As the sun set, Lestrade waited outside of Emma's flat on Balcombe Street. Arms crossed in front of his chest, he was staring at the ground as if deep in thought. The slam of the cab door roused him from this state. He smiled, seeing John following behind Sherlock.
"Good to see you're up and about, John. Feeling okay?" Lestrade asked.
The doctor nodded. "Yeah. A bit worn, but alright. Thanks."
Sherlock ignored the exchange, diving straight into the investigating. "Ballistics?" he asked the inspector.
"Need anything, let me know," Lestrade finished with John before addressing Sherlock. "Yeah, I've got the report. Says the bullet fired in her flat was from your revolver. The ballistics match. Care to explain?"
"No fingerprints, no evidence other than it had been recently fired," Sherlock commented.
"No evidence other than matching the slug to the revolver," Lestrade answered.
"It wasn't a question," Sherlock replied shortly.
Lestrade sighed. He was not in the mood for Sherlock's quirks. Not today. "Right then. I'll be going," he said threateningly as he turned and began to walk away.
"Wait," Sherlock called out.
Lestrade paused, glancing over at John. John looked uncomfortable and could only offer a shrug.
"Yeah?" the inspector responded.
"I need to see the flat again," Sherlock stated flatly.
"You aren't going to find anything new since the last time you looked, Sherlock," Lestrade said in a weary tone.
Sherlock looked at John to ensure he was paying attention. He then asked Lestrade, "When was the shot fired?"
"Witnesses say the night of June 27th. Since it was one shot, most assumed it was a car backfiring or something and did nothing," the inspector said with a shrug. "Not surprising. The way these homes have been built, they tend to block most street sounds. Doesn't seem to add much to the case."
"You have my revolver," Sherlock stated as if it were enough of an explanation.
Lestrade grinned. "Shouldn't have had it anyway. No papers."
Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh and eye roll.
John stood, watching the two as one would watch a tennis match. Finally, he spoke up, "Why the interest in the shot?"
"A single shot was fired." Sherlock said quietly. "A few nights prior to the kidnapping."
"The night Emma was attacked?" Lestrade asked.
"John had spoken with her no more than a few hours before arriving at her flat," Sherlock explained.
"Yeah..." Lestrade suddenly froze. Sherlock glanced up, noting the silence. He observed as the realisation set into the inspector's face. "If the shot was fired two nights prior and the gun was back in your flat by the next night, she was the one that fired it. What's her motive?"
With another sigh, Sherlock looked over at the inspector as if it pained him to explain. "Emma, aka Careen, was an agent of...sorts. She's gone rogue. In order to do so, she faked the kidnapping, killed an agent and used my revolver to cause an inconvenience to me-"
"First of all, it isn't always about you, Sherlock," Lestrade interrupted.
Sherlock gave him a level look.
Lestrade returned it with a stern one, his eyes darting in John's direction. A look of disbelief crossed his features, "Second, you're telling me that this Careen is an agent? Who's agent?"
"M-," John started.
Sherlock immediately interrupted. "The government's." He gave a steady look to John while continuing, "We were not immediately aware of her involvement."
Lestrade followed the detective's line of sight. "Sorry, John. I had no idea," he offered.
"Yeah, well. That makes two of us," John answered, shooting an annoyed look at Sherlock.
Growing serious, Lestrade asked, "You are linking her with the homicide. What is it you need?"
"Time, in her flat," Sherlock said simply.
"Alright. A few hours, that's it. I will accompany you and you will fill me in on everything. And I do me everything," Lestrade replied. "I'll be hung if this ever gets out."
"Hanged," Sherlock corrected.
Lestrade just looked at him.
"Right, then. Shall we?" John interrupted, knowing this would not end well if continued.
The small, lightless room was cool, kept that way by a compact AC unit. Despite this, the air smelled of dust and moth balls. Hidden away within the darkness, there was a faint hum of electronics. Subtle clicks and whines gave evidence of a hard drive as data was recorded and stored. The soft computer noises increased slightly, the hard drive had been accessed. Through remote means, recorded data was transferred to several locations. Unseen by the human eye, thousands of bytes of data would stream through the air, across streets and buildings, when the time was right. For now, it would remain, waiting.
