Dad backs away carefully and ducks to avoid the blows. The client turned attacker advances on dad, pushing him back against the sofa. I grab the attackers arms as he slashes his sword down onto dad. Dad ducks under the sword and drops into a sitting position. I jump out of the way as dad kicks out his leg, striking his chest hard before the robed figure can bring the sword back down. As he stumbles backwards, dad jumps back up and straightens his jacket once more before charging across to join my fight with the attacker.
"Duck!" He yells as the scimitar comes my way. I crouch down, then kick out my leg so that he buckles to the floor. The man growls at me and I bounce back up. He follows me up and brings the sword down upon me. Dad pushes me out of the way and grabs the mans wrists tightly. The attacker pushes dad towards the kitchen with his sword held horizontally in both hands and pins dad onto our kitchen counter. The assailant holds the scimitar so that it pushes down upon dads throat, threating to cut. Dad grimices under the weight of holding the sword up, so I charge foward and kick the attacker in the popileta fossa. He bends it a little from the impact, but doesn't fall, however it's enough to distract him so that dad is able to tilt the sword sideways and out of harms way. The point of the sword starts to dig into the counter as dad llifts his left leg and repeatedly kicks the swordsman in the side. As he begins to loosen his grip on dad, dad is able to force himself upwards again. The sword tip slides across the counter top, making a large scratch that will no doubt come out of our rent if Mrs Hudson sees it. I replace dad in the fight as he catches his breath and I bring my leg up, repeatedly kicking the swordsman in the stomach and pushing him out of the kitchen once more. I jump the sword as it swings low and land on the blade, pulling the robed man down with, at the very least, a spraigned wrist. As I leap out of the way to dodge his low kick, dad replaces me. The swordsman jumps back up and takes another swing at dad, who ducks under it. "Look!" Dad shouts, pointing to a place just over the mans shoulder. Already semi-turned around, the attacker is distracted by our reflections in the mirror, and dad uses this opportunity to swing a powerful hit to the assailant's chin, knocking him unconcious before he can flop down into dads chair. Dad straightens up immediately and checks his reflection in the mirror, re-adjusting his cuffs and brushing off the dust from his jacket before sending the unconcious man a look of hatred for ruining his suit. I give dad a sly smile and he and I loft the body up and throw it out of the window and out onto Mrs Hudsons bins. I listen with delight as he lands on the safety of the bags. He won't be seriously injured - he just won't be able to remember that he came. I check out my own appearance in the mirror. My white, sheer blouse is all ruffled and dusty, and my black leggings are torn from the blade, but on the bright side - no cuts!
"All this over a damn God," I groan. Dad laughs and takes his phone out.
"Yes, quite," he looks me up and down. "John'll be back soon. To stop him fussing, you might want to change." It's my turn to chuckle, but I turn around and head to the room that me and my dad share. Now I know what your small, inappropriate minds are thinking. No, I don't sleep in his bed, and I certainly don't get dressed around him either, so please delete that thought. Thank you.
I am Sophia Elizabeth Holmes, and you may have heard of the last case we cracked - A Study in Pink, as John prefers to call it.
I dress myself in another white, sheer blouse and black leggings, and leave my others in the increasingly large pile of other clothes that Mrs Hudson hasn't washed yet. By the time I've finished getting changed, I hear the front door slam shut, and the footsteps of Doctor John Watson coming up the stairs. Casually walking out of my bedroom, I lean against the doorframe of the kitchen and wait for John to come in. In front of me, dad sits calmly in his armchair reading one of the many books we own.
As John walks in to the room, he stops to look around, frowning in suspicion that something has happened whilst he's been gone, but he doesn't seem to have any shopping with him, which is what he supposedly went out to get.
"You took your time," dad says, not looking up from his book.
"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping." Dad looks over the top of his book indignantly.
"What? Why not?"
"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine," John answers, tetchily. Dad lowers his book a little to look at John with suprise whilst I attempt to stifle a laugh.
