Over at St. Bart's hospital Sherlock slips on a pair of latex gloves to closely examine the trainers on the table, peering at them closely from all angles. Using some tweezers, he scraped dirt from the soles and placed them in a dish. After setting the soil aside for testing, he in turn examines other fibers under a microscope. Adara sat on a bench near the back of the room, using the computer to do some further research on the shoes and where they might have come from. John meanwhile anxiously paces up and down the opposite side of the bench.
"So who do you suppose it was?" he inquired. Sherlock hummed in question..
"The woman on the phone…the crying woman." John reiterates.
"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there." Sherlock quickly dismissed. John's face scrunched up exasperatedly.
"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."
"You're not going to be much use to her." Sherlock pointed out. Glancing up at the scanner on the computer next to him, he frowned, spotting the message of 'NO MATCH'. He goes back to the microscope.
"Are…are they trying to trace it? Trace the call?" John inquired. Adara glanced up from her computer.
"The bomber is too smart, John. There's no point." She told him gently. John stared at her incredulously.
"But you asked Lestrade to…"
"Just to give him something do to. It makes people feel like they're being useful and making a difference. Worked for you until now." She pointed out. John frowned, thinking back to what she had asked of him earlier. He slowly turned his displeased look her direction, realizing what she had done. Adara merely shrugged, going back to the research. Meanwhile Sherlock's text alert goes off.
"Pass me my phone." He requested. John spun around, unable to find the device.
"Where is it?"
"Jacket." Sherlock grunted. John straightened, staring at the man heatedly from across the room. He stiffly marched over, slamming one hand onto Sherlock's shoulder while roughly rummaging through his jacket unnecessarily.
"Careful." Sherlock snipped. Out of sight Adara rolled her eyes skyward at their childish antics. John swallowed his retaliation and instead looked at the phone screen.
"Text from your brother."
"Delete it." John frowned curiously.
"Delete it?"
"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock explained dismissively. John looked back down at the message.
...
Bruce-Partington Plans
Any progress on Andrew West's death?
-Mycroft-
...
"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times…"
"Twelve." Adara contradicted, her eyes not leaving the screen. The boys turned to her curiously.
"Eight on Sherlock's phone and four on mine." She answered, smirking lightly. Sherlock's lip quirked.
"Must be getting quite impatient if he's contacted you." he hummed in amusement.
"Must be important then." John insisted. Sherlock turned to look at him in exasperation.
"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" he hissed in annoyance. John sighed, knowing he was missing yet another detail. He shifted, facing Sherlock more fully.
"His what?"
"Mycroft would never send a text if he were able to talk." Adara answered as explanation. John nodded thoughtfully, looking to Sherlock for the rest.
"Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of the story. The only mystery is, why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being to delightfully interesting?" Sherlock hummed, turning back to his work. Adara glanced over at him, narrowing her eyes curiously. She would have to keep an eye on him. He was starting to get invested in this game and most likely wouldn't be able to dig out of whatever hole he got himself into. Nothing good would come of playing with things this dangerous.
"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die." John smirked sarcastically, irked at the man's attitude.
"What for?" Sherlock deadpanned, looking back up at John.
"This hospital is full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them." John clenched his jaw, turning away in disbelief. Unphased by his negative reaction, Sherlock began to return to his microscope when the computer flashed with positive results. He grinned in delight. At this moment Molly Hooper made her way into the room with a timid grin.
"Any luck?" she inquired politely, glancing at both Adara and Sherlock. However, her gaze lingered on the tall man longer than necessary.
"Oh, yes!" Sherlock answered. As she peered over his shoulder, the door opened again revealing a dark haired man with a tight t-shirt and slacks. Adara's eyes flitted up to watch as he curiously stepped inside, before quickly apologizing.
"Oh, sorry….I didn't…." he stuttered, turning to walk back out.
"Yes, you did. But come on inside anyway." Adara hummed, tilting her head to look at him more fully. The man paused, his eyes widening innocently as he stood awkwardly in the doorframe.
