Disclaimer: We don't own Sherlock, BBC or Otherwise... this is just product of our Imagination that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar or superfluous cussing and actually have a problem with it (who knows, it might be fixed- especially if you find a typo or any bad grammar, we hate those just as much as you do), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the time and embarrassment please. Thank you. - Bleeding Crimson Editor
Chapter Six
Two days later, Alin was busy at work serving customers as usual. She was mixing some batter for a batch of vanilla scones when her phone vibrated. The dark-haired woman checked the message.
Uncle and his detective flat-mate are coming sometime today. Keep an eye out for them. I told them that they could have a meal on the house.
-Ash
Alin sighed and typed her standard reply:
K.
She watched from across the way as Ash picked up her phone and rolled her eyes. Alin thought, She'sprobablythinkingabouthowterseIamevenintexts.The notion made Alin grin ever so slightly. She went back to her baking without a second glance into the store. If she had, she would have noticed a tall, lanky gentleman wearing a long coat enter the bookstore. Ash did see him; however, she did not approach him. Instead, she busied herself with setting some newly refurbished books on the shelves. The brunette jumped when the man in the coat asked,
"Excuse me, you own this store, do you not?"
"Y-yes. Co-proprietor, really. Ashton Hadley. Your name, sir?"
"Sherlock Holmes." Taking his extended hand, Ash quickly scanned the man before her, taking in the details of his physique with a keen, practiced eye.
Sherlock had a long, thin face, longer and thinner than average- his prominent cheekbones didn't help manners. His long, slightly prominent nose fit his face perfectly but would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Likewise his eyebrows were large but not bushy. His eye color seemed to be blue upon first glance, but further scrutiny proved that it ranged from blue to green to grey to a combination of the three depending on the light. The shape of his eyes was difficult to describe, but it was as distinctive as the rest of him. The man's lips were thin with a severe Cupid's Bow. They possessed the same quirk that Alin had, making them prone to smirking, not smiling. His skin was slightly tanned and showed faint signs of weathering. Ash noted this and wondered what kind of life this, to put it mildly, strange-looking man led. Sherlock frowned down at her.
"Something the matter?"
Ash shook her head as if to clear it. "No, nothing. Sorry, force of habit. I'm-"
"An artist, yes, I can see that."
Ash's brows knitted. "Oh? How can you tell?"
The man pointed to her cheek. "You have a smudge of charcoal just under your eye and flecks of paint in your hair."
"Duly noted. May I help you with something, sir?"
"Ah, yes." He dug a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it in front of her. Ash took it and studied the written symbols. Her brows knit together as they were prone to when she was concentrating.
"These... these look familiar."
"Can you translate them for me?"
"Maybe, although I don't know if 'translate' is quite the word you're looking for. I'd have to find references from the back. I know that we've refurbished books with these before. Come with me to the storage room, and I'll see what I can do."
Sherlock followed Ash into the cluttered restoration room. His light-colored eyes swept across the room, taking it all in. Ash took note of this as she picked her way through the endless piles of books. She yawned.
"You ought to take your medication on a more regular basis," Sherlock advised tonelessly. Ash frowned at him.
"Excuse me?"
"You also ought to be careful with that wrist of yours. Just because you've achieved almost perfect ambidexterity doesn't' mean that your right wrist has completely healed."
"And just how is it that you know all this about me?"
"Simple- your exhaustion is evident in the bags under your eyes that you try to hide unsuccessfully with your thick-rimmed glasses and untidy hair. Your mismatched attire does not help matters. Your movements also suggest tiredness, as does your tendency to blank out and startle easily. Because you've gone to the effort to hide the signs of your exhaustion, it stands to reason that you have chronic sleep problems. However, because you can function properly, one would gather that you have some kind of medication that you take."
"I don't take it because I don't have to," Ash replied grudgingly. She hated taking her medicine and wouldn't if she could help it. "I'm not an insomniac or anything."
"You mostly don't take it because you easily forget things."