Sherlock led the way up the stairs to Emma's flat, followed closely by Lestrade who listened as the detective brought him up to speed. John fell in behind, though moving slower than the others. The voices of the two ahead sounded muffled, distant even as his thoughts were pulled inward. He was not looking forward to revisiting his girlfriend's flat. Correction: Ex-girlfriend, he thought to himself mournfully. John understood what had happened, Careen had lied to him. Still, he could not help feel a pang of sadness at the ending of their relationship. He had been falling in love with her. With Emma, he again corrected himself. When John finally finished his short bout of depression, he was surprised to find himself inside the flat.
"Look for anything out of the ordinary. Books that may look especially worn or even brand new, objects on the walls that may appear to project out farther than typical, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, check it. Lestrade-check this room, John-her bedroom. I'll be in the kitchen," his friend said rapidly before disappearing.
John was left standing alone in the living room. Snap out of it! he screamed in his mind. He knew he needed to break away from any emotional connection with Emma; otherwise, he ran the risk of being manipulated yet again. He frowned. His shoulders slumped, he straggled into her bedroom, stopping just inside the door. The reminders of the failed relationship churned in his mind. He fought to ignore them, but images continued to flash before his eyes. In an effort to gain control, he pushed what hurt he felt to feed the anger now rising. She used me!
He stepped into the room and began his search as instructed. The first thing he noticed was the mirror which faced opposite the foot of the bed. Though it did not appear to be any larger or protrude any further from the wall, there was something about the surface that gave him pause. He ran his fingers along the edge, hoping to find a button that would reveal a secret hideaway. When he thought at last he found what he was looking for, he pushed. Nothing happened. With a frown, he leaned in close, inspecting the side of the mirror. As he placed his hand on the reflective surface for balance, a chime sounded. He stepped back, hands up as if in surrender. What he saw was the illuminated panel on the lower right corner of the mirror with a touch pad to enter a passcode. John had opened his mouth to announce his discovery when he heard his name.
"John!" Sherlock called from the kitchen.
John practically dragged his feet as he walked into the kitchen. When he looked up, Sherlock's face held a stern expression.
"Need I remind you-" Sherlock began.
"No," John said firmly. He and Sherlock stared at one another for a few seconds. The tension was palpable.
"John, she-" Sherlock tried again.
"Stop," John interrupted, warning in his tone. "I have no interest in receiving a lecture from a man who knows very little about women, or love, for that matter. If you'd care to give me a lecture on computers, that I can take. But relationships? With people? No. Not now, Sherlock."
"Hey, Sherlock. Have a look at what-" Lestrade stopped short, having entered the room, an old book in hand. He gave a pained look, noticing the exchange between the doctor and the detective. He slid to one side where the dismantled remains of a coffee maker littered the counter and one fully functional router's led lights blinked silently.
Sherlock paused and, for a moment, John was afraid that he may have gone too far and hurt his friend. He was about to apologise for his behaviour, when he noticed the slight smile that began to spread across the detective's face. John closed his eyes in frustration.
"You...you weren't going to lecture me, were you?" John realised with a heavy sigh.
"No," Sherlock said quietly.
Rubbing his eyes, John looked at his friend and said with a bit more impatience than intended, "Well?"
"The entire flat is it. Brilliant. And hidden in plain sight," he cried out. "We found it!"
"What, exactly?" John said in a weary tone.
"What we've come looking for! Her nest," Sherlock replied with a soft hiss.
John's head jerked up. The way his friend responded sounded so much like Careen, it startled him. Sherlock saw the look on John's face.
"Problem?" he asked.
