CHAPTER 63: DON'T WEAR YOUR HEART ON YOUR SLEEVE

"Superb analysis, Sherlock. My compliments," Jim applauds from the screen. "Maitotoxin is increasing the flow of calcium ions through the cardiac muscle membrane, messing with her heart rate. I find it exquisitely ironic that once again the chemistry is horribly destructive for Miss Adler," he hints at the words spoken by Sherlock when he beat The Woman, which makes him arch a brow at that quote.

How can Jim know the exact words that he pronounced that night? Did he bug Mycroft's office?

"When you defeated her last time, the careful analysis of the chemical effects of sentiment on her body handed you the perfect ammunition to deduce her password and bring her down. Now, I decided to replicate that scene as my fair retribution for her carelessness," he gives her a wolfish grin as his eyes narrow to two slits. "Chemistry is destroying her body from the inside. And I calculated the exact dosage that will make her heart fail, unless…"

"Unless I figure out the right code. Again," Sherlock whispers, finally understanding the nature of that new riddle.

"Precisely," Moriarty nods satisfied.

"What code?" inquires Giulia.

Sherlock points his finger to the keypad placed right under the monitor. "I suppose that since Irene Adler blew her chances with me and my brother because of the combination of her camera phone, this time I must find the right combination and type it on that keypad in order to have the antidote administered to her."

Moriarty smirks from the monitor. "It's just a matter of finding the right sequence. Only numbers, this time; no room for one of your clever tricks," he curls his lips disgusted at the idea that several months ago the dominatrix allowed the detective to exploit her sentiment and destroy their joint plans.

He peeks at his watch and comments ironically, "I suggest you hurry, Sherlock. Miss Adler's heart risks skipping a beat."

His face vanishes from the screen while the speakers in the room resume Mozart's sonata. That merry sound in such a dire situation gives them the creeps.

Holmes takes a deep breath to clear his head, then goes straight into his robotic mode. "Very well. Let's start with what we have."

"Eager to save her again, are you?" John mocks him.

He rolls up his eyes and walks to the keypad to study it. "Are you really offended because I overlooked the tiny detail that I got her out of trouble before?"

Watson follows him closely and replies in a seemingly hurt tone, "You could've just told me."

Sherlock shrugs, "Would it have made any difference to you, knowing that she was still alive, out there somewhere?"

"Did it make any difference to you?" Giulia interjects harshly.

Sherlock lifts his head to look at her flushed cheeks; he stares at her for a few seconds, with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He doesn't say anything but switches the attention back to the small screen of the keypad, examining the blinking spaces for the combination.

"A seven-number code," he murmurs. "It could be anything, from a date to a generic string of digits."

"Not really anything," John corrects him. "Moriarty has just mentioned 'the right sequence', whatever that means."

Giulia follows his reasoning and moves to the table at the centre of the room. "He gave us three clues: a Nautilus shell, a sunflower, and the image of a galaxy. Assuming that we are supposed to assign a number to each of them, maybe the right sequence is merely the correct order of the clues," she ventures.

"That's a possibility," Sherlock confirms, stepping closer to her.

"You established that Miss Adler has been poisoned with shellfish, let's start from the shell, then. Any ideas?" she hands him the first item.

He turns it delicately between his hands; a glimmer shines in his eyes as he mumbles in a low voice as if he were following the train of internal thoughts, "The Nautilus is an ancient creature, also known as a 'living fossil': it appeared in the seas before the dinosaurs and has existed for over 450 million years."

"I'm sure it is all very fascinating," John interrupts him, a note of concern in his voice as he steals a glance at Irene's worsening health. "But we need to get a move on. Any particular significance? I don't know, maybe some symbolic meaning?"

"Plenty," Sherlock nods, knocking gently on the shell. "First of all, it symbolises strength and resilience; in fact, a Nautilus shell can withstand extremely high pressures in the ocean, diving beyond 2,500 feet without imploding."

"Impressive," says Giulia. "Anything else?"

