THREE HOURS
...
The trio met up with Lestrade in the police compound, standing around Monkford's rented car. John stood to the back with his hands in his coat while Sherlock had the car door open. Adara leaned against one of the columns to the garage, watching the three men.
"How much blood was on the seat, would you say?" Sherlock inquired, looking to Lestrade who was across the vehicle from him.
"How much? About a pint." The man shrugged.
"Not about…Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's but it's been frozen." Sherlock explained, glancing down at the interior of the car.
"Frozen?"
"There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats." Sherlock explained further, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"Who did?" John inquired curiously, pacing back towards Sherlock.
"Janus Cars. The clue's in the name." Adara elaborated, causing the three males to look over at her. John frowned thoughtfully before nodding.
"The god with two faces." he supplied in realization.
"Exactly." Sherlock confirmed as he looked over at Lestrade intently.
"They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of problem…..money troubles, bad marriage, whatever, Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble, financial at a guess, he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out."
"But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the drivers seat…..It's easily forgotten. No more problems if you're presumed dead." Adara finished, staring at the vehicle blankly.
"So where is he?" John asked as Sherlock shut the car door.
"Colombia."
"Colombia?!" Lestrade asked in surprise, walking to meet the trio who were standing by the front of the parking spot.
"You see, Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet. Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly."
"It would be impractical and a bit ridiculous for anyone to wear a shirt on a sunbed." Adara pointed out with a smirk.
"That, plus his arm." Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"His arm?" Lestrade stared at them blankly.
"Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. Why? Because he recently had a booster jab. Hep-B probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars." Sherlock summarized rapidly, unphased as the two men stared at him in surprise.
"M..Mrs. Monkford?" John frowned incredulously. Adara scoffed in amusement.
"She's obviously in on it as well." She told him. Lestrade lowered his head in amazement at how quickly they had put the clues together. Despite spending years with the duo, they still managed to surprise him with how good they truly were.
"Now go arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best." Sherlock suggested smugly.
"We also need to inform the bomber that the case has been completed. Preferably sooner rather than later." Adara added pointedly, looking over at Sherlock with a raised brow. Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"Obviously." He muttered, leading her and John down the alleyway of the lot. As they walked, Sherlock's fist clenched in excitement.
"I am on fire!" he cheered smugly, punching the air. Adara chuckled, her smile wavering as she became lost in thought. Now that they had a free moment, she could go back to trying to piece together the small tidbits she was learning about the bomber's identity. Preferably before Sherlock became to addicted to the game he was setting up.
...
...
Back at the flat, Sherlock quickly typed up a new message on his 'Science of Deduction' message board.
Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.
Seconds after the message was sent another phone call came in on the pink phone, the caller ID still blocked. Sherlock puts it on speaker.
"He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please." The man on the phone pleads tearfully. As he gives directions to his location, Adara is on the line with Lestrade to send officers to the site. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the wide grin that Sherlock gives John, clearly pleased with himself.
...
...
The next morning John sat opposite Sherlock and Adara at a small café. The man quickly tucked into his breakfast while Sherlock drums his fingers, impatiently staring at the pink phone on the table. Adara eyed his behavior worriedly as she delicately took a bite of her toast. The bomber had gone longer than usual when it came to calling and it was evidently bothering Sherlock…..and not in a way she thought was healthy.
"Feeling better?" Sherlock inquired, looking over at John who was clearly starved for food by the way he was eating.
"Mmm. You realize we've hardly stopped for a breath since this thing started?" he pointed out. Sherlock grunted, not looking away from the phone.
"Don't worry John, I've been making sure he eats a least a minimal amount of food. Can't have the man passing out from lack of nutrition during a case." Adara shot a glance at the man beside her. Sherlock pursed his lips in displeasure but didn't counter her claim. She was very insistent when it came to making sure he was still able to function. He could stand to waste a hint of energy on food if it would allow him to continue doing his job. The trio lapsed back into silence once more.
"Has it occurred to you…"
"Probably."