"No, none. H-her nest, you say? What, that?" John pointed to the mirror, or more specifically the keypad currently illuminated, similar to the one he had found in the bedroom. He hoped Sherlock would drop any further questioning. "Huh. I've looked into this mirror, or actually the one in her bedroom, countless of times. I never realised. A smart mirror. They're nearly three thousand pounds each. How could she possibly afford- wait. Mycroft? Do you think this is from his, uh, funding?"
"Yes," Sherlock answered holding out a scrap of paper.
John took the proffered note from his friend's hand and read it aloud:
To The Great Infallible Sherlock,
Since you are struggling with this case and having difficulty locating me, it must be frustrating. I realise you desperately need help, so I've left a modest amount of evidence, though it is anything but. I believe John will find some of it quite...stimulating. The clues are on the tablet, if you can find it. I certainly won't make it that easy. This should help your massive intellect.
Give my love to John.
-Careen
Lestrade cleared his throat, attracting Sherlock's attention and handing him a dusty book. The detective turn it over in his hands, then opened it to reveal a small tablet. John reread the note, unaware of his increasing grip crushing the paper. He glanced over at the notepad sized device currently in the detective's hands. In the lower corner, a notice popped up, indicating wireless access was available. Sherlock tapped the screen, which flashed a warning: passcode required.
"So she can browse the Internet. I don't see how that can be construed as a nest," John grumbled, a hint of criticism in his voice.
Sherlock watched his friend for a moment. "You've noticed the peculiar mirrors about the flat? Rather large in size, more so than necessary. Additionally, the depth of the frame, approximately four inches, seems disproportionate to the typical one inch deep framed wall mirror. Plus, the line to the AC-DC adaptor was a dead giveaway." He smirked.
Without another word, he removed his mobile phone from his coat pocket and proceeded to thumb through his contacts. A few seconds later, he had selected one. As the phone began to dial, Sherlock passed by John and out the flat. John stood in the kitchen, wondering if he was taking too many liberties with their friendship.
An hour later, there came a knock at the door. When John opened the door, his eyes widened surprised at seeing a boy, especially one who looked barely twenty. He faltered in his words, narrowing his eyes at the sight before him. The young man had a toothy grin on his face. His unkempt hair, loose fitted jeans and wrinkled hoodie gave the impression he had just gotten out of bed. John glanced down at his watch: 10:00 p.m. He looked back up and noticed the boy was looking past him.
"Mr. 'olmes!" the young man called out while he examined John from head to foot.
"Dex, come in, come in," the detective answered from the kitchen.
John followed the boy. His eyes darted from his friend to this new arrival, who was shown the tablet. Sherlock began pointing out various portions of what he had discovered while waiting.
"Be aware, she may have left us traps, as it were. I don't want to lose any data. Understood?"
After a few seconds, the young man gave a nod in understand. "Give me some time, eh? I'll 'ave it cracked for ya, Mr. 'olmes," he answered with a huge smile on his face.
The detective stood and left the room, taking John along with him. "Best to leave him to his work. No distractions."
Lestrade stood by the window facing the street. Every few minutes, he would turn to look about the room. His eyes would catch the doctor's and both would give a quick but polite smile before turning their attentions elsewhere.
John sat down on the couch that had been left in disarray. He fidgeted in his seat, watching as Sherlock paced about the room. The sight of his friend's energy made him especially anxious. "Sherlock," he began to ask. From the lack of acknowledgement, he thought for a moment he was being ignored.
Finally, Sherlock's pacing stopped. "Hmm?"
"Do you think-, I mean, this kid-" he tried to ask.
"Dex has proven himself of value more than once. He will succeed, allowing me full access to the device."
"What if he finds-that is to say, what if there are-" John growled in frustration.
Sherlock paused to watch his friend. Finally, he replied, "Dex will look at nothing, I assure you." He resumed his pacing, thoughts inward.
John gave a weak nod and sat back on the couch. The next few hours passed by slowly. He took in a deep breath and slowly released it through his teeth. His leg began to shake. He smoothed his hands down his thighs, then sat back again, arms folded. His leg began to shake again.
