Title: Quod Erat Facendium (QEF)
Pairings: Lestrade/OFC. The rest is simply friendship unless you want to read between the lines.
Warnings: Rated M for dark themes. Violence, nonconsensual drug use, captivity and references to past abuse especially in even numbered chapters. If you have triggers for same you might want to avoid. Some language. Both Q and John tend to use obscure words. Unbeta'd and not Brit picked. I apologize in advance for any anachronisms, grammar errors and/or typos. Author's notes, if any, will appear at the end of each chapter.
Standard Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I am merely playing with them for my own as well as your amusement. I own no rights. I make no profit.
Chapter 3 – Clues
We piled into the car. Sherlock, Shirley and I in the back; James in the front; Not-Anthea driving. All was silent as we took off. I could tell Shirley was tense but Sherlock was practically vibrating. I couldn't tell if it was worry about his brother or just a variant of his normal agitation when he had no data to process but expected some shortly. Judging from his face was most likely a combination of the two. Shirley, on the other hand, was harder for me to read but then again I'd only met her twice before. There was concern along with something else I couldn't identify. Watching her out of the corner of my eye I caught the moment when she seemed to come to a decision.
"Abagail?" She addressed her comment to our driver.
"Yes?"
Interesting. Mycroft's PA had told me once she changed her name every two weeks or so just to keep in practice. So how did Shirley know Not-Anthea's correct nom-de-fortnight without asking?
"Can you reveal your mandate?" she asked conversationally.
"Yes."
Shirley's sigh sounded somewhat exasperated. "Please do so," she said.
"I am to deliver you, collectively, to your destination then to aid and assist in whatever way possible in the investigation." Abagail stated blandly.
"Without reservation?" Shirley asked.
"In whatever way possible," she confirmed with a distinct emphasis on the whatever.
I saw James' eyebrows go up slightly. "And what of your principal responsibility?" he asked.
Well that confirmed it. The more I associated with Mycroft's PA the more I was sure that she was also his bodyguard. His last line of defense against an attack.
"In a secure location for the duration," Abagail said matter-of-factly.
Sherlock snorted. "He's borrowing the PM's war room again," he announced to the group.
"You are aware that I can neither confirm nor deny that speculation," was her response.
"Not speculation. Deduction," Sherlock shot back immediately.
The conversation lagged at that point and Shirley pulled out her smart phone. It never ceased to amaze me the connections that Mycroft had. Not for the first time did I wonder what this minor governmental official did that allowed him to borrow the Prime Minister's ultra-secure, top secret communications bunker at a moment's notice?
Suddenly my phone buzzed. Abagail's blackberry, which was sitting on the dashboard in a cradle vibrated next followed by Sherlock's phone in his pocket. I looked at mine. It was a text containing a phone number.
Shirley said "Contact number. It will reach me at any time. I have acquired your numbers." She put her phone away.
We pulled up before a modern apartment building with a glassed in lobby and Abagail maneuvered the sedan into a spot almost directly in front of the door that was being vacated by a police car.
Shirley looked puzzled, "The investigatory team was behind us. This is..." She trailed off, blanching slightly.
"Lestrade's team," Sherlock supplied.
Sure enough through the glass I could see DI Lestrade, Donovan and a uniformed officer standing having a discussion in front of the lift. That meant that there was a body somewhere in the building.
Shirley slumped slightly then took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and said simply, "Go."
Bond was out on the sidewalk almost instantly. He took a quick scan of the vicinity then opened the door for Shirley. It was clear that he was using his body to block the obvious lines of potential sniper fire. Abagail was only slightly slower out of the car. She blocked Sherlock's access out of his side forcing him to scoot along the seat and follow me out. I took a quick look and agreed with James. Sniper fire would potentially come from only two places. I made sure that I would be in the way if anyone decided to take a pot shot at Sherlock.
Abagail moved to the door of the apartment complex and held it open for us. Lestrade's back was to us but Donovan spotted Sherlock and made a face. Then she spotted Shirley and her mouth dropped open. Predictably Lestrade caught both reactions and whirled. I could see he registered Shirley first with a bit of confusion. Then he registered Bond, Sherlock and I. Finally he noted Abagail holding the door and the clearly government car parked at the curb. At that point his face went into that completely blank official police mode that I'd seen him do when dealing with his superiors, politicians or other VIP's.
Shirley didn't let him get a word out. "Inspector Lestrade," she said putting the entire exchange on a professional footing immediately. "I have information for you," she continued as she looked around presumably for a place to have at least a semi-private conversation.
James caught her look and pointed with his chin at a nook containing the post boxes for the building. Shirley then grabbed Lestrade by the elbow and maneuvered him into the indicated area while Bond took up a stance between them and the rest of the lobby.
Sherlock walked up to Donovan. "So how are you involved freak?" she asked.
"I've been retained," was his response. "Has Anderson screwed up the crime scene yet?"