Sherlock replies distractedly, the rapt look still harboured in his eyes. "If we could halve this shell, we'd be able to look at the cross-section and admire the spiral disposition of increasingly larger chambers. Initially, this mollusc only has four formed chambers; as it grows, he builds more space in the shell, outgrowing his old chambers and moving its body to the new, larger one. This is why the shell stands as a metaphor for an individual's spiritual growth and evolution. It symbolises the thirst for knowledge, the struggle to become new people in hope for better things, leaving the past behind, sealed off like the old, small chambers of the Nautilus."

"Very poetic," Watson doesn't even bother to hide his sarcasm. "But how does it help us? And how is it connected to the other items?" he questions, taking the astronomic picture in his hand.

"That's a photo of a spiral galaxy," Giulia looks over his shoulder. "Again, the spiral. We seem to be dealing with symbols of constant evolution. If we consider the fact that the universe is in expansion, we have one more link to the theme of never-ending growth," she suggests.

"But what about the sunflower? As far as I know, flowers don't grow endlessly, and they certainly aren't as long-lived as galaxies or fossils," the doctor objects.

"Fair enough. Should we move on to the sunflower, then?" the girl proposes, biting down on her lips.

She wishes she could be more useful; she wishes her intelligence could help her mask her sudden insecurities. She hates that round and the way it is making her feel utterly inadequate.

She steps forward to caress the petals. "I've always found sunflowers rather lovely," she whispers to herself, but Sherlock catches her comment and frowns.

"I thought you hated receiving flowers. You said so…" he pauses a second, realising how little time has actually passed from that conversation. "… Just tonight, before I invited you to the exhibition. It was one of your quirky ideas about romantic gestures, if I recall correctly," he smirks at her.

She nods, as always impressed by his attention for the minuscule details of her personality. "I did say that, yes. But just because I'm not a fan of bouquets, it doesn't mean that I can't admire and appreciate the beauty of nature," she underlines with a sly grin.

"So, I suppose that the Greek myth of the origin of sunflowers has nothing to do with your fascination with it," he jibes her, being all too familiar with her extensive knowledge of ancient mythology.

She beams at him, "I can't believe that you know it, too."

"Trust me, neither can I," John scoffs, rolling his eyes theatrically.

Sherlock ignores him and proceeds to tell the story, "According to the myth, the nymph Clytie was in love with Apollo, the God of the Sun, and initially, he did love her back, but then he abandoned her and turned his affections towards Leucothoe, another nymph. Needless to say, Clytie wasn't very happy about that; in a jealous rage, she revealed the affair to the nymph's father who buried his daughter alive in the sands as punishment. Clytie had hoped that by taking out the competition, she could win Apollo back, but her hideous betrayal only hardened his heart against her. In lamenting his abandonment, she sat naked on the rocks in adoration of the Sun; her feelings for him were so intense that she would watch Apollo's chariot of the sun move across the sky every day. After nine days without food or water, she was transformed into a sunflower."

Giulia listens to him in awe. She longs for the day they would stop chasing madly after criminals and childishly after one another and would just sit down in their living room, talking about literature, history, poetry, anything relaxing and interesting, allowing their souls to connect deeply.

Right now, though, she feels just like Clytie; she'd better listen to the moral of the story and let go of her unhealthy, destructive jealousy.

"I suppose that this myth is the reason sunflowers symbolize adoration and loyalty," Sherlock concludes his speech.

"I don't see how this symbolic meaning helps us," comments John.

Giulia blinks twice to dissipate her daydream and intervenes, "Should we consider other cultures, maybe?"

The detective frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

"In Chinese culture, sunflowers are considered as symbols of good luck and lasting happiness — a good omen for success. Besides, it is the national flower of Russia and Ukraine," she shows off her general knowledge.

Sherlock gawks at her, "How do you know?"

She shrugs. "I spent one month in Moscow and three weeks in Kyiv when I was on the run."

"Why?"

"Because the MI6 was onto the Eastern branches of my operations," Moriarty smugly replies in a flash appearance on the monitor.

They turn around to glare at him, but he has already vanished.

"Alright, this is definitely not helping us," John chimes in, struggling to keep everyone focused on the riddle. "Any other ideas, possibly connected to a number?" he points at the keypad on the wall.

Giulia glances at the solitary flower in the vase, and a corner of her mouth bends in a hinted smile; that sight is quite artistic.

"Not being an expert florist, I can only think of Van Gogh's masterpiece. But even if I knew how much that painting has been valued or insured for, that number alone would fill all the spaces for the combination, not leaving any room for the other clues," she points out.

