Hello again.
As seems to be my habit my life explodes around me and I completely forget about writing. I apologise again but the next update should be soo much faster as I am already writing it.
All mistakes are my own, including any inaccuracies about the layout of the Abbey. Sorry its a little short.
Sherlock stared at the ring intently, holding it up to the light then checking his phone before slipping it back into the envelope and placing it in his pocket. He walked over to Andrew Lloyd's impressive leather office chair, sat down, swung his feet up onto the desk and began to stare at the ceiling.
'What are you doing? You have a case to solve, this is no time to become an interior design expert!' Donovan cried.
'I am solving the case and I would do so considerably faster if you stopped shrieking at me,' Sherlock calmly replied.
He steepled his fingers under his chin and swung back and forth on the chair. John, Lestrade and the indignant Donovan could only watch as his brain ticked away frantically behind his cool facade.
Suddenly Sherlock jumped up and was in the lift before the other had even reacted.
'I do wish he wouldn't do that,' Lestrade sighed before following his eccentric colleague down to the street where he had a cab already waiting.
"Where are we off to this time?' John asked not really expecting an answer that he would understand.
'Church.'
'But there are thousands of churches in London, which specific one Sherlock,' Lestrade growled his patience wearing thin.
'Westminster Abbey.'
"That's hardly what I'd simply refer to as a "church",' Anderson snorted from where he was having a whispered conversation with Donovan.
Sherlock blanked him completely climbing into the taxi and beckoning for John to follow him as he barked instructions to the befuddled driver who was unsure he wanted to pick up a man from a crime scene.
The taxi drive was as usual silent and tense which lead John to wonder what his day would have been like if he had made it into Sarah's bed last night. He had just decided that it would not have been that much different it would have just started with a text from Sherlock when they arrived at the Abbey. He hoped his friend was on the right path as they had already lost another 45 minutes to the London traffic and they only had two hours left.
He expected Sherlock to head straight for the main entrance but instead he circled to the left to a smaller door that was no where near as grand and stood slightly ajar. He stared intently at the door before pushing it open and walking inside. He found two police officers talking to a distressed looking security guard and didn't look at all surprised that they were there.
One of the officers began gearing up for a long speech about how he was walking into an interview of a witness when his colleague elbowed him in the ribs and hissed, "That's THE Sherlock Holmes, that is.'
The guard's face lit up like a Christmas tree when he heard the name.
'I knew they would send you Mr. Holmes to a weird case like this, it's a tricky one. This door alarm was tripped last night and being the senior guard on duty I came to investigate all right a proper but when I got here, and my colleagues will back this up, the door was locked from the inside. We had a look at the CCTV and saw a shifty type walking about and he had scarped once the door alarm went off but the camera was pointing the other way when that happened.'
'The obvious explanation is that nobody broke in rather somebody opened that door last night and locked it again before you got here.'
'A traitor, sir. You are saying it was one of my men what done it.'
'Done what exactly?'
'Weeell we're not entirely sure, nothing is missing or out of place. The door can only have been open for a few seconds otherwise the camera would have caught it.'
'If you could round up the men that were on duty last night it would be greatly appreciated and while you do that I think I will take a look around.'
'I thought I told you he didn't take nothing,' the guard voiced looking at Sherlock suspiciously.
'Ah my good man, I am something of an interior design connoisseur,' he smirked as Donovan and Lestrade walked through the main entrance. 'And you said he didn't take "anything" if he "didn't take nothing" he would have taken something. Would it kill people to speak properly.' He voiced to the world in general as he began peering at the walls.
He began stalking down the aisle closely followed by John.
'What exactly are we looking for?' John muttered.
'Our next clue.'
'How did you get Westminster Abbey from a ring?' spat Donovan but Sherlock ignored her and continued his hunting.
'Is the spot where people get married?' he asked the returning guard followed closely by his men.
'Well yes, but only the royals get married in here really sir.'
'That will do thank you, the wedding that I am thinking of most definitely took place here.'
'Which wedding would that be sir?'
'Prince William's wedding to…'
'Kate Middelton,' John finished for him.
A stunned silence emanated from John, Lestrade and Donovan with the rest of the company looking completely confused. The silence was broken by Donovan, 'The whole world would know if Kate's ring was missing.'
