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The shatter of the vase shook the two bystanders out of their thoughts.
“Sherlock!” the two cried out together.
“Shut up Mrs. Hudson!” The frustrated man cried, eyes never leaving the wall. His current case was both interesting and frustrating. Twenty people killed in London in the past month. The number was still rising too with the killer on the loose. Sherlock just couldn’t find a connection between the victims.
Down the street in a bakery, a young lady was going through the allergens that could be in the baked goods.
“I’m really sorry ma’am, if it helps, I can’t even eat here. My nut allergy even makes me have to wear a mask and gloves when I’m in the kitchen,” she sympathized.
“Oh it’s quite alright. Frankly I’m glad you can relate,” the older woman sighed before leaving. The younger woman perfectly hid the pain in her shoulder and waved goodbye. She hid a yawn before going back to work. Only he noticed the wince of pain, how she took extra care of how she set her shoulder while she worked. She was tired, eyes dark and the rings making them darker. A small smile played itself onto his lips as he thought up a plan. He watched her for a moment more before setting off to put his plan into action.
The spring drizzle was light, almost like a mist. But her walk home was long enough that the mist drenched her. A small part of her missed the French breeze and sun. She groaned silently when she noticed her door ajar. ‘I don’t want to deal with this’ she thought, readying her dagger. Quietly, she pushed open the door. The smell of chips hit her first, then the eyes of whoever brought them. In her living room sat Sherlock Holmes, staring right at her.
“You returned from France yesterday evening. When were you planning on telling me?” She rolled her eyes. “Jaelyn you can’t have three jobs. Also those chips are for you. Am I right to say you probably haven’t eaten since you were in France?” Jaelyn sheathed the dagger and removed her coat.
“I don’t have three jobs. Only two, Sherlock,” she sighed and grabbed the basket of chips.
“The bakery, solving cases with me and John, and your other vocation.”
“No,” she sat down. “Helping you on cases is more of a forced hobby,” she smiled. “Also next time you visit my work, don’t stare. Come up and say hello.” Jaelyn popped a chip in her mouth and smirked when Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Right now, I know you don’t care about all of this small talk. Very unlike you. Why are you really here?” Jaelyn could have sworn for a second that his eyes softened for a flicker of a moment before returning to its icy blue state.
“A case – twenty murders and counting in the past month. I need ideas from a killer’s perspective.”
“Oi, that’s a low blow. Even for you. Besides, I only kill those who deserve it. And Templars.”
“Ah, make that twenty-one,” he said as his phone pinged. “Come along, you have some make-up work to do.”
“Hello Jaelyn, where have you been?” Lestrade said the moment they arrived. The victim had been killed in his own house.
“Not now,” Sherlock mumbled before getting to work.
“Business trip,” she replied while also examining the scene.
“I thought you were a baker?” Donovan asked, sticking her nose deep into Jaelyn’s business.
“There are conventions for everything. Why can’t there be a baking convention or something like that?” she turned to Sherlock, “you haven’t really filled me in on these murders.”
“I will when we get back. This man was smothered, by a fake leather glove. He is an accountant – or rather was since his disheveled appearance suggests unemployment. Wife and son – no family issues. They are rather well off. Why this man in particular?” He sighed in slight frustration. “What do you see?”
“Well -”
“What would a baker know about death and murder?” Jaelyn rolled her eyes and proceeded to look through his kitchen.
“Are you going to bake us some bread?” Lestrade joked.
“Did he have a nut allergy?” Jaelyn asked no one in particular.
Sherlock drew closer to the food, “You’re right, this is all the food you buy. No peanut butter and food without the ‘processed in a factory that handles peanuts’ label.”
“Did any other victims have any sort of allergy?” she asked.
“I can see why you are frustrated. None of these are connected. Each method is different. Thank you John.” Jaelyn smiled at the cup of tea handed to her.
“For being a trained killer I had hoped you would state more than the obvious.” Jaelyn rolled her eyes at him. After that, Sherlock retreated to his mind palace, giving her and John time to catch up. The next day was a Sunday, Jaelyn’s day off. Until the serial killer struck again and Sherlock was dragging her and John to some other spot of London. The twenty-second victim was a mother-to-be whose throat was slit in her sleep.
