Darkness Follows...(BBC Sherlock Fanfiction).

Chapter 36- Yeah, Exactly Like Booking A Holiday.

Darcy's POV.

"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..." The newsreader on the TV in the living room announced and I laid with an arm propping my head up, "...is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main."

I groaned and pushed myself out of the bed, grabbed one of Sherlock's old dressing gowns and threw it on. Storming out into the living room and tried to pull the falling shoulder of my gown up a bit, I snatched up the remote and switched TV off harshly.

Both Sherlock and John stared up at me, "Sorry, I couldn't bare to listen to it anymore." I slumped myself down onto the coffee table and pulled the dressing gown up off the floor, it was really long. 

"He certainly gets about." John commented and I grimaced, rubbing my eyes.

"Well, obviously we lost that round- although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him." Sherlock added, and I lifted my head up with my eyes wide in thought. "Just once he put himself in the firing line." He continued.

John frowned, "What d'you mean?"

She said he had a soft voice, that's what she said, the old woman before she was... killed. He had a soft voice. The man who threatened me in the hospital had a soft voice, Irish, I think wasn't it?

"Usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact." Sherlock told us and I still sat there with wide eyes as tried to piece it all together.

"What... like the Connie Prince murder- he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John explained, sounding unsure about it all though.

I shrugged, "It's novel you've got to admit."

John just hummed in return and turned the TV back on, I glared at him and pulled my gown around me more whilst crossing my legs on the table. We all looked up to see Raoul de Santos being hurried out of Kenny's house with police officers all around him and the press surrounding him on every step.

Connie Prince: man arrested.

The headline read on the screen and I smiled slightly, we'd done that. I glanced over at Sherlock to see him looking down at the pink phone, "Taking his time isn't he." I commented and gulped before blurting into the small silence, "He had a soft voice."

"What?" Sherlock almost gasped.

"The man who came to me in the hospital. Who knew me. Who ripped out my IV drip." I clarified.

Sherlock sat forward in his seat and got closer to me, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I don't know, it didn't really seem that important at the time." I answered, raising my voice slightly.

Sherlock's lips pulled together in frustration, "But anything you could have told me about him would have been important!"

"I'm sorry that I had concussion and was a bit blurry on what exactly was going on!" I argued and got up, marching into the kitchen, "Does anyone want a drink?!" I shouted back through as I put the kettle on.

I heard Sherlock huff and took that as a no, but John shouted through, "Please, if you don't mind!"

So, I reached up and grabbed two mugs then put everything in them I needed. As I leant on the worktop, waiting for the kettle to boil, I listened to what they were saying in the other room. John cleared his throat, "Anything on the Carl Powers case?"

"Nothing." Sherlock answered and I grumbled as he added, "All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

I frowned and shouted through, "What if he was older?!"