Sherlock's Costumes: The Hat-Trick Murders

*-*-*-*

Sherlock was stood in the middle of the living room, a pair of blue washed jeans on, white trainers and a baggy MUFC top on. His brand new trainers are done up tightly, the bow on the laces a little lopsided. The top hangs off his slim frame, the sleeves nearly reaching his elbows and the hem of the top covering his whole crutch. His worn jeans are a little tight fitting, but still loose enough for him to fit in at a pub without any odd looks. He's left his hair as usual, washed and towel dried, no styling to it, he'd simple pushed his curls to the side.

He smiles as John enters the room, back from shopping (and another argument with the machine, Sherlock notes)

"Hello John" He waves. "Excited for today's game?"

John pauses, coming to a stop in the doorway. The bags he's carrying swing in his grip due to the abrupt stop. He takes in the detectives appearance, his eyebrows slowly raising. Sherlock could almost see his mind working through possibilities.

John finds the ability to move again and makes his way into the kitchen, questioning Sherlock as he does "This is a joke, right? Or for the case?"

Sherlock nods, following John and peeking into the bags as John settles them on the kitchen table "The case"

"Right..." John trails off, still starring at Sherlock in disbelief. In the current case they were on the murders took place at a football match, but he had no idea why Sherlock was dressed as he was. John then starts to unpack the shopping.

He gives Sherlock a look, as if to say he should be helping. Sherlock looks at him blankly, seeming unable to understand that John actually believes his flatmate expects him to do normal everyday things like putting away the shopping. John rolls his eyes, continuing to unpack the items while Sherlock stands there and watches.

Sherlock tugs on the top a bit, glancing down in distaste at how baggy and loose fitting it was. He prefers his tight tops. They make him feel more comfortable, plus they're more practical. He doesn't need to worry about the fabric getting catch on anything, and he looks smart and approachable.

Sherlock gives a small grunt, showing his distaste. John glances at him from his spot by the fridge. He finishes sliding the milk in place before he shuts the fridge and turns to Sherlock.

"Why does a case require you to become a Man U fan?" John asks, his eyes on the top.

Sherlock could tell John was neither a fan nor a hater of the football club. That was good.

"Because.." Sherlock pulls a Liverpool top from behind him and seemingly no where, presenting it to John "We're going to start a football brawl"

John's eyes widen and he starts to shake his head "No.. No way! Are you crazy? No! You must have seem the papers, some of those fights are horrid. People die"

"Exactly" Sherlock grins, thinking John was following.

"You're trying to get someone killed?!" John watches his unpredictable friend carefully, knowing he should trust him but even so he has to check his sanity.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, more at himself for assuming John was keeping up then at John for not keeping up.

"No, John, as I ever I am trying to find a killer and potentially save lives"

John frowns before sighing. "Sherlock, explain, because I don't follow. Why are we starting a fight between two teams who have a bit of rivalry already?"

Sherlock's lips twitch into a brief smile, John had already made the subconscious decision to help.

"Someone had been using football brawls as a way of murdering young fans, the five victims are all the same age and have a similar appearance making it clear that these young men are being singled out by a group of people or a person" Sherlock pauses, checking John was following.

"Right, I get that. But why are we starting a fight? Why not just wait for this group, or person, to start a fight?" John frowns a little, seeing more sense in his way.

Sherlock almost sighs at how John wasn't truly thinking before speaking. "This person, I believe it is one person, there's evidence that the same knife had been used, also another fact that points towards these being preplanned killings. Anyway, we are going to start a fight because this serial killer is smart, he does not start the fights. He simply waits for one to happen, and takes advantage of it. So, to ensure he is found as soon as possible, we are going to create a brawl. We can't simply hope one breaks out, police keep a close watch on games and fans are careful"

John nods, seeing Sherlock's sense. He's then hit with another problem "People are going to be hurt"

"Yes" Sherlock admits, with a nod.

"No, there's got to be another way. We can't cause a massive fight, between two groups of men who will be drunk and possibly carrying weapons" John shakes his head, crossing his arms.

They couldn't hurt people. It wasn't right. Even if they weren't the ones causing the pain and the overall purpose was to safe lives.

