The Case of the Many Flags of Mary
As I'm sure those of you who read my blog know, I combine both the professional and the personal here. This post is going to be tagged "both personal and professional", so feel free to skip it if you're not interested.
By now, you'll know all about Sherlock's powers of deduction. I think they're fantastic, though I know he can rub people the wrong way. What you might not know is the fact he can't turn it off. If he sees something out of place, something that doesn't match the pattern, he has to chase it down. That makes dealing with him on a day to day level rather hard work. It's very hard to keep anything private from him. Watching him work has allowed me to get very good at hiding evidence. If he didn't have Moriarty, I think my attempts to keep control of the flat would make me his arch-nemesis. This case is one in which we all tried to fool Sherlock, for one reason or another.
"What's this spot?" I asked Sherlock, pointing at the cluster of flags stabbed into a single street in southeast London.
"Which spot?"
"This one here" I replied, pointing it out on the map. "The one with five flags in it."
"Oh, that. St. Mary's Lane. Five murders spread over a fifty year period. Roughly one every ten years, all young women, all cut from sternum to navel, with organs removed and placed around the body. Obviously it's a serial killer, but the long periods between them make it rather hard to track down the perpetrator."
"Could it be a copycat?"
"Unlikely. There's some indication in the last two victims that it's a particular weapon being used in all the killings. The weapon left traces on the sternum suggesting it's a bronze weapon."
"Bronze? An antique?"
"Most likely. Although I haven't disregarded the possibility of a weapon made specifically for this."
"And there was no sign on the first three bodies of the bronze?"
"Maybe. If there was, they couldn't..." Sherlock drifted off into his inner world. I thought about putting the kettle on while he cogitated when he came back out of his reverie.
"So where's the spade?"
"What spade?" I thought for a moment, and managed to catch up just as he spoke.
"Can't dig up a body without a spade John."
"You can't just dig up a body, Sherlock."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
"Don't tell me. No way. I'm in enough trouble already thanks to you and that graffiti nonsense."
"Fine. We need a couple of spades, a tarp, a full surgical kit and access to the forensic labs. Sort it out, there's a good chap."
I decided it had to just be easier to get on with it. Either I spoke to Lestrade, and we got full permission and a bit of help or I ended up bailing him out for desecrating a grave. Or worse, three graves.
"He wants to do what?" Lestrade was less than impressed with the idea.
"Dig up a grave. Dig up three graves. Cecilia Bottom, Sarah Lynley, and Jennifer Somerset."
"Oh, he's come back to St. Mary's has he? Well, hope you have more luck than we do. Did. It's not been actively looked at for a long time. It's a nightmare of a case. No connections between the victims, no pattern to the murders beyond the gross one, and very old evidence. And what's even worse, we're overdue the next one. I'd like to have someone staked out, but the Super won't go along with it."
"Wait, are you telling me he's been through this before? Are we digging up these people for the second time?"
"No, he was denied last time. I guess he's thinking he's got the clout to pull it off now. He does, too. I give him a hard time, to try and keep him humble, but the brass are bloody grateful. And there's no way in hell you can tell him that, he's insufferable as it is." Lestrade took a sip of his coffee, winced and settled back into his chair.
"You've worked with him. You know how brilliant he is. We've got to allow him something. Don't worry though, I've got a rein on him." I hoped.
"Sounds kinky. Anyway, I'll speak to any remaining relatives, but I don't think there'll be a problem. People are usually happier once things are resolved. In the meantime, keep him distracted. I'd rather not find him thigh deep in mud holding on to a dead body. Let's do this cleanly."
"Will do. Time for a treasure hunt I think."
"Treasure hunt?" Lestrade sat back up, more alert now.
"It's something I do to keep him occupied. Put a slight change in my routine, and pretend it's been caused by an outside influence. It's like a red rag to a bull. He can't leave it alone. Becomes determined to figure out what caused it. From there, it's a chase round London, following clues. Unfortunately, he usually figures out I caused it before we get to the end. He loses interest at that point. I think I'm getting better though. I've slowly pushed it up to the third clue before he figures it out."
"Sounds fun." Lestrade's tone of voice disagreed with his words. "We'll turn you into Moriarty yet. Right, I've got paperwork to get on with. I'll phone you this afternoon."
I headed out from the office, mulling over how best to distract Sherlock, while Lestrade organised a little body snatching. It was time to initiate "The Case Of The Dodgy Do-It-Yourself".