The Silent Banker
The Silence of 221B Baker Street
Back at the flat Sherlock was sat at the desk, John's laptop closed in front of him, cup of coffee next to it. He had his hands pressed flat against each other, perched under his chin, elbows resting on the desk
John had been sent to bed by Rose who had said that he needed his sleep, and Sherlock could work more tomorrow.
"But I also have work tomorrow." Was his argument, shortly followed by a yawn.
"All the more reason for you to go to sleep, then ehy?" She said, finality in her voice.
He had sighed and taken his cup of tea to his room, but soon found he really was exhausted and didn't even finish it before falling into a deep sleep.
Rose was sat in John's usual chair, sipping a cup of tea. She decided that she would text her uncle, but thought to check the time first. It was two in the morning. That would be fine, she decided, he worked the night shift after all.
Used one of your old lessons today. It really helped, thanks.
She had always got on well with the younger of her two uncles. He lied, and was a complete idiot, but then she seemed to get on better with those sorts of people.
Which one? And what are you doing up so late?
She looked at the message and smiled. Her uncle had taught her so much, and yet her mother had thought it would all be useless.
How to get out of being choked. And I just got in, been a hell of a day.
Before she left, her uncles had both contacted her in their own way. Her uncle Andrew had called her, while the younger of the two, uncle Roy had text her. Both had said the same, in their own way. If she needed someone, they would be there, if only to talk to about her day.
CHOKED? What on earth have you been doing?
She smiled at his worry. He was one of the few people who seemed to understand her, and actually know who she was. He knew she was tough person, and that she knew how to handle herself - he made sure of that - but it didn't stop him being protective of his little niece.
Relax, I'm fine.
My new flatmate is a consulting detective,
I was just helping him out.
Just thought I would say thanks for the lesson.
She left it at that, knowing that further explanation would only take the rest of the night.
As she took a swig of her drink, she noticed that Sherlock had moved over to the sofa, and was lying on his back, hands folded over his chest, eyes closed.
Her phone gave a buzz as she pulled her feet up onto the chair, curling up in comfort, feeling the tiredness creep up on her.
Hmmm, well I may just have to make
a trip down to London, just to be sure.
Glad you're alright, get some sleep.
Talk soon.
Smiling at the text, she put her phone down on the arm of the chair, and fell into a light slumber.
Sherlock, lying on the sofa, heard the change in her breathing pattern. Opening one eye, he found she had fallen asleep. He smirked slightly; it was perfect for his plan.
Getting up carefully, so as to not make much noise, he crossed the room, and picked up his empty cup from the desk, watching her closely. When she didn't stir, he walked over the chair she occupied and picked up her mug - also empty - and made his way to the kitchen. He saw the twitch she gave, and felt her gaze on him as he moved, though he pretended not to. So, she was a light sleeper, he contemplated. This would make it a little more difficult.
But he had planned for this. Walking back to living room, he noticed she had gone back to sleep again. Too trusting, he smiled.
He took the blanket off the back of the sofa and approached the sleeping woman again, unfolding the material as he went.
He carefully laid it over her, but as he pulled away, he made sure his hand dragged lightly over the arm of the chair, taking the now silent mobile devise with it. She was half asleep as she felt the material be placed over her, and had one thought before she went back to a peaceful and slightly warmer sleep. He does care.
He crossed the room, going back to sit on the sofa again, and unlocked the blackberry so similar to his own, though it was personalised with themes and desktops and other such little details. Examining it closely, he also found it was quite old, and very battered. The screen was scratched repeatedly as was the keyboard, and one of the little silver stickers on the back was missing. Previous owner perhaps?
But that wasn't what he was looking for. He was looking for some sort of clue to tell him what the password to her laptop would be. Both his companions were asleep, and he had hit a dead end on the case for now, though he knew what he would do in the morning. For now he had this, and he wasn't one to pass up an opportunity.
So he read through her notes and her texts. He learnt the names of a few of her friends - Ethel, who she had met the day they had moved in. He also saw that she was close to her uncles, having a few calls off "uncle Andrew" over the past two weeks, and several texts from "uncle Roy," some of which were only minutes ago.