"You ... you had a row with a machine?"
"Sort of," John replies, still angry. "It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" Dad smiles, amused at Johns normal human troubles, and nods towards the kitchen.
"Take my card." John hesitates for a moment before walking towards the kitchen, but stops as he reaches me and turns back to dad indignantly.
"You could always go yourself, you know," John says, angrily, and being so very, very ignorant to dads own troubles with machines. "You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left." I put a innocent face on, and walk over to dad to grab a book. It's best just to let John make his own assumptions, it stops the waste of several tedious minutes of explaining. John rumages through dads wallet to find a suitable card to use.
"And what happened about that case you were offered - the Jaria Diamond?"
"Not interested," dad says casually, and I smirk. Using a piece of paper as a bookmark, he slams his book shut. My eyes fall down to his feet and the where the scimitar lies in plain view. I cough slightly, and dad looks at me, questionly. I indicate to the sword, and he quickly slams his foot onto the edge and sends it further under the chair. "I sent them a message," he continues firmly. My smirk grows larger as I remember the uppercut which ended the fight.
John seems to have found a new card he can use, but pauses to bend over to look at the new scratch in our counter. He sighs as he runs his finger along the top to see if it can come off.
"Ugh, Holmes," he says in an annoyed whisper and looks across at us, tutting pointedly. Dad shakes his head innocently and John turns and leaves the flat again as dad smirks at me knowingly.
"I think we need to get rid of the sword," I say quietly as I hear the door slam shut downstairs. Dad nods in agreement and squats down to fetch the scimitar from beneath his seat, before we throw it out of the window and on top of the bins. I see our 'client' woke up, then. As I turn back around, I see dad is already sat up at our desk, and turning on Johns laptop. Oh the days where he had to get up and fetch his own laptop.
This has been our routine for the last two weeks: Client, computer, emails, repeat. Nothing decent has come up on the website for months, and I'm starting to believe the emails are a long shot too. Dad lets out a sigh of delight and I spin around. The computer has fired up already, and dad has a new email. A potential client? He opens it up and raises his eyebrows in suprise.
"Sebastian Wilkes?" I question, scanning through the email.
"Collage," dad mutters, narrowing his eyes. "Never liked him." I roll my eyes and read the email in it's entirity.
Sherlock,
How're things, buddy? Been a long time since we last met.
I hear on the grapevine that you're now a consulting detective? There's been an 'incident' at the bank - something intresting. I'm hoping you can sort it for me.
Please call by. Needless to say, I'll be relying on your discretion.
Sebastian
"Buddy?" I snigger, leaning over his shoulder to get a better view.
"No idea," dad replies, smirking.
"Anyway, what are you thinking?"
"I don't know," dad replies, putting his hands into a praying position. Sighing, I turn away to get my own laptop from the bedroom. He's not going to be talking for a while.
"Don't worry about me. I can manage," John says sarcastically as he climbs the stairs, laden with several bags of heavy shopping.
"Don't worry, we aren't," I sing back. Dad chuckles quietly, but John just sighs and shakes his head at my remark. Dad folds his hands in front of his mouth, and I can see his brain trying to figure out what to do. John dumps the shopping on the kitchen counter and frowns as he sees the computer dad's using.
"Is that my computer?" He asks as dad begins to type.
"Of course," dad replies simply, concentrating on his email. From what I can see, he's agreeing to come.
"What?!" John says in disbelief.
"Mine was in the bedroom," dad continues, not bothered by Johns feelings about the computer.
"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up? Sophia ... Sophie, why couldn't you get it?"
"Couldn't be bothered," I say, smiling sweetly at him. "I've been doing it for about ten years, I've earned my rest." Dad snorts at my retort.
"It's password protected!" John shouts indignantly, not taking any notice of me.
"In a manner of speaking," dad replies calmly, still typing. "Took me less than a minute to guess yours," he glances up at John with a smirk. "Not exactly Fort Knox."
