Down on the south bank of the Thames, a body had washed up on the rocky shore. Shortly after the forensics team got there Sherlock, Adara, and John joined them. Sherlock pulled on a pair of latex gloves as he walks towards Lestrade who was waiting beside the body.
"Do you reckon this is connected then? The bomber?" Lestrade inquired, looking up at the group that was approaching.
"Must be. Odd, though…he hasn't been in touch." Sherlock almost pouted as he held up the pink phone to double check that he hadn't missed anything. Adara pursed her lips.
"One method of variation didn't work. Perhaps he is testing out another." She pointed out. Sherlock glanced at her thoughtfully.
"But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" Lestrade mused with a frown.
"Yes." Sherlock answered shortly. He stepped back to look at the man's body, which had been rolled onto his back on a plastic sheet. Sherlock's head tilted back and forth as he looked at the body from a distance.
"Any ideas?" Greg probed, watching him as he folded his hands behind his back.
"Seven….so far." Sherlock admitted, tilting his head.
"Four." Adara countered thoughtfully. Sherlock did a double take, staring at her speculatively. The woman shrugged, grinning back at him in amusement. His face scrunched up in a pout but brushed past her winning quip. Instead he walked closer to the body.
"Seven?! How did you get four?" Lestrade sputtered, looking between the two of them in bafflement. They had just gotten here. Ignoring the man's surprise Sherlock walked closer to the body before squatting down, picking his coattails up so they wouldn't get dirty. His eyes scanned over the man's face, using his magnifier to get a better look. John, Lestrade and Adara remained silent as the man shuffled around, examining the body.
Moving down Sherlock spotted the ripped shirt pocket, picking up the edge and moving it back and forth to look for anything on it. Nothing of consequence was showing outwardly on the man's shirt and trousers so he moved down to the feet. Resituating his squatting position Sherlock used the magnifier to examine the man's heels after removing the sock. Standing up he looks over to John and jerks his head toward the body, silently implying for him to examine the corpse as well. However, John looked over to Lestrade for permission who held out a hand in the 'be my guest' gesture. John squatted beside the body and reached out to take a hold of the man's wrist while Sherlock stepped away to scan his phone. Adara walked over to join him, tugging on his bicep to lead him further away so they wouldn't be heard.
"You recognize something?" he inquired, having taken note of her change in demeanor while looking the scene over.
"Yes, but I want to make sure he's not in prison. It could be a copycat or a random coincidence." She hummed. Sherlock frowned, knowing that neither of those were likely. However, he allowed her to double check. Both went to work, searching information on their cells. Sherlock stood to the side while Adara stepped closer to the scene. Meanwhile, John was conversing with Lestrade about the man lying on the beach.
"He's been dead about twenty-four hours, maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?" John inquired, looking up at the inspector.
"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated." Adara glanced up, filing that information away as she pocketed her phone.
"Yes, I'd agree." John nodded.
"There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here." He pointed out, glancing at Adara out of the corner of his eye. She was staring down at the corpse as John gestured to the markings dotting the face.
"They're fingertips." Adara murmured, walking back over towards Sherlock. She looks over his shoulder at what he had pulled up.
"Check Missing Persons." She instructs, spotting one of the options on his search. Sherlock nods absently, following her guidance. John stands back up.
"In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition." He pointed out, finished with his check over.
"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock added, however his lips quirked up in a grin.
"But I'll tell you one thing; that lost Vermeer painting's a fake." He announced smugly. Lestrade squinted his eyes in confusion. Where had that come from?
"What?"
"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates…." Lestrade quickly held a hand up to stop Sherlock's rapid paced instructions.
"Wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you….what are you on about?" he sputtered.
"It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago. Now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds." Sherlock elaborated pointedly.
"Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?" Lestrade inquired, lost as to where this conversation had gone. Sherlock grinned, his eyes flashing in delight as he glanced over at Adara. She took her cue.
