Ayra tapped her pen impatiently against the desk, twirling the pen around her fingers. She looked around and pulled a small silver flask from her bag, pouring a little bit of the dark liquid into her coffee. She took a sip of the spiked drink and smiled as the alcohol burned down her throat. The smile immediately disappeared when she saw it was just ten in the morning. How much of a drinking problem does she have that she feels compelled to make her morning coffee Irish? She pulled open her laptop screen and continued to reread Sherlock's website. The first time she read 'Science of Deduction', she thought it was utter bullshit. But now that she met the guy, and she is aware of the Holmes reputation, things actually started to make sense.
She has never been this amused – the man was pure genius, and she knew geniuses in her workplace. He could identify two hundred and forty-three types of tobacco ash just by looking at them. Arya smiled, a small snort escaping her lips. She could probably let his shitty attitude slide just because his mind was this enigmatic. She reached for the cup of hot, steaming coffee resting next to her laptop, and wrapped her plump lips on the lid. She hummed lightly as the hot mixture of coffee and rum trickled down her throat, steading her heartbeat.
"He can deduce a software programmer by their tie and a pilot by their left thumb." Arya mumbled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. "That actually fucking makes sense." She squinted her eyes and moved closer to the screen, reading intently when someone coughed behind her.
"Sorry." A strong Irish accent came behind her, making Arya turn around. A guy, possibly a few years older than her was standing with her wallet in his hand. She crooked her eyebrows, tilting her head. "I'm sorry, but you dropped this in the Starbucks. I was about to drop it in the lost and found when I saw you sitting here."
"Oh my god, thank you!" Arya exclaimed, taking her wallet from his hand and shoving it inside her bag. "You saw my ID?"
"Yes, your Californian Driver's license was in there; I just thought you were still inside or something…" He mumbled, cheeks bright red. "I wasn't looking to steal or anything like that, don't get me wrong."
"I would look for an ID too." Ayra said with a wink, checking her time. Ayra bit her lip nervously, noticing the man's gaze fixated on her laptop screen. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something uncomfortably shifty about this guy – whether it be his unwavering dark eyes or his nonchalant expression, there was something there that didn't seem… right. Arya moved her eyes away from him, wandering what to say next.
"Have a good day miss." He said, moving back a few steps.
"I'm so sorry I can't offer anything; my class is about to start now." Ayra said, shrugging her shoulders.
"It's alright, it was nice meeting you-" the guy said, taking steps back until he crashed against the booth behind him, making him wince in pain.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" Ayra rushed by his side, pulling him up by his hand. The guy was rather small and skinny, making Ayra pull him up with ease. He held onto her hand tightly, his palms sweaty.
"Yeah, just… didn't see where I was going." He said, straightening himself up. "I'm sorry it may seem sudden, but can I have your number?" Ayra blinked a few times, crossing her arms. This was nothing new for her unfortunately. Ayra sighed internally, but managed to keep her expression perfectly neutral. Why do men always believe that kind behavior is an invitation for them to park their junk in her trunk. Ayra smiled and looked down – she just didn't have a right feeling about this guy, and she always trusted her gut feeling.
"I'm sorry, but I just got here and don't have a number yet, but I do have a houseline." Ayra said, quickly scribbling down a made-up number. She's had her fair-share of involvement with shifty characters, but that was enough for a lifetime. "My name is Ayra by the way."
"Hi, I'm Jim." He said, giving her a nervous smile. "It was nice meeting you."
"Thank you for returning my wallet." Ayra said, shoving her laptop in her bag. She gathered her belongings and rushed out of scene, feeling Jim's stare burn her back. He was nice – he seemed nice… but what was there about him that made her so uncomfortable.
Blowing out a breath of frustration, Ayra rushed out of the library, still having the eerie sensation that she was being watched. She wasn't wrong.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the laptop screen, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his chin. Cases have been tedious, and desperate times called for desperate measures… even if it meant solving this… petty 'crime'. Sherlock didn't want to go there to prove something for himself, after all, he was above what other people thought.
"Is that my computer?" John asked, his voice coming from the kitchen. Sherlock continued to type his reply, watching John from the corner of his eye.
"Of course." He simply replied.
"What?" John asked, completely bewildered. Being Sherlock's flatmate had its excitements, but it also meant zero privacy.
"Mine was in the bedroom." Sherlock mumbled.
"What? You couldn't be bothered to get up?" John asked, watching the door swing open. Ayra rushed inside and crashed on Sherlock's couch, throwing her bag down on the floor and sinking in.
"That's my seat." Sherlock commented, without looking back.