"Jim! Hi! Come in!" Molly greeted the stranger with a wide grin. Sherlock glanced up from his work to look the small woman over briefly, getting all the information he needed for her sudden delight. Deeming it irrelevant he went back to his work. However, Adara kept her eyes locked on the man entering their space. She kept on a mask of neutral curiosity, not wanting to frighten him away. Her mind was whirling in thought, knowing that something just wasn't right. But she couldn't place what.
"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly introduced, grinning back at the man. Likewise, Jim's gaze was locked on Sherlock as he got closer. Adara rose her brow in amusement from behind them. John turns and stares at Molly blankly. The woman blushes, realizing her blunder.
"And, uh…sorry." She flusters. John decides to save her the embarrassment and introduce himself.
"John Watson, hi. And that's Adara." John introduced politely. Jim barely glanced in either direction as he nodded. The man's eyes quickly returned to Sherlock in the center. Adara's eyes narrowed as she silently watched the man gawk at her boyfriend. Most of this seemed genuine enough but almost overboard with the performance.
"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" he asked, stepping closer to Sherlock and practically forcing John out of the way.
"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." Molly gushed. She giggled along with Jim as they locked eyes. Sherlock glanced over at Jim like he did Molly before returning back to work.
"Gay." He deadpanned instantly. Molly's face fell.
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock raised his head, belatedly realizing what he had done.
"Nothing, um hey." He quickly corrected, shooting Jim a false grin. Jim's eyes sparkle as he stares back in a daze.
"Hey." He mutters, setting his hand on the metal dish and knocking it off loudly. Everyone watches silently as the man flounders and picks it back up. John rolling his eyes skyward, not believing this was happening.
"Sorry, sorry." Jim stuttered nervously. Adara's eyes shot down as she watched the man place the tin back up on the table….almost the same as it was. She rolled her eyes as well. Sherlock caught the anomaly as well and clenched his jaw.
"Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at The Fox? About six-ish?" Jim muttered, placing a hand on her back.
"Yeah." Molly grinned. Over her head Jim turned back to smile at Sherlock.
"Bye."
"Bye." Molly answered softy, not noticing that it wasn't meant for her.
"It was nice meeting you." Jim continued smiling at Sherlock. The room falls into uncomfortable silence as Jim continues staring expectantly while Sherlock ignores him, focused on work.
"Trying a bit hard to prove a point, are we?" Adara quipped, her eyes narrowing darkly. Jim jolted out of his stupor and frowned at her in confusion. Adara's eyes locked with his and her head tilted curiously at the contrast. He was reacting one way, but his eyes spoke of something completely different. None of the parts were fitting together. Curious.
"What?" Molly asked in confusion, her eyes darting between the two anxiously. No one answered.
"Nice meeting you too." John uncomfortably blurted. Jim blinked, turning to look at the man before nodding awkwardly. He turned to walk out and Molly waited until he left before whipping around to face Sherlock.
"What do you mean, gay? We're together." She pointed out, her grin wavering. Sherlock merely glanced at her.
"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." he hummed.
"Two and a half." Molly defended tightly.
"Nuh, three." He corrected easily. Adara threw a pen at his head. Sherlock flinched and whipped around in his chair to stare at her incredulously.
"That is quite enough Sherlock. You don't make comments like that, it's hurtful." She admonished. Sherlock scowled.
"You say things like that to Mycroft all the time." He pointed out childishly. Adara rolled her eyes and huffed.
"Mycroft is different than most, even you can admit that. Molly is fragile, she doesn't need that kind of confrontation." Molly squeaked indignantly at the comment. Adara looked over at her apologetically.
"Sorry Molly, but I need him to get the point." She smiled tightly, turning her gaze back to Sherlock. The man pouted childishly. Molly's anger returned as he was brought back to the center of attention.
"He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil….He's not." She insisted, trying to keep her quickly crumbling composure together. Sherlock snorted.
"With that level of personal grooming?"
"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John countered.
"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No, no. Tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock began.
"His underwear?" Molly asked incredulously.
