Sherlock and a Cult of Lost Minds
By Kristoffer Martin
(Based loosely on Arthur Canon-Doyle's Sherlock Holmes Mysteries and "Sherlock" by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat)
Chapter I: Essence Cut Off
A tall darkly dressed young man drummed his fingers against the surface of a wooden table looking at what lay before him; a pile of papers strewn out and an open laptop. Several nicotine patches lined his uncovered arm and a distinct odor, if one were to take notice, emanated from the kitchen. He lulled his head back and turned to the left while clucking his tongue against his teeth.
"Watson…Watson…oh where fore art thine idiot Watson…"
"I'm not an idiot…Sherlock…really." Watson spied the kitchen; it was a daft mess of vials and beakers.
"Did you get it?" Sherlock rocked back on his chair and stood, his tall thin frame was outlined briefly by the light coming in from the window.
"Of course…though what you want with two mouse traps and a bottle of ketchup I don't want to know."
"It's to catch mice, obviously. It astounds me…"
"What astounds you?"
"The amount of over thinking you now do…does it get you anywhere?"
"And what…over think, under think…there is no right with you is there?"
"Testy, I merely thought to point out that not everything I ask for is for some experiment. Which reminds me…"
Sherlock opened the refrigerator door where a heart stood beating attached to a nine volt battery.
"No…no still going…"
Watson turned and closed the fridge door without looking at its contents, and then continued on his way up to his room.
"Watson…why are you so stiff?"
"You're the detective, you tell me…" the tone of Watson's voice was clear, just what Sherlock was expecting.
"You tripped in a puddle of mud on your way into the supermarket where you purchased the premade sandwich you're currently eating. It reached just high enough to get to your crotch and when a young boy in, what, aisle two, saw it he started to laugh and make fun of you? Because you walked rather than take a taxi, it had time to dry. Meanwhile you haven't noticed the news have you."
Watson stood with utter annoyance, "What's on the news, and never mind telling me how you knew."
"It's simple Watson, Jackie who works the fourth checkout counter texted me, as for the news." Sherlock turned the television on.
"Breaking news, another murder was found minutes ago near a Church in Whitechapel the police have yet to release any details. This follows the death of 13 year old Markus Wu found near the Tower of London. The Police have yet to release any information on if the two are connected. In other news…"
"Ah…I see, two murders, you think they're connected." Watson's anger subsided a bit.
"One shouldn't jump to conclusions, but there is something that is bothering me. Two murders Watson, two murder victims found each at historically tragic places in London. Why the Tower of London, why near where Jack the Ripper killed so many women?" Sherlock turned towards the pile of papers.
"And if they're not connected?" Watson asked, leaning against the door frame.
"Then we have two murders to solve…which means I'm not bored…"
The crime scene was a dark display, much more than Watson expected. Detective Inspector Lestrade stood waiting, he half expected Sherlock to show up. The forensics team was just finishing up as Sherlock and Watson showed up.
"You're late…" said Lestrade as he approached the police line tape.
"I know…Watson asked some questions, I answered…took longer than I thought."
"What's up freak," said Sally as she approached. Her usual curly brown hair was disheveled and filled by dust, cobwebs, and leaves.
"You look lovely this evening; did you do something different with your hair?" Sherlock mocked.
"Don't, besides I'm happy to see you here, this one is right up that creepy street you live on. Here…" She handed the two of them latex gloves. "Anderson would kill me if you contaminated anything."
The four of them walked into the grounds just south of the Christ's Church Spitalfields. An old man lay splayed out arms crumpled in a weird shape behind his back. From where Sherlock stood he could see bowels ripped out in a bloody pool soaked into the earth around the base of a tree with a round bench.
"Watson…tell me what you see."
"Okay.." Watson stooped to look at the body, "Dead for at least five hours. Rigor mortis is still set. He's late eighties, early nineties."
"And?" Sherlock walked to one side of the victim's body.
Watson bent further down, picked up the man's hand, turned the body slightly to see the face and sighed. "His eyes are gone."
"Brilliant…what else?"
"Are we going to play this game?" Lestrade pressured, "We don't have time for this."
"So impatient…how do you expect him to learn if we can't practice, you'd do well to pay attention." Sherlock bent over the man and extracted his pocket magnifying glass. Looking closely at the lapel of the man's shirt, then moving along his body he focused on the cuts along the abdomen. He pulled at the man's hair and then looked at his pockets, his shoes, and finally stood. "Why here?"
"Sorry?"
"He's a priest, belongs to a different church, Catholic. His collar is missing but there are traces of white frizz along his neck, an old collar, falling apart. His shoes are scuffed, deeply on the inside, he had a cane. ID, did he have ID?" Sherlock's wandering gaze fell on Lestrade.
"No, nothing in his pockets, nothing to identify him by."
Watson stood, "And the disembowelment? The eyes?"
"Trophies I imagine…no…no that doesn't make sense. A Catholic priest here in an Anglican Church yard. Cut off from all CCTV angles…no video."
