[edited on 2/26/15]

-Clever.

-Paring(s): Sherlock Holmes/OC

-Rated: T (currently) for language, suggested violence, and slight adult situations

-TV-based

-Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. The characters belong to the fantastic Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and the legendary Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I only own the OCs introduced.

Chapter Ten:

"A Scooter for Two"

[National Antiques Museum; 4:43pm on March 23rd]

The young man that last talked to his pretty co-worker, Andy Galbraith, was checking over a new piece when his Director appeared at his side.

"I need you to get over to Crispians." she told, "Two Ming vases up for auction—Chenghua. Will you appraise them?" He was shown a picture of said objects. These weren't in his area, so he thought he might muck up the job.

"Soo Lin should go. She's the expert." he suggested, knowing well her skills.

"Soo Lin has resigned her job. I need you." the Director said, walking away.

[Outside Soo Lin's apartment in Chinatown; 5:27pm]

Compelled with an unsettling feeling, Andy decided to pay Soo Lin a visit to make sure she was all right. He rang the buzzer, hoping she would answer. She didn't come to the door. Assuming she was just out at the moment, the young man left a quick note and placed it through the mail slot before unfortunately leaving.

[Location Unknown; 9:12pm]

A portly, bald man ran through the busy streets, appearing flustered and scared. So much so, that he didn't care about almost being struck by a car. He was much too concern about what was behind him..as if something or someone was chasing him. The man managed to make it to his apartment building, believing he had out ran his pursuers for the moment. Scurrying up the stairs two at a time, he arrived at his door and fumbled with his keys before dashing inside. But upon entering the bedroom area, he discovered it to be in a state of disarray more so than it had been when he left that morning. Someone had been inside and could still be there..

[At a Local Clinic; 11:05am on March 24th]

The General Practitioner, Dr. Sarah Sawyer quietly looked over John's extensive resume. Watson had heard from the help of Mike that there might have been an opening at a clinic not too far from Barts. With the bills looming over, he decided that finding a steady job was necessary since relying only on Sherlock's casework to bring in any income was out of the question. The eccentric was too picky and when he finally took on one, he never wanted the money offered most times. Marisol had kindly offered to paid but her godfather refused immensely, saying she needed every penny she had even if well off.

The woman, who he found very pretty, glanced over at said man after a few moments. "Just locum work."

"No, that's fine." he assured firmly.

"You're, um.." she said, peering once more at the sheet in her hand. "Well, you're a bit over-qualified."

The veteran smiled, "Er, I could always do with the money."

"Well, we've got two away on holiday this week and one's just left to have a baby. It might be a bit mundane for you."

"No, mundane is good, sometimes." the man stated, thinking of his current adventures with Holmes. "Mundane works."

"It says you were a soldier." Sarah noted with curiosity.

"And a doctor." John added with another smile.

"Anything else you can do?"

"..I learned the clarinet at school."

"Oh.." Sawyer laughed. He liked her laugh. "..well, I'll look forward to it."

[Sherlock and John's apartment; 12:11pm]

When John returned to the apartment after his interview, Sherlock was once again in his 'Mind Palace' and still trying to identify the yellow symbols with so far, no success. He snapped out of it right as his flatmate walked in,

"I said, could you pass me a pen?"

John gave a confused expression. "What? When?"

"About an hour ago." he was told.

"Didn't notice I'd gone out, then?" Watson sighed, tossing over one. Sherlock caught it perfectly without even looking. The other man then walked to the fireplace where printed out pictures of the cryptic message were taped above. "I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?" Holmes asked.

"Great." John replied absently with a happy tone. "She's great."

The eccentric raised a brow. "Who?"

"The job." he corrected, realizing what he said.

"She?"

"It."

"Yeah, have a look." Sherlock nodded his head towards the open laptop—John's laptop. An online news article was there with the headline reading, 'Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police'.

"'The intruder who can walk through walls.'" quoted aloud the veteran slowly.