"Again, we should find something that binds all the three objects together. If it's not symbolism, then what? All we have are three clues belonging to three totally different areas," John whines. He doesn't care much about Irene Adler, but he cares about Sherlock, and he knows that even if he despises that woman, deep down he is determined to save her one more time.

Sherlock whips his head towards him, an entranced expression on his face.

"You're wrong," he mumbles.

Watson glowers at him. "Me? I am the only person who hasn't speculated at all, in here."

"No, you are wrong about the total number of the clues. There might be only three objects in front of us, but we have one more clue that we haven't considered yet. I suppose the music is not just for ambience," he lifts his finger in the air to point at the speakers.

The joyful notes of Mozart's sonata are still spreading in the tense atmosphere of the room. They were so busy trying to unearth a connection among the items and they had become so accustomed to the background sound that their ears can barely notice it by now.

"Piano Sonata n.1, that's what you said. At least, in this case, we do have a number," John ironically notices before becoming serious again. "Any other number associated with it? When was it composed?" he presses his friend.

Holmes arches a brow, visibly perplexed by that barrage of questions. "How should I know?"

"Because you know all the most obscure, unknown niche facts of the human existence," Watson retorts. His hardened expression makes it difficult to reckon his half-hearted attempt to compliment his extensive general knowledge.

"And you think I might just start giving out numbers like a human abacus?" Sherlock flails his hands around, mimicking the explosion of his skull.

John shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me, honestly."

Giulia steals a look at the bickering couple, sighs, and shakes her head. She moves closer to one speaker and closes her eyes to listen to the symphony.

She whispers to herself, "If there ever was any proof of people's efforts to achieve perfection, it must be in the act of creating music."

Sherlock, who was still looking for the perfect comeback to throw in John's face, catches her murmur and spins around, feeling an epiphany coming.

"What have you just said?" he blurts out, a dazed expression in his eyes.

She waves a hand in the air, stammering out, "Don't mind me. I was just noticing that this sonata has something so pleasing to the ear that… I don't even know how to explain it, it's just…"

"Perfect," he completes her sentence.

She smiles softly at him and shrugs at her own childlike awe, "Sounds silly, right?"

He smiles back. "Not at all. And you certainly aren't the only one to think that. Mozart was a maths enthusiast. There are mathematical studies on the structure of Mozart's piano sonatas and on his predilection for balance and formal elegance. Regarding Sonata number 1, mathematician John F. Putz claimed that…" he stops mid-sentence to look at the objects on the table and freezes.

Half a second later, while everyone is waiting for the end of his anecdote, he smacks his head and yells, "How could I be so slow! It's so obvious: it's perfection."

John snorts, "Yeah, lovely tune, you said it already."

Holmes shakes his head. "No, John. Every single clue is about perfection: the partition of the movements of the sonata, the disposition of the seeds in the sunflower, and the spiral movement of both the chambers in the Nautilus shell and the galaxy. It's the fingerprint of God," he breathes out, finally grasping the underlying connection between the objects.

Giulia furrows a brow at him. "I thought you didn't believe in God."

"I don't, but I do believe in maths," he beams at her. "And I've just figured out the right sequence – in the words of Moriarty, that connects each and every clue."

Giulia lets his words sink in and gapes at him, watching him walk to the keypad.

He lifts his finger to type the combination, when John interrupts him in an annoyed tone, "Are you going to give us an explanation?"

He hates it when Sherlock just jumps to the solution, leaving everyone behind.

In response, the detective wrinkles his nose at his request. "Why should I bother? It's probably just an obscure and unknown niche fact that I stored away in my brain," he jests, twisting John's words. "I don't even expect you to understand."

"But I do: Fibonacci," Giulia intervenes, causing Sherlock to turn his head towards her. He doesn't hide his impressed expression.

"Correct," he nods before explaining briefly, "Leonardo Fibonacci was an Italian mathematician who lived between the 12th and 13th centuries. To him, we owe the introduction of Indo-Arabic numbers in Europe. He is best known for having theorized the numerical succession that takes his name. Fibonacci sequence (also associated with the golden ratio) indicates a succession of integers in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones, starting with 0 and 1."