"No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes. It's all meant for you." John pointed out thoughtfully. Adara snapped her eyes up at the man curiously. Interesting how he was picking up on those details as well. Maybe she didn't give him enough credit. Sherlock smiled lightly.
"Yes, I know." He muttered quietly.
"Don't look to pleased about it." Adara warned lowly. Sherlock cut his eyes to look over at her curiously, caught off guard by her tone. She stared back at him resolutely, silently reminding him of a conversation they shared after the Study in Pink case. He nodded minutely, assuring her that he remembered and would try to keep it in mind.
"Is it him then? Moriarty?" John questioned. Adara smirked.
"You think Moriarty a man?" she inquired. John blinked.
"I guess so, yes. Never occurred to me that it would be a woman." He shrugged. Adara nodded, smiling at the man in approval.
"I would say it's a strong possibility." She hummed, answering his question. Sherlock paused in thought.
"Perhaps." He whispered, noncommittally. The phone on the table halted conversation as a message alert came up on the screen. Sherlock quickly switched it on and listened intently as two short pips followed by the long tone rang out. As per usual a photograph was attached, this one of a middle-aged blonde woman.
"That could be anybody." Sherlock scowled at the device as he flipped it around. Adara stared at the woman thoughtfully.
"Well yes, but I believe this one is easily known." She mused, recognizing the face. Sherlock stared at her in confusion.
"Well I don't know her." he pouted indignantly. Adara pursed her lips, biting back a grin.
"You don't know a lot of pop culture, dear." She reminded gently. Sherlock's expression deadpanned. John rubbed his mouth to cover up his grin before standing.
"Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed." He mused. The taller man turned to look at him curiously.
"How do you mean?"
"Well Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly." John explained before walking over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind it he picked up the remote to the small television on the wall. Changing the channel, he finds the mystery woman in the middle of her make-over show. Sherlock and Adara turn to watch for a bit as the woman displayed her handiwork, getting applause from the audience. Again, just in time, the phone rings. Adara quickly jerks her head towards the wall of windows by the door, trying to spot something to reveal where this bomber was watching from. Sherlock glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he answered.
"Hello?"
"This one….is a bit….defective. Sorry." And elderly woman's voice trembled over the speaker.
"She's blind. This is….a funny one." The woman continued. Sherlock's brow raises curiously, glancing up as John rejoins them at the table.
"I'll give you…..twelve hours."
"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock questioned.
"I like….to watch you….dance." the woman answered accordingly. She lets gasps of terror before hanging up. Sherlock slowly lowered the phone, shaking his head to indicate he didn't get any answers. Sherlock roughly tossed the phone back into the table before turning back to face the television. Adara turned to watch, but reached over to set her hand on top of Sherlock's. They gaze remained on the television as a news anchor cuts over the audio for the show.
"…continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programs was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…"
...
...
At St. Bart's Connie Prince's body was laid out on the autopsy table in the morgue. Lestrade led the trio into the room, scanning over the file as they walked.
"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"
"No." Sherlock quickly countered, walking around the body as he examined it.
"Well I figured you didn't. I was talking to Adara." Lestrade huffed, looking over at the woman. She blinked in surprise.
"What just because I'm a woman it means I watch makeover shows?" she questioned, staring at the man intently. Lestrade blushed in embarrassment, quickly backtracking. Adara grinned as he floundered.
"Greg, don't worry about it. I was just teasing. But no, I didn't watch it. I had seen it mentioned in the media here and there." She explained, setting a hand on the detective's shoulder to assure him she wasn't offended. The man visibly relaxed, shooting her a soft glare.
"Anyway, the show was very popular. She was going places." He explained.
"Not anymore." Adara quipped morbidly. Sherlock's lip twitched in amusement.
"So, dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound." Sherlock and John peered down at the deep cut between her thumb and index finger.
"Tetanus bacteria enters the blood stream. Good night Vienna." The man summarized, looking over the body thoughtfully.
"I suppose." John murmured with a frown as he knelt closer to the woman's hand.
"It's not right." Adara commented assuredly. Lestrade looked over at her in confusion.
