Chapter 1 Preface
It was a large dark room with no windows and two doors, the room was the top floor of a flat in north London, and it was intended for meetings. Not conventional meetings, where opinions are discussed and decisions made, this particular one was a meeting of anonymous and open figures, looking for drugs, money or both. In the centre of the room stood a large circular table, with 12 chairs around the edge. Accomplices or friends of those at the meeting were scattered around the room, or leaning over peoples shoulders as the insults went on. Or in this case, gambling. The majority of the figures around the table were youths looking to pay off debts or simply seeking drugs to sell on or keep for themselves. One of them however was there out of habit, not necessity. The figure had a large black cloak that covered their eyes and broad bulky torso descending into black skinny leg jeans. The game of choice, tonight, was blackjack. Which suited the figure just fine, blackjack was their speciality.
Chapter 1: My first meeting with Sherlock Holmes
The other 11 people sitting around the table were there for a variety of reasons, it was funny analysing their faces and their moves, guessing why they are here. I was directly to the left of the dealer which is a very good spot to be if you know anything about blackjack. I'd got the spot because I know the dealer, I'm a regular of sorts. He knows I'm fussy though, I don't get mixed up in any of the drugs, I don't want any trouble, he respects that, which is part of the reason why always get to sit on his left in blackjack. We played several games as a 'warm up' with prizes of £1 or £2. Then would be full game where everyone went all in. In the background, people swapped packets for cash. As the final cards were dealt, the dealer winked at me. I glanced at the two cards, a jack and an ace. I smiled. And placed them back down on the table. I refused all the remaining hits as the game went on, as the game concluded, the other figures complained bitterly, thumping their fists on the table.
Suddenly a boy, who couldn't be older than 13 burst though the door, "Jake!" Somebody called. "The cops are downstairs! Get out, get out!" Jake yelled. Everyone grabbed their winnings off the table, this had happened before, we were all prepared for this. I grabbed my own money, jamming it in my backpack, racing out of the back door with everyone else. I heard police climbing the stairs and bursting though the door, "This is a drugs bust!" One of them yelled, we only ran faster. The back door led onto a small balcony, from there you could climb onto the roof, and from the roof, you could jump a few buildings then climb down again, any direction you wanted, it was a fairly safe escape route. I was feeling lazy today, usually I gave the entire area a wide berth before jumping down, least I bump into the police. Unfortunately for me, I followed a bunch of other people who jumped down after only 3 blocks, as we climbed down a drainage pipe, we turned a corner and walked straight into the police. A tall man with grey-black hair and grey eyes looked up at us with a smirk on his face. And at first nobody moved. A slim woman with dark skin and messy brown hair glanced over at him "Lestrade?" She enquired. He nodded once, and all at once the rest of the police behind him, carrying guns and riot shields charged forwards. Perhaps they thought we were part of the reminder from the august riots? It didn't matter to me.
Some people say, if you get confronted by the police, running away is always a mistake, because when they do catch you, the sentence will be worse. However, in my case, being caught was simply not an option. I turned around and legged it. I ran up one street, barely wide enough for cars, with congealed rubbish all the way along the edge and onto a main road. Traffic swooped past me, I pulled off my rather conspicuous cloak and kept running. None of the other people from the room had followed me, that was good, I liked to keep my face unknown. I dived into another empty alley way and pulled off my huge, bullet-proof, shoulder-padded jacket. I liked to trick people into thinking I was a man, and it mostly worked, and it made my life easier. I pulled on a dark purple zip up hoodie over my black crop top. Throwing my backpack over my shoulders, I walked out of the alleyway. The police were no where to be seen. I relaxed, I absent mindedly walked towards the nearest bus station. It couldn't hurt to get away from the scene for a while.
I ended up on Belgrave road. I began browsing an estate agent window, I had quite some savings now, I might as well invest in something. But buying a house in Belgravia then paying in cash isn't exactly a good way to keep a low profile. I lost interest in the houses, why bother looking?
