Hi all, another one shot here, the plot bunnies have left me for the time being so this plot comes from a 1972 British mystery program called The Lotus Eaters, by Michael J Bird. It's a great series if you ever get the chance to see it!
The original was set on Crete with a load of ex-pats, the rest is pretty much the same.
The title means who pays the ferryman.
The Rugby Tavern is off Lambs Conduit Street and I used drink their, it's lovely and friendly if you ever fancy a drink. NHS performer numbers are the bain of my life at the moment, all new VRT's need them and they involve a lot of paperwork to get hold of.
"12" Sherlock Holmes announced as his flat-mate and colleague John Watson walked down the stairs and into the living room at 6am. John looked around for clues as to what the detective was talking about, dressed in his silk pyjamas and dressing gown he'd obviously not slept, just spent the night in front of his laptop screen. John's brain rebelled at this early morning thinking and went to get tea from the kitchen.
"I said there's 12 now!" Sherlock repeated, bounding into the kitchen behind John, who was rinsing two cleaner looking cups carefully under the tap.
"12 what?" he asked, rubbing sleep out of his eye, and secretly damning himself for having curiosity.
"12 people on my forum who need help with a blackmail letter" Sherlock explained patiently spinning the screen to show John, "All identical isn't it brilliant?" John couldn't quite focus on the wobbling screen in the bouncing detective's hands. Before John could answer Sherlock was off bounding into the living room again. He finished making the tea, and bringing a cup to Sherlock perched on the sofa waiting to be filled in.
"12 people have sought out my website to ask for help having received vague blackmail threats all from different parts of the country, all with different backgrounds. It is a puzzle!" Sherlock's happiest of happy puppy grins was fixed permanently on his face, he researching postal routes to discover where the letters were sent from, and whether they had been sent at the same time.
John wasn't due into work that morning, and had hoped that Sherlock would have a case to distract them both. However when Sherlock's cases are a matter of brain work alone there is often little for John to do. This looked like one of those days, so John went for a shower, then found a book left over from the Blind Banker case and started to read.
Five hours later Sherlock had narrowed his letter box search down to two, one on the Island of Alderney and one on the Isle of Orkney, sadly he had no postmark to read, but he was leaning towards Alderney as a location more suitable for a blackmailer. John was doing badly with Glen Meade's Brandenberg he'd only got to chapter 14; Van Coon himself had only managed chapter 26. He was relieved when he heard Mrs Hudson's dulcet tones calling from the staircase.
"Sherlock? Dr Watson the post has been, you have letters." She called. Sherlock would never move to collect mail and so John took the initiative. Flicking through the pile of bills he came short hen his hand rested on a bright blue envelope with a second class stamp on it. An untidy scrawl spelt his own name and address and automatically his eyes flicked to the postmark, and then he ran, up the stairs and into the living room.
"Alderney, Sherlock, Bloody Alderney" He panted ripping open the letter
"How? John are you alright?" the detective asked.
"No Sherlock I'm not alright, and I know the blasted letters are posted in Alderney, 'cos I've got one" he waved the blue paper in the air a worried and panicked glaze to his eyes. Sherlock stood up and took the letter from his unresisting grasp.
Dear Dr Watson
Believe me when I say I am writing to you as a friend with your best interests at heart.
Someone with your background and past experience will recognise the need to protect your present position and safeguard your future.
I have no doubt that it would be to our mutual advantage if we had a chat about this, and to that end I shall be at The Rugby Tavern Holborn, on Wednesday 3rd April at 4pm.
As I say my main concern is your welfare and if you have cause to pass up this meeting you will certainly have cause to regret it.
Yours sincerely
A well wisher.
John was in a state of panic, adrenaline pumping through his system stopping rational thought. He paced up and down the room, while Sherlock sniffed the paper, held it to the light, and clucked excitedly.
"How do they know Sherlock, how do they know?" John stammered causing the detective to look up curiously.
"How do they know what John? This letter is all rather vague, there is no specific threat, and for a blackmailer a woeful lack of a money demand!" He gave John another calculating look, "Why do you think this a specific blackmail threat? What have you done to get you this worried John?"
"Lot's Sherlock lots and lots, Oh God!" he collapsed on the sofa and realizing his friend wasn't going to talk anymore, Sherlock started investigating the letter in earnest.
Johns head was whirring, the girl at the St Bart's F1 dine and disco, she was a little too drunk and John was a little too pushy. The fat bloke in the bar in Gateshead when he was with the RAMC lads, the punch was thrown to high, John knew but he'd legged it. Silly things but enough to get his GMC registration suspended enough to get Sherlock to look down upon him.
"John? We're going to St Bart's lab" Sherlock announced an hour or so later waking his friend from his misery. He already had his coat on and was holding John's jacket out to him. In the end the doctor shrugged it on, and before he knew what was really happening his was guarding his normal position at Sherlock's shoulder in the lab.
It was 2pm when Lestrade barged into the lab, coat flapping as normal.