"Well then," Ash stated, trying to sound confident, but really she just didn't know how to counter his statement. Deciding to switch the subject, she asked, "What about my wrist? How'd you figure that out?"
"The callouses on your right hand suggest that you write more than you type, and along with the paint in your hair that suggests that you paint and draw often. These activities would build up callouses on your fingers. On both your left and right hand the callouses are large and tough enough to suggest you use them equally to preform tasks as precise as those, however the right is slightly more defined.
"You are also careful with how you use your hand. You grabbed the paper with your right hand, but when you lift books, you tend to use your left hand. This being that you prefer your right to your left, as it was originally the dominant, but something happened that made it weak, too weak to use for a while, and so you trained yourself to use your left just as well as your right."
"Ah! How could I have been so daft! You must be Uncle's detective flate-mate! You live with John Watson, yes?"
"Yes. You are his god-sister." Ash nodded. "Then you must realize the importance of this document."
"This is evidence, is it? Nasty business, then. What material was this written, and where?"
"Blood, on the wall of an abandoned building."
Ash cringed at the thought, though the novelty of it actually happening in real life seemed rather exciting. She wondered if she would be able to help with the investigation at all. She had always loved mysteries, though she had long ago given up the thought of ever writing one of those. What wonderful reference... Ash shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts. They were indecent- or at least that's what Uncle had told her. She had never quite understood but had accepted his advice and not voiced those thoughts to others. The brunette brushed the hair out of her face with her right hand and set a pile of books on an empty space on the nearest table with the other hand. The female carefully flipped through and slipped pieces of paper between certain pages. Ash quickly and precisely copied the sketch on another piece of paper, adding notes including the information Sherlock had given and questions for her partner.
"Since your request falls under scripting, I'll have my partner come out and look at these. Calligraphy's her specialty. She could tell you what it is and most likely where it's from, too. If you'll excuse me." Ash exited the room.
"Alin!" She yelled out; luckily there were no customers taking up her counterpart's time. What a string of luck, it seemed, for whenever Ash called for Alin to leave her post, there was no one left to serve. Goodluckfromthatrabbit'sfoot, Alin supposed. She approached her partner at a leisurely pace.
"Yes?"
"We have a customer here with a question about some markings. He wants us to translate them, but I don't know if they're actually words. They resemble some kind of pentagram, but I'm not sure if it's occult or not. I found some tomes for you cross-reference. I would have done it, but I can't read half of the sources."
Alin nodded and followed her into the back room.
"Hello," she greeted the tall man in the corner. Ipresumehe'stheoneAshwastalkingabout.Seemsabitonguard.Isheexpectingsomethingbadtohappen? Making her way over to the table where she spied a piece of loose paper.
"You are?" Alin raised an eyebrow at the man. She never got a name from Ash, and she wasn't entirely sure if Ash had even gotten a name herself. The brunette had a habit of only remembering names that were interesting enough for her books.
"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He barely glanced at her before saying, "You ought to restring that instrument of yours."
Alin looked at Sherlock, then Ash, the latter of whom grinned expectantly. Leaning forward, the older woman asked,
"Tell me, sir, how you came to this conclusion." Her tone suggested that he had said something similar to her earlier.
"The pads on the tips of your fingers are calloused in the way that those who play stringed instruments are; these callouses you have are larger than normal, suggesting that you have to press down harder for the note you want. This is caused by the strings gradually wearing down with repeated usage. So you must restring your instrument. Violin, correct?"
"Yes." She stared at him, itseemssosimpleashelaysitoutplain,buthemustbeamastertodeducethesethingssoquickly.
"How did you know she plays violin? Why not guitar or even cello?"
"The slightly calloused skin around the chin; it's not very noticeable unless you're looking for it."
"Hn. What did you come for?" Alin was impressed; anyone would be, though she had been called down for a reason, and she only had a limited amount of time to resolve that dilemma before she would need to go back and man the café. Ash would have to go back to the bookstore. There should be one of them up there at least.
"I need you to translate the symbols on this document." He was to the point, something Alin appreciated.
