Double update. Enjoy.
Since word had spread Mr. Holden, the slightly bohemian but all around amiable Art teacher, was the infamous S.K., the man had mysteriously disappeared.
"We will do all we can to locate this man and make him answer for his crimes," the principal had told the entire school that morning. "All on the police force in England are looking for him. I will assure you he will be caught soon and your grievances will come to an end."
After the speech she had heard Robin Jameson and a freshman girl speak of their personal grievances: the loss of two peers who could never be returned to them, whether Holden would have to answer for his crimes or not.
Others speculated of where he might have gone: she had even heard a little dusky girl swear she had seen him in the park when it was still dark outside and she was walking the dog.
She didn't mind where Holden had gone off too, as long as it was far away. With him the harassing was gone, her secret safe. If Holden had not posted her dirty little secret on the web yet, he would not do so any time soon.
He'd known all along. The Secret Killer, of all people, had kept her secret from the world, and all because she'd let him use her.
The talk about S.K. had even managed to distract people from their daily routines: bullying as much victims as they could. They all agreed on one thing: S.K. was gone for good.
How wrong they were. Even her own stomach twisted when she heard her phone make the noise again; the special ringtone she'd saved for S.K.'s updates.
Hello dear readers!
All the school's in turmoil about Mr. Holden but NEWS FLASH! I've got a juicy fact for you that I know you guys did not know yet.
Besides a murdering old fraud, the infamous Art teacher happens to have more skeletons in his closet, this one going by the name of Bonnie McGuffin (6H)
Mr. Holden is a perverse little man, and he's been using his storage room for more than just stocking Art equipment.
As always, I've enclosed some proof for you, this time in the form of a video, which is not fit for the little ones among you.
I suppose I don't need to remind you any longer but I like saying this: I am everywhere. And I know everything.
xoxo S.K.
She felt her breathing accelerate as her fellow students were starting to look her way, and the whispers began.
She did not know where to look, and soon her face was as red as her hair.
Which looks were worst was hard to tell: the ones that judged her or the ones that felt sorry for her.
Even Robin Jameson, who had always been sweet onher though he had never talked to her much, had felt the need to sit next to her, squeeze her hand and mutter, "Are you okay, Bonnie?"
She only had the strength to nod. Pity was the last thing she needed right now.
It made her feel weak.
She would love nothing more to put an end to that by saying she was protecting herself, and she was not too weak to fend Holden off or something like that.
Robin put an arm around her awkwardly, and he managed to blush even more than she had.
To make matters even worse, the intercom was activated, and the principal's monotone voice echoed through the cafetaria, "Bonnie McGuffin, to the principal's office, please. Bonnie McGuffin, to the principal's office."
This was something she needed less than pity. Bonnie McGuffin was no fool. She knew what would happen. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were going to give her the third degree.
"Poor girl," sighed Maisie Summerfield. "I know we always said Holden was a perv, but I never thought he was actually a perv."
"Oh, yeah," Dani said lightly, sarcastically. "My main concern was actually that Holden's supposed to be S.K. but why would he ever post stuff about himself- were we wrong?- No, never you mind, the fact that he's a perv is way more pressing."
"Leave that to the police, why don't you?" Maisie pleaded. "I care about you and Louise too much, I wouldn't want to find either of you dead in a corridor."
"How's Michelle been?"
"It's gotten better," she said, "at least she doesn't cry so much anymore."
"Good," said Dani firmly.
Maisie found herself looking at her friend. She had a thick many of shiny golden hair, and her blue eyes were big and teasy, framed by thick, black curly lashes. Dani's lips were shapely and naturally pink, and Maisie remembered very well that they felt as soft and full as they looked. And of course, there were the cute little freckles on her nose.
Maisie couldn't remember exactly what had made her do it, alcohol, lust, a sense of mischief, or perhaps a mixture of all of these.
"I'm glad nothing's awkward between us after the party," she said, and she meant it.
"Me too," Dani replied. "I'm not even going to ask about your motives, I don't care. But I liked it."
Maisie had no time for games, and she knew at that moment, though Dani had meant what she said when she said she'd liked the kiss, she'd lied about not caring about Maisie's motives.
"Yeah, about my motives," said Maisie, smirking, "I think it's obvious that Willow is into you."
Dani's cheeks went slightly pink.
"We've had this conversation before and I still refuse to believe any aspect of your outrageous theories."
"Oh, come on! She wants you."
Dani realized she had no chance of changing Maisie's mind, for the girl was at least as stubborn as Dani herself, and sighed, "So what? What next?"
"You could start with- I don't know how these things work, okay? But if you tell everyone how you feel, I'm sure everyone will accept you for who you are."