"It happened last night." summarized his flatmate, "Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."

"God! You think—?"

Holmes steepled his hands. "He's killed another one."

[New Scotland Yard; 12:32pm]

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist, murdered in his flat." Dimmock crossed his arms with a blank look. Sherlock and Watson had came strolling in unannounced, spewing facts that he already damn well knew. But he known better than to cut off the consulting detective when he was on a tangent. Holmes was typing on his computer before showing the article on the victim, finishing. "Doors locked from the inside."

"You've got to admit, it's similar." John pointed, "Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls." The man in front of them stay quiet, dubious.

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" No response. The eccentric sighed greatly. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?" Dimmock finally nodded. "And the shot that killed him. Was it fired from his own gun?"

"No."

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." Sherlock leaned forward to seem menacing in his persuasion. "I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat."

[Second Murder Scene: Brian Lukis' flat; 1:08pm]

Well, once again, Sherlock managed to get his way. Though he would have liked to have a longer time, this was the best Dimmock would allow as long as he was there supervising like mother hen. As with every crime scene, the messy apartment was left untouched. That left just enough details for the detective to observe. Upon walking in, his gaze first noticed the open suitcase on the floor with an impression at the bottom and then the evident signature of the killer—the black origami flower. So far, two similar clues to obviously link the murders. But blue eyes scanned the room for one more which was also very important to the case. Holmes paused, peering at the window before stepping over to glance outside. A pleased smirk formed on his lips suddenly.

"Four floors up." he stated, "That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, think they're impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."

"..I don't understand." told Dimmock as the genius headed back into the hall.

"Dealing with a killer who can climb." he clarified, standing in front of a small skylight now.

"What are you doing?"

"Clings to the walls like an insect." The window was pushed open with a clunk. "That's how he got in."

"What?!" Sherlock suppressed a long sigh. Marisol was right. The Detective Inspector was like a clueless owl. He was expecting her to groan and mutter under her breath something along the line of 'Here we go again!' But the man remembered she wasn't there. In fact, now that he realized it, the young woman hadn't been to the flat since the Van Coon murder..Was she mad at him for almost destroying her helmet? Or was she at last tired of his cruel teasing..or of him? That last question oddly bothered him.

"Now's not the time to ponder it." he scolded himself, mentally reminding to pester John for the reason to her absent though.

The eccentric finally explained, "He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

The officer replied in disbelief, "You're not serious?! Like Spiderman?"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony and killed Van Coon."

"Oh, hold on—!"

"And of course, that's how he got into the bank—ran along the window ledge onto the terrace." Sherlock continued adamantly; not in the mood to deal with Dimmock's interruptions anymore. "I have to find out what connects these two men." Moving back, he noticed on the steps of the staircase a stack of books and picked one up. It was from a nearby library which had been checked out yesterday night. The location of the library was only a couple of blocks away from Lukis' apartment.

[West Kensington Library; 1:18pm]

"The date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." Watson and Holmes now stood together in the section where it belonged. It was a long shot that they would find what they were looking for there; words that the doctor had pointed in the cab. But they checked the books anyway, skimming through the pages for any hints. But it was John who found the link—the strange message in yellow paint sprayed on the back of the white bookcase..

[221B: Sherlock and John's flat; 2:02pm]

The flatmates stood in front of what the genius called 'the spider web', reviewing the new evidence and summarizing a bit of the tragic events.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher at the bank." stated Holmes, "Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."

"..The killer finds Lukis at the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen." John added then, "Lukis goes home."

"Late that night, he dies too."

"Why did they die, Sherlock?"

"Only the cipher can tell us." he answered, brushing his fingertips along one photo. And he knew one lawbreaker that might be able to help identify that yellow graffiti.

[Outside the National Antiques Museum; 2:30pm]

The eccentric had to ask around to the whereabouts of his unnamed acquaintance which was at the museum. The two men had to hurry over because the person wouldn't be staying long. The area was commonly overcrowded that day with students, tourists, and locals. All of them gathered around by the fountain or in groups spread through the front of the museum like flocks of pesky pigeons. Once there, Holmes began explaining his thoughts on the message and their reason for meeting this stranger.

