Sherlock and Molly met again in the lobby of their hotel the next morning. They had spent the rest of the evening before with talking some more about the ominous nanny and Molly had told him more than once that she thought it irresponsible of Mrs Banks not to see references before hiring a nanny. Sherlock pointed out that Mary Poppins would probably have faked some if Mrs Banks would have insisted to see references. Molly had to agree. Everything about the case was quite frustrating: Of course no real person called Mary Poppins existed – clearly a false identity. And so far nobody had recognized her from the facial composite. Every new clue seemed to be a dead end. But of course Sherlock was not frustrated, but delighted by it. The puzzle became more and more complicated, and he loved it.
Their talk had been perfectly normal – considering the argument they had had before, but that was one thing the consulting detective and the pathologist treasured about their friendship: They could always go back to the way it had been before a row.
So after the theories about the meaning behind Supercalifragilisticexplialidocious had gotten more and more absurd, they had decided to call it a night, and Molly had gone back to her room – not locking the connecting door – just like the night before.
Molly was surprised when Sherlock ordered the cabbie to take them to St. Paul's instead of 17 Cherry Tree Lane, and she was even more astounded when he pulled an apple from his coat pocket and took a bite.
"One might not believe it, but I have to eat from time to time – even when I'm on a case." Although his tone was neutral, he was amused by her astonished expression.
"I guess not even you can live solely of air and love." The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back.
Sherlock took another bite and scolded, "Molly, what was the rule about making jokes?"
The pathologist remained silent for the rest of the long taxi ride.
When they were finally standing in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, Molly dared to speak again, "Sherlock, what are we doing here?"
"Networking."
Molly drew up her eyebrows and followed the consulting detective towards the stairs in front of the cathedral.
As usual a lot of tourists passed them. Molly knew the place well, because Bart's was more or less just around the corner, and she liked to spend her lunch breaks sitting in the small park on the backside of the church watching the tourists. When she preferred to be more on her own, she went to Postman's Park, but she came here more often. Especially after Sherlock's 'suicide' Postman's Park had always made her feel a little depressed: all the signs there telling of people who had given their lives in order to safe someone else's. How could her thoughts not wander to Sherlock when reading those? It hit a little too close to home. That's why she had found refuge in the shadows of St. Paul's during his absence.
Molly's thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock walked up to an old woman dressed in rags. She had long white hair, and her face was mostly hidden by a hood. Molly had seen her every time she had been here. People called her the Bird Woman, because there was always a flock of pigeons surrounding her.
The woman proffered seeds to Sherlock and Molly and clamoured, "Tuppence a bag. Feed the birds! Feed the birds!"
Sherlock drew a banknote out of his pocket – way too much for one bag of seeds. He leaned forward and handed her the money, while he whispered something to her. She nodded and handed him the bag. He nodded as well, turned around to Molly and shoved the bag of seeds in her hands.
"Haven't you heard? Feed the birds."
"What was that all about?" Sherlock and Molly were back in the taxi again, and this time Sherlock had given the cabbie the address of the Banks'.
"I mean, I know she's probably someone from your homeless network, but how can she help us, when she's more or less living on the door step of St. Paul's?"
"That's her place. It's where she's most useful."
Obviously Molly's face conveyed the „stop-being-so-cryptic" just fine, because Sherlock began to explain, but not before sighing dramatically, "Mr Banks works in a bank just around the corner from there. And because he is a creature of habit, he usually spends his lunch breaks at the café across the street. Given the circumstances, now that Mary Poppins can't have a look at the on-goings in the house anymore, her partner in crime will try to keep an eye on Mr Banks. The easiest way to do so will be to follow him around St. Paul's."
Molly could see the logic in this, but still was not totally satisfied with his answer. "But how will the Bird Woman know what to look for? We don't know what he looks like."
"She will know. I've established her in front of St. Paul's about two years ago. She knows everyone around. She's one of the best. Otherwise I wouldn't have trusted her with that particular area." His tone left no room for argument.
"Additionally, we'll have his facial composite by the evening."
Molly knew Sherlock well enough not to ask any more questions. It would have been in vain. She would have to wait and see in time.
