A Tradition Is Born

'I've already told you, I'm not talkin' to you lot.' Leo Shannon muttered, his words muffled by his head being buried in his arms.

'Well, you're not leaving until you do.' Lestrade grumbled, a shattered looking Donovan slouching in the adjacent chair of the interview room.

'False.' Leo said, his head lifting. 'You've placed me under arrest but until you say anything about charging me, you only have 72 hours before I'm released. Three of which have disappeared. Tick, tock, tick, tock! Time's trickling away.'

'You sure you don't want a lawyer?' Lestrade asked, repeating the question for the fourth time.

'Only guilty people need lawyers.' Leo said dismissively. Lestrade and Donovan exchanged a heavy glance as Leo's head sunk onto his arms once again.

'What do you think he's playing at?' Ruby asked, her voice failing to travel through the one-way mirror.

'He's doing one of two things: playing down the 72 hours until he can go home or waiting to speak with the right officer.' Sherlock stated, his breath misting the glass, his eyes glaring at the hidden face of Leo Shannon.

'Sherlock, you're not accusing someone of being a bent cop, right?' John asked, nursing a plastic cup of coffee, frowning at his tall companion.

'And why not, John?'

'Why not?' John dropped his voice to a whisper despite the room being empty bar the three of them. 'Your word has a little more weight behind it compared with the common man, if you start saying things like that, Lestrade's going to take it seriously.'

'I'd have no objection; personally I'd love to see Donovan investigated.' Sherlock's face contracted into a cruel frown at these sadistic words.

'Look, Ruby, he doesn't mean anything by this –'

'I don't really care John.' Ruby said honestly. 'I just want to figure out what this Leo guy knows. He can link this investigation to the person who killed Benicio's mother. You're sure this mystery man is doing the murders himself and not hiring another duo like Jackie and Tommy Braxton to do the dirty work for him, right?' Her last question was directed to Sherlock.

'As I've told you and Lestrade countless times, this is a personal betrayal! And when a personal betrayal is being dealt with, the person who was directly affected is expected to carry out the physical act of revenge. Leo was ordered by this man and unfortunately for us, he's turned out to be as stupidly loyal as the Braxton twins.' Sherlock drawled though his quarry couldn't hear his words.

'Hush! He's going to talk again.' Ruby waved her hand in Sherlock's direction to silence him. Leo perked up, stretched for a long moment, his long, powerful arms reaching far over his head as he yawned. He folded his arms and glared at the two sitting opposite him.

'You want me to talk? Yeah, it's really simple then. You lot disappear, turn off the recording devices and cameras and clear every single person behind that room there –' He pointed right at John through the one-way mirror. '–and send in that fine detective who managed to chase me down in the first place. It can be her reward for catching the great Leo Shannon, parkour extraordinaire. Not that you oldies would have a clue what parkour even is…'

'You can seek an audience with Detective Smith but everything else is out of the question.' Donovan snarled.

'Well then, send her in and you two can watch our little exchange from the poorly concealed room over there.' He nodded once again towards the one-way mirror.

'Why does he want to talk with me?' Ruby asked a little too quickly.

'You interest him.' Sherlock said baldly.

'I interest him?'

'To him you're not… how shall I phrase this? The average police officer, your hobbies are slightly unusual and give you an edge in your work. I'd be inclined to bet that's his sole reason for wanting a pleasant chat with you. Apart from the obvious motivation of course.'

'Which is…?' Sherlock looked down at her, a pitying look in his eyes. He really had the talent to press people's buttons, furthering this ability by boasting with only a look instead of words. 'Sherlock?' Ruby repeated, rather proud of how well she disguised her ruffled pride at missing something he characterised as obvious.

'He wants to tell you something, a scrap of information which he'll feel comfortable saying only to your face, something only you will recognise… but he doesn't know I'm behind this glass and will be able to understand too.' He added pompously. The door to the interview room slammed shut and in a matter of seconds, Donovan, Lestrade and to Sherlock's obvious displeasure Anderson, entered the room.