"Fuck off." Ayra mumbled, moving her long hair out of her face. John tried not to stare at her, but Ayra was, very, very attractive. In the two weeks she's lived with them, John has always seen her in oversized pajamas – and she was still gorgeous then. But now that she had tidied up…
"First day of classes went well?" John asked, watching Ayra bite her lip.
"Yeah, classes were actually great but-" Ayra continued when Sherlock interrupted her.
"But people are tedious." Sherlock finished, shutting the laptop screen.
"Ugh, yes." Ayra groaned, resting her head on the backrest. "Science of Deduction made my day considerably interesting." Ayra turned her head and gave him a sly smile, making Sherlock turn around, his bushy ginger eyebrows creased into a frown.
"Stop being cynical of my work." Sherlock spoke his voice sharp.
"You are rather sensitive for a 'high-functioning sociopath'. Geez, I wasn't being sarcastic – I mean it." Ayra laughed, shaking her head. "Sherlock, I can see why the things on your website can fly over people's head… but it actually all made sense."
"What, you can't be serious." John scoffed. "Telling apart a pilot by their left thumb?"
"Being a pilot means pushing most controls using your thumb. I would recon it is faster in reflex than most, particularly the left one." Ayra suggested, making John widen his eyes.
"That is exactly the reason." Sherlock chirped in, a rare smile on his face. "Most aren't bright enough to notice."
"I'm not most." Ayra made a sour face, flipping her hair back. Without warning Sherlock rose from the wooden chair and reached for his coat, wrapping his usual coarse blue scarf around his neck.
"Fancy going to the bank?" Sherlock spoke, looking at John and Ayra.
"The bank?" John asked, slowly getting up from his seat.
"Eww, I would think you'd choose a case more interesting than money laundering or embezzlement." Ayra crunched her nose, nonetheless picking up her bag from the floor.
"I believe it's neither of those." Sherlock commented, swiftly heading out the door.
Ayra tapped her fingers on her thighs impatiently, looking around the office. The office was practically the size of her apartment, overlooking the beautiful London skyline. From the decorations, she could gather this was a young man's office – with modern designer furniture and sleek gadgets. She blew out a breath and turned around when she heard the door to the office open.
"Sherlock Holmes" A man strutted in, in a very expensive suit and cocky smile plastered on his face. Ayra couldn't help but roll her eyes – she already knew the type and she loathed it.
Sherlock gets up from his seat and extend his hand, with both of other man's hand around his. Typical exertion of power. "Sabastian."
"Howdy buddy. How long has it been since I last clapped eyes on you, eight years?" He gloated. So they were in school together – undoubtedly Cambridge with his diploma hanging on the wall. Without replying, Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the man, and Ayra could already sense the dislike – and she couldn't blame him.
"This is my friend, John Watson." Sherlock said briskly, watching Sabastian's eyes bewilder.
"Friend?" He emphasizes, looking at John, and then finally at Ayra. She closed her eyes in frustration when he noticed the way he was looking at her, his mouth slightly parted – if only she could stab him in that smug face of his.
"Colleague." John corrected awkwardly.
"This a colleague too then?" he asked, his hand extended out to Ayra. She exaggerated her eye roll, making sure he could see it.
"No, friend." Ayra said, a bitter smile on her face. She could visibly see his spirits crush, something she thoroughly enjoy. From the corner of her eyes she saw Sherlock eyeing her curiously, making her smile.
"Right then…" Sabastian takes his seat, blowing out a breath of frustration. "Well, grab a phew. D'you need anything? Coffee? Water?"
"No thank you." John answered while both Ayra and Sherlock shook their head. Ayra didn't know what case he had, but she already regretted coming here. Men like Sabastian were something to make a bad day worse.
"So, you're doing well. Been abroad a lot." Sherlock commented, making Ayra curious as to how he pointed that out. Without making it obvious, she flicks her eyes over the man, her eyes stopping at the watch. The time was wrong, and it seemed eleven hours ahead.
"Well, some." Sabastian commented, all too proud of himself. His gaze flicks over at Arya again, his eyes filled with disbelief.
"Flying all around the world, twice in one month?" Sherlock said, a fake smile on his chiseled face. John looked up at Sherlock, his expression at confusion while Sabastian just begins laughing, pointing at Sherlock.
"Right, you're doing that thing." Sabastian said, pushing his back against the chair. "We were in uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."
"It's not a trick." Sherlock snapped, his eyes dropping ins frustration.
"He could look at you and tell you your whole life's story." Sabastian laughed.
"Yes, I've seen him do it." John replied politely, trying to counteract the rudeness of Sherlock and Ayra combined.