"It's suicide Lestrade, the victim was being blackmailed" Sherlock waved a hand at the detective without looking up.
"How the hell do you know that?" Lestrade asked his eyes flashing
"John got one this morning" Sherlock explained looking up, then catching John and Lestrade's blank gazes. "You've come here to find me because you have a body, and a blackmail letter, the 'deadline' of which is in 2 hours time, the body is actually at St Bart's and someone mentioned I was up here, so rather than waste time you came to get me yourself." He told Lestrade without looking up. "I have some details about the writer of the blackmail notes; female, professional, late 30's, American and currently living off-shore possibly to keep her gains by blackmail on the QT. I would say this is the first time they've run this scam, but they have been making lots of money for about 3 years. What I'd really like to know though, is how they've chosen their victims."
"Well erm Okay, what do you want us to do?" Lestrade asked
"Well in about an hour and a half I think we should all go to the Rugby Tavern don't you?" John finally spoke, shocking both men.
"Yes, John excellent idea, it's the next logical step" Sherlock announced, jumping up and running out of the door.
The pub was warm and cozy, a slightly odd place for a meeting like this Sherlock thought. Filled with worried couples all whispering, it was deathly quiet and each new arrival met with worried eyes and stony silence. The weather had turned and it was now pouring down with rain, the growing storm a metaphor for the darkness in the customers hearts. Sherlock could read their guilt on their faces, and some especially the crying girl sat in the window had really done nothing at all to warrant this. Deep under the part of Sherlock that liked to believe himself a sociopath, there was a very angry man. John's knuckles were white and clenched beside him, and the similar state of the other patrons made interviewing them impossible. At half 4 some of the customers who had been fidgeting for an hour, got up to leave, shouting with themselves or their companions they barged out of the door and into the street. Lestrade got up to follow them but the Green Range Rover pulling up on the double yellow lines outside the pub checked them and him. This time there was no mistaking all the patrons could see that, the woman tall and blonde with ridiculous high heels, came tottering into the pub, followed by a bulky balding, middle aged man, carrying a display board.
"Oh darling I'm so sorry I'm late" she cooed in her Manhattan accent "That British rain, and these one-way streets, I am so sorry, were you waiting long?" she asked the assembled crowd. They were all dumbstruck including Sherlock and Lestrade, and John noticed in the corner of his eye, the landlord of the pub. The man with her set up the display board and in a London accent, checked that the first few couples he came too could see the board.
"Well you were of course expecting us?" she asked the crowd "You got my letters?" she looked confused for a moment. "Yes, of course you did" she suddenly brightened, and walking towards John she stuck out her hand. "You must be Dr John Watson, I knew you'd look like this, and this must be Sherlock Holmes your, hmm, partner. I told Derek you'd be here, didn't I Derek?" she called at her companion, then she turned to the girl at the window "Your Sarah Ford, lovely to meet you, just as pretty as described" the girl sobbed harder as the woman tried to shake her hand.
"I think Joanne we should start" Derek told her, she stopped beaming around the room, and stood by the display board. An inward gasp from the collected patrons silenced the room again, and she flicked over the first page; MONEY was written on the board.
"I've gathered you all here because you all have a special interest in your futures, and what you need to secure a future is money" she flipped the chart over. "Banks and other insurance schemes will work on your current earnings and work out future interest from that, my scheme…" She stopped taking as the Landlord cut her off.
"You've brought us here to sell us insurance?" he asked
"Well, yes" she looked confused again "We represent Alderney Life Insurance, you've all been chosen to take part in our new scheme."
"But the letter" Sarah Ford asked, "The threats?"
"No threat my dear, just a little taster to get you interested."
The next few moments were a blur of people rushing out into the street, relief washing over them, while Joanne and Derek attempted to get them to listen to the beauty of their scheme. Finally when they realized it was a hopeless case, Joanne ordered Derek to pack up their things and take it back to the Range Rover.
"The storms over" Lestrade told Sherlock as they watched the couple blustering about, "good metaphor don't you think?"
"Aren't you going to arrest them?" John asked
"What for? Nothing would ever stick, they just sent some badly worded junk mail." Lestrade admitted. Sherlock however couldn't take that; he stalked towards Joanne and grabbed her wrist.
"Why did you do this?" he hissed, "The letter, was this your first time pulling the scam?"
"Well yes Mr Holmes, didn't really work did it?" she giggled
"People died? How did you choose guilty feeling people?" He hissed again, grasping her wrist harder, making it hurt.
"I didn't choose guilty people Mr Holmes" she explained carefully avoiding the suicide, "I got a list of people who had recently applied for NHS performer numbers, and sent them a letter. Lots of money you see, needing to invest!" Sherlock dropped her wrist disgusted, there wasn't a lot he could do about the scam, it was just badly thought out. He went back to Lestrade and John and told them so. As the pub cleared though Julie stuck her head around the door.
"We are all so vulnerable Mr Holmes" she told him, "conscience is every man's cross and shame his crown of thorns."
Hope you liked it,
Please review
Jas xx