Sherlock released his grapple on Evelyn. One would think he would bring her to Lestrade, announce her as an obvious criminal, but he did no such thing. He could see in her eyes that she was guilt-ridden, she felt angry at herself for doing whatever she had done. This is the reason why Sherlock released her. He realised that Eve had been tainted somehow, by whom was unknown. As much as she appeared to be psychopathic and proud of her murderous accomplishments, she was driven to do so, even though she didn't want to. Something ran through her mind as she did her evil deeds, a vile influence surrounded her.
Sherlock looked into her eyes, as they stood there in the empty corridor. He had almost forgotten, if he guessed correctly, that one of the investigators or officers were in danger and their chances of survival drifted away slowly as time went by. But Sherlock was captivated in Evelyn's gaze. It was far from agape love, but Sherlock felt some care for her as they stood in front of each other, their stares mingled together. But suddenly, a splash of warm tea drenched Sherlock's face, a loud crash as the tray of cups hit the floor and footsteps became quieter as Evelyn ran down the hallway. Sherlock glanced up from his arched back position and watched as she turned the corner. His instincts told him to chase her; however something more important dawned on him.
"There's someone in this building who's going to die!" declared Sherlock, storming back into Lestrade's office. John, Donovan and Lestrade stared at him, baffled. Sherlock was still covered in tea from when Evelyn splashed it at him.
"What do mean someone in this building is going to die?" asked Lestrade, walking towards Sherlock.
"Out there!" Sherlock pointed at the cubicles. There was no panic among those who sat there, so there was no one showing any sign of death just yet. "One of them as had antihistamine put into their coffee, probably pills. An overdose of pills to be exact."
"Sherlock, wouldn't someone notice if they took an overdose of pills accidently?" laughed John. He had failed to realise that Sherlock was being serious, as the whole situation seemed surreal to him.
"I didn't say accidental, John." Sherlock replied. "Remember our first case together? The victims were forced to take the pill."
"But who would have forced them?" Donovan asked.
"Your receptionist. Amanda was it? Such a generic name. You'd think she'd be more creative in choosing one to trick you all." He answered.
"Amanda?! Well, where is she?" Lestrade questioned.
"Ran after throwing tea all over me." Sherlock said, examining his coat. "No worry though. Mrs. Hudson could clean it for me." He assured. He appeared to care more about his coat rather than the possible victim among them.
Everyone looked at each other except Sherlock. He was now looking outside the inside windows of the office, observing everyone who came and went.
"Donovan, call some men up here immediately, and call an ambulance as well!" Lestrade ordered.
"John, Lestrade. Search up and down these cubicles for any clue who might have taken the overdose. Check up on anyone who might be struggling for breath." Sherlock suggested.
John and Lestrade nodded, and exited the office. They began to search under unattended desks and chairs, telling people to do the same. Sherlock scouted the cubicles, checking on people before telling them join the search. Eventually, the entire floor was searching for this one person who might have overdosed including any clue to who it was and as time rode its course, Sherlock started to think that Evelyn had tricked him into believing someone was to die this day, in this building. But he was determined to prove his thoughts wrong.
"Sherlock, it's been two hours. No one has overdosed." Lestrade said, growing tired of what seemed like a never-ending search. He gestured to his men to get back to business.
Sherlock was distraught and rather humiliated. He found comfort knowing that everyone couldn't do a better job at him, but now Lestrade and his men had revealed him as a moron almost. John watched as Sherlock threw himself around in desperation, still eager to find the person, but it was no good. John patted his friend on back, who surprisingly accepted the comfort, and headed into the toilets.
He stood himself up close to the urinal to relieve himself, but became inattentive as a small whimpering sound emerged from one of the stalls. John cleaned up and then walked up to the stall.
"Hello?"
No reply, except the whimpering sound again. John repeated, but still no voice came from inside the stall. John wasn't sure if he should invade the person's privacy or not, but as the whimpering became more frequent, he brought it upon himself to intervene. He kicked open the locked door to be acquainted with a uniformed police officer, hanging over the bowl of the toilet. He look dreadfully ill, barely alive from what John could see.
"Help!" John shouted, peering out from the toilets. He might have been a doctor, but he dealt with bullet holes not overdoses.
The help that John had called for rushed into the room, accompanied by medics. Behind the crowd were Lestrade and Sherlock with a curious Donovan hiding behind. Sherlock pushed his way through the small mob of police officers and sat by the man who still hung over the toilet.
"We have no space, we need to drag him out of the stall." Said one of the medics.
John volunteered to pull the man out from the enclosed stall he was in, pushing back the crowd that surrounded it.
"What's your name, mate?" said one the medics, quickly looting his bag for something.
"His name is Geoff Peters. Police Constable, that is." Said another police officer, who looked greatly concerned for his colleague.
"Okay, Geoff. What did you take?" the medic asked.
"Antihistamine. Presumably pills. Just enough to kill him." Sherlock answered
The medic looked over to him, unimpressed with Sherlock's unwanted answer.
"I'd like Geoff here to answer, not you Sherlock Holmes." The medic scoffed, emphasising on the consulting detective's name. At least he was recognised.
"I don't think he will answer." John murmured, his fingers pressed into Geoff's neck. "He's dead."
The crowd looked amongst eachother; some one of them let out tears from their eyes.
"Great! Here's a headline for you! Scotland Yard fail to save one of their own!" Lestrade shouted, pacing around his office in anger. "Concern as police struggle to solve mystery overdoses!"
"I wouldn't worry, Inspector. There's plenty of press who'd rather interview me than the police." Sherlock boasted, examining a small pot that lay on the desk. He didn't appreciate the press, but Sherlock was pleased that he had proven Lestrade wrong. Even if it was John who had found him, there had indeed been a dying person in the building and Sherlock was delighted.
"It's okay for you! We now need to deal with a crime scene in the place you'd least expect there to be a crime scene!" explained Lestrade. He calmed down a bit before continuing. "Donovan, do have any information on Amanda. What she wrote on her file et cetera?"
"We sent some officers to go down and check her address, but it was phony. No other information was given about her whereabouts."
Lestrade sighed in annoyance.
Silence settled in the office. Lestrade leant back on his chair, whilst Donovan left to get coffee.
"Sherlock?" John broke the silence. "How did you know Amanda was the one responsible?"
Sherlock jerked his head towards Lestrade who sat silently in his seat.
"Don't speak so loudly. I don't want him on this as well." Sherlock whispered his reply.
"Fine. But how did you know?"
"I knew she was Evelyn Stowe the moment I saw her. I confronted her in the hallway whilst you got lost in the maze of division walls. Found the eye drops in a cup of tea she had on the tray. Told me to find the lucky one."
"The lucky one?"
"The one who had the honour of dying from an antihistamine overdose. I swear she has a fixation with the drug."
"So, how do you think she overdosed him?"
"Like I said, John. She must have forced him. Think about it. If she spent so much time with Moriarty, his ideas must have stayed in her head for her to use now. She threatened the man as she went around collecting the cups, told him to overdose."
"But don't you think a police officer wouldn't take orders from a receptionist, Sherlock?"
"Please. He must have been completely naive. Chances are she told him that his children would die if he didn't do what she asked or something along those lines."
"I hope you're not talking about me behind by back." Lestrade humoured. "Now, I think you two should go. I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around a crime scene."
"It's like you don't know me at all." Sherlock bantered. The three men laughed carelessly, forgetting that there was a murderer on the loose who had more in store for the consulting detective.