"Yeah, 'cuz that worked out well for Fred and Oliver."
"No, I'm serious," Maisie said. "They were outed by S.K.. If you would come forward and say it yourself, people will respect that."
"Just tell them I'm bi?"
Dani was not a coward, but Maisie could tell her friend was frightened. Having known her for such a long time, Maise could anticipatie Dani's next move. Defence: the meanest kind. Dani would turn the conversation around, change the topic to Maisie.
"Say whatever you want, but you're going nowhere faster with Ethan."
"What can I say? He's just as shy as I am," Maisie shrugged.
"You are not shy, Maisie Summerfield."
"I've spoken with him a couple of times," she defended herself. "This morning I asked him what had happened with Fred and his nose, and we got talking about Fred and Oliver."
"What about Fred?" Dani asked. "Anything broken?"
The corners of Maisie's mouth drooped and the look in her eyes got sad.
"Well, not his nose-"
"Oh, please, do you really expect me to feel sorry for him?" her friend laughed mercilessly. "After all the things he said about Bernadette- 'she's not being a feminist, all lesbians hate men'- I knew it would come back to bite him in the butt one day."
"As this will come back to bite you in the butt?"
"Look, I don't hate him because he's gay- for such hypocricy you should look to Stella, not me- I just hate him because of his phoniness and his terrible personality."
"Yeah, all right, I don't like him that much either," Maisie agreed. "Nor do I love Oliver. But I do wish for them to be happy and free to be who they are."
Dani nodded silently.
"I want to tell Willow, you know," she said finally, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, "but it's so hard, because I'm scared what'll happen if it's not mutual."
"I want to tell Ethan, too," Maisie admitted.
Then both girl suddenly burst out laughing.
"We're a couple of pussies, aren't we?" she smiled.
Dani smiled back.
"We're so craven. Hopeless, don't forget."
"If it doesn't work out with Willow or Ethan at least we'll have each other," Maisie said, engulfing Dani in a hug.
The redheaded girl had only just left the principal's office when the brunette entered it.
"Louise, wasn't it?" John remembered. "Is something wrong?"
"S.K.'s still active," Louise said, panting from sprinting upstairs. "And I'm pretty sure it's not Holden."
"Who knows, maybe the man has WiFi, wherever he's hiding," said Sherlock dryly.
"That's not it," said the girl. "S.K. seems genuinely happy that we found out. Holden wouldn't be happy, would he?"
"How would you know?" John asked. "Did S.K. text you again?"
Louise nodded.
She handed Sherlock her phone for him to read the message.
Wow, girls! I have to say I was impressed when you and Danielle were able to 'crack the damn code' as you so delicately put it.
You were able to figure out the last one, so let me give you another hint:
Holden may be camouflaged, but he's not invisible.
'Do your magic.'
-S.K.
"He was there with us in the classroom when we were solving his riddle," Louise said. "These quotations- I said those exact things. He made us dance and watched every minute of it."
"He'll have to give away more and more if he wants to keep us interested," Sherlock said.
"Doesn't it bother you we do everything exactly as we are commanded to?" John said suddenly. "We're S.K.'s bloody puppets!"
"We need data to catch him," Sherlock reminded him. "The text- Louise, do you have and any what it could mean?"
The girl's green eyes widened.
"Me? Oh, no- I'm not- Dani always does that sort of things. I can call her, she can come and help-"
Sherlock did not trust the blonde as far as he could throw her, but her brunette friend had a certain honesty about her. Danielle might be a little female Sherlock, but Louise was definetely a little female John. Sherlocks were clever, but it was the Johns one could rely upon. If anything he needed nothing more than more Johns in these dire times. The students did, too.
"You will do fine," Sherlock cut her off. "You can be just as clever as she is, if you let yourself."
Louise flushed, smiled, but still protested weakly, "I don't know."
"You were the one that came up with the idea of the coordinates," he stated. "You might not view it as clever, but a colourful imagination and a fresh pair of eyes- with not a detective's perspective, as Danielle and as myself, but an outsider's- can be just as useful, if not more."
Louise smiled happily and John looked as if he might say 'awww', to which Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"What does your gut tell you?" said John, still smiling at him.
The question was directed at Louise, but the doctor's eyes had never left Sherlock's face.
"Well, I have no idea what S.K. means with camouflage," Louise said. "I don't know if it's something figurative, but it just makes me think of Mr. Holden having painted green and brown patches on his face like those army dudes."
Maybe Louise was not clever enough for this, like she'd said, he thought. Though getting her friend here is out of the question. I've solved numerous cases on my own, I don't need a annoying teenage girl's help for this one.