'Holmes; who gave you the black eye? I want to propose marriage to them.' Anderson jeered as his eyes fell on the fading bruise.

'Your wife did after I told her you had an affair. She really needs to come to grips with the concept of "not shooting the messenger".' Sherlock's smirk was overly indulgent at the look of horror which crawled onto both Donovan's and Anderson's faces.

'Alright Smith. You're up; make him sing for us if you wouldn't mind.' Lestrade muttered, trying to dispel the forthcoming argument.

No bloody pressure then.

'He's really saying no to a lawyer?' She asked. Lestrade nodded slowly before moving to the side, allowing her to exit the concealed room. Ruby closed the door and took a few, deep breaths, planning her strategy as well as she could for this unorthodox interview with a suspect who didn't want a lawyer. Then it was game time and she entered the interview chamber.

'Well hello, detective.' Leo said with a small smile, watching her carefully as she took the chair opposite him.

'What's up, Leo?'

'See? That's what I'm talking about!' He said while slamming his fist against the table. 'These officers could really take a leaf or two from your book, employing colloquial language, learning how to free-run… I bet you've some other tricks up your sleeve too.' He said, his eyes sliding over her frame. 'You're the revolution the metropolitan has been in dire need of these past few years. I'm happy they're finally taking some action to combat their outdated staff.' He tugged at the edge of his hood, making a show of how warm he was. 'Do you mind if I remove this?' He asked, indicating the blue jumper. Ruby shook her head. Leo pulled at the material for a moment before yanking it off, his t-shirt catching as he peeled the jumper from his skin, exposing a lean torso rippling with muscles and a detailed tattoo inked over his chest. He tugged his t-shirt back down and delicately hung his hoody on the back of his chair before looking up at Ruby through long eyelashes. 'Like what you see?' His voice was smoother, more charismatic.

'Nothing less than I expected.' Ruby responded, completely nonplussed. 'You can't run like you do without having a decent build-up of muscle to rely on. To be honest, I'd be more surprised if you didn't have it.'

'Nice answer, you don't swoon over a six pack, a very important skill to have as a police officer in London. Now… how exactly did you get into parkour?'

'Well, how did you?'

'I asked first.'

'I want to see if our experiences match.'

'Well, my story isn't exactly riveting. I was bored. So I started jumping off stuff which was too high with other people who were bored.'

'I learned parkour in the same place I learned how to dive: college.'

'You're joking.'

'Nope, there was a society and everything.' She shook her head with a smile. Leo's eyes grew slightly colder in light of this explanation.

'Enough with the banter. Let's get down to the proper chat, shall we?'

'Why? It's not like you're going to tell me anything different to my colleagues… right?'

'You might be surprised.'

'Ok… who gave you the order to send Jackie and Thomas Braxton to "whack" Sherlock Holmes?'

'You won't believe me if I tell you.' Leo said, his features taking on an insecure look.

'We've heard it all.' Ruby replied patiently.

'Really?'

'Really.'

'Alright… the person who called me, the supposed "Middle Man"... was a guy named Jesus.' He said solemnly. It took every whit of Ruby's self-control not to storm out of the room.

'Jesus?' She hissed.

'Oh yes. He rang me up, told me this Sherlock Holmes was a blasphemer and should be "taken care of"!' Leo's words were punctuated with hiccoughs of laughter. Ruby satisfied her disgruntled pride with a small, vivid fantasy of smashing Leo Shannon's grinning face onto the stainless steel table repeatedly.

'So Jesus… is that a nickname for someone?' She asked; cutting easily through Leo's dying laughter.

'No, of course it isn't! Oh and by the by, I'm an atheist, I was merely poking fun at this ridiculous investigation not to mention the "consulting detective" watching me from behind that one-way mirror!' He sneered.

'Oh, I think I understood your irreverent reference.' Ruby said calmly.

