"So you're really not eating anything," Nancy deadpanned. Sherlock lifted his eyes up to meet hers for just a moment, his hands pressed together and held against his chin. Then his icy glare moved back out the window of the café. Dawn was just beginning light the city in a misty glow.
"Alright then. Doesn't bother me," she continued, unfazed, spooning through her scrambled eggs. "Now, look," her mouth was a bit full, but she went on, "clearly there's some mysterious business going on here, and we were brought together to get to the bottom of it. So we're going to work together. To start, I think you should tell me more about this Moriarty."
Sherlock was fairly certain he'd never known anyone so intrusive or so utterly at ease in his presence, and frankly it was a bit disarming. He thought perhaps he should give the girl a show of his character so she'd repel like everyone else.
"To start, Miss Drew, I think you should be careful with whom you form alliances. With the loss of your parent, probably your mother, I can understand why you've formed such overzealous confidence to compensate for your inner lack of a foundation. But I imagine your father has spoiled you into believing that you're terribly clever, and in the past your cleverness has always gotten you out of any tight spot. I want to warn you that what we're dealing with is not a game. You may have solved a thousand riddles in the past, but there are human beings in this world with minds that don't know mercy, and won't stop trying to ruin you until their dying breath." He paused, willing his heartbeat to steady, but not allowing himself to look away from Nancy's unwavering stare. "There are no second chances when you play games with people like Moriarty. You'd be better off going home immediately."
Nancy Drew stared at the other detective calmly, taking a small breath before she began. "You're wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"Your analysis of me. It's wrong. My mother is dead, but it hasn't made me hard. It taught me what pain feels like, and what it means to be really broken. And my father's response taught me that even the strongest, most clever person can still feel just as deeply. And it only makes me understand people, and why they leave behind mysteries and puzzles for someone they love after they're gone. Or why some people chose to commit a crime. A little trust, understanding…it really helps in this business, I've found." She let a smirk cross her lips. "But I am clever."
Sherlock blinked at her. Had he ever been wrong before?
A tinny descending piano scale and a vibrate buzz broke both their concentration. "Sorry, that's my phone," Nancy muttered.
She answered the call without looking and pressed her cell to her ear. "Nancy Drew."
"Good morning Miss Drew." The voice was garbled, talking through a vocal-changer, low and menacing. "Just wanted to check in and let you know that I'm right here, watching you, waitingfor the choice moment. There's no where you can run to, so don't try." The voice laughed then, a terrible, freakish chuckle. "Better stay close to him, or it might be the end for you. You won't get a medal for outsmarting me this time; you'll just get a gravestone. See you soon."
She slowly lowered the phone, a look of fear frozen over her features.
"May I ask…" Sherlock prompted. She told him what the voice said, and he listened intently, filing away every nuance, every casual word for future reference.
"What does he mean by 'this time?'" he asked finally.
"Well, let's just say there are a lot of people out there who don't like me."
"Someone you got into trouble. And now they're back to torment you."
"Sounds likely," she groaned.
"And they were inspired by Moriarty's work. A master when it comes to ruining detectives," Sherlock mumbled, almost to himself. In truth, he was so used to speaking to himself, that Nancy's actual responses were somewhat unwarranted.
"I need to think. I'm going home. Perhaps we could meet up again later." Sherlock stood and started to walk away from the table, leaving Nancy gawking after him.
"That's it? Hey, hold on! I don't even have your number. And someone just threatened me to stay close to you!"
"Not my problem." Sherlock had, of course, already looked through Nancy's phone and retrieved her number when she wasn't looking. It was a habit. He hopped in the first cab outside and disappeared.
Nancy was certain she'd never met anyone so rude, and made a mental note to ask him an annoying amount of questions later just to spite him. Grudgingly, she paid the bill and headed back to Bridget's apartment, where she let herself fall instantly into a dream-filled sleep.
Sherlock paced his apartment while holding his laptop with one hand and plucking at the keys with the other. He couldn't be bothered to sit down. He searched every aspect of Nancy Drew's public history, and was annoyed to find she didn't exist on any social media sites. One point: Drew, he found himself thinking. Her case record was rather impressive, for a young girl with no formal training. She seemed to find a mystery wherever she went, and never left any open ends. He was just about to read about the time she was arrested for arson when his phone rang.
Blocked number.
A little bolt of adrenaline, and he connected the call.
"Sherlock Holmes." The same garbled voice sneered. "I'd like to see what you're really worth. How much do you care about solving a case? You can answer my question my going to the doorstep, and picking up the package. Inside, you'll find the only copy of the surveillance video, missing from the night of Joshua Bennet's murder. The culprit is clearly visible, and I'm sure Scotland Yard would have no trouble putting him away. But here's the catch!" the voice laughed and sent a chill down Sherlock's spine. "Watch the tape, even once, and Nancy Drew dies. Destroy the tape, and she lives. Good luck."
The line died and Sherlock's eyes drifted to his front door. At this time of day, no one would have thought it suspicious if someone left a package there. He knew there was no way of tracing its origin. He slowly opened the door, picked up a brown paper package, and brought it back inside, gingerly setting it down on the end table he used for everything. Then, he climbed into his chair, pulled his knees up to his chin, and stared at the package as if it were a most engrossing film. A nagging pull from deep within was telling him to watch the tape immediately, and then send it away to the police, and enjoy his anonymous recognition as the nameless hero of the case. It was what he wanted all along. What was Nancy Drew to him? And perhaps the voice on the phone was only bluffing, and she would be safe either way. Could he risk something like that for his own vanity?
Nancy woke up suddenly to her phone signaling that she had a text.
4433 Harrowgate rd
East London
Need your opinion.
-SH
She rolled her eyes. Naturally, he'd gotten a hold of her number, and expected her to just drop everything and…well, she was Nancy Drew. How could she not?
She pulled out her map of London and sighed at how far away he was, but hailed a cab and made her way to his apartment. When she knocked on the door, she was met by him yelling "Open!"
"What is that?" she pointed at the package he was still staring at.
"It is the pinnacle of your fate."
"Seriously."
"I am being perfectly serious."
"You said you wanted my opinion?" She took off her jacket, making herself at home on the armrest of his chair. He glared up at her sideways.
"Yes. I received this package along with a phone call, which detailed that this is the surveillance tape of Joshua Bennet's murder."
Nancy's face lit up with sudden enthusiasm.
"The caller went on to explain that should we watch this tape, or send it off as evidence, you will be killed."
"You're joking."
"I told you already I am being perfectly—"
"And you called me here to ask me what I wanted to do with the tape?"
Sherlock found himself just a bit confused, and maybe a bit regretful of having called her at all, but then nodded. "Precisely."