Chapter 3
John quickly returned with the plate of chips and some fresh seasoning to go along. "Find anythi-"
There was no one in the room, down to the dusty corners.
John adjusted the bag of chips on his arm and sighed. He started briskly walking throughout the church, stopping only to take a peek into each room. "Sherlock?" He called, stopping at the fifth door that he came across.
"Over here," Came the somewhat quiet reply from the corner. Sherlock was inspecting the dusty piano in the corner, stalking around the piano and taking a look at it from all angles.
"Any… deductions?" John asked. "Where's Lestrade?"
"He is outside, talking to the manager who was in charge of this whole shindig. As for me, I have absolutely confirmed that it's a poisonous gas that did the killing. Musty atmosphere and decay in the corners of the room have confirmed it. As it's been several days since the party, most traces of it are gone." Sherlock faced John. "Chips, please."
"Hm? Oh, yes." John handed over the chips and a bottle of water. They sat down at an abandoned table and ate, abruptly interrupted by Lestrade a few minutes later.
"Sherlock? We've got the manager for you. He would like to talk to you."
"Oh, would he?" Sherlock murmured. With a curt nod towards John, he walked to the door. John trailed behind him, giving Lestrade the remainder of the chips as they both exited the church.
"Mister Holmes!" The shout came from a stout, potbellied man standing right outside the great wooden doors.
"Sherlock. The name's Sherlock." Sherlock said as he shook hands with a disdainful look at the short, unhygienic man.
"Terribly sorry," The man said as John threw Sherlock a cutting look, although he paid no notice. "My name is Cary Guaire, and I was the one managing the party. "Shocking thing, you know, to find out that the same people you recently talked to for a party. Broke my heart- I knew many of those people." The man spoke with a thick Scottish accent.
"But you had no interest for going to the party?"
"Ah, no. I'm not a big one for parties. And the guest list was quite exclusive, I wouldn't have been invited otherwise. Guess I was lucky."
"Indeed," Sherlock muttered. "The crew?"
"Not very intimidating or suspicious. About a hundred crew members, give or take ten."
"For a party of seventeen?"
"Yes, yes. As I told you, the party was very fancy and very exclusive. Plus, we had your regular cleanup crew at the church there to clean things up afterwards."
"And nobody else died?" John was keen to know."
"Not a soul. Then again, nobody came to clean up after the party, as far as I can tell. Came back the next morning, though."
"Excellent, excellent," Sherlock smiled.
"Excellent? We've got a serial killer on our hands!" Guaire was shocked by Sherlock's demeanor.
"Shouldn't take us long, then?" Sherlock turned around and faced John. "John, get a cab. We're going back to the flat."
"Got your evidence?" Sherlock proceeded to hold up a bag with a sliver of tarnished wood and a vial of what appeared to be nothing.
"Great." John gave a nod to Lestrade, then walked to the nearest street with Sherlock following close behind him. He flagged down a taxi and the two men got in."
"So, what do you think?" John asked after a long, yet not awkward, silence.
"I've already told you everything. Pay attention. Let's make a stop by St. Bart's first, meet up with Molly and get some work done. It's important for the research."
"Obviously, or you wouldn't still be talking about it," John said under his breath.
Sherlock said nothing, just smiled and looked away until the duo reached St. Bart's.