'Well, I wanted to make sure.'

'Mr Shannon, would you mind spreading your hands flat on the desk in front of you please?'

'What?'

'Do as I ask, Mr Shannon.' Leo reluctantly complied, splaying his fingers against the steel surface of the table. Ruby had no interest in any of his fingers except his thumbs. They were well shaped but held no distinctive markings be they tattoos or brands, just an ordinary set of thumbs… except for the nails. Ruby squinted, her gaze flicking from one nail to the other, making sure she wasn't seeing things. A few routine questions later provided with equally unhelpful answers, Ruby sighed in defeat before planning to make her exit. 'Thank you Mr Shannon; that will be all.' Ruby said abruptly before stalking from the interview room, wondering what it was about the fingernails on Leo's thumbs which attracted so much of her attention. A memory was niggling beneath the surface of conscious thought but was for now, beyond her grasp.

A few minutes later she was huddled in her coat outside of the station, looking for a taxi to take her home. After successfully yielding one, she clambered into the backseat, only to find someone had hopped in after her and shut the door.

'Hey! This taxi's occupied – Sherlock! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' Ruby demanded.

'221b Bakerstreet.' Sherlock informed the cabbie, completely ignoring Ruby's question.

'That alright, love?' The taxi driver asked.

'No, it is not alright! Sherlock, I don't know what you think you're playing at –'

'What time is it?' He smoothly interjected.

'Eh… what?'

'The time. Do you have it? I count it to be just after 9pm, wouldn't you agree?' Ruby glanced at her phone before nodding.

'Sure, it's nine, but I don't understand what that's got to do with –'

'In half an hour, you're alarm is going to go off on your phone.'

'Oh.' Ruby's outrage crumbled. 'I forgot.'

'I'm shocked. 221b Bakerstreet when you're ready.' He directed to the cabbie.

'What about John? Shouldn't we wait for him?'

'He'll get the next one.'

'Brilliant best friend you are.' Ruby muttered as the cab pulled away from the station. Sherlock didn't even bother to waste a moment of his precious time constructing a retort to this meagre insult. The taxi trundled onwards for fifteen minutes or so, the passengers deliberately ignoring their fellow traveller. Sherlock sprang out of the cab before it had come to a complete stop, paid the cabbie and stalked towards his front door. Ruby followed him up the wooden staircase, not having to worry about finding any unwanted visitors in Sherlock's flat – unlike her previous experience. Sherlock wasted no time hanging up his great coat and scarf before flinging himself into his green armchair. He glanced at his watch and sighed, tapping his hands rhythmically against the armrests of his chair.

'Why 9:33?' He suddenly asked, catapulting the question in Ruby's direction.

'You mean you don't know?'

'I wouldn't be asking if I did. Actually that's a lie… I sometimes ask people about my theories and when they question how I could have possibly deduced a particular outcome; it was because of their confession and their confession alone which allows me to continue with a case.' Ruby didn't think it was normal for a human being to expel information at such high speed. '9:33… obviously something of a sentimental nature…' He trailed off. Ruby placed her tired and aching body in the opposing armchair and as she leant against the Union Jack pillow, a realisation washed over her.

'So that's why you didn't want John to come in the taxi with us.' Sherlock glanced at her but didn't speak. 'You don't want him knowing you invite me over so you can have some fresh, second-hand smoke. You don't want him to be disappointed in you…' Ruby said, liking the way her words provoked such annoyance from her smoking companion.

'Oh, stop being so moronic!' Sherlock's hands gestured wildly as he spoke the last word, his flash of temper disappearing as he sunk into the sanctuary of his green leather chair. 'Then again, I suppose it can only be expected that some of the stupidity of the combined influence of Donovan, Lestrade and Anderson has rubbed off on you.' He concluded thoughtfully.

