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The July sun was impossibly hot in the sky as the clock hit 12 o’clock on that humid Saturday. The Magic Kingdom was filled with children, their parents, large groups, fat people, more large groups, and even more fat people on scooters. Peter Pan was dazzling children with his antics, while Cinderella twirled at the entrance of her large castle. Neat the Starlight Cafe, Goofy snooped around, occasionally taking a reluctant picture with an eager child. Eventually, Donald Duck approached him and poked him on the ribs.
‘You have to be jolly!’ Donald Duck said. Of course, by this point, it would be fit to inform the reader that inside Donald Duck is a very tired John Watson, and inside Goofy is an also tired, yet also incredibly sweaty Sherlock Holmes.
‘I don’t do jolly, John, you know that. Besides, how can I be jolly when there’s a murderer to catch?’ Goofy-Sherlock asked. Donald-John simply shrugged and stepped aside so a little girl could have her picture taken with him.
For the past two weeks, Sherlock and John had been after a serial killer who targeted young mums — he would taken them from their home, cut their throat in the house, take them away, drain their blood, then rape them post-mortem — and the search had led them to the Magic Kingdom, which was the only thing the mothers had in common, having the season pass for the amusement parks. Sherlock had deduced that the culprit worked in or near one of the cafes, and, upon finding his next victim, followed her to her home.The profile — male, late twenties early thirties, medium built, deeply unsatisfied with his job and life, likely Caucasian, given the ethical background of the victims — had led them to this specific cafe, where they were waiting for one Mr Frank Collins to show any signs that he was who they were looking for. So, Sherlock and John had contacted the park and now there they were, investigating dressed as Disney characters so as to no create any suspicion. John had thought it would be fun pretending to be Donald Duck, but the costume was incredibly heavy and annoying, and Florida was way too hot for comfort.
Sherlock himself was showing signs of fatigue, but that was mostly because even in such warm weather he refused to take care of himself, and John was sure he was dehydrated.
So far, nothing. The man seemed clean, just doing his job cleaning the cafe and the area around it. Sherlock watched him closely, sometimes turning away to take a picture with someone, but mostly just focused on the guy. The good thing about this Godforsaken costume was that it didn’t show that he was watching.
It was almost time for Collins’s shift to be over, so this had to be it, or they’ll be looking at another day of this horrible weather, park, state and people. Sherlock couldn’t stand Florida — it was just as horrible as it had been when he worked the Hudson case. Another nudge from John, and Sherlock almost growled at him, when they both saw how Collins looked at a family with two children. The mother was smiling, she had short brown hair and was wearing a sundress, and she was of the same body type as the other victims. Good, now that they had found the victim, it was time to put the plan into action.
*
The house of the Evans family was surrounded by police officers. Sherlock and John waited behind a few bushes near the mailbox as the approximate time of the arrival of Collins approached. It was almost time, and Sherlock could feel John almost bursting with excitement next to him. This was his favourite part, the thrill of the chase, the adrenalin. And Sherlock was happy to give it to him, because, frankly, it was his favourite bit as well. Even with the deductions, nothing could beat the rush of the adrenalin pumping bloody through his veins quickly, the thumping of his heartbeat on his ear — it was priceless, like a drug. And doing it with John was even more addictive.
At 1am, the suspect approached the house. His car was black and silent, perfect for hiding in the night, but now that the police knew what to look for, it wasn’t so effective.
Collins left his car with a pocket knife and what Sherlock recognised to be a lock-picking kit. As soon as he got to the door, the police got out of their hiding, just as Sherlock and John did, and apprehended the culprit.
There had been a struggle, a shot to the man’s leg, an ambulance, lots of neighbours snooping around for the gossip, and finally a resolution to this horribly annoying case.
*
Sherlock had never loved anything like he loved the hotel bed at the moment. It was dry and fresh, crisp and clean, and really soft. He flopped on it as soon as they entered the room, listening as John turned on the A/C to full power — Sherlock groaned “thank God” at this point — and go to the bathroom for a soothing shower. That managed to perk him up a bit, because soon he was up and out of his shoes, gently knocking on the bathroom door.
‘I’m on the shower, Sherlock,’ John said, but Sherlock entered anyway. John sighed. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked from the other side of the blue curtain.
‘Like you don’t know,’ Sherlock said, quickly stripping out of his jeans and T-shirt — that was the part he hated most about this horrible state, the fact that he couldn’t wear his normal clothes lest he sweat like a sinner in church. With his pants finally removed, he pulled the curtain aside quickly and smirked at John, who was spreading soap through his chest. ‘Well this is sight for sore eyes.’
John chuckled. ‘I can’t get a moment’s peace, can I? Oh, fine, get in here, you big lump,’ John pulled Sherlock with a deliciously wet and soapy hand, and soon the detective was under the comfortably lukewarm stream of water. He sighed happily as he let John clean him, just revelling in the touch and proximity.
‘Thank God this case is over…’ murmured John. Sherlock nodded in agreement. ‘The things I’m going to do to you…’ John added. ‘I haven’t touched you in weeks, Sherlock — soon you’ll be all sweaty for a completely different reason.’
With another smirk, Sherlock pulled John closer by the waist, their chests touching, sending all the right information to all the right places. ‘Well, we do have another two nights booked here… And I wasn’t planning on doing anything.’
John laughed again, and pulled Sherlock by the neck into a gloriously wet kiss.
By the next morning, Sherlock finally had some nice memories of Florida. And was ready to make some more as soon as John woke up.