade thought she'd been dead for three days when in fact it was four. Embalming fluid doesn't do too much, but it can throw the scent off, I guess. Anyway, he left without a trace and no external murder weapon. Being something of a prolific embalmer in East London, it was very stupid of him, though. As for the motive, it's pretty common; he just wants to be known for the notoriety of it. A dead body found days ago but it still looks fresh and no murder weapon to speak of but it was obvious she was murdered? That'd attract the attention of some people, and that's what he wants."
John stared at Sherlock, his shoulders drooped.

"God, that's awful." He whispered.
"It is indeed." Sherlock agreed solemnly, before turning to Greg, only to fin him sat at the computer, watching the tape.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Greg said, pointing at the pixelated figure of Harold Wilkinson. Sherlock tilted his head. "That's why you wanted to see footage from the last few days, ain't it?"

"Astute observation, Lestrade." Greg's eyes widened and he nodded.

"C-Cheers." He stuttered, completely dumbfounded that Sherlock complimented him, something which had been never happened before. Sherlock turned to John and shook his head.

"There, I solved it. Can we go home now?" John scoffed slightly.

"Nope. Lestrade needs to know, too. Tell him, then we can go. I don't remember it all."
Sherlock groaned and turned to face Lestrade again, who was watching him expectantly.

"The murderer was Harold Wilkinson. He killed Vaila Barne by seducing her while she was treating his relative. He lured her into the park, injected her with embalming fluid, then left. That's all there is to it, really." Lestrade nodded.

"All right, that'll do. Thank you, Sherlock. I mean it, you've been a real help today. Well, more than usual." He grinned sympathetically at Sherlock, who nodded shortly and began walking out of the room, John in tow.
"Can we please go now?" He pleaded with John, his walking pace slowing down so John could catch up to him.

"'Course, Sher. And seriously, thank you for today. I really appreciate it." They both stopped for a moment and looked at each other, neither's stare wavering.

"Anything for you, John."

//Whoo boy am I tired 🥲
Thanks for reading!//