"Put the wind up on everybody. We hated him." He said, making Ayra clench her fist. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? She bit the inside of her lip nervously, tapping her fingers on her thighs again. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Sherlock look down, his eyes momentarily filled with pain, only making her clench her fist harder.
Sherlock was no sociopath that people thought he was – and everyone took advantage of the act he put up… and it was simply… so frustrating. She didn't need to know how much Sabastian donated to charity… she already hated him.
"You'd come down to breakfast at the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night." Sabastian said.
"To whom, you?" Ayra commented, making John kick her in the foot under the table. "I'm sorry you don't strike me as the type to get any in college-"
"You're rather rude." Sabastian commented, a malicious grin on his face. Ayra pulled her phone out of her pocket, washing him out.
"Wonderful. We have something in common." She answered, her tone bored.
That wasn't necessary. SH
Did I ever tell you that watching the life die from a douche's eyes is my favorite hobby. And you don't need to thank me bebe ;) AC
"Anyhoo. I'm glad you could make it over. We had a break-in." Sabastian said, getting up from his chair and leading them out of the office. Ayra maintained a safe distance away from him scanning around the bustling cubicles around her.
"Sir Williams office – the banks former chairman. The room has been left here like a sort of a memorial. Someone broke in late last night." Sabastian informed. Ayra looked around her, her eyes automatically going to the surveillance tapes.
"What did they steal?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing, just left a message." Sabastian said as he pulled out a security card to scan on the door, pulling it open. Inside lay an antique, pure mahogany wood desk with a painted portrait of an old man in a suit. Yet on top of the painting, lay a horizontal stripe over the man's eyes, and a shape resembling the number '8', both tagged in yellow spray paint.
Ayra carefully dug the corner of her nails, biting along the safe spot of her nails. Her gaze was fixated on the footage, while dick-head operated the video. "Sixty seconds apart". Sabastian informed, showing the footage of a man spraying the graffiti on the portrait, and the next minute he vanished into thin air. "So, someone came up here middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."
"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked, biting his lower lip.
"Well, that's where this gets really interesting." Sabastian noted. "Every floor open in this bank, gets logged in the lobby system. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."
"And it shows that the door didn't open last night." Sherlock said.
"So, you think it's an inside job." Ayra said thoughtfully. "That's stupid considering they just left a message for someone and this is one of the top banks in Europe."
"There is a hole in our security system. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." Sabastian reaches for the inside of his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope and handing it to Sherlock. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."
"I don't need an incentive, Sabastian." Sherlock chewed out, pushing him aside and walking past. Ayra widened her eyes and John, who quickly reached for the check.
"He's obviously only kidding you." John chuckled nervously. "May I look after that for him." Without a word, Sabastian hands John the envelop, simply standing there to be ignored.
"I can't wrap my head around this possibility." Sabastian said, his face laced with a cocky malice.
"What possibility?" Ayra asked, arching her eyebrow.
"I mean you and him." he said, coming closer to her. Ayra moved back slightly and crooked her eyebrows in annoyance, growing weary. "Is there, a, um, number I can contact-"
"What number?" John asked cluelessly, as it took him a second to click, "Wait a minute-"
"Excuse me? Do you think I'm a fucking escort?" Ayra exclaimed, her internal gears ready to rip this guy apart with her bare hands.
"I mean no offense…" He stuttered. "It's just… we called him a virgin freak." Ayra let out a sharp sigh and shook her head in disbelief, looking at John and putting a hand on his chest to stop him.
"I'd would much rather, no sorry… I would most certainly always fuck Sherlock over any sort of man resembling your character." Ayra said, pulling John away. "Food for thought – this is perhaps why you need to seek the comfort of high-end escorts and sugar babies without ever consenting into a meaningful relationship; coming home to your vast loft, completely empty like it's always going to be."
Without looking back, Ayra dragged John away with her towards the escalator without batting an eye. John on the other hand remained completely baffled. Sensing his confusion, Ayra looked down and smiled, the dimples in her cheeks deepening.
"You are an absolute nutter, you know that?" John said, the corner of his lips perking. "Can you fucking believe the nerve on that lad? Calling you a prostitute, and in front of me at that… the audacity rich people think they are entitled to, am I'right?."
"I know." Ayra said. "I really hate men like him, so fucking much."
"Well, he certainly has a lasting impression." John said, nodding his head. "Utter cock."
"Take of that suit and you'd have a real hard time finding that prick of his." Ayra commented, crooking her eyebrows. "It's the low self-esteem that makes him act that way."
"Sherlock always shows off." John said.
