Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Two
"Just Take a Look"
Shad Sanderson Investment Bank
"So," Sherlock says conversationally, "you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot."
Seb shrugs. "Well, some. Not nearly as much as Annie-belle there, I assure you."
"I've been in London for the past six months," Anabeth quips with some spite. She never did like that nickname. "And before that I was strictly in Virginia. Family business and all."
"Flying all the way around the world twice in a month," Sherlock continues.
Sebastian scoffs. "Right. You're doing that thing. Yeah, we were at uni together," he says to the other two. "This guy here had a trick he used to do."
"It's not a trick," Sherlock breathed.
"Annie-belle did something similar. No where near as impressive as this guy." Anabeth rolls her eyes. "This guy could look at you and tell your whole life's story."
"Yes," John says, nodding once with a glance at Sherlock. "I've seen him do it."
"Put the wind up everybody," Seb continues. "We hated him. We'd come down to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."
"I simply observed."
"Go on. Enlighten me. Two trips all the way around the world. You're quite right. How could you tell? You're going to tell me there's a stain on my tie from a certain kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?"
"No. I-"
"Bet it was the mud on my shoes."
"Actually," Quinn snaps harshly. "We were talking to you secretary just outside. She told us."
That wiped the know-it-all smile off Seb's face. Embarassed once again.
"I'm glad you could make it over, we've had a break in." He stands and leads the out of the office. "Sir William's office. The bank's former chairman. It's been left here like a sort of memorial. It was broken into last night."
"What did they steal?" John asks.
"Nothing," Seb says stopping briefly. "They just left a little message."
Anabeth nods as she looks around. Keycard entry.
Seb stopped in the middle of the office with that same tight-lipped know-it-all smirk (how did Anabeth find him attractive?) flanked by John and Sherlock. Anabeth took her time coming into the office, pausing briefly when she saw the message; a squiggly almost eight topped with a straight line on the wall and a straight line over the eyes of the painting.
The men left a moment later leaving Anabeth alone. After a glance around the office, she sits in the plush rolling chair, closing her eyes and clasping her hands together save for her forefingers which she pressed to her lips.
That's how Sherlock found her upon his return.
"Bored?"
"Thinking." Her icy eyes flashed open to catch his intrigued gaze.
"What do you see?"
"Let us start from the beginning, yes?" Quinn stands and goes to the floor length windows, openind one and stepping onto the balcony. "Keycard entry. Seb did not mention any unusual late night visits, so the intruder came in through the window. Obviously. Meaning he is athletic, it is a pretty high climb." She leans over the edge a slight smile on her face.
"He came in at 11: 33 and left a minute later."
She straightens and flashes him a smile before walking back in side. "Must be dealing with a professional then, hmm?" She points to the paint. "The message was left for someone whom comes in at midnight. Again, obvious." She stands in front of the paining and turns on her heel, well balls of her feet. "Most likely someone in that line of sight."
Sherlock stays to take a few pictures before he bounces out to figure out who the message was to.
"Two trips around the world this month," John says when they're reunited. "You didn't talk to his secretary. You said that just irritate him."
Anabeth shrugs. "Damn skippy. He called me Annie-belle."
"How did you know?"
"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock wonders.
"His watch?"
"The time is right but the date is wrong," the detective continues. "Said two days ago. Crossed the date line twice but didn't alter it."
"Within a month. How did you get that part?" John wonders.
"New Breitling," Anabeth answers. "Only came out this February. Bought my brother and his husband both one as their wedding presents."
"Okay," John says. "So do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"
"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."
"Hmm?"
"The graffiti was a message. Someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient. and.."
"He'll lead us to the intruder," Anabeth finishes.
"Obvious."
"There is three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John questions.
"Pillars."
"What?"
"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."
"Does it?"
"Course," Anabeth breathes. "Traders come to work at all hours."
"Precisely. Some even trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was left for someone who came in at midnight. Not many Van Coon's in the phonebook."
Taxi on the way to Eddie Van Coon's Flat
"How did you know Sebastian?" Sherlock asked as he stared out the window. "I wouldn't figure you for a girl with that taste in men."
"Still certain I'm not a call girl?" Anabeth shrugs and looks straight ahead. "I'm not normally. I met him at a pub after work. Of course, back then I didn't do what I do now. I guess we hit it off. Dated for about half a year, before his wife called the number on his phone. I might have made a scene when I dumped him. Momma raised me right. I wasn't gonna be the mistress."
The taxi pulled to a stop outside the building the flat was located in and the trio piled out. Anabeth ran ahead and buzzed him.
"So what do we do now?" John asks, after it was apparent Van Coon wasn't in.
"Just moved in," Sherlock says.
"Hmm?"
Sherlock points the label above Van Coon's. "The floor above. New Label."
"Could've just replaced it," John answers.
Anabeth gave him a strange look as Sherlock buzzed the floor above. "No one does that."
"Hello?"
Sherlock perks up. "Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."
"No, well, uh I just moved in."
Sherlock shot John an I-told-you-so look. "Actually, I just locked my keys in my flat."
"Want me to buzz you in?"
Sherlock bit his lip. "Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"
"What?"
Anabeth sprints down the hall, he speed unhindered by the four inch wedged platforms on her feet.
"How can you run in the those?" John calls out from behind her. He walks much more civilly trying not to draw attention to himself.
"Oh, I can do a lot more than just run in these," Anabeth quips suggestively.
The innuendo causes John to falter briefly, which gives Anabeth just enough time to pick the lock and slip in flat before the door shuts behind her, unbeknownst to her automatically locking behind her.
She's standing in the living room, her eyes closed, when Sherlock finds her.
"How did you get in here?"
She smiles. "I picked the lock. Much faster. Be nice and I'll teach you one day."
"Nice to know," he mumbled as he takes his turn around the flat.
Champagne in the wine chiller. Likes to celebrate.
John buzzed for their attention. "Sherlock, Anabeth?" He buzzed again. "Sherlock, are you okay?"
They ignored him, moving deeper into the flat.
Expensive hand soap in the bathroom. Bought for his girlfriend, no doubt.
Anabeth turns to say something to the detective, only to see him bust the bedroom door open.
"I could've picked that," she says passively following him into the room. They pause at the sight of Eddie Van Coon lying dead on his bed. "It is not a suicide."
Sherlock turned to Quinn with a slight look of admiration. "Yes. How did you know that?"
Anabeth smirked and tapped her nose. "You're a detective. Detect."