Watson pushed off the tree stepping past the victim's legs, it was then he noticed a small chalk mark on the bench.
"Sherlock…"
"Not now…"
"Sherlock look."
Sherlock turned and noticed the chalk mark as Watson pointed to it.
"Now that is interesting…" Removing his phone Sherlock took several pictures of the symbol and then the victim. Lestrade came up to the bench as well. "Get pictures of this?"
Sally looked at the marking, "We thought it was some sort of graffiti."
"Graffiti indeed…" Sherlock swiftly walked past the sergeant and detective while removing the latex gloves. "I'll be in touch, Watson."
Watson took off the gloves as well, "Where are we going?"
"The Tower of London."
A block away and Sherlock was beaming, "This is most interesting…"
"What is, this case? Seems more animalistic…"
"No…no, Anderson and Sally…must have been a broom closet…or maybe a tool shed…"
Watson stopped as Sherlock carried on, "You mean those two were…poor sod…"
"I'd say sounds like the call came in just in the middle of it. She didn't even have time to comb the web and leaves out of her hair."
By the time they reached the Tower of London grounds most of the spectators and urban investigators were gone. A long gated stairway and a guard was stationed anxiously for Sherlock to arrive.
"Sher…Sherlock Holmes," the guard sputtered.
"I am, this is Watson, and you're Bradley Shultz, Lieutenant by the looks of it." Sherlock mused. Watson smiled and held a hand out to shake, but the guard merely winced at it. "D-down the stairs…"
"We know the way."
Past the first walk bridge a second with a guard station was situated with several wood planks undone on top. The warning tape could be seen on top as well around the bottom of the wooden pillars. Sherlock and Watson found their way to the base of this drawbridge.
"So the boy was killed here?" said Watson as he pulled up the tape and as the officer tried to block his path. Only a lone officer stood guard next to the taped off section under the bridge.
"Sir you're not allowed past the line. This is a.."
"A crime scene, we know" said Sherlock as he pressed past the officer. "Lestrade sends his regards. Watson, tell me what is the one thing missing from this murder scene?"
Watson looked around, the wooden support beams of the bridge were black and untouched by blood, the ground was barely marked and little blood was there. The grass and gravel were more or less clean except for where body clearly once laid.
"Not enough blood. Ten to one odds the other investigators didn't catch this either. No signs of struggle either."
"So close, yes, there isn't enough blood, nor is there a blood trail." Sherlock looked past the pool of dried soaked in blood on the ground to the walls of the former castle and to the wooden beams supporting the bridge. Finally he looked up. "There," he said pointing at the trellis that supported the walk path above.
"Notice the rub marks?"
Both Watson and the officer looked up. The beam was worn down, the black varnish stripped from the wood. It sat just above the spot where the blood pool had amassed.
"He was hanged. Walked here probably, maybe to get coffee or to play tennis…"
"Or he was sightseeing." Watson chimed in, "He was Chinese after all. Foreign national, here on vacation or studying abroad…"
"The kid was hung alright, I saw it. Not much to see really." The PC stood rather impatiently.
"Its hanged, and a dead person is far more than something to see…" Watson said, he had turned to the officer, "a boy and a man are dead, show more respect." Sherlock's eyes hadn't left the spot where the rope once hanged. "Only problem is, how did he get it up there?" Without a second thought Sherlock began to climb the support beams that were nearest to the trellis. Straining from the exertion of climbing out by the tips of his fingers to the spot he yelled down, "Whoever it is, had to have set this up before he brought the boy here. It'd have been too suspicious to both the boy and anyone else looking on to have done it right before the murder." With a huff he let go landing the story and a half down, just on the other side of the dried pool of blood.
"You'll also notice no CCTV cameras." Sherlock removed his glance from where he landed back to John who was clear across the walk path that ran under the bridge and around the tower.
"Sherlock, it's another marking I think. Drawn just like the last one in chalk only different." Watson was already taking a picture of it as Sherlock approached. Unlike the one found by the old man this one looked almost Chinese in nature. Three strokes on the left, one down the center with a six point asterisk on the right. The strange symbol was just the beginning. As Sherlock and Watson continued their search of the murder scene, they found odd graffiti scrawled in similar handwriting along the brick wall. The only recognizable lettering read Z'tari Nesh.
Watson took yet another photograph while Sherlock scrolled on his phone searching for the words.
"Damn!" Sherlock turned back to Watson, "not a single hit." Sherlock bent over the chalk with his magnifying glass.
"What could it mean? it doesn't sound like any languages I've heard. Z'tari Nesh…Japanese maybe?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Watson, the Japanese would have used Kanji, Hiragana, or Katakana or some combination of the three, besides the boy was from China remember."
"A code then?" Watson leaned closer as well.
Sherlock's eyes weaved over the stone wall, his mind reeling with coding…
Z'tari Nesh…four letter word five letter word contraction reversed? Hsen Irat'z…what contracted words are five letters?: Couldn't…Can't, Shouldn't, wasn't…wasn't…
A:r,B,C,D,E,F.G.H.I.J.K.L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S:a,T:n,U,V,W:i,X,Y,Z:t…no, no it doesn't fit..