"The world's run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank to the PIN machine you took exception to. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, okay, but—"

"But it's all computer generated—electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods." he told, walking up the steps to the building. "This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"So where are we headed?" John pondered, seeing that his flatmate wasn't walking towards the entrance.

Sherlock quieted for a moment before reluctantly uttering, "I need to ask some advice."

"What? Sorry?" the doctor said, believing he heard wrong. Clear blues glanced at him with a blank expression, seeing his incredulous smile.

"You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again." the other man deadpanned. He was lucky Vallas hadn't witness what he said. She wouldn't have let it go; grinning smugly and saying, 'So, Mr. Holmes isn't as perfect as he portrays. Hell must have froze over from this shocking news!' A grimace formed on his lips at that moment. There he went thinking of her again. Why was that plain girl popping into his mind lately? Now, don't get him wrong, it wasn't annoying..he just found it unusual.

"You need advice?"

"On painting." he responded, pulled from his rambling thoughts. "Yes, I need to talk to an expert." At the back of the museum, the duo came upon a younger man currently spray painting graffiti art on a door.

"Part of a new exhibition." he informed once they stood behind him; not bothering with a hello or some other kind greeting.

"..Interesting." Sherlock told in a voice that clearly did not personally find it as such.

The tagger grinned. "I call it..Urban Bloodlust Frenzy, haha."

"Catchy." the veteran commented blankly. He also didn't see the appeal in the art or how that title fit what he made—a police officer which looked like a pig.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes around that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?" Holmes handed his phone without a word. The younger man tossed one of his cans to John to hold before taking it, skimming through the photos.

"Know the author?"

"I recognized the paint." he answered with instead, "It's like Michigan—hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"And what about the symbols?" the genius pressed impatiently. "Do you recognized them?"

"I'm not even sure it's a proper language." joked the tagger.

With an annoyed expression, the other man said, "Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"And this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much now, is it?

"Are you going to help us or not?"

"..I'll ask around."

"Somebody must know something about it—"

"Oi!" came a shout behind them then, cutting the conversation short. It was the community officers Raz mentioned. Surprised, John turned around at the voice while the tagger and eccentric had the same idea and raced out of there to avoid an arrest.

The officers stopped in front of Watson, looking at him with a disapproval. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This gallery is a listed public building."

"No, no. Wait, wait. It's not me who painted that. I was just holding this for.." the doctor denied, turning to face the two behind him only to finally realized their disappearance. His shoulders slumped in disappointment. There was no getting out of this now.

"Seriously, Sherlock!" he thought bitterly. One of the officers glanced down towards the bag full of spray paint.

"Bit of an enthusiast, are we?" John couldn't reply, accepting his framed fate.

[Inside the National Antiques Museum: Central London; 2:30pm]

Andrew was once again pestering his Director about the strangeness of Soo Lin's departure. "She was right in the middle of an important piece of restoration. Why would she suddenly resign?"

The woman beside him shrugged. "Family problems. She said so in her letter."

"But she doesn't have a family." he expressed, "She came to this country on her own."

"Andy!" his Director said in light resign.

"Look, those teapots, those ceramics. They've become her obsession." Andrew told, trying desperately now to get her to understand his persistent. "She's been working on restoring them for weeks. I can't believe that she would just..abandon them."

"Perhaps she was getting a bit of unwanted attention?" pointed the woman, knowing his unhidden liking for said person of discussion. She walked away as he was left speechless.

[221B: the Loft; 3:49pm]

John—pissed off beyond belief—returned home for the third time after his wrongful arrest some time later. The eccentric who left him to the mercy of the community officers was casually standing in front of the fireplace again. He had added scribbled notes of various symbols he knew to his 'spider's web' now. The veteran just couldn't believe what occurred. But then again, this was Sherlock he was talking about. The man was an inconsiderate asshole most times.

