I do not own Sherlock. BBC owns it... duh
Sherlock took the phone and switched it on speaker, "Oh hello brother dear! Why are we calling so early? I assumed that your schedule is busy: stopping terrorists at 5, a cuppa at 6, analysis at 8." She mused.
"Sherlock, have you thought about the case?" Mycroft sighed, not giving in to the sibling quarry.
"What case?" Sherlock shrugged.
"Sherlock I will not play these childish games!" Mycroft strained.
"Oh calm down Mycroft, of course I thought about it." Sherlock sighed. "I'm always thinking."
"So have you reconsidered your previous decision to decline my request?" Mycroft asked.
I looked at Sherlock and nodded. Mycroft works for the Queen which means he is financially set. I need some sort of pay. This job could have us set for- oh I don't know- life!
Sherlock grimaced, "Fine, I'll take a look, but on one condition."
"Alright." Mycroft agreed.
"John wants money." Sherlock compromised.
"Sherlock!" I yelled, and then faded into a whisper, "I do not want money."
"Oh, hello John." Mycroft announced. "I'll send a team to bring you over."
"No-" Mycroft hung up the phone as Sherlock protested.
"Wait, when you said you had the British Government practically in your back pocket, you actually meant it?" I smiled.
"Of course John, I hardly lie… well when it's not absolutely imperative." She paced.
"What in the hell are you doing?" I asked. Pacing is odd, especially when Sherlock does it, because it means she's thinking. When she thinks, she gets into trouble and bad things happen.
"I'm thinking." She replied.
"About what?" My expression changed from confusion to concern. I guess if I had a talent, it would be my ability to adapt to the situation, besides the fact that I was taught that in Afghanistan.
"The poem. The Nonsense Poem." She said. "The poem wasn't prevalent to the fire case, because no note was left for me there. However, the new poem says to solve the case, but the only case we have been presented with recently is-"
"Mycroft's case." I finished. "How did the murderer know that Mycroft presented you with a case?"
"Mycroft came over last night, and we can only assume by the events that occurred earlier that day that the poet is watching us. The poem came before Mycroft even visited, but it can't possibly be the Denmo case because they sent another poem after Lestrade stole the file back. The murderer knows I don't have the file and that I won't help the police with the case. The murderer is also controlling the game, so they won't want me prying into the Denmo case that is connected directly to them. So, the case made up by our clever little poet can only be one we hadn't been confronted with yet. Mycroft came by later that night and presented us with a new case. This new case is linked with the poem. That's why Mycroft wouldn't solve it on his own! He doesn't have all the evidence! Oh John, this is exciting!" She yelled, stopping her pace.
"Yeah that all makes sense, but we stole the file at the station. How did the poet know? If the murderer is watching our flat, how did they know about the file? And better yet, how did they know that Lestrade would take it back if he didn't know it was missing in the first place?" I asked.
"Oh…" Sherlock whispered with her eyes wide open.
"What?" I asked, not stirring from my comfortable chair.
"Watching us… watching every move we make. From Denmo to-" Sherlock stopped and smiled. "Oh John, come on! Think. What is the common denominator?" She asked, sitting in the chair in front of me.
"Um, I don't know. There's us, Lestrade, Mycroft, Anderson, Donovan, and that poor bloke you scared off." I counted.
"You're missing one." Sherlock whispered.
"Ok, Sherlock if you know who the murderer is why are you saying it at a place where they are watching us?" I stopped her.
"Oh, there are no cameras or bugs if that's what you're worried about. I checked last night while I was up." She dismissed.
"Oh good. Well, if I'm missing one, who is it?" I asked, carrying on the previous conversation.
"John, who is one person that can go unnoticed, one person with a nametag that is seldom read and remembered, one lowly person whose job it is to fetch things?" She asked, her voice becoming ominous. "The one person you missed."
"A cabbie?" I laughed, Sherlock did not look amused. "Okay, let me think." I thought hard about this. Who have we spoken to since yesterday? Flashes of yesterday entered my mind as I thought.
'Don't you see,' Sherlock looked at the girl's nametag, 'Maya'
A young woman walked towards his desk, carrying a coffee. 'Thank you Maya.'
"Maya?" I asked. "The coffee girl?"
"Now what are the chances that we meet a girl with the same name and face in the same day?" Sherlock smiled. "Very slim Dr. Watson; very slim indeed."
"Um, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson cut in, standing over by the door. "There are some people here to see you." She let two very well dressed buff men into the room.
Oh God. I didn't even notice that Sherlock was still in her nightgown, and apparently nor did she. "Mycroft?" Sherlock asked the two men.
"We were told to make sure you were fully clothed and ready to be transported." One of them answered.
Sherlock smiled. "Well, let's go then."
"Please put on clothes, Miss Holmes." The same man asked. "We were told to make sure you were fully clothed."
She exemplified herself, "And I am. Let's go." She said, butting her way out of the room and down the stairs.
"I'll get a change of clothes." Mrs. Hudson volunteered, returning with proper clothes for Sherlock.
I nodded, grabbing the clothes from Mrs. Hudson. "Shall we?"
Thanks for reading! Still more to go so please hang in there! I love writing this so it really means a lot to me that you all read it :) Please review so I know how you guys feel about it. Thank you so much!