“Jaelyn, John, come here,” Sherlock called them over. She finally got a look at the body and gasped in horror. “She looks familiar. I don’t know why. Jaelyn?”
“She was at the bakery yesterday morning. You saw her when you were stalking me. She – we – we talked about our nut allergies.” She covered her mouth with her hand, still shocked.
“Nut allergies? Didn’t you expect the previous victim to have one?” John asked. The next moment Sherlock stood with both hands on Jaelyn’s shoulders.
“Jaelyn think, tell me everything that happened and everything you saw when this woman was talking to you. Spare no details.” He stared dead into her eyes. Everyone else gaped at the two of them. She stared back at him, eyes wide.
“There was a family with a young child, a man, and a couple in the dining area. Oh god, I think the man followed her out.”
“Why a peanut allergy? What would anyone have against that?”
“Maybe to rid his town of impurities, easier food labels. Maybe he got in trouble for serving someone nuts. We need to find him. John come with us,” he began walking away with his arm around Jaelyn’s shoulders.
“Where are we going?” They asked together.
“Don’t be so slow. We have a bakery to visit.” The taxi ride to the bakery was tense with Sherlock deep in thought. Until Jaelyn’s snort pulled them out of their heads. She was looking at a newspaper.
“Trouvé aujourd’hui mort d’un instestin fendu. Peut-être une moquerie de sa personnalité en surpoids. The french aren’t so bad,” she laughed again and Sherlock couldn’t help but join in. John just frowned and shook his head. He didn’t laugh until Jaelyn told him the translation. As if nothing happened, they were back to serious when they arrived. Jaelyn was quick to let them in and get them to the office. They were further stumped when the man’s face never showed up on camera. Irritated, Sherlock flew into his mind palace.
“John make sure you lock up when you leave,” she yawned.
“You going home?” Jaelyn nodded. “Be careful, see you later.” She left just as Sherlock looked over to her. Jaelyn’s dark hair floated in the night breeze. She adjusted her wrist splint before breaking into a sprint and in a split second she was running on rooftops, giggling. She took her time running and jumping home. When she finally jumped through her window she was only slightly winded, but only from the giggling.
Two streets over, Sherlock was contemplating the probability of Jaelyn becoming a target. John assured him it was strongly possible, especially since she fits the nut allergy mold. And she looks entirely vulnerable to the normal, ignorant people. She is always armed, and very skilled. A Master Assassin for a reason. He actually hoped she would be a target, she would easily take the killer down. Images of her smile came to him, causing him to smile too. Then the smile vanished, and her face was covered in blood. He frowned, aware of protectiveness washing over him. He grew unsettled with this onslaught of emotions.
The following morning Jaelyn stood behind the counter doing inventory. Not oblivious to the man watching her. For once, not Sherlock. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him. Older man, dark eyes, dark hair and fat face. Without changing the pencil movements, she drew a quick sketch of the man to later on show Sherlock. At the other end of the street Sherlock was just waking up and sipping the tea Mrs. Hudson brought him. John was over, typing for his blog. That is, until Mary came running into the room handing Sherlock two pieces of paper. His eyes widened slightly at one of the papers, ignoring the other for a moment. He moved over to his laptop and scanned the picture for facial recognition. While that worked out, he admired the very well-drawn picture and read the other paper. Jaelyn had a surprise meeting at the bureau and would be back later towards the evening. Another wave of protectiveness flooded him. ‘She can take care of herself!’ he growled to himself. Pushing thoughts of Jaelyn out of his mind he turned back to the facial recognition scan as it brought up matches. Abe Maxwell, aged thirty-two. No current address. He sent the information to Lestrade and began to do more research on the man.
