The Doctor's Daughter | Wholock {1}

Chapter 22: Cemetery

Kimmy dozed off and on during the drive to the cemetery. She heard the cabbie try and fail several times to strike a conversation, eventually shutting up after Sherlock said "Do not attempt to make conversation. It will not result in a larger tip." She had to bite her lip to keep form laughing. It was strangely comforting that, despite the time difference, Sherlock was still Sherlock.

When the cemetery came into view, Kimmy had to force herself not to check the time. If she kept worrying about how much time they had left, she wouldn't focus. Mary and the Doctor needed her and Sherlock to be completely focused—though Kimmy wasn't too worried about the detective getting distracted.

When the cab came to a stop, Sherlock told the driver to wait for them. Kimmy climbed out of the cab, pulling her coat tighter around her as she stepped into the cold morning air. The sky was dark gray, as if it would start raining at any moment, and fog circles the ground at the bases of statues and trees. She silently followed Sherlock as he led the way into the cemetery.

While they were walking, Kimmy noticed that they weren't alone. A man, who looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties, stood in front of a headstone. Trying to take her mind off of her worry, she tried to make a few deductions about him. He didn't have any flowers, so he must have been visiting a friend rather than a relative. The grass in front of the headstone was short, obviously new growth. Okay, so his friend died recently, she concluded. But what else? I know I'm missing something.

After a moment, she gave up. Turning to Sherlock, she asked, "What am I missing? I know he's here visiting a friend that died recently, but that's all I got."

Sherlock glanced over at the man, only looking for a few seconds before turning away again. "He's a married construction worker with a large white dog. How can I tell?"

"You can tell he's a construction worker because of his tan," she said after glancing back. Now that she knew what to look for, it was obvious. "His forearms are tan, not his face; his hat keeps the sun off of his face."

"Correct," Sherlock said, nodding in approval. "Go on."

"You can tell he's a dog because he's got white hairs on his legs. He's not wearing a ring, but given his line of work, that's not surprising. How do you know?"

"Tattoo on his forearm," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "Initials and a date. The initials are his wife's and the date is their anniversary. Sentiment." He said the word as if it were a curse.

Kimmy nodded as they kept walking, trying not to roll her eyes. I wish I could tell him, she thought. Stupid timey-wimey rules. He probably wouldn't believe me, anyway.

When they neared the spot where Sherlock's fake grave had been, Kimmy could see an envelope sitting on the ground, held in place by a small rock. She wasn't surprised when it was yet again addressed to the Consulting Detective and the Doctor's Daughter, though dew had smudged the ink in a few spots.

Sherlock picked up the envelope, flipping it over before opening it. He pulled a photograph out of the envelope, staring at it for a moment before flipping it over. "Hidden somewhere in this room is a package," he read. " SendKimberly inside to collect it. Don't try to cheat; I will know if you do."

"Where is it?" Kimmy asked, nodding at the picture.

"Grant's office," Sherlock answered.

"Whose?"

"I thought you said you knew Lestrade," Sherlock said, looking over at her.

Kimmy couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes at him. "Sherlock, his name's Greg!"

"Regardless, Moriarty has hidden something in that office and you have to get it," he said, tucking the photo and the envelope into his jacket pocket.

"There's just one little problem," Kimmy pointed out as they turned and walked back to the cab. "Lestrade can't see me. How am I supposed to get in an out with him seeing me?"

"Very carefully," Sherlock answered.

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Again, I'm sorry for the late update. I blame writer's block. But hey, at least I'm only a day late this time.

800 reads! Thank you, thank you, thank you!