(A/N) I apologize for not updating lately, here are the latest developments, and I hope that it is a bit more uplifting than the previous two chapters. My next chapter is coming soon. Please read and review. Merci.
~A.Spencer
A locked door proves to be quiet an obstacle, even when one has earth shattering information.
"Holmes, stop sulking and open this door. Right now." Splinters of wood quivered with his booming response, and the force of his body slamming against the door in an effort to put more of a barrier between us.
"What are you, my mother? Go away. Let me be! Its my case, not yours."
"You sound as if you need one! Acting just like a little boy."
"What would you know about the death of a client!? All you do is write, what do you do about solving the problem. Nothing!"
That was the breaking point. I slammed both palms on the door, tears welling up at the smarting pain from the impact, both verbal and physical. "I may know nothing about a client, Holmes, but I can sympathize damn well with the death of friend." I turned, the thin carpet slightly muffling my angry stride as a stalked off for the stairs. The carpet, however, could do nothing to dampen the amplitude of my anger and grief, or the volume of my continuation: "I brought you something to solve OUR problem Holmes, or perhaps you don't take help from a writer, because what could they know about solving a problem."
"Talbot. Why didn't you say so in the first place! Come, come show me." His voice was soft, or perhaps it was the distance I had covered during my tirade, which must have been loud enough to mask the sound of the door being flung open, the wooden rectangle still swinging on its hinges, softly bumping the cheaply wallpapered walls. I didn't turn.
"What, Holmes, no apology?" At that, he drew a sharp breath. I almost grinned, visualizing him sheepishly, or as sheepish as Sherlock Holmes can be, casting his eyes at any available point, attempting to come up with something, anything, to say. With this picture in mind, I twisted dramatically to face him. But in front of me was a totally different masterpiece. Holmes' gray eyes were not the confused, darting, murky pools I had imagined, but instead were clear with realization, locked with mine. His arms flopped to his side.
"I confess, I can not warrant any of what I said, but I can assure, none of it is true sentiment. I am a proud creature, Miss Talbot, but in this case, it is quiet evident a mea culpa is called for. Will you come in and divulge what you have learned over a cup of tea?" He stepped back to open the door, and stretched out his arm in a butler like manner.
"Holmes, you can be quite the gentleman, when you want to be."
~***~
"Those are going to kill you, you know."
Smoke particles swirled chaotically, diverted momentarily from their ascent toward the ceiling as Holmes' hand gave a waving response of agitated dismissal at my statement. "My smoking habit is no one's concern but my own, Miss Talbot, and I choose to ignore its implications. There are more important matters at hand." Taking a drag of his cigarette, he tossed my tape recorder as if it was a baseball, and when thrown, its trajectory would determine the outcome of the came. In his hand, Holmes held both his victory and his defeat: I could only hope he would see its potential.
"Come now Holmes, its really quite elementary, you merely have to push the button, and noise is emitted from…"
"Sarcasm does not become you Talbot." Over his shoulder he tossed me a carefully crafted angle of superiority, punctuated by his raised eyebrow and accusing gray orbs. He diverted his attention to the object resting in his hand.
"I'll get you to the spot, Holmes." I reached for the device but he tightened his grip.
"No thank you, I must listen to the entire recording. I'll not have you picking up something I cannot!" He flashed a weak smile to supplement his weak attempt at humor, and walked to the couch. Closing his eyes, he pressed the button.
Standing a few feet away, arms folded, I watched Holmes for the short duration, as he turned up the volume, scrutinizing every sound, and he did not flinch until the tape waned into unrecorded static. His face brightened with intrigue, and he beckoned to me. "Tell me Talbot, what do you make of this?"
Preparing my report, I straightened, "When reviewing the tape, well, actually, after pondering for quiet some time, and walking all night, and…" I held up a hand at Holmes mouth opening in annoyance. "I digress. I noticed that at the particular moment that you were beside Anne's…body, that there was the echo of footsteps. Now, if the van had already vacated the premises, and neither you nor I were moving that that point, that leads to the fact that there were others there. At least one."
"Three." Contributed Holmes. " It was a few steps before two of them got their strides in sync, then the third followed. Continue."
"I also detected some sort of speech, though, it did not sound like English. I'm not quite sure what it was, do you know what I'm talking about, Holmes?'
The man leaned back, fingertips lightly touching, his steepled hands resting lightly against his mouth. "Yes, I do. I believe the word you heard were something like "bok" and "sus". Am I right." I nodded in affirmation. "Then our unseen friends are Turkish, or at least know the language. I shall have to take this tape to a friend of mine to be analyzed further. He's quite a character; you may find it amusing to come along. Hmm, yes, that might be it... Or, it could be…"
Too late, I had lost him. He was thinking now.
"Holmes."
No answer.
"Sherlock!"
Obviously no one's home.
"Mother!"
Holmes looked up, startled, and ironically enough, he answered the last inquiry. "Yes?"
"What do…" I tested the words on my tongue, " 'bok' and 'sus' mean?"
"Oh. Those would be Turkish curses, sus being the equivalent of 'shut up' and bok meaning, well, how can I say this politely, I don't suppose I can…" He leaned over and whispered a curse in English, which really isn't so bad, but has the equivalent of fecal matter. Besides, Holmes cursing? It was just too amusing.
Holmes abandoned me to my silent laughter as he returned to his shroud of reason.
"Ah ha! There's a poser! Talbot, remember the Turkish rug in Madison's study? This could implicate that there are larger forces at work. Much larger that a London drug ring. But it is too early to make conjectures. Come, we have much to discover." Holmes leapt to his feet and made for the door. I almost followed him, but he skidded to a stop, riding the floor rug a few feet until it bunched by the wall. He flung a small black object at me. "Get a new tape, Talbot, we may have some use of this in the near future." I shook my head, shoulders shaking in silent laugher as Holmes firmly planted both hands on my shoulders and guided me, forcefully, might I add, to the door. Thankfully, I opened it before he could try to ram me through it. A convenient surprise awaited us on the other side.
"Good gracious, what's going on?" bumbled Watson, his eyes growing wide as we hurried past him.
"Come on Watson, you're out of the loop, we'll catch you up in the taxi," Holmes stated as he grabbed Watson's sleeve, and dragging him along. "Good Lord, the both of you are so sluggish, can you not see that the game is afoot!" At the verbalism, I attempted to glare at Holmes.
"Sus, Holmes, I grow tired of you coining that phrase as your own. You're not fooling anyone, you know: Everyone knows it's from Shakespeare."