"Mr. 'olmes?" Dex shouted. He looked over his shoulder as both the detective and the doctor entered the room. "Looks like she's 'acked local wireless. Mind if I 'ave a look up top?"
The detective gave a wave of his hand and Dex was off in a sprint. John could hear him bound the stairs, two at a time.
The boy returned a few minutes later. "Mr. 'olmes." the teenager said. "Found a wireless access point, device and drive, was 'idden in the attic. As for that file 'ere, I can 'ave it cracked in no time, provided you, uh..."
"You will be paid, handsomely," came Sherlock's terse reply.
Dex connected a cable between his laptop and the tablet. His fingers flew over the keys, opening programs and streaming data down various screens. A few hours into his work, sweat began to bead above his brow. His eyes darted back and forth between the devices. As he keyed in a code, a smile began to creep over his lips. The smaller device flashed in warning. His smile faded to a grimace. He stood abruptly and paced the room. Returning to his chair, he gripped its back and glared down at the piece of equipment. He glanced in the detective's direction, but Sherlock was not there. Taking in a breath, Dex held it for a moment and closed his eyes. Slowly releasing the air, he reopened them and sat back down. Dex resumed his work, this time his fingers flew over the keys with increasing speed. Thirty minutes later, he had success hacking through the security. He was planning on exploring the files, but was taken a bit by surprise when the detective rushed into the kitchen.
"Finished?"
Dex gave a nod. "It's like a remote. Controls the other's in the flat. They are versions of this one. See here?" With a push and slide of his finger, the kitchen mirror came to life. What was seen on the small device was on the larger one hung on the wall.
"And the router, the hard drive being accessed? Any way to trace it to a specific area?"
"Such as...?" The hacker looked at him for more information.
"A more permanent location."
The boy frowned for a moment. "No, sir. I mean, well, it's possible, but it would take considerable more time and resources. Sometimes, yeah. But in this case, sounds like you gots a tricky one. If I wanta avoid trace, I'd use additional routers or log in remotely into a virtual desktop through another server."
"Thank you, that will be all. I may contact you later," Sherlock said, slapping money in the palm of the boy's hand. He turned his attention towards the newly hacked tablet, making it painfully obvious that Dex's services were no longer required. Dex gathered his things. With head down and heavy sigh, he quietly left the flat.
Sherlock's eyes focused on the accessible files. The room immediately fell silent. Even as John and Lestrade hovered over his shoulder, the detective seemed not to notice. A note from an electronic journal flashed onto the screen:
May 7th: Met Dr. John Watson for the first time. What a gentleman! Not bad on the eyes either. I do hope this will work, as I find myself falling for him.
Holmes approached me today, told me to back off. There was something in his eyes. Very disturbing. I don't trust him. I fear for John's safety. Holmes is a psychopath...correction, sociopath.
"So, you did speak to her, then?" John asked. "...was that when you suspected...in May?"
"You knew she was an agent and didn't say a word?" Lestrade questioned.
"It is obviously a fake, meant for John's eyes," Sherlock mused. "Hold on."
"So, what. You're planning on reading her journal?" John smirked.
Sherlock looked at John askance. "Don't be ridiculous. Her psychotic ramblings don't interest me. What I am interested in is her current target." He returned to his search of computer files.
Sliding his long slender finger over the screen, he sent a stream of pictures spinning across his view. John, who had remained silent up to this point, leaned forward to watch Sherlock's progress in the hopes to gain some insight into the woman he had grown so fond of. As the photos slowed from their spin, he was able to make out images of his dates with Emma.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked more to himself than the detective. "If she was with me, who was taking the photographs?"
"Who, indeed?" the detective answered as he continued to peruse the files.
Lestrade chimed in, "These photos must have been taken from government surveillance."
"Obviously," the detective said. "And this here, appears to be from a smaller device, most likely a wireless camera. But the photos in this folder are of higher quality, no doubt taken with a high powered lens. Since she is not present in these, I would deduce she was behind the camera. What concerns me are the most recent pict-"
John gasped and, on instinct, quickly yanked the tablet from Sherlock's hand. "John...," Sherlock said with an unusual amount of patience.
John opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. His fierce heart broke when his eyes fell on the compromising photos. He continued to shake his head in disbelief.
"John...I'm not looking at the photographs. I'm merely looking for clues to where she might be now," Sherlock answered John's unspoken question.
"I...," John faltered. "Pictures of us, of me. Intimate pictures! Clues might be in other files that you can look at. Any but these!" he snapped. He was more angry with himself for having fallen into this predicament than at Sherlock for viewing the files.
Sherlock expelled a frustrated sigh. "I don't care about the actual images. I'm not looking at you. I'm looking everywhere else. Do you see? There," he pointed to a slip of paper in one of the pictures. "And here," he again pointed to another. "Looks to me she was planning for the airport. Now, if you don't mind...," he tried to reclaim the tablet but John would not let go.
"This searching is pointless. She knew you'd find the tablet." A look of frustration crossed John's features.
"Astute observation, John," Sherlock said with a hint of pride in his voice. "She's trying to insult me, to bait me into following."
"So, then, we don't follow her?" John said, confusion replacing frustration.
"Of course we will!" the detective answered.
"She's done this on purpose," John continued to argue. He did not want his best friend to see how in love and vulnerable he had been. "That will give her the advantage, knowing that we are coming for her."
Sherlock tugged on the tablet, but still John would not release it. "I know, John" he said gently.
"She's humiliated me," John growled.
"John. I know," Sherlock answered in a more serious tone.
John looked up at him briefly. He gave a quick nod and relinquished the device to Sherlock. He was struggling still with the loss of his relationship and felt violated by the very woman he had come to trust. While Sherlock reviewed every file, John walked about the room.
"She knew we would return to her flat. She set it up for us to see," Sherlock explained. John gasped but continued to stare at a video now playing on the tablet. "She's trying to manipulate you, John. To make you doubt everyone, so you will still believe in her. Don't be fooled."
"Of course not," John said, but could not take his eyes off of the screen.
"There." The detective paused the video and pointed to a small set of papers jutting out of her bag. Sherlock passed the notebook over.
While the doctor was pouring over the files, the voices of the detective and inspector were barely audible behind him. John sat down at the table, squinting for a better look. "I...I don't see how this can help us. I can't even read it," he commented. Noticing a file dated June 26th at 7:13 am, he swept his finger over the screen and selected a file. His eyes watched the familiar scene play out. The night Emma was attacked. Supposedly attacked, he again corrected himself. He felt he was never going to make sense of the change from Emma to Careen. He groaned internally. It was bad enough the tablet held still photographs, but to have video as well. It was almost too much for him to handle.
"Tonight?" she asked
"Yes," John replied. "Without me," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Emma. Sherlock believes that if I were with him, I might help in catching this guy."
She shook her head.
"Emma, I promise I will not be far from you. I will not let anything happen to you." John took her hand in his. "I love you."
Slowly, a smile crept over her lips. "I love you, too, John." she replied.
As John wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace, she grinned broadly and mouthed at the camera 'He's mine'.
He groaned, then shouted loudly, "She had said she loved me!"
The detective stood in silence.
"Right. Well, I've placed a call in. Security is canvassing the airport as we speak. Time's up, gentleman. Shall we?" Lestrade said, waving his hand towards the door.
"Sherlock," John's voice grew serious. He had inadvertently opened a document containing notes and a few pictures. Though many of them were of the two of them, a few of the more recent ones were of Mycroft. "Her next target?"
Sherlock took hold of the tablet. His eyes darted back and forth while his fingers pushed and slid items on the screen. Shoving the device back into his friend's hands, he spun on his heels, leaving the flat in a hurry. Staring at what looked to be confirmation of an airline ticket purchase, it took John a few additional seconds to realise Sherlock had left. Dropping the tablet on the table, he sped down the stairs, barely remembering to slam the door shut.