"Visible above the waistline. Very visible, very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under the dish here…" Sherlock finished, lifting up the metal dish that had been knocked over. Underneath it was a small piece of paper with a phone number written across it. Molly stared it, horrified.
"…I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain." He finished. Molly remained silent as she processed everything. Her chin wobbling, she turned and sprinted out of the room. Sherlock blinked in surprise.
"Charming, well done." John scolded.
"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock inquired in confusion.
"Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind." John shook his head. Sherlock sighed, done with the conversation, and instead shifted the trainers in front of John to draw his attention to them.
"Go on, then." John frowned, staring down the items skeptically. His brows furrowed, looking at the taller man in confusion.
"You know what I do. Off you go." Sherlock insisted, crossing his arms expectantly. John grunted in displeasure.
"No."
"Go on."
"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate…."
"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me." Sherlock cut him off pointedly.
"Yeah right! Adara would be much more useful than I would be and we both know that." John countered.
"I've already run this by her. Her opinions are similar to mine. I need something completely different." John frowned at the man before glancing back at Adara for confirmation. She nodded her head encouragingly towards the shoes on the table. With her affirmation, John turned back towards the trainers. He picked up one of the shoes and looked at it intently, sparing a glance at the other still on the table.
"I dunno. They're just a pair of shoes. Trainers." John huffed, correcting himself.
"Good." Sherlock nodded, picking up his cell. Encouraged by the praise John continues.
"Umm…..they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new" Sherlock bristled in annoyance, watching John intently.
"….except the sole has been well-worn so the owner must have had them for a while." The taller man let out a silent breath when he finally got the correct answer. John was picking it up well.
"Uh, they're very eighties. Probably one of those retro designs."
"You're in sparkling form. What else?" Sherlock pressed, his eyes fixed on his cell.
"Well, they're quite big so a man's"
"But?" Adara hummed, watching the man go. John turned over the shoe, looking inside.
"But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adult's don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid." John finished.
"You're doing fantastic, keep going." Adara beamed, looking over to see that Sherlock had a matching grin. John frowned, looking at the shoe in his hand before setting it down.
"That's it." He shrugged.
"That's it?" John nodded.
"How did I do?" he inquired.
"Well, John; really well." John began smiling…..up until Sherlock continued talking.
"I mean you missed almost everything of importance but, um, you know…." He trailed off, holding a hand out towards his friend. John pursed his lips at the insult and handed the shoe over to Sherlock.
"The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three….."
"…four.."
"….four times." Sherlock shot a small glare at Adara as she corrected him. Meanwhile, John lowered his head in despair. He just couldn't win with these two.
"Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British made, twenty years old." John straightened up in surprise.
"Twenty years?"
"They're not retro, they're original." Adara elaborated. Sherlock held up the website that Adara had sent to him. It was easier to send the information to him via cell then have the man get up to join her. Heaven forbid she ask him to move. He wouldn't even shift to pull his phone from his own pocket.
"Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eight-nine."
"But there's still mud on them. They look new." John pointed out.
"Someone's kept them that way." Adara hummed. Sherlock eyed the trainers thoughtfully.
"Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shoes it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."
"How do you know?" John frowned. Adara stood and pointed towards the computer next to Sherlock that had found a match as she joined them.
"Pollen. Clear as a map reference." She explained.
"South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London to Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind." Sherlock surmised.
"So what happened to him?" John inquired. Sherlock sucked in a breath.
"Something bad. He loved these shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them to go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets….." Sherlock trailed off, his eyes widening in realization.
"Oh…." John frowned in confusion while Adara watched the man silently.
"What?"
"Carl Powers." Sherlock muttered softly.
"Who is that?" Adara asked, pulling out her cell to look up the name.
"Carl Powers." He reiterated, allowing her to look up the name.
"What is it?" John asked, watching as Sherlock stared off into the distance.
"It's where I began."
...
...
After getting what they could from the lab the trio took a taxi back to Baker Street.
"1989 a young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." Sherlock elaborated, showing John the newspaper story on his phone as they rode.
"I don't remember hearing about this." Adara frowning as she listened, having read the article back at the lab.
