Chapter 4

The following day Sherlock had outlined a boring to do list for Lestrade; amongst the instructions were checking all phone records, internet histories and anything else that could link how the two victims had originally met. Sherlock meanwhile was more interested in Blitz, and surfing on the web, he examined their website. On the surface, it seemed respectably quirky, just an average bar with a handful of theme nights a month. But that didn't make it anything special. There was more to find, Sherlock was sure of it.

Lestrade soon phoned him back with the results. Neither Peter nor Jennifer visited dating websites or anything online that could indicate the origin of their relationship. In fact the pair were pretty ordinary, boring as Sherlock thought privately. They had the job, the nice flat, the Sky subscription and yet an unusual sexual fetish. As it drew on to the later hours of the night, Sherlock was finding it all mindnumbingly tedious. As the rain poured down outside, both he and John found themselves at a loose end.

"This is a vacuous day," Sherlock groaned, getting up from the laptop, his hands ruffling through his hair in frustration. He flung himself on the sofa and examined the ceiling. "There must be something in their boring existences that could give us a clue."

John came forward and placed himself at the laptop, the Blitz website still being open. He himself was intrigued by the place and began having a look around.

"It doesn't look like the place we were in," John noted.

"Bored." Sherlock replied.

As John browsed the website, he was curious about any affiliates or sponsors, he felt it must have something for it to be such a boom. He clicked and soon found something he thought was interesting.

"Sherlock," he said but he got no response, and before he could speak again Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock practically jumped up.

"News!" he said gladly and then answered the phone. "Hello?"

There was a crackling and a heavy sigh that sounded distant from the phone.

"Hello? Who's speaking?"

"Mr Holmes," an unknown voice said.

"Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"You need to come and get me," the emotionless voice continued.

"Where are you? What's your name?"

"I'm lying on a hotel bed."

"Which hotel?"

"It's getting difficult to breathe." The voice said now with a touch of sardonic laughter. "But you see, I'm dead."

Before Sherlock could say more, the line went dead. John looked at Sherlock, who for a second seemed in stasis. Then like lightning, Sherlock leapt up and bounded across the room with a spring in his step.

"John!" he called as he headed out the door; John took one last look at the laptop screen and then followed Sherlock.

The taxi was moving slowly in the traffic but Sherlock was looking on his phone for hotels.

"There are hundreds of hotels, Sherlock," John pointed out.

"But it's likely our friend went there after going to Blitz, it fits the pattern. Now if it were for a sexual encounter, it would be a hotel nearby, so if I narrow down the search to the hotels in a mile's radius… Let's see! Aha! A Premier Inn, a five minute walk from Blitz!"

Sherlock instructed the driver to head to the hotel.

"You could be right about the sexual encounters," John admitted.

"What have you found?"

"On the website, it says it's affiliated with a channel on Sky that goes by the name of FlirtFetish. It's one of those channels were people can text in, leave photos and answer phone messages. It's essentially an opportunity for someone who wants sex to find a partner for the night."

"That's what Blitz is. It's a safe haven, a public place to meet someone you've never met before prior to spending the night with them."

"It's actually more responsible than some of these channels were people just arrange to meet blindly," John said.

Sherlock looked at John curiously.

"I mean if you're into that type of thing," John clarified.

"Jennifer and Peter both subscribed to Sky and I bet this fellow does too; that's how our murderer is finding them. He's not seeing them at Blitz, he's stalking the chat channel, likely posing as someone looking for an assignation," Sherlock mused.

"But Peter and Jennifer were in a relationship already when they were killed. Surely it would be easier to pick off single people? "

"Likely the original intention. Perhaps the sight of these two finding something beyond sexual gratification was repulsive to the murderer."

"But that still doesn't explain how they are phoning when they are dead," John said.

Sherlock browbeat the receptionist until she gave him a list of possible rooms. Then the room was located by calling the rooms and checking out each one in which the phone call was unanswered. Sherlock entered the room while John called Lestrade. Everything seemed as usual in the room, aside from a man in his early twenties sprawled out unnaturally on the bed. He was wearing make up and was clad in stockings, suspenders and a dress. A make up-smeared pillow rested by the side of his head and John soon deemed asphyxiation to be the cause of death.

"Dead for about two hours," Sherlock said, examining the body all over. "Alcohol on the breath, shaping of the feet suggests frequent wearing of heels, fingernails pristinely painted so has been repeatedly done, gay…"

"How do you know he was gay?"