Mrs Banks looked thinner and paler from day to day. No wonder, she was afraid for the lives of her children. She was not wearing a Chanel suit today, but a knee-long dress from another expensive brand. Molly felt a little out of place in her cherry jumper and her wide trousers. She decided the next time she would accompany Sherlock Holmes to a case she would bother with more business-like clothes. If there would be a next time…
Although Mrs Banks was obviously shaken by the events, she tried to put on a smile when she let the consulting detective and the pathologist into 17 Cherry Tree Lane. Molly admired her for the brave face she put up. She was not sure if she could manage that under these circumstances – especially with a husband like Mr Banks.
How can she love a man like that?
But then Molly had to think about the tall man beside her and her feelings for him. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! A lot of people were wondering why she still helped him, when he was known to be rude and cold. Still she knew he was so much more than that. And perhaps it was the same with Mr Banks – although Molly really had trouble believing that.
Without much more than a grunted greeting Sherlock strode past Mrs Banks and went straight into the sitting room, where they had been during their first visit. Determined he walked over to the mantelpiece and inspected it more closely. Reluctantly Molly went to his side. He knelt down, leaned forward and looked up the chimney. Mrs Banks shot Molly a questioning gaze, which Molly tried to ignore as best as she could, because she did not know how to respond. She was as clueless as the woman about Sherlock's behaviour. But opposed to Mrs Banks Sherlock inspecting a mantelpiece did not really strike her as odd per se. She had seen him do much weirder stuff. Almost crawling up a chimney and beating a corpse with a riding crop were considered daily business when dealing with Sherlock Holmes.
The consulting detective stood back up and addressed Mrs Banks.
"The ransom letter was found on the table over there." Although it should have been a question he did not phrase it like one. He pointed to the wooden coffee table. Mrs Banks nodded. He walked backwards a few feet, so that he was standing in front of the mantelpiece looking at it as a whole.
"The chimney sweep has been here repeatedly in the last couple of weeks."
Mrs Banks was surprised. "Yes. How did you know, Mr Holmes?"
Sherlock sounded bored, "It's quite easy to tell if you look at the fireplace."
Molly looked from Sherlock to Mrs Banks and back. She loved watching him when he was on to something. His zeal was contagious. His eyes had that special gleam, and his face an expression that was almost manic.
"So I figure it has been the same chimney sweep all the time."
"Yes." Her voice was small.
"And that didn't strike you as odd?" Now he sounded like he thought her to be imbecile. Molly figured he probably did. There were only a handful of people in this world Sherlock did not find dumb, or boring. And occasionally Molly was not so sure if she belonged to those or not.
Mrs Banks got defensive. "Why should it have? I thought it thoughtful that they always sent the same guy. He was very nice. Gentlemen like him are few."
Sherlock's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "A vanishing breed…"
Mrs Banks shot him a mean glance, but went on, "And he always used to hum this nice tune. How did it go?"
Her eyes went heavenwards as she was clearly concentrating on remembering the song. Suddenly her eyes focused again on Molly and Sherlock, and she sang in a low voice, "Chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee chim cheroo."
Sherlock made a face and said in mock astonishment, "I wonder why he didn't become a singer songwriter..."
That made Molly finally clear her throat to signal him, he was not behaving very well. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but kept further comments about the chimney sweep to himself. Instead he asked, "And what was the name of this gentleman chimney sweep?"
"His name was Bert." Molly and Sherlock waited for Mrs Banks to tell them the surname, but she did not go on.
"No surname?" Molly asked.
Mrs Banks thought about it for a brief moment, before answering, "No, I'm sorry. I can't remember it."
"But you do remember the company he's worked with?"
"Yes, Mrs Brill got their card somewhere."
"Brilliant, we'll need it later." Sherlock was about to put his fingers under his chin, in his typical thinking posture, but Molly didn't want him to retreat into his mind palace just yet, therefore she asked, "So you think this Bert was doing a recce on the family, instead of sweeping the chimney?"
She was successful, because he let his hands sink to his sides. "No, he did indeed sweep the chimney, but only once. But yes, the rest of the time he was spying out the house." He turned from Molly to Mrs Banks again. "Did your husband ever happen to have met this Bert, Mrs Banks?"
She looked quite horrified by the idea of that. "God, no! I have to take care of the house. My husband was always at work when Bert was here."
Sherlock nodded as if to himself and then ordered, "Well then, Mrs Banks, off you go and fetch me the card of the company Bert was working for. We need to inform the police." He made a gesture as if shooing a dog out of the room, and Mrs Banks was so perplexed, she could only follow suit.
A/N: Again thanks for all the reviews, alerts etc. They made my week! I'm really impressed how well a lot of people know "Mary Poppins."