"Yep, an obscure and unknown niche fact – totally called it," John comments smugly. "By the way, I still can't see the connection between Mr Fibonacci and these objects," he points at the table.

Giulia intervenes to explain the link. "Fibonacci numbers aren't just of purely mathematical interest. They laid the foundation for our modern mathematical understanding of certain shapes in nature, which is the reason why Sherlock mentioned the so-called 'fingerprint of God'. Many natural things tend to follow the pattern of the golden ratio, especially in logarithmic spirals, such as in Nautilus shells, sunflower seeds, and the spiral shape of galaxies."

Sherlock nods at her explanation and adds, "The golden ratio and Fibonacci sequence produce such harmonious shapes and aesthetically pleasing forms that those numbers have been often used in the artistic creation, from the composition of music to visual art and architecture."

John widens his eyes in sudden realisation and mumbles, stunned, "Are you seriously saying that Mozart used a math formula to compose this sonata?"

The detective shrugs. "We don't have any definitive proof of that, but some mathematical studies and research seem to agree on that point. Anyway, in this game, we don't need it to be scientifically correct, just... logically connected," he shoots a nervous glance at the keypad.

Giulia follows his gaze and gives him a reassuring smile. "In this heart-themed round, you can still rely on your brilliant brain to solve the riddle."

He can't help but notice that she sounds oddly relieved.

She keeps speaking, "A seven-digit code, is it? It must be the first seven numbers of the Fibonacci sequence, then."

Irene, who has been following their banter and reasoning process between her spasms and pains, lifts his head to look at Giulia, then addresses Holmes. "Now I see why you like her. Sorry to interrupt your flirting, but I'd be really appreciative if you could just press the bloody buttons and make this agony stop," she pronounces through gritted teeth, suppressing a shriek.

Sherlock moves closer to the keypad and types in the sequence: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8.

At that moment, Jim's face appears again on the monitor. He flares his nostrils in a disappointed grimace and tilts his head to the side, nonchalantly cracking his neck.

"You two must always spoil my fun, don't you?" he purses his lips to Sherlock and Giulia.

"Jim, play fair. The antidote, now," Holmes admonishes him in a stern tone.

Moriarty tries to stifle a smirk as he fakes utter surprise. "I thought you were just showing off, playing the game to prove that you're a clever little boy," he taunts him in a singsong voice. "But in the end, you still care about her."

Sherlock hardens his gaze on the monitor without a word, while Giulia swallows hard at that insinuation.

Jim steals a look at her reaction before pointing his eyes at Sherlock. The two men exchange a long stare, studying each other. Eventually, Jim rolls his eyes and grunts childishly, "Fiiine."

When he snaps his fingers, one of the armed guards enters Irene's room and injects her with a syringe.

Everyone's eyes are glued to the glass wall, and they barely notice the click of the automatic door opening behind their backs.

"Time for another round, I suppose," John glowers at Moriarty, who smiles tenderly at him.

"Cheer up, Doctor Watson. We are almost at the end. Almost," his smile turns into a sinister grin.

When Sherlock spins around to leave the room, he hears Irene calling him. "Mr Holmes?"

He turns his head to her, intrigued.

She slowly licks her lips in a methodical, studied gesture before continuing, "Don't take it the wrong way, but judging by our last encounters, I sincerely hope that this is the last time we meet."

And yet, there is nothing vaguely sincere in her words or her behaviour, Giulia reflects, tightening her jaw.

Sherlock remains unperturbed and bids her goodbye with a nod of the head. "With any luck, Miss Adler, it will be."

And he marches out of the room.

The girl's eyes follow his movements, and she is about to step outside too when that low, sensual voice calls her back.

"Oh, and... Giulia, is it?" Irene asks, remembering the name that Moriarty mentioned during the round.

She nods without a word.

The Woman's lips part in a wide grin, revealing her white teeth in stark contrast with the blood-red lipstick framing her mouth.

"It was a real pleasure," she emphasizes the last word, winking at her.

Giulia cocks a brow, then she replies politely but curtly, "Likewise."

But before she can turn on her heels and leave, Moriarty has already caught the subconscious twitch on her cheek and her clenched fists. Wonderful. Jealousy is such a distracting feeling.