'I'm right.' Ruby muttered triumphantly. 'You care about what he thinks of you as a person, not just for your abilities.' Sherlock's eyes hardened and his features took on a colder, darker appearance. He was about to deliver a perfectly crafted insult which would provide a heavy blow against Ruby's self-esteem but the words were never uttered, a persistent beeping blocked their path. 'Second-hand smoke time.' Ruby said, allowing her voice to adopt a lilting, sing-song quality. Ignoring his stinging glare, she took the chair beside him, unwound her earphones and proceeded to smoke her classy cigarette, hoping Sherlock would be in a better mood after inhaling some high-quality tobacco.

She stubbed her cigarette after five minutes and returned the lighter to its case before turning her attention to Sherlock Holmes whose eyes were temporarily closed. 'More questions?' He asked without opening his eyes.

'Yes…' She nibbled on the edge of her thumb. 'Um, how exactly did you know?' She asked quietly, her eyes tracing over the almost completely faded bruise Tommy had gifted Sherlock exactly a week ago.

'You'll have to be a little less vague.'

'About the parkour? How did you know I could run?' He opened his eyes and observed her keenly.

'Your body told me.' He said casually.

'Want to be a little more specific?'

'Nope.'

'Fine. How did you manage to catch up with me so quickly when it took Lestrade 15 minutes to figure out where I was?'

'I've already told you half of the answer to that.'

'Half of the answer?'

'I know every street in London. Once you careered off the roof in chase of Mr Shannon, I plotted an estimated route in my head, taking in some room for variety of course, and followed on the ground.' Ruby could only stare at Sherlock in a completely thunderstruck manner. The nonchalant way of describing this fine achievement only served to highlight the astounding nature of Sherlock's strategy.

'Good job.' She muttered just as the front door slammed below them.

'Sherlock? Are you here?' John called, climbing the staircase quickly. 'Thanks for abandoning me at the station – again.' He said sarcastically as he walked into the room. 'Oh. Hello Ruby.' John greeted her a little uncertainly.

'Hi John.' Ruby said with a slight wave, relieved that someone with a normal endowment of empathy had entered the room to counteract the calculating robot beside her.

'Has Sherlock done something wrong?' He asked suspiciously.

'No, we're just… talking.' Ruby said, wondering if the exchange of a few deductions counted as a conversation.

'About the case? Yeah, Leo said something interesting after the two of you left the station.' He tried to keep the annoyance from his voice at being left behind.

'What did he say?' Sherlock asked immediately, looking at his flatmate for the first time since he'd entered the room.

'Oh, you see me now do you?' John asked angrily, sitting rigidly in his chair.

'Oh John, surely you're not angry about getting a separate taxi home –'

'You know what Sherlock? You're not very good at communication so I think you should just stop talking.' John said factually, his voice icy with annoyance. Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but John spoke over him, turning his body away from the dark-haired detective and focusing his attention on Ruby. 'Yes, so as I was saying.' He continued in a loud voice, causing Sherlock to swallow his retort. 'Mr Shannon said something after you left the interview room. To do with thumbs, actually.'

'What did he say?' Ruby demanded.

'He said it was too soon to get a new one. Then he curled his fists and stared at both of his thumbs.'

'He did not.' Ruby said; a smile creeping onto her face as the memory finally surged to the surface, embracing her mind with the glow of an epiphany. John returned the smile, glad his presence was being appreciated by someone at least.

'I don't see how this is of any use.' Sherlock drawled, killing John's smile a little.

'Well then you're not the all-seeing God you perceive yourself to be.' Ruby snapped before pulling a leg beneath her. 'Mr Shannon's trying to help us.' She declared.

'If his sort of help involves questioning people's faith and making bizarre comments then we can do without it.' Sherlock said sharply.

'If you're so observant, then you noticed something on both of his thumbnails, didn't you?' Ruby said.

'Near the tip of each nail there was a small, black line.' Sherlock replied in a bored voice. 'What of it?'

'Ever heard of a fingernail tattoo?' Ruby pressed.

'A tattoo… on your fingernail?' John asked, completely outraged.

