Part Twenty-Eight.
Thea walked down to the kitchen as the front door opened, and seconds later she was greeted by her boys. Her father immediately shook off his coat and retrieved his laptop from under the pile of files on the kitchen table. John followed the detective and nodded to Thea as Sherlock began typing.
Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.
No sooner had he posted the solution than did the pink phone begin to ring. Thea answered it on speakerphone as her father texted Lestrade.
The tearful young man was openly weeping as he said through tears, "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please."
She let out a breath of relief, and she said soothingly, "It's okay now, just tell us where you are. We can protect you."
John held the door open to the café near Baker Street that Claude had recommended to them. The doctor had been complaining to Thea that they hadn't had a decent meal since the night of the bombing, and when Sherlock had finally grown tired of his stomach growlings, Thea began rifling through her list of recommended cuisine.
They sat at a small table near the back, across from the American-style diner counter, and thanked the waitress who dropped off three menus and a small wink at John, who didn't seem to notice through his ravenous fog. Sherlock pushed away his menu and began watching the other patrons of the cafe closely. Thea scoffed.
"Pushing it away won't stop me from ordering for you."
"Don't waste your money."
She quirked an eyebrow at John and muttered, "I never said I was paying." The good doctor chuckled lightly and scratched his chin as he contemplated the menu.
"Shall I go full breakfast?"
"That depends. Is Papa paying?" When Sherlock didn't respond, lost in his thoughts, Thea and John shared a mischievous grin, "Definitely go full breakfast."
Several minutes later, they were tucking into their breakfast and cups of coffee. Sherlock had begrudgingly accepted a plate of scones that Thea had spread with jam, and he sat quietly munching on them as his thoughts stormed his mind palace.
They didn't talk much as they delved into their breakfast. It wasn't until Thea sat back examining the good doctor that she broke the silence, dabbing the corner of her smile with her napkin. "Feeling better, Doctor Watson?"
He glanced up at her and paused as he chewed, "You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?"
She grimaced. "Take a page from my book, John. You mean to say you two have hardly stopped; I've taken breaks." She picked up her cup of tea and wrapped her hands around it, feeling chilled in the small cafe. "And you'll have to call this what it is - a game."
John mulled over it in his head and turned his next words to Sherlock. "You knew this would happen, didn't you? When we found the trainers, you'd said you were expecting this for sometime. It's all meant for you."
Thea glanced at her father and caught the hint of a smile, his eyes glinting as he said, "Yes, I know." She bit her lip and ran her finger around the rim of her mug, "So is it him? Moriarty?"
Sherlock's crystal eyes snapped to her. "Where did you hear that name?"
Thea rolled her eyes, "Please, I've read all of your case files. And John mentioned something in his blog." Sherlock went to say something to the army doctor but Thea cut in to save John the lecture, "Look, it's irrelevant, I just want to know who or what we're dealing with." There was a silence that lasted too long for Thea's liking. When she looked back at her father, he wasn't looking at her. "You don't know?!"
"I haven't come to a conclusion."
"So you don't know."
"I have theories; there's a difference."
Thea rested an elbow on the table and tangled her fingers into her hairline. "Oh my god. How do we outsmart someone we can't even solve?"
Suddenly the pink phone chirped from inside Sherlock's breast pocket, and John and Thea leaned in, as if to closer examine it. There came two short Greenwich pips followed by a longer one, and Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the new image on the screen.
"Well that could be anybody," he said, frustrated, as he passed it to Thea. She took a glance at the smiling, slightly older woman and her eyes widened.
"No bloody way…" she breathed.
Her father looked at the picture again, "What? Do you know her?"
Thea scoffed and passed the phone to John, who smiled, "Yeah, so does half of Britain."
John chuckled and went to the counter as he said, "Lucky for you, Thea and I watch a bit of telly with Mrs Hudson when we pop downstairs." He smiled at the waitress and picked up the remote that controlled the television above the counter. With the click of a few buttons, the channel changed to a daytime network. The woman from the photograph was smiling and gesturing to someone off-screen. Thea looked to her father and noticed his frustration at being the clueless one.
"Connie Prince. She's one of those make-over women. Preys on other women's weaknesses and exploits them for money."
"You're ruining the illusion, Thea," John muttered as he watched the broadcast, and Thea flashed a smile at him before the pink phone rang again. Their smiles disappeared, and the army doctor rejoined them as Sherlock answered it.
"Hello?"
There was a shaky breath before an older woman with a Yorkshire accent answered, "This one… is a bit… defective."
"How so?" Thea asked quietly, her eyes trained on the silicon case that protected the mobile.
"She's blind," came the answer, and Thea and Sherlock shared a hopeful glance. "This is… a funny one." John's attention turned back to the television as a news broadcast took over Connie Prince's show. "I'll… give you… twelve hours."
Sherlock met his daughter's gaze again as he asked, "Why are you doing this?" The question was soft, almost gentle in nature. "What could you possibly have to gain?"
"I like… to watch you… dance." As the woman finished reciting, she, like the others, broke down into heavy, gasping sobs. Sherlock lowered the phone to the table as the call abruptly ended. But Thea almost smiled.
"She's blind."
"Yes."
"She's hearing his voice," she gushed, the words tumbling in a waterfall of deduction, "It's the closest we've come to him. He knows it's a risk, but it means he wants us to find him."