"You would really be better off looking at flats somewhere less conspicuous." Came a low voice from behind me, I quickly turned around on the spot. I recognised him from somewhere. Where? If I had met him, It seemed unlikely I would have forgotten him. He had a defined face with a cut-glass jaw, curly black hair and ice grey eyes, a slim black suit over skinny leg jeans. I liked him already, there was something else in his eyes, they looked as if they belonged to and old wise man who had seen so much. But he barely looked older than 25. "Who are you?" I said coldly, if he knew me, I could possibly owe him something. He gave a brief, cocky smile "Sherlock Holmes." He offered me his hand to shake, I never turned down a hand shake. It was rarity in my particular brand of borderline criminal activity. "And why do you say that?" I enquired. He raised his eyebrows "You have a rather a rather full plastic bag of £20 notes leaning out of your backpack."
"Oh, that's just some inheritance money I asked for in cash." I lied casually. Pulling the backpack off. And hastily jambing the cash back in again, securely zipping it up. I was usually so careful, what was with me today? Now this man, whoever he was, would know I hadn't acquired it legally. Who goes around with £100,00 sticking out of their black backpack? As I stood up I realised who he was, he'd been in the newspapers, on TV. He was considered a genius, he was ' The worlds only consulting detective'. He solved cases from virtually no evidence and connected impossible events to one another. Did he know what I did? Or was this purely a coincidence? There was something else, he looked so sure of himself. He didn't look armed, his jacket looked too tight to have any room for guns, but you should never assume these things. I instantly regretted taking off my bullet proof jacket again. He smirked again. "Your jacket, one of the pockets is inside out, you rushed to put it on and your hair is a mess. Even though it's 2 o'clock in the afternoon, so you must have had to do a quick change. End of a shift perhaps? But why the rush, you didn't have anyway to go, seeing as your browsing estate agents in the richest part of London. Then there's the circles in the palm of your hands were you've been holding casino chips not long ago." I didn't say a word. Suddenly he leaped forwards, grabbing my ankle and studying my shoe, wiping a layer of dust off with his finger. He jumped upright again, "Not to mention the roof tile dust on your shoes." He sniffed his fingers "1965, So, you were in Barnet I presume?" I stood gob smacked, how could he possibly know all of that, I don't even remember him looking at my hands. "Am I right?" He asked impatiently. I nodded severely, there didn't seem any point lying. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sherlock interrupted, "I'm not done yet." He glanced around at the quiet street. "You were at a illicit gambling meeting, involving the exchange of drugs and large quantities of money, there was a drugs raid, you ran out across several roofs and caught the first bus, leaving you here. So when a stranger gives you advice about buying properties, you whip around in shock." I stared at him, "I don't do, sell or hold any form of drugs."
"You certainly haven't recently, there's no powder around your fingers or nose, your breath is clear, and your pupils are not diluted. Presides, you're a young female who's reasonably attractive, you clearly posses large quantities of money, your part of an undercover gambling club, and you have a knack of escaping from the police. The ring on your left hand, it's the 2005 graduation ring of Hampton Court House, an independent private school in north London for 2-16s, with fees of over £15,000 a year. So you had well-off parents, however much there is now, there wouldn't have been any violence at your school. So it seems unlikely you would have ever of taken drugs." I swallowed, this was impossible, what else did he know about me? "How did you know about the raid?" I asked. "I have contacts in the police force who did a drugs raid this morning in Barnet. It should be over by now." He said confidently, smirking again. His cockiness was beginning to annoy me now, even if he was right. "So why are you here?" Was the only comeback I could come up with. "Much like you, passing the time, and avoiding people."
"Why would you want to avoid people?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. Sherlock sighed "Long story, I'll see you again, Scarlett." He turned to walk away "How did you know my name?" I called after him. "It was on the inside of your backpack." He called back, without even turning. I stared after him as he caught a taxi and disappeared around the corner. What had just happened?