"It doesn't fit…" Sherlock said out loud startling Watson. "What's doesn't fit?" Watson stood back a step as Sherlock continued to mumble…"It doesn't make sense…no we need to see the boy's body." Sherlock turned towards the Police Constable who was gingerly leaning against the central support post of the pedestrian bridge connecting the main walk along the river to the Tower of London court yard. With a quick look, Sherlock went in the opposite direction keeping an eye on a convex mirror situated on the corner of the wall. Watson followed inquisitively and was abruptly pulled around the corner by Sherlock as he finally reached the turn.
"Hey..what's going on?"
"Shush…the PC, he's being too haphazard." Sherlock peered around the corner to find the PC gone.
"Did you get his name, Watson…" whispered Sherlock as he turned again to see Watson nearly a half a block ahead of him. A small patch of the sidewalk was singed black.
"I said, did you get his name?"
"No, but look," Watson stooped down, "someone was here, burned something, left it burning."
"Watson…the PC's name?"
"Right, no sorry."
"Fine, I need to know who that constable is, he knows something more, go talk to Lestrade about who he stationed here, tell him that he's abandoned his post. I'm going to the morgue."
Watson made his way to the New Scotland Yard. Once inside he made his way, as usual, to the reception desk. "Is Detective Lestrade in?" he said to the receptionist, an African woman with long straight hair and slightly over colored eye shadow.
"No, sorry sir, can I take a name?"
"Uh no…do you know who I could ask to find out who is stationed where?"
"I don't think I can give that information out sir."
Watson pressed against the counter, "I only ask because I believe one of them was being rather rowdy with a woman near the Tower of London. You don't want that now do you…" he looked down at her blouse where the name tag would be, only to see a small bee pin, he looked up quickly.
"Eyes up here," she gave him the once over, "I don't know who you think you are, but I do hope you weren't just being rowdy with me."
"No..no" Watson shook his head with enthusiasm, "I was looking for the name tag, honest."
"Alright then…I'm Jeannie…" she held her hand out and shook his with the strength of a gorilla. "Watson…Dr. John Watson…"
"A doctor…why didn't you say something…the Scenes of Crime branch is just upstairs on the third floor. They'll know."
"Ah…thanks…"
"And you can come by any time sug…any time…"
Watson nodded as he walked off down the hall towards the elevators. Jeannie eyed him until another person came in. With a ding of the elevator Watson was on, up, and off it in a matter of a minute. It wasn't long before he found the Scenes of Crime branch and was met by yet another receptionist.
"Why is this so much easier when Sherlock is with…"
"Watson?" A short person was behind him and as he turned he saw Anderson from the crime scene investigation unit.
"Uh..right, hello Anderson. Sherlock sent me to find out who was…"
"I don't care, you'd be best to stay away from him. It's only been what, three months since you moved in with each other…" Anderson's hair was ruffled from its usual combed state, and it was clear he hadn't slept much. The man pushed himself through the swinging doors, a look of jovial intervention upon his face.
"Okay maybe it isn't easier."
The receptionist returned moments later, an older woman with horned rimmed glasses and a gold chain that ran around her neck.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes…I hope. Sherlock Holmes sent me to talk to Lestrade about who was stationed at the Tower crime scene. Only, he's not here and we've got suspicions about..."
"Well your suspicions can be put to rest, we don't have anyone stationed there. The site was cleaned up after the second day. All the evidence was collected."
"No…no that can't be, I've just come from there. Blood and all…Sherlock saw it too."
The woman gave a slight shrug, "I don't know what to tell you."
Sherlock arrived at the morgue, the long term crushing medical examiner had resigned after the fiasco with Moriarty and was replaced by a gruff nerdy doctor. His six foot two stature was hidden by his lanky hunched posture, and his attitude towards Sherlock was hardly that of the previous occupier of the position.
"You're Rutledge White…" said Sherlock as he entered the morgue.
"Yes, and who are you?" The Doctor didn't even turn to meet Sherlock.
"Sherlock Holmes. I'm here to see the thirteen year old boy…"
"I'm afraid I haven't been told of your clearance. How did you get down here anyway?"
"I'm investigating his murder and I don't have time for this, kindly bring the cadaver out." Sherlock crossed the room with a few short strides and entered into the examination room. A line of freezers were on the wall and with a quick glance he opened the one meant to have the boy's body. As he opened the door the tray was empty.
"Where is he?" Sherlock yelled. He ran out into the main room to find the medical examiner gone. He pulled his phone out quickly and texted Lastrade. Medical Examiner is gone, body of the boy is missing, Markus Wu is missing. Sherlock then searched the office for Markus' records until he found the folder, empty. With things wheeling around in his head he ran back into the examination room. The priest was still there, he had to be. He opened the chamber for the old man's body. It was still there, still cold, dead, and unexamined. The tag had not yet been checked on his toe.
"There was something…something about that boy the killer didn't want us to know. Something different from the priest…everything was different…except for the symbols."