By the time Jaelyn returned, they had a poor motive and found his address. Sherlock was quick to use his friend’s assassin skills to break into the house. John being out with Mary meant that it was just Sherlock and Jaelyn. His house was on the very outskirts of London. Jaelyn was in mission mode, with her hoodie and wrist brace. Steely expression in place. Soon the lock was picked and they were analyzing the man’s small apartment. Nothing was out of the ordinary and Sherlock was rather bored. There was no information on where Abe worked or his phone number, which put Jaelyn on edge. Sherlock could feel it. He turned to suggest they leave when he noticed Jaelyn was missing. There was nowhere for her to be in the small apartment. Slightly worried he went outside, and was relieved to see her outside on the curb. Her right hand was covered in hives, which immediately had him beside her.
“That was a peanut plant by his bed,” she chuckled while scratching her arm.
“Let’s get you back to the flat, it’s getting late. Will you be fine or do you need immediate attention?” he asked.
“It’s good, I think. I’m still breathing. I’ll let you know when I stop.” She laughed, breaking out of her mission mode. On the ride back, Sherlock chided and slapped her hand every time she would scratch. Irritated, he grabbed hold of her hand, and just held it. Her fingers twitched anxiously and she was tense from trying not to scratch. John and Mary were back when they returned. At first they were excited at the two holding hands, until they saw the hives and quickly set to treating it. Sherlock just watched. Mrs. Hudson brought up tea and biscuits while they discussed what they saw at the apartment. Jaelyn ate a biscuit, laughing while they joked. Things went south quickly. She soon found she couldn’t swallow her tea, or oxygen. What little she could get in and out pained her. The others quickly noticed and saw her face start to swell. Sherlock was quick to run to her bag. John held her up and guided her breathing. Mary called for an ambulance. Finding the Epi-pen, he ran over to his friend, all oxygen was painfully knocked out of him at her appearance. He grew frantic as he injected it in her thigh. She leaned entirely on Sherlock then, John still coaching her quickly improving breathing. All swelling was going down. Sherlock moved from squatting to sitting beside her. When the ambulance arrived, Jaelyn was back to normal. They did a quick check-up before leaving. Sherlock had moved her to the couch before then, where she was now fast asleep. Mary watched over her while the boys went to investigate.
Mrs. Hudson’s butter was in its normal packaging, but was somehow almond butter. Someone went through the troubles of switching the labels of butter to kill someone. Or many people. Just then Sherlock got a call from Lestrade. Countless reports of nut allergy reactions, no deaths, but multiple close calls. They needed to catch Abe Maxwell.
When they went back upstairs, Jaelyn was still asleep. John and Mary went home. Sherlock found a common store where everyone bought the butter. The next morning he was going to investigate. He glanced over to Jaelyn. Her face had been swollen and he could hear her harsh gasps for air. He thought back to his frantic actions and his loss of breath. He just wanted to wrap his arms around her when she leaned on him. A wave of protectiveness washed over him yet again. The urge to catch Maxwell grew even stronger when he looked at Jaelyn. He had almost killed her. Sherlock didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until he heard the tear of fabric from his chair. He grumbled and looked back on the sleeping woman. Just watching her soft breathing calmed him down. He walked over to her and examined her sleeping face. He brushed a stray hair from her face. Ever so gently he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Finally figuring out what she was to him, after all these months.
When he returned from his mind palace the next morning, the couch was empty. He remembered seeing that Jaelyn worked until noon that day. Which meant she had been up since three or four that morning. Noon was three hours away. Calling John, he got ready to investigate the store.
Jaelyn was exhausted while she walked home. She was ready to pass out the moment she stepped in the door of her tiny apartment. Across town Sherlock was frantic, trying to get to Baker Street. Frustrated that Jaelyn didn’t have a phone. Abe worked at the store, they found how he switched the butter. But they couldn’t find him. John and Lestrade were at his house. Empty. At work? Called in sick. His alias – Mark Thompson – could not be found either. It was as if he disappeared. Or was going after his next target. And Sherlock had an uneasy feeling on who it will be.
She was a street away when she felt the eyes on her. She always knew when she was being watched, but she was more concerned at the lack of people to be watching her. She had an uneasy idea of who it was. Jaelyn adjusted her wrist splint and pretended she wasn’t being followed.