"The man was an Art teacher, wasn't he?" John agreed. "Perhaps we should consider the paint thing. A clue might be hidden in there. Isn't that so, Sherlock?"
"The paint, sure," he replied dryly. "What about the paint?"
"There was this paint shop Holden used to boast about," Louise told them. "He said it was the best paint shop in all of London, and that they sold the finest paint."
Sherlock frankly was out of other options. It seemed like his mind could not wrap itself around this case, for whatever reason.
He had never been fond of asking for help, but it seemed like he was lost without it now.
The worst thing was he could not put his finger on what is was.
Having run out of other options, he let John drive them to the paint shop, as Louise had suggested.
When they arrived and entered the eerily quiet shop, Sherlock was surprised when he saw Louise had been right about the paint.
She wasn't even trying and she's better at this than I am, he thought. What is the matter with me?
"Well, we found something," Louise said dryly, though the fear was visible in her eyes.
"You can go outside, Louise," John said quickly. "You don't need to look at it."
Sherlock stood transfixed on the spot, looking at the sight displayed in front of him. He stood almost frozen, analyzing and trying to deduce.
The girl clapped her hand in front of her mouth, reality finally getting to her.
"Oh my-"
"Sherlock, call Lestrade," John ordered him, leading Louise outside.
Sherlock's hand went to his phone, dialed Lestrade's number and called.
"Sherlock! Found anything? Something about our man?"
"I've found Holden," Sherlock said slowly, "Timberland Street 234."
"Splendid, I'll send men to arrest him."
"Better send men to take him to the morgue. He's dead."
"Suicide, obviously," Molly said, examining Holden's body. "Right-handed and the bullet's in the right side of his head. There's a little of gun poeder there, so small distance shot."
"He killed himself before we could get to him," Lestrade said. "Well, I leave you to it, then. Seems like we've solved this case."
Lestrade left the morgue but Molly's attention went to Sherlock, who hadn't moved an inch since he'd gotten there.
Molly was really concerned about him when he acted strange. He never wanted anyone to know he was sad, but when it was only her, he would show just enough to tell her something was wrong.
"What is it, Sherlock?"
"Nothing makes sense," he said. "Why would he put his own name on the website, and then kill himself? If he'd done the first to make himself look innocent, why do the latter?"
"You have to let it go, Sherlock," Molly told him. "There's nothing more to it. These students finally have their privacy back."
"I can't stand not having all the answers."
Molly laid her hand on his arm bracingly.
"I know," she said softly. "But it's done now. Go home and get some rest, then you can move on with the next case."
He nodded and said, almost inaudible, "You do count, Molly. He never thought you did, but you do."
With a swish of his coat he left, leaving Molly behind, open-mouthed and her heart fluttering. This was the first time he'd ever thanked her for helping him with the Reichenbach Fall.
Did he just think there was more to this or did he only hope so? She knew Sherlock was no fool, but he was clearly upset he hadn't been able to solve anything of this himself.
I could always give it a try, Molly thought. Check everything again, just to be sure.
She did her long, brown hair in a ponytail and put on her rubber gloves, ready to roll.
The autopsy report was up on the laptop, and she read it through.
Lividty shows victim was shot on the place he was found- Murder weapon type...
Her eyes lingered on that for a moment. Was that all right? If the gun had been the one that was listed here, there was no way the bullet would have stayed within the brain.
She checked the corpse. Only one wound from the shot, she'd had to remove the bullet herself...
The gun they had found had Holden's fingerprints on it. It was undeniably his gun, and if Holden had shot himself...
What if he hadn't shot himself? What if this was not the murder weapon?
Molly's mouth widened as she gasped. Holden had not shot himself. Chances are he did not even die in the paintshop.
But the Secret Killer had hinted at the paintshop, hadn't he? Molly could understand if S.K. had known Holden had committed suicide there, but since it was clear he'd been murdered- S.K. somehow had led Holden to the paintshop and had murdered him there, staging Holden's suicide.
Molly felt herself smile.
Oh, Sherlock.
But then her excitement made way for fear. This was the third person S.K. had murdered. And all the victims had known too much. She had to tell Sherlock, but didn't dare to do it on the phone.
Everyone who knew too much had to be murdered. Someone had found out about Holden, so the man was no safe resource anymore. He was a loose end.
If this is S.K.'s policy, Molly thought, I'll have to be really careful when I tell this to Sherlock. No loose ends.
1. You didn't really think I would reveal S.K. so easily, did you? Who do you think/hope it is?
2. On a scale from 1-10, who well have I portrayed the BBC characters so far?