"It has everything to do with it. Have you heard of the Golem?" she inquired seriously.
"Golem?" Lestrade shook his head, not recognizing the name.
"It's a horror story isn't it? What are you saying?" John inquired curiously.
"Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay." Sherlock clarified before Adara answered John's question.
"It's also the name of an assassin. His real name is Oskar Dzundza and he's one of the deadliest assassins in the world." Adara explained seriously. Both Lestrade and John stared at her curiously.
"So Golum is the code name of the deadliest assassin?" John asked curiously. Adara scoffed, waving her hands dismissively.
"I said one of the deadliest. Don't give him more credit than deserved." She corrected, earning even more bewildered looks.
"And you're familiar with his work?" John continued.
"Yes. This is his trademark style." Adara nodded, gesturing down to the body.
"Wh….how do you know…"
"So, this is a hit?" Lestrade realized in surprise, talking over top of John.
"Definitely. The Golem's style is very clean. He squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Adara told him, holding her hand above the corpse's face as an illustration. Lestrade's eyes widened curiously, glancing between her and the body.
"Any reason you are so familiar with international hit men?" John inquired. Sherlock and Adara shared a look. She shrugged.
"I have a very….particular interest….you could say in international affairs. Knowing the villains of the world is part of that interest." John narrowed his eyes skeptically but didn't push the matter.
"But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see….." Sherlock huffed in exasperation, cutting off Lestrade.
"You do see, you just don't observe." He lamented.
"All right, all right, girls, calm down." John placated in annoyance. Adara snorted a laugh at the indignant expressions on the two men's faces.
"Sherlock? Do you wanna take us through it?" John requested politely. Adara beamed proudly, impressed with how he was handling things. John returned the gesture. In all honesty he was taking a page out of her book. It worked well enough when she did it. Sherlock did not look as impressed as he pursed his lips, eyeing John in mild disdain. He took a step back before beginning, pointing at the corresponding spots as he explained.
"What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and trousers. They're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard issue uniform. Dressed for work then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."
"Tube driver?" Lestrade suggested. Sherlock shot the man a demeaning look, as if he couldn't believe Lestrade had even suggested it.
"Security guard?" John corrected, looking over the uniform.
"More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside."
"Backside?" Lestrade sputtered. Adara glanced up at the man in amusement.
"Yes Greg, his backside. One needs to examine everything when working a case. The corpse is no different." She pointed out with a small grin. Lestrade cleared his throat, fighting back a blush.
"It's flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts." Sherlock explained.
"Why regular? Maybe he just set the alarm like that the night before he died." Lestrade pointed out. Sherlock shook his head in dismissal.
"No, no, no. The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long long time ago. His routine never varied…."
"But there's something else going on here." Adara cut in, taking over the conversation. Sherlock paused and waited for her to continue, knowing that high level hits were more her area of expertise. Not that either Lestrade or John would know that.
"The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely to leave no evidence of identity behind. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt that he tore off. That means that the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution." She pointed out.
"I found this in his trouser pockets." Sherlock added, pulling out a wad of paper from his own.
"Sodden by the river but still recognizably…"
"Tickets?" John answered, peering closely at the wet ball. Sherlock nodded.
"Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check….the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." Sherlock gestured down to the body on the ground.
"Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it. Something that would stop the owner from getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake." He finished assuredly.
"Fantastic" John gushed in admiration. Sherlock glanced at him.
"Meretricious." He shrugged.
"And a Happy New Year." Lestrade quipped. The trio throw him a look, causing the man to grin sheepishly. John shook his head, looking back down at the body.
"Poor sod." He muttered.
"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character." Lestrade mused. Adara shook her head.
"That's pointless. You'd never find him. He's too smart to mingle with anyone remotely associated with the police." She paused, sharing a look with Sherlock who nodded.
"However, we know someone who can find him." she informed.