"Right, thank you," John says, annoyed, and coming over to slam the lid down. Dad pulls his hands away in disbelief and holds them there for a minute before he puts them into the prayer position again, resting his elbows on the table and looking thoughtful. John takes the laptop across the room, and puts it down on the floor beside his armchair as he sits down. It's not as if he's using it though, is it? So why can't dad use it?
John picks up a small pile of bills that I brought up earlier, and frowns.
"Oh," he mutters quietly as he sifts through them. I know at least one of them requires urgent paying, and the rest are just escalating in price. John shakes his head in surrender to the fact he's about to say. "Need to get a job."
"Oh, dull," dad mutters, half listening to the conversation as John puts the letters back onto the table and looks across to dad for a moment, before he looks back at the letters.
"Listen, um ..." he begins, leaning forward awkwardly, "if you'd be able to lend me some ..." he fades off as he realises that neither dad nor I are listening properly. "Sherlock, are you listening?" Dad doesn't look around, but he seems to have reached the conclusion of what to do.
"I need to go to the bank" he says quietly, getting up and heading towards the stairs and throwing me my coat from the hook, before putting on his own and heading outside. John frowns at my dad's sudden change of attitude, but then jumps up to join him, following behind me.
The bank that dad leads us to is certainly not the one he uses, and neither does it look very welcoming to children of my age. The name of the bank is the Shad Sanderson Bank, I notice, as I follow dad through a set of revolving glass doors into the foyer. John looks up, impressed at the sight of all the white walls and glass ceilings.
"Yes, when you said we were going to the bank ..." John fades off as he steps onto a large escalator behind us. Dad and I look around, observing the level of security this bank contains. It seems everything in here is pretty secure, and they've obviously spent a lot of money insuring it stayed that way. I don't see how anybody could have walked through the doors with authorisation from someone higher up, unless it was one of the employees or one of the customers who came in. Other than that, I have no idea, and I don't think dad does either, although he won't admit it. We reach the top, and dad walks over to the reception desk.
"Sherlock Holmes," dad says confidently to one of the women.
"Yes, of course sir. Mr Wilkes was expecting you, but I'm not sure if your..."
"They're with me," dad inturrpts.
"Of course sir. I'll send a message through to Mr Wilkes. If you can just wait through there, please." She indicates to a room to the left, and dad walks directly over to it. I leave her a small smile of thanks before I follow after dad.
A little while later, we're shown into Mr Sebastian Wilkes' office by his secretery.
"Sherlock Holmes," the man greets, smiling broadly.
"Sebastian," dad says, his face emotionless towards the man as they shake hands, Sebastian clasping dads hand in both of his own.
"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Dad ignores him, but looks back with dislike which is barely disguised. Sebastian turns to look at John and I.
"This is my daughter, Sophia Holmes," dad introduces me, and I step forward to shake Mr Wilkes' hand.
"Pleasure to meet you," he smiles at me, but I ignore him, my attention more focused on his watch.
"... And this is my friend, John Watson."
"Friend?" Wilkes queries, latching onto dads emphasis on the word.
"Colleague," John corrects him, also looking pretty emotionless.
"Right," Sebastian says, looking curiously at John as they too shake hands. "Right." He throws dad a quick look of suprise at his ability to gain a friend, then smiles unpleasantly as he scratches at his neck, his watch on full show. I think dad might of noticed the watch as well. As Sebastian turns away, John purses his lips, seeming to take an immediate dislike at this man. I can't say I like him much either, but if it results in an intresting case, then I'm all for it, and I think that was the only reason dad took up the offer as well.
"Well, grab a pew," Sebastian smiles, gesturing us to some seats. "D'you need anything? Coffee, water?" Dad and I shake our heads, wordlessly, but John speaks up our answer.
"No."
"No?" Sebastian questions, turning to his secretary. "We're all sorted here, thanks." As the secretary leaves behind us, Wilkes sits down behind his desk, and we take the seats in front of him so that we're side by side.
"So, you're doing well," dad states. "You've been abroad a lot."