"Why should you?" he shrugged, not bothered by that fact.
"But you remember?" John asked.
"Yes."
"Something fishy about it?" he inquired.
"Nobody thought so. Nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers." Sherlock told him.
"Started young, didn't you?" John hummed thoughtfully. Adara grinned, just imagining little Sherlock all in a tizzy over this case.
"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head." Sherlock huffed irritably, shifting in his seat.
"What?" John asked.
"His shoes."
"What about them?" Adara inquired.
"They weren't there. I made a fuss, I tried to get the police interested but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes." Sherlock lamented, throwing his hands about. Adara looked down at the trainers in the bag by his feet.
"….until now." She whispered thoughtfully. Reaching into her pocket for her phone, she scanned over the list of contacts before landing on the one she wanted.
...
Carl Powers. Shoes missing from locker. Find something to work with.
...
Deleting the message after it sent, she glanced at Sherlock who nodded minutely.
...
...
Filing into the flat Sherlock set the trainers on the table. Looking at his watch he checked the time. Seeing that he had some minutes to spare he grabbed Adara and silently led her to his room.
"Sherlock what are…" John asked in confusion as they walked away, but his question was cut off with the slamming of the door. Sherlock walked away from the door to the opposite corner of his room before he let go of her hand. Adara remained silent as he turned to face her.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Adara blinked in confusion.
"To what are you referring?" she inquired. Sherlock pursed his lips.
"Ever since we left the lab you've been quiet. Something's on your mind. I would like to know what." He elaborated. Adara nodded thoughtfully.
"It's Jim." She admitted. Sherlock frowned.
"Who?" Adara stared up at him in exasperation.
"Molly's new man. The one we met an hour ago." Sherlock thought back thoughtfully before shrugging, not seeing what the problem was.
"Are you upset that I revealed his sexuality to Molly? I thought you would be glad I let her know before it got serious." He frowned, completely lost. Adara rubbed her forehead.
"No not that. He just doesn't sit right. And he's not gay." She pointed out. Sherlock jerked back indignantly.
"Yes he is. I told you why." He countered sourly. Adara crossed her arms.
"Sherlock your explanation was very stereotypical. Yes, it was true but over half of it was staged. He wanted to appear that way." Sherlock scowled, his eyes darting to the side as he thought it over.
"His lashes weren't acclimated to the product he was using; it was only a couple days old at most. Loads of people use taurine cream, men and women. His bloodshot eyes could be from staying up late for work while having a drink or two. Looks the same in the long run. And even you said the underwear was super obvious. It was meant to grab attention." She explained. Sherlock stared down at her thoughtfully.
"He left me his number and practically breathed down my neck to get my attention." He countered. Adara pursed her lips.
"And he also went out on dates with Molly. He had to have been fairly convincing for no one else to say anything. I don't think he was strictly gay. Perhaps pan or asexual. He didn't seem to be interested in the physical aspect of attraction. It opens up the doors much wider than one gender." Sherlock frowned silently, prompting her to continue.
"The man never once scanned your physique; it was all your face. He's fascinated with your mind. From a distance it came across as borderline obsessed. It had nothing to do with you being a man." She shot back with a shrug. The man grunted before shaking his head.
"It doesn't matter anyway he was just an insignificant bystander. So why does his presence bother you?" he asked her curiously. Adara gnawed on the inside of her lip.
"Just….it didn't fit. There were too many opposing factors flying about. But the thing that bothers me the most is that only professionals know how to work an act like that. People who can manipulate others so well are dangerous." She whispered. Sherlock smirked.
"You can do it." He pointed out. Adara glanced down at the floor sheepishly.
"But I don't. Not anymore." Sherlock stepped closer and pressed a light kiss to her head.
"I'm sure you're just on edge. There is nothing to worry about." He assured gently. Adara smiled to appease him but she wasn't convinced. The sound of her phone pinging broke the silence in the room.
...
Check email
...
"We should go check what he found. Times ticking." She murmured, already turning to walk out of the room. Sherlock followed behind.