'Would they really? That would show the whole world that they were vulnerable, that they could be accessed and that is hardly something the British Government would wish to advertise. Mycroft nearly had a fit when I asked him about it, he even forgot himself enough to text me.'
'How on earth do you know that that is her ring?' Lestrade cried.
'I remember Mrs. Hudson was cooing over it in one of her tacky magazines. That and the royal seal of the House of Windsor on the band. Most people would dismiss it for a hallmark. It is far too well made for a forgery and the price that was reported in what passes as newspapers in Britain was greatly underestimated, which is a surprise as they are usually so accurate.'
His sly grin did nothing to dispel the shocked silence so he continued his search in silence as they digested what he had just told them. He desperately wanted to find the clue that would lead him to his new neighbor. His new vaguely interesting, intelligent, attractive neighbor an underused part of his brain interjected into his logical train of thought. He pushed the unwanted thoughts aside but not before his mind conjured a picture of Lexi's huge hazel eyes, terrified and pleading. This stopped him in his tracks and he had to mentally shake himself before he continued.
He paced around in circles looking for anything out of the ordinary but nothing caught his eye. He stood where the bride would have stood on the most important day of her life. He wanted so desperately to continue the game and rescue Lexi, this looking was pathetic and Moriarty had broken the pattern.
His eyes alighted on the small compartments at the end of the pew that were used to store hymn books or some such thing. He bounded over to the closest one and wrenched it open – and inside he found a pale green envelope.
"Same type as before and yet again addressed to me – I think this is what I was looking for.'
As if on queue his phone began to buzz in his pocket.
'Well done you have worked fast, only three hours. Did you like my little treasure hunt twist, I think this one is worth something to you so I thought it would be appropriate. This time you have two hours…' the fear chocked voice of Lexi filtered through the phone before it was abruptly cut off.
'Three Hours' Sherlock voiced aloud.
A door banged behind them and all their heads shot up to look at it.
'Where has the young, nervous fellow on the end gone?' John cried and surely they were a security guard down.
'After him!' Sherlock cried at the two uniforms. 'He is an accomplice to kidnap and maybe even murder!'
After they had run off he muttered not quite under his breath, 'Exemplary work as usual from the Metropolitan Police Force.'
He stalked away from the confusion that his revelations and the flight of the guard had caused. He ripped open the envelope to reveal a photo of a young red headed woman lying dead in the street. He left the Abbey quickly and hailed a cab whilst John caught up with him. Once inside he directed it back to Scotland Yard.
The awkward journey John was expecting was not forthcoming as Sherlock turned to him and handed him the photograph.
'You're a doctor, what do you make of those head wounds?'
'Nasty. Blunt force trauma to the forehead, looks like the skull has been forced inwards. Where was this taken?'
'Not sure exactly but definitely in Soho judging by the bricks behind her and the paving stones. It was taken on the same night as the Daniels were murdered though, it had rained before that photo was taken and that was the last time it rained.'
'Why take it though? Surely not just for our benefit?'
'Moriarty wanted to scare someone by killing someone close to them to make sure they had got the message.'
After a few minutes of brooding silence Sherlock called out to the cabbie, I've changed my mind take us to St. Thomas''
Once they arrived at the hospital Sherlock headed straight down the stairs to the Morgue to the surprise of Molly.
'Back already?'
'Show me this woman and tell me what you know about her,' Sherlock commanded without even a greeting.
'Well obviously she's female, twenty three to five, blunt force trauma to the head. They brought her in just after you left yesterday. Found dead in Soho. She appeared to be an escort and one of her clients didn't fancy paying his bill. Police are chasing up the numbers in her phone now.'
'High class?'
'Very judging by the clothes that she was wearing. Nice jewelry – I…I'm surprised that wasn't taken' she stammered.
'Exactly. If it was someone dodging his bill he would have taken it, or if it was a mugging gone wrong same. This was a professional hit.'
'She have a name?' John asked.
'Kitty something or other, but I guess that was only an act.'
Sherlock ignored all of this and was bust examining the tattoo on the woman's left hip and her jewelry.
'That will be all thank you Molly,' he purred accompanying it with his devilish smile.
Before Molly could stammer a response he was through the door, his coat billowing out behind him. John smiled weakly at the crestfallen Molly before following Sherlock out of the hospital and into the waiting cab. He wasn't even acknowledged by his companion whose brain was ticking frantically away.