"You've been awhile." Watson paused, glancing his way before replying with strained calm effort.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they? Just formalities. Fingerprints, charge sheet, and I've got to be in magistrates' court on Tuesday."

"What?" Holmes responded, not listening before.

"Me, Sherlock!" he snapped at him, "In court, on Tuesday! They're giving me an ASBO!"

"Good, fine."

"You want to tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up anytime."

"This symbol, I still can't place it." the genius stated suddenly, turning from his web. His bright-eyed gaze landed on John. Now, was the time to ask. "..Marisol said that it looked familiar to her the other day. It would have been simple to ask again if she was here. I wonder where she's scurrying about?"

"Well, she's busy living her own life." his flatmate said simply, shrugging out of his coat. "But I'll give her a call now and ask for you." The other man frowned. That was not what he wanted to hear. He came up to Watson then and placed his coat back on.

"Oi!" the doctor exclaimed in annoyance.

"No, I need you to go to the police station and ask about the journalist." he told, ignoring his protest and leading him back towards the door. "The personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements." Once grabbing his favorite coat and scarf, Sherlock hurried behind John.

"And where are you headed then?"

"To go and see Van Coon's PA. If you retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." After that, the two went separate ways—Holmes headed for the Tube station nearby while Watson called for a cab. But as one pulled over, he thought he had spied a suspicious woman dressed in black taking pictures of him. Though when glancing that why once inside, she was gone..like an apparition.

[The Golden Lion pub; 4:15pm]

The lunch crowd was gradually leaving the bar, much to Marisol's relief. She needed a break from interacting with so many people. But she had to say, working the day shift was a lot better than night which had been done once and would never again as vowed. With a bottled water and a simple green apple, the writer took a seat at a corner table and occupied herself with an old issue of Hellblazer. Though the words on the pages didn't register and the writer ended up pondering instead. Like what Watson and Holmes were up to. She hated missing out on the case but her ire towards Sherlock's rudeness won every time when she was about to cave.

"God, he's such an arse.." she had muttered bitterly then.

"Reading again, Marisol?" Dark eyes snapped up to see a young man around her age with well-favored features take the spot across her.

A faint blush painted her cheekbones and she mumbled a response, "Um, yeah."

"Haha, that's so like you." he told with a grin that was far too adorable for a grown man. But only Adam Ridgell could pull it off. She shrugged indifferently, hating that she couldn't talk to him naturally still after about a year. Though with Sherlock, it was easy in a day..Vallas blamed it on her having a crush on her co-worker. He was good looking in her opinion—short, tousled light brown hair, neatly kept beard, hazel eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, and normal height with a lean body. The list could go on.

Adam worked as a licensed bartender which he left his major in biotechnology for to learn. She had asked him once why and he answered with, 'It's always fun to try something at else once, right?' His personality was charming and laid back and people tended to like him right away. He also tried his best to make anyone around him smile. With Marisol, he always went out of his way to help her feel included even when she didn't want to. The young man looked out for her and if she ever had the chance, she'd do the same. A silence fell between them after that, though it surprisingly wasn't uncomfortable.

"Hey? I forgot to ask you how you're liking the Vespa so far?" Ridgell asked a minute later. At that question, a happy expression lit up the writer's face.

"I'm loving it. Daisy's a blessing—that what I named her by the way. I no longer have to rely on either the Tube or a cab fully." Vallas answered brightly, "It's so much fun to ride too! Nothing like a motorcycle but still, I really appreciate you offering her to me first." The young man stared wide-eyed at his co-worker. She blinked. "What?"

"Sorry, I'm still not used to you talking so lively." he smiled with subtle adoration, "You should do it more often. Your smile is very pretty, heh." The young woman gaped, forgetting how to response to his obvious compliment.