"Thea," John said suddenly, and the detective and his daughter refocused their attention to the television. The news broadcast was switching back to Ms Prince's show, a voiceover replacing her voice as the footage rolled.
"Miss Prince was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…"
Thea sighed and leaned her cheek into her hand. "Mrs Hudson will be devastated."
Lestrade led them to the morgue, reading from his file as they walked. "Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those makeover shows on the telly. Did you see it?"
"No," Sherlock answered as Thea and John said, "Yes."
"Hang on, fifty-four? All the news said she was forty-eight," John asked, and Thea laughed.
"She was a makeover specialist on telly, she had a national following, and she had clear scars from a face lift. Are we really that surprised she lied about her age?" she countered, and he nodded concedingly after a moment.
"Fair point."
They reached the morgue and Lestrade pulled back the sheet to reveal the late Ms Prince, a larger woman with short blonde hair and clear signs of multiple beauticious operations.
Sherlock stepped to one side of the body, and Thea stood opposite him with John to her left. Lestrade stood behind them and watched on warily. The detective and his daughter began their examinations. "So: dead two days. According to her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound." Thea nodded in agreement.
"Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream, and it's goodnight Vienna," she muttered, but her eyebrows furrowed as she frowned and walked to her father's side. "But that's not quite right, is it?"
He nodded, "Something's wrong with this picture. Can't be that simple, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it…" He leaned closer to the body as Thea noted the many scratches along Connie's arms. He began examining her face and motioned to his teenager. She watched as he pointed out small pinpricks along the forehead, just above her nose. She pulled out her pocket magnifying glass and half-smiled. She then leaned closer into the supposed cut on Connie's hand, making mental notes before standing straight and cocking her head at John.
"Dr Watson?" The army doctor looked up in surprise, "The cut on her hand; it's deep, would have bled a lot, right?"
John stooped to examine the wound. "Looks to be, yeah. She should've required stitches." He pauses and his brow furrowed. "But..."
Thea nodded, continuing his thoughts. "But the wound is clean. Very clean - and very fresh." She was examining it with her pocket magnifying glass again, her bright eyes taking in every detail before clicking it closed. "How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?"
"Eight, ten days?" John guessed, and Sherlock quirked a side smile as the doctor's face changed with the realisation. "The cut was made later."
Lestrade moved to John's side at the metal table as he looked over the television star. "After she was dead?"
The consulting detective nodded, his eyes never leaving John, "Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" John was biting the inside of his cheek as he walked the length of the body. "You want to help, right?"
The good doctor looked up and nodded after a moment, as if he were wondering if that were really a question, "Of course."
"Connie Prince's background - family history, everything. Give me data," the detective commanded, and John nodded in agreement, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turned slightly to the door.
"Right," he said affirmatively, and nodded to Thea, "Coming?"
She started to reply, but Sherlock shook his head and said, "No. I need her with me. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully." Thea cocked an eyebrow at her father, and John seemed to hesitate before shrugging and leaving them alone with the detective inspector. Sherlock glanced over Connie Prince's cold body once more before Thea cleared her throat and crossed her arms.
"You need me?" she asked.
Her father's tone was rather upbeat as he replied, "In a manner of speaking. Moreso I need John to be alone."
Thea's eyebrows gathered as she thought it over, then they were raised in surprise as she said, "You're not."
Lestrade's eyes flickered between them. "What?"
Sherlock ignored him and started for the door. "He'll do fine."
"He's not us!" Thea exclaimed, following him out. The DI was close behind. "Why have you been testing him so much on these cases?"
Outside of the morgue, Sherlock began putting on his gloves, his eyes trained downwards at his hands. "I want to see if he has picked up on our methods at all."
Lestrade gave a short, sarcastic laugh, "Right. Back to the case, there's something else that we haven't thought of."
"Is there?" Thea asked over her shoulder.
"Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?"
They had reached the set of lifts, and Sherlock and Thea shared a look as they waited for the next lift. The consulting detective looked a little anxious as he replied quietly, "Dunno."
Lestrade didn't let up, running his hand over the salt-and-pepper stubble that sprouted along his jaw and upper lip. "If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"
Thea bit her cheek and muttered, "Good Samaritan."
The DI scoffed, "... who press-gangs suicide bombers?"
"Bad Samaritan," Sherlock replied, and Thea smacked him with the back of her hand as she suppressed a giggle. Nothing was funny about it, of course, but she had to find the humour to keep things manageable, lest she end up in Dr Reader's chair again.
"I'm serious, Sherlock." Thea met Lestrade's intense gaze and let her smile fall. "Listen: I'm cutting you slack here. I'm trusting the two of you - but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?"
The detective's daughter sighed and glanced at her father, who seemed to be on the verge of smiling with delight as he answered quietly, "Something new."
AN: Been a while again - but I have a good excuse this time! Turns out that wine and laptops do not mix very well. Go figure. I'm operating on a much smaller scale now, between my mum's laptop and my Google docs on my phone. Updates will be slow, but I am trying my absolute best to figure out a new solution for this. I will also be moving in a month because my fiancé is finally home, so that might slow me down as well. But for you guys, I'll do the most I can to be productive. What crap timing, as well, seeing as this is the final episode before the next series and story.
So. Thea. Going back to the countryside? Or will Sherlock's gravitational pull be too much temptation? We shall see!
Anyway, keep an eye out for further chapters - they'll be coming! Give me a ton of feedback, favourite/follow, and stay tuned! Lots coming in the future!