Sherlock alerted Lestrade of Jaelyn being a possible target, and having men on standby on Baker Street and her street two over. Sherlock drummed his fingers impatiently. Resisting the urge to yell at the cab driver again. He was so close. She would be home any minute now.
Jaelyn was in mission mode the rest of the walk. Doing her regular rituals, pretending nothing was amiss, she threw her bag down and flicked on the telly while she put on some water. Her fridge was basically empty, but for some reason she had a kilo of grapes. Wanting to appear clueless she got to work washing a branch and preparing them to eat. She fought a yawn and opted for instant coffee.
The floorboard she loosened on purpose creaked loudly. Only she knew how to silently walk on it. Only she knew it was loose on purpose. Sherlock could probably deduce it. He and his brilliant mind. She could wager he was on his way. If she could just hold off Abe…
Then was when he struck. He was quick but she had trained for decades. Clicking her blade, she deflected his blow. He growled angrily and swung again. “You are imperfect. None of you should live!” Every word he said had more force from each swing. One swipe just inches from her face. He was fast and strong, but she was faster and had more endurance. He was backing her up into the wall. Jaelyn pushed herself off the wall – kicking him back. He crashed into her telly, smashing it to the ground. She pushed herself off her back just as he charged. He pinned her left bladed arm above her. She smashed her palm into his nose as her slammed the blade into her side. She cried out more in shock than in pain. He dropped her arm and held his nose. Now disarmed – he was defenseless. Slower now, she moved to knock him out. It was now Jaelyn backing him into a wall.
Sherlock sprinted out of the cab and up the steps to the top floor. Jaelyn’s door was open and there were crashes behind it. He slammed it open – to see her feet off the ground, slammed up against the wall. Sherlock watched in horror as she pulled a knife from her side and slammed it into his neck. They both fell. Sherlock felt sick from rage and fear as he ran over to Jaelyn. There was a clear cut on her cheek, bruises on her neck and blood pouring from her side. He pulled off his scarf and held it to her side. He was too late. Memories flooded back to him first considering her a target – blood all over her. And there they were. Jaelyn’s face went paler and her bruises were more obvious. Rage flooded him, but died as she held the now red-purple scarf to her side.
“Call Lestrade. We have him,” she whispered painfully. Sherlock kept a hand on her pulse – to know she’s alive while he called.
“Stay awake Jaelyn, let me see your eyes.”
“I am awake,” she mumbled.
“Then open your eyes.” He held the cloth tighter. Her face was white. His heart clenched. “Please,” he whispered. Slowly, her eyes pulled open. Yet another wave of protectiveness flooded him. He needed those eyes in his life. To frown at him, to be opened up by him. He needed her. Not just because of her valuable skills, but because she was smart and caring. She just made things better by standing next to him. His heart had fluttered when he held her hand, when he kissed her head. Here she was now – his sunshine- broken and bleeding out because he had hoped she would be targeted. His heart clenched.
Lestrade, John, and a good portion of the Scotland Yard filed into the small, broken apartment. They helped load Jaelyn onto a stretcher. Sherlock walked out with her and the paramedics – making sure they knew not to give her morphine. That woman was allergic to everything.
Abe was dead. They caught the killer. Or rather, Jaelyn caught him, and killed him. Sherlock couldn’t keep thoughts of her out of his mind. Always priding himself on being detached, he was angry. He could never love her. He was incapable of such human emotion. Sherlock slammed his hands on the nearest table – shocking everyone around him. John hid a smirk, having an idea of what Sherlock was thinking.
At St. Bart’s, Xiavier was helping Jaelyn out of the window. She was still pale, but was stitched up and ready to go. She was needed to plot another mission. She was careful to climb up the building and not rip the stitches. She swallowed the pain as she took a leap of faith. The hay in the truck shifted below them. Jaelyn and Xiavier sat hidden in the hay until the end of the trip. Her vision swam from the lack of painkillers.
Sherlock’s stomach dropped when he saw her hospital gown on the bed and the window open. Her morphine replacement was still full. No painkillers. Jaelyn got nine stitches and then climbed the building. Damn those assassins. Angry, he turned around, leaving John gaping in the room.
He was beyond frustrated.