'Yes, they're quite controversial because unlike any other tattoos, these aren't permanent because your nails grow. Eventually the tattoo will disappear after a period of say three months and Leo looks like he's just gotten rid of his, leaving only the last fragment of the symbol at the tip of his thumbnails.' Ruby said excitedly, feeling her theory cement in place.

'And that would explain the brand you were thinking of Sherlock, if the members of this gang were getting tattoos on their thumbnails and their thumbs were cut away from their hands post-mortem, wouldn't it mean they're complete expulsion from the gang?' John asked his still roommate. Sherlock hadn't moved a muscle since Ruby's proposal of a fingernail tattoo, his eyes closed, his posture rigid as thoughts flew through different possibilities; searching for something which would link everything together.

'What a very risky solution, then again he was desperate…' Sherlock muttered to himself as he slowly opened his eyes. John heaved a sigh before observing his intimidatingly eccentric flatmate.

'Sorry… who's desperate?' He asked with a furrowed brow.

'So that means he already knows, hence this tidy little plan.' Sherlock said, while nodding his head. 'Yes, it's the only way.'

'What's the only way, Sherlock?' John snapped; his patience wearing thin.

'Well, it's perfectly clear that Mr Shannon allowed himself to be caught by the police and taken into custody on purpose.'

'Excuse me?' Ruby asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

'Do neither of you see?' His gaze roved from one frustratingly blank face to the other. 'Mr Shannon is clearly the next one to be killed.'

'What?' John yelled.

'Think! It's the only way which makes sense. He wishes to help us catch whoever is carrying out all of these hits as his name is next on the list. Meaning…?' He raised his eyebrows at John and Ruby, daring one of them to finish his sentence. 'Meaning he's the last of them, the only live member of the group which betrayed our killer!' He finished triumphantly.

'But Sherlock, he tried to have you killed.' Ruby said, stating the obvious flaw in his theory.

'Yes, of course he did, don't you understand?! That was his last saving grace, if he offered to have me taken out, it would seem as if everything was normal and his loyalties still remained with our killer. He knows he's going to be killed next, that's the reason he's giving us clues!'

'That's all very good, but why did he try to run from the police? Why not walk into a police station?' John asked.

'Oh John, I pity your meagre mind, the world must seem so dull when seen through your eyes.' John's face visibly darkened. 'And in answer to your question, he was keeping up appearances! If he waltzed into the police station, he was marking himself as a dead man but by leading the police on a merry chase –quite literally in this case– he's giving the impression of someone who isn't going to roll over and tell tales to a bunch of pigs.'

'Sherlock! Ruby, I'm so sorry –'

'Don't worry about it.' Ruby said with a shrug. 'I've heard a lot worse.' She leant back in her chair and folded her arms. 'But Mr Shannon ran so hard Sherlock; someone trying to be caught doesn't run that fast from the police.'

'At first it did seem his escape was a genuine one… but did it not strike you as odd that his main priority upon touching the ground wasn't to get up to the rooftops of London again? He was at a complete disadvantage in those crowded streets; you were much better equipped to manoeuvre yourself through the mob.'

'But Sherlock, you can't be serious. Even for you that seems a bit of a flimsy foundation to base your theory on.' Sherlock ignored John's useless comment, his eyes trained on the red haired detective who he knew was coming around to his way of thinking.

'He didn't even attempt to resist arrest.' Ruby murmured, remembering how odd she'd found Mr Shannon's carefree disposition after she'd slapped the bracelets on his wrists.

'He's safer behind bars than he is walking the streets; that's the reason he wanted to be caught.' Sherlock concluded victoriously. Ruby chewed the side of her thumb, her mind spinning from these revelations.

'If he's intentionally giving us clues in order to save his life, has he told us anything else?' She eventually asked.

'Jesus… that's the name he gave you when you quizzed him on the identity of our killer.' Sherlock rolled his palms together, his eyes gazing at something which John and Ruby couldn't see.