"Don't you think I've tried that? But without being there, in a fight between two teams I don't have enough data to go on to catch this crazed killer"

John sighs, his stubbornness slowly fading as images of the dead kids flash through his mind. All male, all barely twenty, all of them dead. Killed by a single stab wound, deep in their abdomen. What made John sick though, even more then their age, was the fact that their friends, their teammates, just left them to bleed while they continued to have a punch up.

John glances up at his flatmate, a hand in his hair before he reaches forward and grabs the Liverpool top. "Fine. But we're bringing Lestrade and some others with us, two on each side at least"

Sherlock nods, failing when he tries to hide his grin of excitement.

"The Game is on" Sherlock laughs

John finds himself grinning too at the double meaning before he turns to go change.

"John" Sherlock's voice stops the doctor in his tracks.

John looks back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock leans in and presses his lips to John's cheek, his voice low when he speaks "Thank you, I know you don't like seeing people get hurt"

Then Sherlock's gone, he's out the door and shouting that he needs to go to the Yard and John should hurry up or he'll leave without him.

John blinks, still in shock from the kiss. He brings his hand to his cheek, frowning. Because it was bloody odd for Sherlock to show any form of appreciation, never mind kiss him on the cheek. Then, before John can look into the act further, Sherlock's words sink in and he scrambles to get changed.

*

John walks up to the Liverpool stadium, Lestrade by his side in another Liverpool top. Two more officers are with them, both in just normal clothes. One had a Liverpool scarf though.

Sherlock was already in the stadium, with his own little group of officers. The plan was for John and Lestrade to convince a bunch of Liverpool fans to fight while Sherlock did the same with the Man United fans.

They'd lead the groups to a location Sherlock had picked, some abandoned warehouse. John was still surprised Lestrade's boss had agreed to this, along with the Manchester police. Deep down, John knew Sherlock had lied about that to both him and Lestrade. Lestrade knew it too, John could tell, but as always they also knew that if Sherlock truly thought this was the only way then it probably was.

Once seated John and Lestrade wait for the signal.

John's phone beeps and he takes it out, opening up the message as the game kicks off.

Start rounding up the Liverpool side just before half time, get them all worked up during half time and the second half -SH

John shows the message to Lestrade and he nods. As the game progresses both men keep an eye on the time and John's eyes wonder to the part of the stadium where mainly Man U fans sat. He knew it was a lost cause, but he still found himself searching for Sherlock in the sea of red shirts. John was worried Sherlock might get into a fight during the game, all he'd have to do is say the wrong thing to the wrong person and he'd get a punch in the face. John hopes this case was enough to get Sherlock to be less.. well, himself.

John scans over the crowd over and over, feeling out of place even more so because he couldn't see Sherlock. Sherlock was bad with small groups of people, never mind a large group of avid sports fans. All it would take is one smart arse comment and the detective would have a whole lot of trouble.

The doctor found himself beginning to worry about his friend.

John's nudged by Lestrade, pulling him away from his worried thoughts. John glances at Greg, then at the clock.

He nods, and takes a moment to compose himself. It felt so wrong, starting a fight, possibly getting people hurt.

Overhearing two men effing and blinding about the opposition John takes the chance, pushing his morals away for now.

"Hey, mate" John speaks, tapping one of the skinheads on the shoulder.

Both men turn to look at him, they see his shirt and immediately smile at him like an old friend. He forces himself to smile back at the men. He could already tell they were the type to jump at the chance to pick on someone who wasn't the same as them.

"You alright, mate?" One of them asks, his Liverpool accent heavy.

"Yeah, I just thought that maybe you'd be interested in a.. little get together with some Man U fans" John explains, making it clear that what was planned was in no way a friendly get together.

Both of the men, John seriously couldn't tell them apart that much, look a bit shocked at first before wicked smirks take over their faces and they share a look.

"Sounds good, where is it? " The one on the left asks, briefly glancing at the pitch.

John tells them the street, and being locals they recognise it immediately.

"We'll see you there.." The man trains off, waiting for John to give us name.

"Jason" John says, smiling again before he adds "Spread the word, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah" The left nods. He then turns to his friend, who nods and stands.