"Two scents of aftershave. One is his, the other isn't."

Sherlock darted over to the original set of clothes worn by the man.

"They are wet but not soaking, so likely they walked here but not far. They walked from Blitz."

"His driving licence says Carl Vine, 24 years old."

"Our killer is a man."

…..

Lestrade arrived and Anderson gave Sherlock an unwelcome reception after finding he had (in his view) tampered with the crime scene. After making their deductions Sherlock and John headed back out and soon John found himself standing outside Blitz again.

The bar was busy though the crowd showed signs of ebbing. Sherlock instructed John to go and ask the bar staff if a man of Vines' description had been in. He however was looking for something entirely different.

"Hi," a woman said flirtatiously, sidling to his left side. She winked one heavily mascara'd eye. "Nice coat."

"Thank you."

"You here on your own?"

"No," Sherlock replied not looking at her but instead scanning the room.

"Shall we get a drink?" the woman said again, flicking his coat collar to get his attention.

"No. But you might want to try those men at that table, they look interested in you," he replied nonchalantly and walked off leaving the woman surprised by his exit.

Sherlock did not absorb the lustful looks in people's faces as they eyed one another up in the bar; if any such looks were sent his way he didn't pay any attention. He knew the murderer would not be here now, though, and in truth he didn't know what he was looking for exactly.

"Hello again," said a voice near to him. He turned and saw before him a tall, slender blonde young woman who he remembered as Anna, the barmaid. Tonight though, she was dressed in a fitted black dress, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves, and her face shaded with expertly-applied make up. She looked normal, but all this was merely a passing millisecond to Sherlock.

"Hello."

"You came on a more normal night this time. You seem more at home."

"You are here on your night off," he observed.

"I like it here."

So she was just like all the others. His impression from the other day was right.

"Is it safe meeting people here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"FlirtFetish."

"Oh," she said, eying him. "Why? Are you meeting someone?"

"No."

Anna caught sight of John at the bar and she nodded.

"Your friend's with you again."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "How might you tell on a night like this who you were meeting?"

"Well, there is a number system at the bar if you want, so you say might get 121 and text that to who you're meeting, then when they arrive they can go to the bar say the number and 121 will flash on the plasma screens. Then you come to the bar and meet."

"Do many people follow this procedure?"

"About half." "And the other half?"

"I don't know. Maybe they describe what they are wearing, or wait outside. They tend to be the shyer ones."

"Are there many people who come regularly, looking for a different… partner each time?"

"Yeah."

"What about those looking for something specialist?"

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on!" Anna said.

"Yours friends, Jennifer and Peter, have been murdered."

"I know. I read it in the paper."

"We've just found another young man's body this evening. He was here earlier tonight."

"Was he a cross dresser?" Anna asked.

"Yes."

Suddenly Anna's phone vibrated and she took it out. Sherlock watched her as she read her message. He noticed a faint smile coming over her lips then it dropped when she sensed him watching her.

"I have to go. Nice to see you again, Sherlock."

She turned to walk away, as she did so the distance gave Sherlock a better view of her person, in particular this evening her slender yet shapely legs were on display, heightened by a pair of red stilletos. Another man would have registered the need to copulate with her, but Sherlock confined her to another millisecond of deeming her attractive and that was all.

John returned and filled Sherlock in on the bar staff's knowledge of Vine's movements that evening.

"He left with a young man about the same age as him, with dark hair, heavy stubble, about six foot tall."

"He isn't the murderer. Our murderer is short."

"Could they be a team? One is a plant to lure them in?" John suggested. Both started to notice one of the bar staff talking to two bouncers and looking in their direction.

"This game John is tactically played," Sherlock said and they walked towards the fire escape. "But for now I think it's time to go."

The bouncers moved in their direction, but they passed through the fire escape door and were lost to them. The pair walked around the back of the bar. Suddenly a figure passed in front of them. The figure started.

"Oh God!" she cried. It was Anna.

"Sorry!" John said. "Oh hello!"

"Hello," she said with a strange smile and then walked off, what surprised John but not Sherlock was that not ten seconds later a man emerged from the same spot rearranging his clothes. He couldn't meet their eye and walked off quickly, red with embarrassment.

"That girl is quite interesting," John mused.

"Hmmm," Sherlock replied and soon the pair mingled with the shadows to return home.