August 14, 2010

Sherlock was right. Not much of a surprise, but I hate it when he's right about things like this. I had so hoped that he was wrong.

It's a game! It's a bloody game! One that Sherlock is too eager to play.

Literally. People are dying simply because someone else has a mind like Sherlock's. They don't care about the people, or the lives that are lost. All they care about is the thrill, the escape from boredom. It's sick. Death is a part of life, a part of life I have accepted. You have to when you're in the military. But death for the sake of entertainment? No. It's wrong.

Sherlock's loving this. He'll admit to it if you ask, but I don't need to. I know him, or as much as a person can know him. He's loving the puzzle, the clues left, the chase of it all.

Two more bodies were found. A couple this time, and they were found together, along with the syringes. Maxwell and Eve Benson, mid thirties. Maxwell was dark haired, Eve more of an auburn colour. Sherlock deemed this highly important. Why is this important? Their hair was coloured that way after death. None of the other victims' hair was touched.

They were found in a park, but a camera had been left with them. Sherlock went through the pictures, naturally. There was one taken the day of their disappearance, or what the police believe to be the day of their disappearance. Both of them were blonde.

"Look at them," Sherlock said to me, holding the camera out. "The smiles are forced. They look tired."

"So? So does most of London," I answered, but there was more to it that I didn't see.

He shook his head. "No, no they genuinely weren't happy, but they were lying to themselves that they were. You can tell by the..." He stopped and looked up from the screen. I followed his eyes; he was staring at Maxwell. "Oh."

"What?" I asked, looking up at him. He had a blank look about him, but there was an element of shock.

"It's a message," he murmured to himself before bolting over to the bodies and going through the pockets. Someone on the police force shouted at him, but he ignored them, too focused on whatever his mind had picked up on. Luckily for him, Lestrade was there and kept the officers away.

Though, he wasn't pleased when Sherlock grabbed my arm and motioned for me to run. Sherlock would fill him in.

Eventually.

I still didn't - and don't - know what he had seen, and he wasn't ready to let me in on what it was. He did however show me the notes. Maxwell and Eve each had a small slip of paper in their pockets.

"Names are important, and only one left; I believe you already know who that will be," I read aloud once we were a safe distance away. "Do they mean Chloe Jenkins?" I asked.

"Of course they do," Sherlock replied dismissively and passed me the other note.

"Of course," I muttered before reading the words. "There is no greater treasure than love, but that's not true. I have a treasure, locked safe as a glove and waiting for you. These two lovers, Maxwell and Eve, they go together as... well, you'll see," I read before looking at him and saying what I knew he was waiting for. "I don't understand."

"It's a clue, and taunting one," Sherlock answered, and I noticed his pace increase. "We need to find out what bank they used."

"Why?" I called, but Sherlock had broken into a sprint and he showed no signs of slowing down.

It didn't take long to find the right location.

Safety deposit box.

"Where else would you lock up a treasure?" Sherlock had said, sounding almost as though he were slightly disappointed in me for not guessing it.

There was only one item inside the deposit box; a small duffel bag. Sherlock grabbed it and I thanked the teller before we ran out once again.

We didn't open it until we got back to the flat. I'm starting to wonder if there are body parts mixed in with the sour milk as well.

I had a feeling Sherlock already knew what the bag contained. When he did finally unzip it and reveal the contents, he smiled. Two bags lay inside, and a series of smaller bags inside those. One held the finger tips, the other held the syringes. Each were individually packaged, and labelled.

A note lay on top.

"One of these things is not like the other. Can you figure out which?" Sherlock read, a smile still lingering at his lips. It was a challenge. If there is one thing in the world that Sherlock Holmes cannot resist, it's a challenge. He's an idiot for that.

We're going to the lab now; he's just finished examining the bags for fingerprints. None, as expected, were found.

It's our move; I hope we're close to a checkmate.

-Dr. John Watson