"It can't be that simple. The bomber has been directing us to cases that have a deeper answer than what's on the surface. Therefore, something is definitely wrong." She elaborated, gesturing to the body on the table. Sherlock hummed in agreement as he pulled out his pocket magnifier. They all watched as he leaned over to more closely examine the woman.
...
Claw marks on the arm.
...
Tiny pinpricks throughout the forehead and nose.
...
"John?" the man answered with a grunt, looking over at Sherlock curiously.
"The cut on her hand; it's deep. Would have bled a lot, right?" he pointed out. John blinked.
"Yeah." He confirmed.
"But the wound's clean. Very clean and fresh." The taller man continued, straightening up as he thought.
"How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" he questioned, a small grin moving across his face.
"Eight, ten days." John muttered. Adara and Sherlock stared at John pointedly, waiting for the man to connect the dots. After a moment his eyes lit up.
"The cut was made later." He realized.
"After she was dead?" Lestrade questioned.
"Must have been." Sherlock assured.
"Now the real question is, how did the tetanus enter her system in the first place?" Adara pointed out, glancing around at the men.
"You want to help right?" Sherlock questioned abruptly, whirling around to look at John.
"Of course." He assured, perking up at the possibility of a task.
"Connie Prince's background, family history, everything. Give me data." Sherlock instructed.
"Right." John nodded before striding out of the room. Sherlock stared down at the body for an extra moment before turning to follow his companion out the door as well. However, Lestrade spoke up as the man brushed past him.
"There's something else we haven't thought of." The detective pointed out.
"Is there?" Sherlock asked casually, gesturing for Adara to join him.
"Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?" Lestrade questioned seriously. Sherlock tensed ever so slightly, so much so that only Adara was able to pick it up from being around him for so long. She turned her head to look back at Lestrade while Sherlock remained stationary.
"If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?" Lestrade continued.
"Good Samaritan." Sherlock blandly suggested. He tried to escape the questioning by Lestrade was persistent.
"…who press-gangs suicide bombers?" he countered incredulously.
"Bad Samaritan." The taller man dismissed, scrunching his nose nonchalantly. Lestrade clenched his jaw, gaze hardening as he stared back at Sherlock.
"I'm…I'm serious, Sherlock. Listen, I'm cutting you slack here. I'm trusting you, but out there somewhere some poor bastards covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve this puzzle. So tell me, what are we dealing with?" Lestrade insisted, clearly worried about who else would become a victim in this game. Adara watched Sherlock intently, waiting for his answer. They had briefly discussed it, but she was afraid he was becoming too enticed to truly see what was at stake. Her heart sank a little as a smile broke across his face.
"Something new." He offered before walking out the door. Adara watched as the man left, leaving her in silence with Lestrade.
"Adara, help me out here." The man practically begged, wanting answers. Adara bit her lip, glancing at the floor thoughtfully.
"Something dangerous." Lestrade frowned at the answer.
"Don't worry Greg, we have all our resources working on this. And as for Sherlock, I'll do my best to keep him on track and get this over with." She told him calmly, not looking back as she followed after Sherlock.
...
EIGHT HOURS
...
In 221B the wall behind the sofa was covered with paperwork concerning Connie Prince. However, alongside her information there were also clippings for Carl Powers and Ian Monkford. The cases had been spread out amongst sticky notes and some pieces of string connecting them together when applicable. Adara placed another string to connect some photos together with a pin while Sherlock paced and Lestrade watched nearby.
"Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection." Sherlock muttered under his breath. He paused as Adara took a step back to scan the large web they had created.
"Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him personally, admitted it. However there hasn't been any mention of a connection to the others. Next, the iPhone was encased with stationary from the Czech Republic. Fine penmanship on the label, either well cultured or connected to those who are." Adara summarized thoughtfully. Sherlock nodded along before ghosting his hand over the photos.
"The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire judging by her accent. What's he doing? Working his way around the world? Showing off?" he growled in confusion. Suddenly the pink phone rang from Sherlock's pocket. He pulled it out, reading the caller ID.