"But he is anything but shit at what he does. Personality… a bit shaky." Ayra said, crossing her arms, a bright smile on her face. "But sometimes it's actually endearing, and his beautiful face makes up for it."
"You may be the first person, ever, to say that." John said chuckling. "That would freak Sherlock out and he would want to act like more of a prick."
"Open the envelop – the only thing that shit will ever be good for is money." Ayra said, leaning over John's shoulder to see a rather impression balance. John closed the envelop and looked up, letting out an exasperated breath.
"My god-" John murmured. "That… will certainly… pay all the bills." Ayra looked at the hefty amount on the check and shoved John, raising her eyebrows.
"Might just put out to him for this money." Ayra said, wrinkling her nose with a mischievous smile. "Mamma has a shopping habit to maintain."
"I might put out too." John said, striding down like a soldier would, his back straight and paces fast. "Yet I can't help but notice you have a special hatred for finance men in suits."
Ayra's smile disappeared, turning into a deep frown. "Unfortunately, I've made some dire mistakes in college, and I'm just trying learn from my mistakes. I just took an aggressive tone."
"Everyone made dire mistakes in uni." John commented. "It's right of passage."
Ayra bit her lower lip nervously. She has made dire mistakes alright, but now was the time for her to fix herself. She looked down, her hands shaking. She squinted her eyes close and took in a sharp breath through her nose. If she doesn't get her shit together, she is done for.
Ayra walked into a strange scene – everyone at the office looking at Sherlock, while he kept ducking and prancing around the floor. The entire time his concentration was fixed on the graffiti ahead.
"What in the bloody hell is he doing?" John asked, his eyebrows shot up.
"Trying to determine who this message was meant for." Arya said. "Sir William is dead – this message was left for someone who will get a direct view to it when they enter their office."
"You know, sometimes it freaks me out that you're just like him." John said.
"I'm not like him." Ayra said, shaking her head. "I'm just far more observant than most. And I like to consider myself a profiler… look at people's personality – and I can't say if they smoke a certain type of cigarette by the residue left on their clothing."
"Chose a good course for yourself." John commented, nodding his head.
"Couldn't think myself doing anything else." Ayra said, noticing Sherlock found the office he was looking for, a smile of determination on his face. Ayra and John move behind him, checking on the name of Edward Van Coon.
Sherlock took the placard and shoved it in his pocket, tilting his head in motion to leave.
"Two trips around the world in one month; how'd you know?" John asked as Sherlock smiled in response.
"Ayra why don't you explain." Sherlock said, turning around and giving her a charming smile.
"His watch." Ayra said, narrowing her eyes. "The date and time was wrong- it was set 12 hours ahead."
"And crossed the deadline twice but he didn't alter it." Sherlock said. "The one month part – New Breitling, just came out this February."
"Should we stay around and sniff a little longer." John suggested.
"I already got what I needed, thanks." Sherlock said.
"Edward Van Coon – that's the name you found for the message." Ayra said. "But there are three hundred people working in that floor, so how'd you narrow it down so quickly?"
"Pillars and cubicles narrow the field considerably, only leading to one office." Sherlock noted. "And traders work around the clock, so someone with trading with Hong Kong, like Van Coon, would come into the office at midnight."
"Only leaving the message for him." Ayra said, stopping at the sidewalk.
"Exactly." Sherlock said, adding a wink. "Now, there can't be that many Van Coons in the phone book – Taxi!"
Sherlock impatiently buzzed the doorbell to Van Coon's apartment, looking up at the security camera's.
"So, what do we do, just stand around and wait for him to come back?" John asked, tapping his foot. Ayra moved them aside, pointing up to the handwritten label on the top.
"I think they just moved in." Ayra said. "It's handwritten."
"They could have just replaced it." John suggested.
"No one does that." Sherlock added, putting his finger on the buzzer above and turning around to Ayra. "How good are you at improvising."
"You know I'm good, otherwise you wouldn't ask." Arya said, smiling mischievously and giving him a sly wink. Sherlock smiled proudly in response and pressed the buzzer, making a fine attempt to appear approachable and pulling Ayra into the camera view.
"Hello?" A woman's voice came from the other side.
"Um, hi. We live in the flat below you. I-I don't think we've met." Sherlock said, his voice bitterly sweet.
"No, well, uh, I've just moved in." the woman responded, making Sherlock throw in another smile.
"Actually, sorry to disturb you, but my boyfriend here lost his keys and I left my copy back in my apartment." Ayra said, throwing in a nervous smile for spice.
"Do you want me to buzz you in?" the woman asked.
"Yes please." Sherlock replied. "And can we use your balcony?"
"What?!"