"Who?" Lestrade asked curiously. Sherlock beamed.
"Me." He announced, turning to walk away with a flourish. Adara and John paused before following after.
"That wasn't exactly who I had in mind, but we'll see how he does." She whispered to John with an amused grin. John chuckled, knowing how big the man's ego was. It didn't surprise him at all that Sherlock would assume she was talking about himself.
"You know someone that can do better than Sherlock?" he inquired. Adara shrugged.
"I know someone who's better connected to the dark network. But let's not tell Sherlock I have other options. He would be very cross." She insisted with a teasing grin. John barked out a laugh; however, it dimmed slightly as he thought about what she said. Who could she possibly know with those kinds of connections?
...
...
In the taxi, Sherlock stared down at the pink phone in frustration.
"Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern, why?" he lamented quietly, brows furrowing in deep thought.
"It's another test to throw you off." Adara suggested. Both men turned to look at her, silently prompting her to continue.
"You've proven that you can handle his typical methods, finishing his puzzles hours before they're due. But now that you have grown comfortable, it's time to switch things up. Remaining the same for too long, especially once someone has picked up the pattern, is dangerous for his anonymity." She explained. Sherlock pursed his lips, nodding along as he listened. After a beat of silence he leaned forward to talk with the cabbie.
"Waterloo bridge." He requested, pocketing the pink phone. John blinked in confusion.
"Where now, the gallery?" he inquired.
"In a bit." Sherlock assured. Adara watched as Sherlock pulled out a small black notebook and pen from his deep coat pocket.
"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have the got a hold of an old master?" John pointed out, looking over at the duo.
"I don't know. It's dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data." Sherlock responded thoughtfully, not looking away from the note he was writing. John leaned over and watched silently as Sherlock ripped out the page from his little book and stealthily wrapped it in some money that Adara had handed him.
"It's a bit much isn't it?" Sherlock mumbled, eyeing the pound that she had offered. Adara hummed.
"I don't think so. It's very valuable information you're looking for." She countered. With a nod Sherlock pocketed the notes. They sat in silence for another minute, Sherlock peering out the window intently. As they passed by the park, Adara leaned forward.
"Stop. Here please." She requested, prompting their driver to stop next to the fenceline.
"Wait here please, we'll just be a moment." Sherlock added, stepping out of the cab and hopping the iron fence in one leap.
"Sherlock…..Adara what…." John sputtered watching the woman follow his lead without second thought. John rolled his eyes and slipped over the fence less gracefully than the other two. He jogged to catch up with the duo who were practically power walking through the park. Sherlock led them onto a balcony just below the bridge. Up top on one of the benches was a homeless young woman.
"Change, any change." She requested, watching them approach.
"What for?"
"Cup of tea, of course." The woman responded. Sherlock pulled out the money hiding the note and handed it to her.
"Here you go, a 50." He explained. The woman grinned, taking it from him. With a nod Sherlock whipped back around, heading for the stairs where Adara had waited. John, having gotten caught in the middle of the platform, stared at him in confusion.
"What are you doing?" he questioned. Sherlock looked at the man over his shoulder, glancing to where John had gestured back towards the woman.
"Investing." Was the answer given. John glanced back in confusion, but remained silent as he followed Sherlock and Adara back to the cab.
"Now we go back to the gallery…." Sherlock paused, glancing back at John.
"Have you got any cash?" he inquired. John glared at him.
"Sorry John. I've told him he should carry more on his person. I just gave him all of mine." Adara shrugged sheepishly. John just shook his head in exasperation, hopping into the seat and shutting the door behind him.
...
...
After riding across town, the group arrived at the gallery. Sherlock and Adara hopped out and John began to follow them but Sherlock held his hand out.
"No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address." He instructed, glancing at the street around them. John frowned but nodded in understanding.
"Ok." He agreed, shutting the door. As the cab drove away, Sherlock placed a hand on Adara's back to usher her towards the side of the Hickman Gallery. Adara scanned the walls as they walked down the ally adjacent to the brick building.