"Translate..." True, those symbols couldn't really be translated. But she could find out what they meant. Iknowit'saroundheresomewhere...
"Alin, while you're busy, I'm going to go back to the bookstore. Want me to cover for you in the café?"
"If you wish." 'Call down if you need help,' was implied. Of course Alin would never let Ash overburden herself; that would just be rude.
" 'K. Give me a ring if you need any help. Not that I think you will, mind; you're the best thar is in these parts." Ash drawled the last sentence like a cowboy in some American Western and exited with a wink in Alin's direction. Alin smirked a tad at this. Shecanbesotheatricalsometimes.Atleastitisentertaining.
With that, Alin went to work. She analysed the pattern as a whole as well as the symbols individually. She perused the pages that Ash marked and, finding that they were insufficient, went off to gather more materials, both from upstairs in the actual bookstore and down in the cellar where a collection of rebound tomes were ready for private use.
"In a hurry, Mr. Holmes?" Alin asked.
"Not particularly, though people will die if I do not have this in time to stop it."
"Hn, you shall have it when I finish."
"I assumed as much."
"You assumed correctly."
"Yes."
She didn't reply except to hum her acknowledgement of the fact that he had spoken. She instead resumed her work. If there were really people dying, it wouldn't hurt to put a little extra effort to finish quickly. Taking thorough notes as she poured through the many tomes, she had just about forgotten that Mr. Holmes was there, watching as she researched his problem. She made her own notes on Ash's sketch, sometimes crossing out her partner's notes and other times jotting down the meanings to the symbols on the circle.
It seems that Ash hit a snag here. She could not discern what this symbol is, and I do not blame her- whoever drew this either is a terrible artist or has terrible handwriting, or perhaps both. I can't tell what this symbol is. I can only guess. Ash's guess doesn't quite match up with anything I have. Let us see if I can figure out what is supposed to go here...
"Hey, Alin, how's it going?" Ash asked, walking in. John trailed in behind her. Motioning to him, Ash said, "Look whom I brought with me!"
Alin nodded in greeting while Sherlock said dully, "It's about time."
Watson, who hadn't seen Sherlock until that moment, jumped slightly in surprise. Chuckling, he said to Ash, "Well, I guess you've met my flat-mate, then."
"That I have. Wait a second-" Ash walked over and looked over the paper with the pentagram. Motioning to the aforementioned picture, Ash asked, "Uncle, is this your horrid artistry?"
John looked affronted. "Excuse me?"
"I have no bloody idea what this is supposed to look like," Alin clarified, her voice monotone, holding up the drawing, now covered with notes and doodles.
"Why, yes, it is. I'm sorry that it wasn't very good. My phone just couldn't get a good picture with in that light."
"Wasn't very good? Uncle, we can't make out half of it! No wonder your partner had to come to us!"
"Is this what you saw?" Alin gave the detective team the re-drawn picture to analyze. John nodded his head at once. Sherlock, however, objected,
"No- this was slightly different. If I may." He took the pencil tucked behind Ash's ear, much to her chagrin, and added a few lines. He handed the paper and pencil back to Alin. "There. That's what we saw."
After snatching back her beloved pencil, Ash peeked over her friend's shoulder and nodded approvingly; this drawing made much more sense than the original. Alin sent her partner to fetch a few more volumes and, after Ash returned with them, the girls finished their inquiry. Alin thought to herself worriedly, ThismightverywellbewhatIthinkitis,thoughIprayitisnot.
Upon receiving the paper back, John suggested,
"Why don't we all go out to eat? It's closing time, and I'm sure that you're famished."
Alin cast Ash a dark look, one that said, Youleftmeinhereforhowmanyhourswhileyouworkedthestoresbyyourself?Ash looked away, unable to withstand her companion's withering stare.
"Dinner sounds lovely," Ash said finally, breaking the silence. She wrapped her favorite scarf around her neck with a flourish. "Where to?"
"I know a particularly good fish 'n' chips place..."