'Yes Sherlock… and I'm pretty sure he was joking.' John said with a strained smile.

'But what if he wasn't? What if the name were a clue…' Sherlock's voice sounded strangely monotonous as his mind roved through countless pieces of information.

'Like a pseudonym?' Sherlock raised his eyebrows incredulously in his direction. 'Don't look at me like that; leaders of gangs call themselves all kinds of things.' John said reproachfully.

'And you think we should trawl the streets of London in search of Jesus? Then again, I happen to have the perfect outfit to disguise myself as a Jehovah's Witness.' Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment. 'Or…' He cocked his head to the side, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Then he sprang from his chair, tugged on his coat and scarf before storming out of the door without another word.

'Need me?' John asked.

'No!'

'Good, sod off then.' John muttered as Sherlock's coat tails flapped around the corner of 221b.

'Or what…?' Ruby yelled as he descended the stairs. The front door slammed before Sherlock gave her an answer.

'Don't worry about it, you'll get used to his abrupt exits. And if you don't, you'll probably end up killing him. If you do the latter, I'll help you get rid of the body.' John's smile was a surprisingly genuine one.

'Good to know I'll have an ally.' Ruby said, returning his smile.

'Listen; that free-running you did today? It was pretty incredible.'

'Eh, thanks.'

'It was in fact, um, so incredible that you might want to switch on the news…' John's voice trailed away ominously.

'The news?' Ruby asked, full of suspicion and an inexplicable dread.

'You know; that annoying programme on TV which dumps other people's woes on our doorstep? Sound familiar?' John flicked on the telly and switched to the news which was replaying its top story of an explosion in a far off country. The anchor shuffled his papers and returned his attention to the screen.

'In other news, a thrilling chase, something you'd expect to see more in the movies than on the streets of London took place just after five o'clock this evening. A suspect was chased over countless rooftops by a police officer employing a modern, French form of running known as "parkour". I would like to inform you that the following footage is taken by an assortment of amateur cameramen.' The strictly dressed anchor disappeared and was replaced with footage captured on someone's camera phone pointing up at the rooftops of London. Ruby could just about see two figures sprinting along the flat terrain, vaulting over obstacles with ease. This footage quickly switched to another camera phone capturing Mr Shannon dropping from three separate balconies onto the ground far below with Ruby in hot pursuit. She could hear her voice through the crowd announcing that she was with the police and to stop immediately. This was accompanied by the voice of the cameraman exclaiming 'Oh my God! That's a police officer! Duncan did you hear that? The girl's a bloody police officer!' The shaky camerawork gave way to the serene newsroom, the smiling anchor nodding meaningfully at the camera.

'Yes, the successful chase was conducted by a newly promoted detective who unfortunately was unavailable for comment as was Detective Inspector Lestrade. We are currently awaiting a statement concerning the details of this gripping chase and the charges to be pressed against the suspect, the identity of which has yet to be released.'

John switched off the telly, doing his best to master a chuckle at Ruby's flabbergasted expression. She blinked slowly and turned towards him. 'Did that… just happen?'

'If you mean footage of you chasing Mr Shannon over the rooftops of London caught by members of the public was broadcasted on Britain's most watched news channel – then yes. That did just happen.'

'This day just keeps getting weirder.'

'That's usually what happens when you work with someone like Sherlock. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I have a dinner date which I'm already… 10 minutes late for?' He sighed exasperatedly after checking his watch. 'I will never be able to keep a stable relationship with Sherlock as my best friend.' He proclaimed.

'Message received, I'll get out of your hair.' Ruby said, quickly recovering from the shock of seeing her parkour chase on the news. 'See you around John!' She called over her shoulder as she descended the stairs of 221b, not realising John had told a blatant lie in order to obtain a rare luxury: a few hours of undisturbed peace in the flat.

Four in a row. It's nice having your addiction for writing stories receive appreciation. Thanks my lovely readers!