"Actually, she does..though I don't see anything special about it." The two turned their heads towards the new arrival. Sherlock stood with a slight smirk as he looked down at them. He was more than pleased to ruin the affectionate atmosphere emitting from the younger people.

"What are you doing here?!" his friend questioned in surprise. Her brown eyes then narrowed. "Wait..did you force John to tell you where I might be?"

"No. I saw the name of this place on your name tag one day when you left your mess of a bag open." he replied coolly.

"It's rude to peek into a woman's bag, you git!" she reprimanded.

"You know well how I am. Plus, I didn't see anything..too unpleasant." Holmes grinned which meant he had..like the extra pair of panties she kept in there. "Be more careful next time though."

She covered her redden face with her hand, sighing. "God, you're a pain. Well, hurry up and tell me what you want?"

"I need your help."

"Wait..what?" The older man grimaced. She and John had to be blood related; there was no doubt about it.

"..There's been another death." he said, getting to the reason of his uninvited visit.

Marisol grew serious then. "Was the same motive there?" she asked.

"Yes and no. It looked like a killing this time but the murderer still liked to climb and used that odd symbol."

"Geez, will killers ever pay attention to their actions?" the young woman complained with a shake of her curly head. "They practically want someone to discover them."

"I'm sorry to interrupt but are you two discussing what I think you are?" Adam interjected suddenly; his hazel eyes wide in honest curiosity. The writer and genius paused, remembering he had been sitting there listening.

Clear blues glared. "This doesn't concern you."

"Sherlock, be nice!" Vallas slapped his arm in a scolding manner. He placed his glare on her instead. "Anyway, you don't really need my help. You just want me to be your conversation skull since John isn't with you."

Ridgell raised a brow, "Conservation skull?"

"Long story. Speaking of my godfather, where is he?"

"At the police station asking more about our latest victim." he answered blankly. "I doubt he wanted my company at the moment anyway since he was mad about his wrongful arrest earlier." He was a bit startled when the young woman suddenly confronted him, standing so fast he took an involuntary step backwards. Even Adam was shocked by her abrupt mood change. Her hands grabbed the lapels of his coat and roughly pulled him down to where they were nose to nose since she was shorter than him; now able to see the black pupil in her furious dark brown eyes.

"What did you do?" the young woman hissed, automatically knowing he was at fault. The older man stared without expression. He could practically feel the anger radiating off her skin. It was his first time seeing her full of absolute ire though John had told him about her almost fighting Donovan two weeks ago.

"Go ask Watson." he drawled in challenge. A crooked smile laced with malice graced her pretty features then.

"Oh, I plan to and you better hope it's not bad."

"So are you coming along or not?" the eccentric deadpanned.

She let go of him and crossed her arms over her chest, giving the evil eye still. "I'd like to since this case has gotten me curious again, but if you have not noticed, I'm unfortunately at work."

"..I can cover for you." her co-worker butted in again, "I'll tell Derek you had a family emergency. Plus, Ellen will be here soon for her shift."

Her gaze fell on him in confusion. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" he remarked with his charming grin.

"Wow..thanks, Adam." she smiled sweetly, blushing a tad as she reverted back to her docile side. Sherlock silently watched the interaction.

"..They like each other.." It was obvious to him from the endearing smiles, the cute little redness on the young woman's face, and the obvious look in their eyes. But he doubted Vallas could truly tell the boy liked her back. And for some reason, it unsettled the detective.

"I'll be outside. Don't keep me waiting, plain girl." Holmes snatched his friend's uneaten apple from the table and irately turned on his heel then, leaving the two startled co-workers. The writer rolled her eyes at his retreating back while picking up her water and comic.

"Plain girl?" Adam smirked in amusement once the other man was gone.

"His rude nickname for me." Marisol shrugged, indifferent. "I call him a git, though he's anything but that."

"Well, I think you're anything but plain. Specially now."

A brow raised. "Was that a flirt?" she thought in astonishment. "Right..well, thanks again."

"No problem, but.." He grinned widely at her. "You owe me now. And I'll let it go if you go out for coffee with me. Say, this Friday?"

