Life is but a Dream... (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

*The Great Game: Part Seven*

Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Cat And Disinfectant

All the clouds had gathered and were lightly entwined as Sherlock and I knocked on the door of someone's home. He had a bag on his shoulder, and I held his rectangular case when the man led us inside.
"Ah, Mr. Prince, is it?" Sherlock asked as we were caught in a wave of the smell of disinfectant. The living room was sparkling white, with the exception of John's dark coloured outfit and another mans purpleish shirt.
"Yes sir." he said, glancing at me.
"Very good to meet you." Sherlock said, shaking his hand.
"Yes, thank you." Mr. Prince said, then his hand went to me, expecting a shake. I did, feeling the disinfectant layer my hand and putting on a short fake smile, trying not to reveal my disgust.

Sherlock took the case from me as we made our way over to the couch.
"You were right. The bacteria got into her another way." John muttered to Sherlock. I stood behind he couch, hands on the cushions looking at them. I noticed that Sherlock got out a camera with a devious smile on his face. Soon after he was taking pictures of Mr. Prince, flashes everywhere.
"Not too close. I'm raw from crying" he said, irritated and hand on the fireplace.
A meow suddenly echoed in the room, and Sherlock and I looked to our feet to see one of those hairless cats purring against my red shoe. I looked away instantly, even more disgusted at the cat.

"Who is this?" Sherlock asked.
"Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian Goddess." Mr. Prince.
"Oh how nice. Was it Connies?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, a gift from yours truly." The man said, picking up the cat.
"Um Sherlock, a bit of light reading?" John asked, apparently a secret code or something.
"Oh well..." Sherlock began, taking his light into the mans face.
He continued to flash at the mans eyes as I noticed how John was picking at the felines claws, to the complaints of the owner. After a while, John stopped and looked at me.
"I think we got what we came for." He said, then motioned for me to take the case on the couch. "Sherlock?"
"What? Oh yes." He said, and John pushed me toward the small steps on our way out, ignoring the cries of confusion from Mr. Prince.

Outside, John was chuckling away, while Sherlock had a look that said John was in over his head. I followed close behind them as Sherlock smirked.
"You think it was the cat? It wasn't the cat." he said as we walked down the street, still covered in the blanket overhead.
"What? Of course it is. That's how he got tetanus into her system. He coated the claws in disinfectant." John defended. "New pet. Bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have-"
"Thought of it the minute I saw scratches on her arm. But it's too cleaver for her brother." Sherlock interrupted.
"He murdered his sister for her money." John concluded.

"Did he?"
"Didn't he?"
Then something about revenge started as I grew bored with their debate. I was about to check my phone when the suddenly stopped, and I almost ran into John.
"What about the disinfectant. On the claws." He asked, now facing Sherlock.
"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came in through the kitchen door. You saw the state of that floor, scrubbed with an inch of his life. You and Aspen smell of disinfectant." Sherlock said. I became engaged at the sound of "Raoul," for he was a character in the book I was reading. I also smelt my sleeve to find the crisp smell of lemon and cotton disinfectant stamped into it.

"I wonder if we can get a cab from here." Sherlock thought out loud, and started walking more. John looked back to me and motioned his head, face both in frustration and confusion, to Sherlock. I reluctantly obeyed, walking by his side.
* * *
"Raoul de Santos is your killer." Sherlock announced to Lestrade as we walked into the office of his. He then went on to him about how a bomber used the same toxin as one of his previous cases. Then something about Botox. it sounded like this "Raoul" had a lot of time on his hands... I started following Lestrade into his office when I noticed John and Sherlock were in a small argument. I suppose it was something to be suspicious about: he had known all along? And didn't bother to say anything. Huh.

Sherlock came in and quickly typed something quickly, most likely on his blog. Almost immediately after he had sent it, the pink phone rang, and he sat down. I strained to hear who it was.
"Help me..." I heard an old woman say.
"Tell us where you are. Address." Sherlock demanded, his voice coated with care.
"He was so... his voice..." she continued.
"No don't tell us anything about him." Sherlock warned.
"He sounded so soft..." she persisted, and then it would have seemed that I was there, hearing the gunshot.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked, his voice and face blank, knowing what had happened.
"Sherlock?" John asked as he lowered his phone. I looked to Lestrade and John, because they too had realised what had happened.