"Well, some," Wilkes lies, modestly.
"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?" I see John frown in confusion, but I just smile innocently, enjoying the scene. Sebastian just laughs and points at dad.
"Right. You're doing that thing," he chuckles, looking to John. "We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."
"It's not a trick," dad mutters quietly, obviously annoyed.
"He could look at you and tell you your whole life story." Wilkes continues to John.
"Yes, I've seen him do it." John says, joining in on the conversation.
"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." I turn my head to see dad turn his own away, looking down, his face filling with pain from the memories. I smile to myself at how like each other we are, as I'm getting the same trouble at the moment. "You'd come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."
"I simply observed," dad mutters again, quietly.
"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world - you're quite right. How could you tell?" Dad opens his mouth to speak, but Sebastian continues to lower my IQ by talking.
"You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan," he continues, smugly. John smiles, knowing at where he's getting at. I can tell you exactly how I know, but if I know dad, he won't explain it now.
"No, I ..." Dad starts, but Sebastian begins to talk over him.
"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Dad looks back at him for a second before attempting to speak again.
"I was just chatting with your secretary outside," dad lies, convincingly. "She told me." John frowns at dad, confused by the fact that we didn't speak to the secretary at all. In fact, dad ignored her for the most part. Wilkes laughs humorlessly, and dad smiles back with an equal lack of humour. Sebastian claps his hands together and becomes more serious.
"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."
"That statement was clearly stated in your email," dad mutters.
"Yes, of course," he says, blushing a little. "Yes, so do you want to see it?"
"Naturally," dad says, standing up and walking towards the door. I stand up with him, and Sebastian leads us across the trading floor and towards another door.
"Sir William's office - the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night," he explains as we walk.
"What did they steal?" John asks.
"Nothing," Sebastian Wilkes says. "Just left a little message." He holds his security card against the reader by the door, and the door clicks open. A burgaler wouldn't have been able to have get through by the door.
Hanging on the whitewash wall behind the desk is a framed portrait of a man in a business suit, perhaps the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait, someone has sprayed some yellow graffiti into the form of the number '8', but the top of the number has been left open and above is an almost horizontal, straight line. Across the eyes of the portriat, the graffitiest has sprayed another almost horizontal, straight line, and the paint trickles down in trails down the painting. Could it be one of the employees who had a dislike of the late chairman or the bank in general?
Sebastian leads us towards the desk, and then steps aside so that dad and I get a clear view of the wall. John moves to stand on the other side of Wilkes, who looks at us expectantly, as if we're about to spout a conclusion already. I think I've seen these symbols before, I just can't place where I know them from.
"Could you show us the security footage from last night, around the time of the break in?" I question him, not breaking eye contact with the wall.
"Yes, yes, if you'll come back to my office..." He trails off as I stalk over to the door, now aware that I'm not listening.
Back in Sebastian Wilkes' office, he flicks a seperate tab open to show us the video footage of last night.
"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian tells us, flicking to and fro between the images taken at 23:33:01 - which shows the office as it should be - clean and tidy - but then, sixty seconds later at 23:34:01, it shows the wall and painting covered with paint. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute," Sebastian conludes.
"How many ways into that office?" asks dad.
"Well, that's where this gets really interesting. Come with me, I'll show you our security system. Only the receptionists have control over it because there will always be someone at that desk," he explains as he gets up, and leads us back out and through the doors to reception. "Mandy, yes," he greets one of the reception girls. "I need you to work with Heather for a minute - I need to show these guys something." 'Mandy' nods and leaves us with Sebastian. He taps into her computer systems and brings up the layout of the trading floor and the offices surrounding it. Each indicated door has a light against it, showing it's security status. "Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."
"That door didn't open last night," dad states, correctly.
"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you - five figures," Sebastian says, reaching into his breast pocket, and pulls out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."
"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian," dad mutters, before walking away. I follow him, but I can hear John stop to collect the cheque we need urgently to pay the bills.