...
Number Blocked
...
Switching it to speaker the group listened to the old woman over the phone.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Joining the….dots." she sobbed. Adara clenched her jaw and walked over the windows, drawing the shades shut.
"Three hours….boom…boom." the woman gasped, crying even more as she hung up the phone. Sherlock glanced at Adara and Lestrade before switching the phone off.
"He's shortened the time. We hit a nerve." Adara muttered, looking back at the board they made. Sherlock said nothing but placed his hands in a prayer position over his mouth, staring at the wall alongside her. Adara glanced at her wristwatch wondering how John was faring over at the Prince estate with Connie's brother. Looking back at the wall and the few connections they found an idea struck her. She reached over and touched Sherlock's arm to break him out of his mental ramblings. Sherlock blinked and looked down at her curiously.
"I think you need to make a call." She prompted. His brow furrowed deeply.
"I disagree. Who could I possibly call that would be helpful, no one else is more mentally capable then the two people in this room."
"Hey!" Lestrade scoffed in offense. The duo paid him no mind. Instead Adara stared up at the man knowingly.
"I'm not talking about mental capability Sherlock; I'm talking about connections to information." Her eyes remained on his face as a myriad of emotions shot across within seconds. The man finally ended on an indignant scowl as he figured out who she was talking about.
"No."
"Sherlock…."
"You call him, or call one of your own connections." He groused. Lestrade stood behind the couple silently, watching in interest as they squabbled. Adara pursed her lips, taking a step closer.
"There's a reason I can't get in touch with them right now. And you know that so just man up and make the call." She insisted quietly, glancing at Lestrade to make sure he couldn't hear. Sherlock clenched his jaw tightly, looking back at the wall.
"I don't need the help." He insisted. Adara rolled her eyes, her head tilting back slightly in annoyance.
"Oh get over it already. You never hold grudges Sherlock just let this one go please. There are other people at stake here." She pushed irritably. Lestrade's eyebrows shot up at the snarl that escaped from Sherlock's lips.
"I am not holding a grudge. I just would rather not have anything to do with the man." He corrected sternly. Adara sighed reaching over to uncross his arms that had wrapped around his torso.
"Sherlock…you need to make the call. He owes you a favor and it's time to cash in on it." She told him gently, keeping a hand on his forearm. His eyes narrowed.
"And what is the reason he owes me a favor?" Adara bit her lip sheepishly, however a smirk slid across her face.
"Because he felt me up at the gala despite the fact that neither of us were single. He's a sleezeball, but a powerful one." She admitted quietly. Lestrade blinked, trying desperately trying to keep his mouth from falling open. Sherlock scowled.
"I don't need to talk with him." he insisted sternly, obviously wanting nothing to do with whoever it was. Adara closed her eyes before glancing over at the man watching in silent shock.
"Do you mind giving us a moment." she requested. Sherlock stiffened up; apparently having forgotten Lestrade was even in the room. He quickly took his arm back and turned to face the wall. Lestrade blushed, feeling bad about having witnessed something so obviously private. He glanced around the flat, wondering where he would even go. With a sigh Lestrade walked down the stairs, presumably to chat with Mrs. Hudson. When he was out of view Adara turned Sherlock back around, once again prompting him to loosen up. Her hand lifted to cup his cheek and turn it towards her.
"Sherlock, you need to call him. If I did it then he'll ask for favors I will refuse, and we will get nowhere. That woman needs our help and if we don't get a head start now then others are going to be affected." She urged, making sure to maintain eye contact with the man. His jaw clenched.
"Surely there's a better way. Besides Mycroft dislikes when I meddle with political figures." He tried once more. Adara smirked and pushed up onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. Sherlock hesitated before returning the gesture, his shoulders relaxing. After a few seconds she broke away, watching his face closely.
"Better now?" Sherlock's lip quirked; his eyes boring into hers intently.
"I don't think the flood of oxytocin was quite enough to change my mood enough to finish the task." He responded. Adara chuckled warmly.