"The forensics folks are stuck in traffic," Donovan didn't sound too pleased.
"So he swapped you for someone younger and blonder in forensics." It wasn't a question. Sherlock was in fine form.
"Now listen freak," Donovan started and the sniping was well and truly joined.
I only kept tabs on it with half an ear. Just enough to tell if I needed to step in and defuse the situation before it came to blows. I was more interested in the conversation Shirley and Lestrade were having in the corner. She was talking earnestly at him and at speed. It didn't really look like she was getting anywhere because Lestrade was just standing there his face blandly attentive his body language restrained. The only other time I'd seen him look like that was just after Sherlock's death when both the media and his superiors were hounding him. I'd learned then that his default method of dealing with extreme emotion, especially anger, was to shut down and become excessively formal. It certainly looked like that was what he was doing now.
I glanced back at Sherlock and Donovan. They were still trading insults. She was refusing to let him look at the crime scene without proper authorization and he was deducing Anderson's new love interest from her reactions to his needling. Something was off however. He was continuing to annoy Donovan long after he'd managed to invoke her anger. Then it hit me. Sherlock only had part of his attention on the conversation. He'd also placed himself strategically so that Donovan's back was to the corner in which her boss was having his tete-a-tete with his maybe soon to be ex-girlfriend. Interesting. For a self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath Sherlock was showing an extreme degree of empathy for Lestrade's situation. He caught me looking and his eyes widened slightly. I gave him an approving smile then focused back on Lestrade and Shirley just in time to see her start to reach out to him and his minute head shake. They'd come to some sort of agreement then. Neither of them looked happy but at least they seemed to be able to work together. I wondered if that relationship would survive the investigation.
Conference over Shirley and Lestrade started back toward the rest of us. Shirley stopped and exchanged a few words with Bond as she headed toward the door. He didn't look pleased but he escorted her to the car presumably for delivery to MI6 by Abagail then reentered the lobby to join us.
In the meantime Lestrade had started talking to Sherlock. The yard had been called in when the building manager had found the body of an estate agent in the rubbish bin out back. There was a vacant flat on the third floor which accounted for the agent's presence in the building. By the time Bond reached the group Lestrade was explaining how they hadn't had time to do much more than secure the building and the back alley so Sherlock would have a relatively pristine scene to work with. "and judging from the blood the murder site is the stairwell. Looks like he was pushed." Lestrade paused a moment, "Used the estate agent to set up the kidnapping then."
"Of course," replied Sherlock, "You are not entirely dense Lestrade"
Bond had politely waited for the conversation to lull then addressed Sherlock, "I'm your liaison for the duration of this investigation." Sherlock looked sour. James merely raised an eyebrow "With you or after you, your choice Mr. Holmes."
"Up to you to keep up then," was Sherlock's gruff response as he turned and headed for the lift.
Lestrade glanced at Bond then looked questioningly at me. I gave him a nod that I hoped he'd interpret as a promise to fill him in later.
We all piled into the lift. Sherlock maneuvered himself so that he was directly in front of the doors. I took up my usual position on his right while Bond took up a similar post on his left. He was crowding a bit and I realized that I probably needed to talk to James, to fill him in on the finer points of trailing about after Sherlock. I shouldn't have worried. Bond picked up on something and backed off minutely. He was a master at reading people, even anomalous ones like Sherlock. No worries there then. As the doors of the lift opened I saw what I had been waiting for, that minute shift when Sherlock's brain fully focused on the Work. All that mattered now was the collection and analysis of data. The game was indeed afoot.
We looked out into a hallway with two doors, one on each side, each presumably leading into a flat and a door to the emergency stairwell at the end. There was a scattering of mail on the floor in front of one of the doors as well as a key ring hanging from a key in the lock. Sherlock raised his hand to stop us from exiting the lift. I had expected this and mashed my finger on the door open button.
He didn't pause long before striding out into the hall with the lot of us trailing after. A quick look at the door with the key then he turned, went down on one knee and examined the floor near the scattered pieces of post. He glanced around as he stood up then took two quick steps to the other door. A quick look at the lock then his hand shot out pushing at the door. It swung open, not even latched, revealing an empty expanse of room that smelled of cleaning supplies. Sherlock didn't enter, merely glanced around then turned to Lestrade.
"He exited the lift, put his key in the door then was hit with something that took him to the floor and kept him there. Likely a Taser followed up by something anesthetizing. It probably wasn't inhaled there's no residue on the carpet but check anyway. There were three of them. Two heavy set men. Local thugs most likely under the command of a third who knew what he was doing. The opposite flat has been empty for less than a week and they waited there for at least seven hours. It's your murder scene but I don't expect you'll find much. One of the three is a professional. They cleaned up thoroughly after themselves," Sherlock paused.
Lestrade wasn't fazed by the rapid fire deductions since he was used to them. He simply looked interested and said, "And?"
Sherlock continued, "Check why the former tenant moved out. If this was planned it may be related. I'll also need the surveillance feed. It will give me more data to work with."