She replied in unabashed excitement, "O-Okay!" Marisol blushed from her obvious eagerness and quickly recovered nonchalantly. "Uh, I mean—sure, why not? Seems fair."

He reached towards her just then and Vallas held her breath, not knowing what he would do. His hand had picked up a strand of hair that fallen out of place and carefully put it back while that boyish smile of his crept on his gorgeous face.

"It's a date then." The action left her a stammering mess and she hurriedly left afterwards, leaving the bartender to merrily watch as he leaned back in his chair.

[Outside: The Golden Lion; 4:22pm]

Marisol found her friend casually leaning against the wall by the pub's entrance. He had a bored expression on his face while eating her stolen apple. Upon seeing it caused her stomach to growl, reminding the young woman of her obvious hunger.

"You owe me dinner once we're done." she told, frowning. His gaze lazily fell on her then. Holmes hadn't paid too much attention in what she had been wearing inside. Now, he took in the cute cashmere slouch beanie that covered her loose curls. A buttoned polka dot v-neck blouse with a black camisole underneath; the sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows. Burgundy trousers hugged her slender legs and black leather strapped ankle boots covered her feet. A long silence had formed between the two while he cataloged her clothing into his memory bank.

Vallas waved a hand in front of his face. "Oi! Earth to Sherlock!"

"..Fine." he stated, pushing himself off the wall and disposing the half eaten fruit in a nearby trashcan.

"Fine?" she repeated with a raised brow. "You're actually gonna do it?"

The eccentric smirked. "Yes, I heard your stomach growl. It would be cruel of me not to abate that monster living in you." Marisol glared and walked away, muttering a curse in Greek under her breath. Holmes caught up in two long strides, stepping along with her side by side.

"So where are we headed?"

"To speak with Van Coon's PA. Retrace the man's steps before his death."

The two stopped beside her scooter. "All right." the young woman nodded, lifting the sit and pulling out two helmets. The spare was offered to the man. "Well, we're wasting daylight, so let's go, daddy-o!"

"..I'll take a cab, thank you." Sherlock deadpanned, uninterested.

"Oh, come on. This is quicker." Marisol reasoned, "I promise I'm a safe driver, if that's what you're worried about." He was silent for a moment. The young woman sighed loudly. "..Okay, fine! Take your stupid—!"

"Why haven't you been coming to the flat?"

She blinked, taken off-guard that she told him the truth. "Uh..John told me to. Said you were becoming a bad influence which is absolute rubbish." A glare was fixed on the other man then. "But it was the 'almost destroying my helmet' part that made me stay away."

"Hmph. As I figured." he smirked, beginning to step away; contented now that he had his answer. But Vallas was faster, grabbing his wrist.

"Wait..did you miss my company or something?" questioned the writer, glancing up at him with curiosity. "Is that also why you came to find me?"

"No. I was just wondering." the eccentric shrugged indifferently; an edge in his voice. Having caught it, a smug grin crawled onto Marisol's face.

"You did miss me! Just admit it!"

Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "Can you let go of me now? We're wasting time." She complied with the grin still present, not pressing anymore. The young woman then preceded to place on her helmet and get on Daisy.

"I guess I should thank you, Sherlock, because I got a date Friday out of your surprise visit." The genius gazed with astonishment. 'Marisol has a date?..And it was probably with that annoying guy too,' he thought. Her news caused a bitter taste to form in his mouth..which was realized to be blood a second later. He had suddenly clenched his jaw that the inside of his cheek was accidentally bitten. And Holmes was aggravated, not believing the writer thought her co-worker was 'the right guy' to even considered dating once more. Meanwhile Vallas, oblivious to her friend's mulling, adjusted her chin strap. Right then, an extra weight was added behind her.

"I don't have the patience to find a cab." was told before she could even ask.

"..Sure, sure." Marisol smirked, handing the spare over her shoulder.

-TBC-

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