"If you wanted another kiss, all you have to do is ask." She pointed out with a smirk. His brow rose teasingly.
"I thought that's what I did." He murmured lowly before leaning down to kiss her soundly. Once again, stepping back from one another Adara ran her fingers over his cheek fondly.
"Now you make that phone call and I'll go down to fetch Lestrade." Sherlock watched her leave, a minute grin stretching across his face. It quickly dropped when he pulled out his cell and dialed the number. Might as well get it over and done with.
...
...
Minutes later Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson had joined Adara back in the flat, Sherlock on the opposite end of the room on the phone. He rolled his eyes skyward in annoyance as he listened to the person on the other side.
"Great…..Thank you. Thanks again." He muttered out politely, waiting for the rest of the call to finish. Sherlock strolled closer to the fireplace, leaning against it in tired annoyance. Adara glanced back at him before turning to face the wall with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson.
"It was a real shame. I liked her. She taught you how to do your colors." The older woman lamented thoughtfully. Lestrade frowned, turning towards the woman.
"Colors?"
"You know…what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me." Mrs. Hudson explained, gesturing to her plum colors. She glanced over at Adara thoughtfully.
"You deary shouldn't wear any pinks or orange, it wouldn't go with your hair." She pointed out with a small grin. Adara turned to look at the woman in mild amusement.
"No worries Mrs. Hudson, I don't own those colors. Never liked them anyway." She assured. Behind them Sherlock had finished his conversation and rejoined the group by the wall. Adara looked up and scanned his face, making sure he wasn't wound up. Sherlock nodded at her gently, assuring her he was fine.
"Who was that?" Lestrade inquired after realizing no one was going to volunteer the information.
"Home Office." Sherlock muttered staring at the wall. Lestrade blanched.
"Home Office?"
"Well, Home Secretary actually." Adara corrected pursing her lips in displeasure.
"Owes me a favor." Sherlock finished. Lestrade stared at the two incredulously but decided not to comment.
"She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days. They'd do well to follow after your example Adara, still just as pretty as when I met you." the woman chided, grinning over at the young woman fondly.
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She nodded politely.
"People can hardly move their faces. It's silly, isn't it?" the older woman giggled, staring at the photo of Connie Prince on the wall. Lestrade smiled tightly as he listened to her ramble on.
"Did you ever see her show?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking over at Sherlock curiously.
"Not until now." He answered. Sherlock turned to pick up his laptop and opened it to the video he had been playing previously.
"You look pasty, love!" Ms. Prince chided her brother who sat across from her on the screen.
"Ah, rained every day but one." He joked.
"That's the brother. No love lost there, if you can believe the papers." Mrs. Hudson commented as she watched over his shoulder.
"So I gather. I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites, indispensable for gossip." He mused thoughtfully. On screen Connie was gesturing to her brother's clothes.
"There's really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don't you think girls?" she called with a wide grin. She stood and began to rhythmically clap, the audience soon joining along.
"Off! Off! Off!" As the chant continues Connie walks over and starts beating her hands a bit harshly on her brother's back. The man grimaces before putting on a false smile for the audience.
"Poor dear, I'd be right flustered with all the attention." Mrs. Hudson hummed in sympathy. However, Adara and Sherlock shared a knowing glance, keeping their amusement at bay. It was doubtful Mrs. Hudson would hate being center of attention. Adara cleared her throat and looked over at the woman.
"Mrs. Hudson, would you mind? We need to talk about some sensitive subjects and you know….discretion is important." She gently prodded. Mrs. Hudson waved her hands dismissively.
"Oh of course. I know how this goes, I'll just be on my way then. Good luck to ya." She dismissed while walking out of the flat. Sherlock looked up at Adara thankfully, before closing the laptop and looking back at the display on the wall. After a few minutes of silence his cell rings. Fishing it out of his pocket, Sherlock glances at the caller ID and answers.
"John." He greeted.
"Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something. You'll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?" John explained over the line.
"I'll remember." Sherlock assured before listening to the list John was giving him.