"Surveillance feed?" Lestrade asked. "Where are the cameras?" Lestrade looked around confusedly at the hallway.
"Front lobby and the lift. Those belong to the building. There are additional ones in that corner, and over the stairwell door," Bond said conversationally, then added as an afterthought "I suspect the building owners don't know about those."
Lestrade looked stunned. "Why would anyone want, need.." his voice trailed off as he, for probably the first time since Shirley had filled him in, really processed he was in charge of not only a murder investigation but also the kidnapping of a high level MI6 asset.
Donovan, who clearly wasn't in the loop, muttered "Someone was a paranoid git" earning herself a glare from both Bond and Sherlock. Wisely she didn't continue with whatever other comment she had been going to make.
James then surprised me by speaking up. "We'll need to access the server from inside his apartment. It will be the fastest way to get all the feeds." He walked back to the apartment door reached for the handle then paused as if thinking. After a moment Bond turned the key and I heard the lock release. He then continued turning it a full 180 from its original position before attempting to open the door. Odd. Something special with the lock? He opened the door and we were looking at a small foyer beyond which was a very modern looking living room. James stepped across the threshold then froze.
"Damn," was all he said.
"Pressure sensor?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes," came the terse reply.
I understood then. Q had booby trapped his flat. The thing with the lock was part of it. If not opened correctly the door handle would do something. A trigger or maybe electrified? God only knows what would have happened if someone had tried to pick it. I didn't have much time to reflect on that particular revelation because a rather pleasant female voice suddenly said, "Verification procedure commencing, please state name and designation."
James replied immediately, "Bond, 007."
I glanced at Lestrade. He looked stunned. It was clear he knew what the designation meant. It was also obvious that he hadn't known just exactly who he'd been dealing with when Bond had killed Moran in that empty building over six months ago.
There was a short pause then the voice continued, "What is the stag's motto?"
"Orbis non-sufficit," James said flatly.
"Disarmed" said the disembodied voice.
James moved on into the flat then and we followed. The flat was neat and tidy with the exception of a box full of what looked like random electronic components sitting on the coffee table. The furnishings were modern and minimalistic which was offset somewhat by a profusion of large pillows piled on the sofa and in one corner. There was a large flat screen monitor hanging on one wall with a gaming console and entertainment unit in a bookcase underneath. An open door went to a bedroom through which a bed in the same style as the rest of the furniture was barely visible. I didn't have much time to register anything much else because James walked over to a closed door, opened it and walked through saying, "I'd advise you not to touch anything in here."
This room was obviously the flat's second bedroom but it looked nothing at all like a bedroom. There was a pair of metal racks full of running computer components in one corner, a workbench up against a wall and a desk that had four monitors and a wireless keyboard. The rest of the room had shelves full of plastic boxes containing god knows what. As we all entered one of the monitors on the desk lit up. From the screen it appeared to be buffering an audio file. Moments later it began to play.
"If you are hearing this," said Quentin's voice said from the speakers, "then the emergency protocols have been triggered and I have been compromised. The camera feeds are now being downloaded to the office servers. If you need to access this set of servers tell R to use protocol A-4 and my favorite Russian expletive backwards. If you lock the front door when you leave the automatic defenses will re-engage." The audio file ended but another one appeared to be opening. "007," Quentin's voice sounded slightly different. It had obviously been recorded at another time. "There is a pen made with a bullet shell casing sitting in the cup on the workbench. It's yours. Turn the bottom a quarter turn anti-clockwise then click the top twice. You'll have five seconds. It's a prototype but the results should be rather spectacular. Good luck 007"
James shook his head in amazement then walked over to the workbench and fished out the mentioned pen. He stared at it for a moment then put it in his pocket muttering something about cheeky Quartermasters.
"You know," Lestrade said half to himself, "Technically I should confiscate all this for analysis especially since it appears to contain footage of the crime." He didn't really sound too enthusiastic about the idea.
"You wouldn't get anything if you did," Sherlock commented as he was peering behind one of the server racks. "It looks like most of the equipment is set up to fail if you try and remove it."
"Fail? How?" Lestrade asked.
Bond snorted, "Knowing Q, explosively."
"I suppose I can trust MI6 to send me a copy?" he asked Bond hopefully.
Bond paused for a moment and looked at him. "As soon as the download is complete."
Excuse provided Lestrade stated, "Then I'm finished here if you are," and turned to exit.
We all followed him out of the flat James and I bringing up the rear. He locked the door and pocketed the key. No one objected. Sherlock was already down at the end of the hall examining the door to the stairwell with Lestrade hot on his heels. James made an after you gesture to me and together we sauntered along in the wake of Sherlock's investigation.
We arrived at the stairwell door just in time to hear Sherlock say "look at that mark, of course he was dead when he was tossed over the railing."
Author's Note: Orbis non-sufficit = the world is not enough.