Reading through her messages, he found a couple off Mycroft and was torn between smiling that he was right - Mycroft had called her dear - and frowning that he text her in the first place. Moving on, he decided that there wasn't anything he could do at this moment in time.
He spent the best part of an hour reading messages, notes and going through the history of her internet browser as well as looking through her photos and pictures. He found reminders for birthdays, ideas for presents for people, recipe ideas, songs to listen to, to-do lists by the dozen and many, many photos of various people pulling silly faces.
Sighing, he put the phone on the side, thinking over what he had found out.
She had a lot of friends in Wales, and was happier with them than she was with her family. Obvious from the photos. She also loved her pets, but again he didn't know any names. It doesn't fit the hint anyway.
He had found something useful though. Her internet showed that she loved to read, and would read practically anything; stories, the news, horoscopes, anything. Also, her texts were worded properly, with correct punctuation and spelling. It showed she would most likely not abbreviate her password.
A thought occurred to the man then. A question…
What does Sherlock not understand?
She wouldn't reply with one word. She would reply; how to …
Smiling a small smile, he leant over and picked up the laptop again, typing in his new idea.
How to feel
Password incorrect.
He glared at the laptop and tried another one that she may think of.
How to care
Password incorrect.
He snapped the laptop shut again, making the woman frown in her sleep, but not quite waking her. He put it back beside the sofa, and lay back, deciding to take a quick nap, if only to refresh his mind.
A few hours later, the unusually bright light woke Rose from her slumber as she wasn't used to more than a faint glow from her room downstairs. She frowned, but decided to get up anyway.
She reached out for her phone to check the time, but found it wasn't where she left it. She pulled back the blanket and stood up, checking the seat of the chair. Feeling a stiffness in her neck, she pushed her chin to the side, clicking it with a satisfying crunch, but soon regretted it as she remembered the bruises around her neck. She suppressed a groan of pain, grit her teeth and looked on the floor around the chair. Still no phone. However she did find the illusive devise when she looked up.
It was sat on the arm on the sofa, where Sherlock was currently sleeping, looking as relaxed as she had ever seen him. It was clear as day what had happened. She may not be a social person first thing in the morning, but her brain was usually working just as well as it would after being awake for a few hours.
Crafty bugger….She thought as she crossed the room and took her phone in her hand. 6:17am it read.
She went for a shower, and as she got out she felt that, though the sun was shining a little brighter, she wasn't as happy as she was the day before, and decided to just go plain in her clothing today. She put on her standard black jeans, and one of her fitted black tank tops on. It was warmer and she did like her tank tops; she had a rainbow of colours. She also had a wide variety of coloured scarves, similar to her bandana in designs, but bigger and a lot more frayed as the edges. However, today she went with a dark green one, subtly drawing attention to her neck, but away from the bruises - which were worse than she thought when she looked at them in the mirror, as was the one on her knee - and so folding a large frayed square of green material in half, to make a large triangle, she tucked it gently around her neck, wincing when she touched the marked skin. She put on the bandana as she had the previous morning, tying around her wrist, and put on her boots again.
She went up stairs to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of orange juice. Walking into the living room, she noted that the sofa was once again vacant.
She wondered over to the "evidence board" and stood drinking her juice, refreshing her mind on all the details of the case.
After a few minutes she heard Sherlock go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He froze for a second, then turned slowly to see Rose; up, dressed and drinking orange juice, while looking at the information on the wall. He thought she had just gone to bed.
Hearing him enter the room, she decided to let the phone thing go. It's Sherlock, she reasoned, the only reason he hasn't looked through your laptop is because he can't guess the password. "So what do we do now?"
He blinked, she knows. He knows she knows, the phone was gone. But she's letting it go. Why? "We go back to the museum, I want another word with the worker, see if anything new has happened."
"Alright then." She downed her drink, put it in the kitchen sink and picked up her coat. When he didn't move, she looked back to him. "Are we actually going now?"
He blinked again, and a small half smile crept onto his face. "Why not?" He grabbed his coat, and they left the flat, both smiling at having something to do.