John watches as he rushes towards a large rowdy group and explains the situation in a hushed yet suspicious looking way. Many of the group look to John as the man points at him. Then they're all laughing, nodding and cheering. John's gut twists in guilt. He then realises that the people Sherlock convinces to go are probably just as horrible. Not that it justified what they were doing.

John was about to look away from the group when he's eyes land on a young boy in the middle of the group, he's a spitting image of the victims so far and John's stomach drops further.

Turning back towards the pitch, John leans towards Greg. "See that kid in the middle of the group?" He lowers his voice a tad.

Greg glances back and draws in a breath "Shit"

"Yeah"

"I'll put Smith on him" Lestrade reassures before he turns towards one of the officers and starts whispering to him.

John returns to watching the game for a little longer, hearing people behind him bubbling with sick twisted excitement over the fight. He forces himself to keep a straight face, putting a small smug smile on his face when he feels eyes on him.

On the other side of the stadium Sherlock was singing along with fans, screaming the silly lyrics at the top of his lungs and swaying with the men around him. They're all grinning and laughing as they support their team and mock their opposition.

Sherlock had already convinced the group to come to the warehouse and the news was spreading like wild fire, the officers assigned to help him were doing well.

In a way, Sherlock was lucky none of these sporty men had recognised him. Then again, they were all stupid and it was unlikely they had time to read or watch the news between their mundane jobs and tedious lives.

The man behind him wraps his arms around Sherlock, making some kind of amused grunt as he brings Sherlock out of his thoughts. Pushing back his urge to throw this man, who smelled like sweat and beer, away from him, Sherlock looks up and gives the shaggy haired male a smile.

"Arg! I'm so glad you're here, been ages since I had a good punch up" The man releases his hold on Sherlock and slumps against his girlfriend.

She glazes at him, worry evident on her face. She glances at Sherlock, and the detective can see she's torn between slapping him and begging him to look after her boyfriend.

Sherlock looks at the young man again. He doesn't care whether he's hurt or not really, but he gives the woman a smile- a silent promise.

She nods her thanks, a hand settling on her stomach. Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise. Pregnant. He nods at her and she smiles back.

Sherlock turns back towards the pitch, his eyes following the players but not truly seeing them. He finds himself deciding to check on the man behind him, for the sake of his child. His child deserves to have both parents. Sherlock briefly looks over the expectant father, Daniel Woods.

He doesn't know about the baby. He's only at this game because his brother is in town. He's not usually violent or a drinker. No evidence to show he's ever been unfaithful. He wears a cross around his neck. He helps his mother often, she may even live with him. All in all, he's a good man.

Yes, Sherlock can spare a moment to check on him once the police have arrived at the warehouse. He is, after all, a man of his word.

The game eventually draws to a close and the fans flood out of the stadium. Sherlock immediately heads for an alley, the officers and around ten of his new friends follow him. As they enter, Sherlock glances over at the police. Somehow they go unseen and make a bee line towards the warehouse.

*

John stood in the middle of the warehouse, his stomach twisted and a vile taste rising in his throat. The scene around him was carnage, fists, metal poles, baseball bats and anything that was heavy and hard were being swung around. Blood ran down the fans faces and teeth were lying on the floor.

John hated the fact he'd been responsible for causing this. There were a group of men, all slumped against the wall and bleeding. John decides that maybe he could redeem himself, he rushes over and checks all their pulses. He then puts them all into the recovery position.

One of the six unconscious men was the young man who looked liked the other victims. John looks up at the crowd, searching for Lestrade or Sherlock. Preferably Lestrade, Sherlock would be looking for the killer.

John sees Smith, the officer that is supposed to be watching this young lad. John waves him over and together they lift the young man. As they get him into a sanding position John notices the blood seeping through his top.

"Shit." John hisses the word, his guilt weighing him down.

They place him on the floor and John pushes up the boys top. The wound is the same as the other victims, deep and on the left side of the abdomen. The cut is about two inches wide and, from examining the other bodies, John knew it was also around four inches deep.

Without a second thought John removes his football top, seeing no other fabric anywhere close by. He presses the top to the wound, glancing at Officer Smith, nodding at the top.

The officer places his hands where John wants them, pressing down. John checks the boys pulse again, it's steady but faint.

Lestrade appears then, a man in tow. Handcuffs are on one of Greg's wrists and one of the mans wrists. A shiver runs through John, cold in just his white top.