"So, what exactly is our purpose in being here?" she questioned, following along where Sherlock was leading her.
"I need to get inside and look at the painting. Figure out why it's a fake." He explained lowly, skirting around a group of tourists.
"And did you find a way in?" she mused with a small grin. Sherlock grunted as they turned the corner, heading around the back.
"That is why I brought you along. Don't play coy." He scolded, raising a brow. The duo walked around the building, Adara taking note of every entrance, window, and video cameras. Having circled the building, Adara and Sherlock made their way back around to where they started before ducking into an alcove.
"Alright, there's a staff entrance around back, and an open window on the third level of the east side. Front entrance isn't an option. The cameras are well placed but have exposed wires that are easy to manipulate. So what entrance works for you and what you have planned?" she inquired, crossing her arms and looking up at him curiously. Sherlock hummed thoughtfully.
"I believe the staff entrance will be to my liking." He decided, nodding assuredly. Adara grinned.
"How much time do you need?" he inquired.
"About 8 minutes."
"I need it done in 5." Adara threw her arms out in exasperation.
"Then why did you ask?" Sherlock smirked.
"Because I find it mildly entertaining when you are flustered. That and you need the practice." He informed her matter of factly. Adara blinked at him, shaking her head fondly.
"Hmmm. An endearing compliment and an insult all in one go. The definition of the Sherlock charm." She snickered. Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning to leave their secluded spot.
"Don't be ridiculous. Having my own charm would indicate that I give out compliments to just anyone. I don't. Now let's get to it. We don't have time to spare." He ordered, knowing she was close behind him.
...
...
Inside the empty gallery the owner walked past the new exhibit, pausing as she saw a security guard standing in front of the painting.
"Don't you have something to do?" she questioned sharply.
"Just admiring the view." The man hummed, his baritone voice echoing off the walls.
"Yes, lovely. Now get back to work, we open tonight." She snipped sternly, her lips pursing in annoyance. Sherlock turned to look at her curiously.
"Doesn't it bother you?" he questioned, walking over towards her.
"What?"
"That the painting's a fake." The woman's face dropped, her eyes narrowing.
"What?" she asked again, her voice lowering in warning.
"It's a fake. It has to be. It's the only possible explanation." Sherlock continued, never stopping his strike as he approached her.
"You are in charge, aren't you, Miss Wenceslas?"
"Who are you?" she questioned, not backing down as Sherlock stood practically nose to nose with the woman.
"Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?" Sherlock questioned instead.
"Golem? What the hell are you talking about?" she scoffed.
"Are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?" Sherlock fired off, his eyes watching her reactions carefully.
"It's not a fake."
"It is a fake. I don't know why but there's something wrong with it. There has to be." Sherlock muttered aloud. It was driving him mad that he couldn't figure out why.
"What the hell are you on about? You know I could have you sacked on the spot." Ms. Wenceslas warned.
"Not a problem." Sherlock assured airily.
"No?"
"No, I don't work here you see. I just pooped in to give you a bit of friendly advice." She paused, her glare morphing into nervous curiosity.
"How did you get in?" she asked.
"Please." Sherlock scoffed. As if he would give anything like that away.
"I want to know." She insisted.
"The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight." He hummed, walking away from her while slipping off his hat.
"Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes." He answered, still walking away. Sherlock set the hat atop one of the poles holding the velvet ropes.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she sneered.
"You should be." A new voice hummed from where she stood by the loading door. Ms. Wenceslas jumped, her eyes widening at the intruder. Sherlock grinned deviously, slinging his jacket across the floor as he walked towards the blonde.
"Have a nice day." He waved back at the woman before holding the door open for Adara who shot a smirk at the nervous woman before slipping out the door. In the silence Ms. Wenceslas walked to stand in front of the painting, staring at it intently.