"Is this the guy Sherlock is after?" John asks, glaring at the man that was looking down blankly at the bleeding Liverpool fan.

"Yes, he--"

"Where's Sherlock now?" John asks, his attention on the fast fading pulse.

"He ran off, shouting about a Hat trick" Lestrade explains.

John just nods "Call the police, and an ambulance" He snaps the order, his panic for the young unconscious male growing as the pulse under his fingers becomes weaker.

"Already have" Lestrade ensures.

All the can do is wait now, wait and hope the man would be okay.

The killer watches silently, a smirk spreading over his lips as he glances around at the still fighting men and then the dying boy on the floor. "I almost did it" He speaks, a London accent.

John glares up at him. The murderer is wearing casual clothes, no evidence of him being on either side. His hair is cut short and other then his set jaw line he has no memorable features. John could easily pass him in the street and not even spare him a glance.

"If that Sherlock guy hadn't come along, I would have got my hat trick"

John and Lestrade exchange a look. John studies the killer again. He may not be a doctor of the mind but one look at the mans eyes told him that there was something wrong with him, mentally.

John sighs, double checking Smith was applying the right pressure before his phone buzzes. He takes out his phone, one hand still monitoring the dying mans pulse.

"Sherlock?"

John nods at Lestrade "Sherlock"

Take the murderer in, he is mentally unstable. He stabbed two tonight, the other is dead and you have the other in your hands. I have five Liverpool fans chasing me, might be in late -SH

Police and medics rush into the warehouse just as John passes his phone to Lestrade. John then allows three medics to take over the care of the young dying man. He'd survive, there was a hospital a few streets over, John had seen it in the way here.

"I'm going to look for Sherlock, he can't be far" John was gone before Lestrade could protest.

Once outside it was easy to see where Sherlock would run to, there was an alley straight across from the exit. John heads that way, worried for his friend. Sherlock could fight, that was for sure, but against five angry football fans? He had less of a chance of getting out of it in one piece.

The alley way was disgusting; it was dirty, had litter everywhere and smelt of pee. John wrinkles his nose up in distaste, briskly walking down the alley.

John saw the group of men before he heard them. All the five Liverpool fans were well built and standing ready for an attack. John recognised two of them as the skin heads he'd first spoke too.

Sherlock's grunt of pain as one of them stepped forward and swung his fist had John rushing towards them. He pushes through the men, taking them by surprise. He stands in front of Sherlock, who was stood pressed against the wall and holding his arm. John blocks them all from Sherlock, standing close to the detective and holding his arms out. Two of the men went to lunge for John but one of the skin heads held up a hand to stop them.

"Jason? What the fuck, man? He's one of them United fans.." He was clearly confused as to why John was blocking them from Sherlock.

John nods "I know, but he's also my sisters boyfriend, I have to look out for him" John lies easily.

"Well if it wasn't for you we'd never have come here, so we'll let you have this one" A ginger lad, who's stood in the centre speaks.

The others nod and murmur agreements. One of the skin heads hold out his fist to John. John flashes a smile, dropping his arms and bumping the fist.

When they begin to wonder off John turns to Sherlock, pulling his arm out to check for broken bones. The detective, who's face is bloody and top is ripped, hisses in pain but doesn't say a word as the doctor checks his limb.

Sherlock's eyes fix on John's face, silently admiring and wondering why he cared. For some reason, unknown to Sherlock, the doctor couldn't stand seeing people hurt, especially Sherlock. It confused him. He knew he was the doctors friend, but it still didn't make sense to him. Then again, Sherlock found that he couldn't bare to see John in pain as well. It was odd, he'd never cared before.

John clears his throat and Sherlock becomes aware of the fact he was staring. He flashes a smile and leans forward, just like he did earlier, and presses his lips to the doctors cheek.

"Thank you" and then he's walking away and babbling about a pizza place he saw down the road.

John follows, his fingers brushing over his cheek as he frowns and tries to figure out what Sherlock was doing. He quickly gives up, knowing he'd never get close to figuring out the great, yet annoying, detective. He decides to just absorb the nice feeling of Sherlock showing his appreciation. If he's lucky, this whole kiss on the cheek thing would continue.