Whoa, long time no see. I've been trying to write ahead, but I'm stuck around two chapters from now. So PLEASE don't hate me if there's long waits between chapters like this one. I'm trying my best, honest.


"So, what's the deal on the graffiti?" I try to make conversation in the cab.

"Trading floors at 11:34 at night, take a guess," he says, irritated, immediately shooting down the conversation.

"So, they're sending someone a message?" I ask after a moment of thought.

"Of course they are!" He exclaims, slamming his hand down on the empty seat next to him. I jump a bit at the contact, but look at him with questioning eyes.

"What is up with you? Ever since you got that email this morning, you've been off. What's wrong?" I ask.

"Sebastian," he states through gritted teeth. "He's been ignoring me since Uni, and the moment something goes wrong in that perfect world of his, I'm asked to help."

"It'll be alright, Sherlock. Someday he'll change," I tell him, placing my hand on his arm. He scoffs, pulling his arm away.

"When?"

"I don't know, but they always do." I look out the window as the cab slows. "Where are we?"

"Pillars and screens prevented the message from getting to certain people," he answers, pulling paper out of his pocket. "Not many Van Coons in the phone book." He opens the cab door as it stops, pulling money out to pay the man. I walk up to the door and examine the resident's names on the buzzer. Sherlock comes from behind me and goes to press the one with Van Coon's name on it, but I push him away before he can.

"That's not going to work," I state.

"How do you know?"

"Call it a hunch, here." I point at the one above it. "Just moved in." He presses that one instead, a woman answers.

'Hi, um, I live in the flat below you, I don't think we've met," he says in an overly sweet tone.

"No, well, I've just moved in," she replies.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat."

"Do you want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?" She asks in confusion, but buzzes us in anyway. We climb the stairs, parting ways when Sherlock goes to use the woman's balcony. After a few minutes, I start to get impatient.

"Anytime you feel like letting me in, Sherlock," I say, knocking on the door. I hear a small click and push the door open, meeting a somber Sherlock. He motions towards what I believe is the bedroom, so I head over to look. A man, who I assume is Van Coon, lays sprawled on the bed, a single gunshot wound in his right temple.

"Just what we need, more death," I say to myself before turning to Sherlock. "Call Lestrade, get a team up here. The sooner we figure this out, the better."


"Just so we're clear, he didn't commit suicide?" I ask, making sure I recognized the signs around the apartment.

"Yup," he says without looking up, examining the body. He pulls a black paper lotus from his mouth, making my eyes widen slightly. A man enters the doorway, looking at us as if we're trespassing.

"Ahh, Sergeant, we haven't met," Sherlock says politely, pulling a glove off to shake his hand.

"I've heard of you, and I would prefer it if you didn't tamper any of the evidence," a man says from the doorway. We both look at him, surprised he's shooting us down like this.

"I phoned Lestrade, is he on his way?" I ask.

"He's busy, I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant, it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock," he replies, walking out again. I look over to Sherlock before walking after him, glancing around the flat at clues. "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"No, we're not," I tell him, looking him in the eyes.

"What are you saying?" He asks in return, glaring at me.

"He was murdered," Sherlock answers.

"Look around you, the answer is there," I say to him. "He was shot in the right side of his head, but he's left handed."

"What?"

"Coffee table, on the left side," I start, not even looking away as I point to it. "Coffee mug handle to the left. Power sockets, habitually using the ones on the left. Pen and paper, left side of the phone. Answered with his right, took down notes with his left. Any questions?" I say in an overly sweet tone. He stands still, his mouth agape. "We're done here, Holmes." I turn and head for the door, smiling at my little victory. Sherlock falls in behind me, his strides matching mine as we walk down the stairs.

"Isn't it amazing how some people doubt us and are still shocked when we prove them wrong?" I ask him as we get into a cab. "Now where to?"

"Well, Sebastian should know he's down one man, shouldn't he?"

"Absolutely right."


"The graffiti was a threat," Sherlock states as we walk up to Sebastian's table.

"I'm kind of in a meeting," he replies with his mouth full. "Can't you make an appointment with my secretary?"

"One of your traders was killed, Sebastian. It can't wait," I tell him hotly, staring at him as his face falls. He takes a moment before standing up, leading us to a quieter room to talk.

"Harrow, Oxford, very bright guy. Worked in Asia for awhile so-"

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts," Sherlock finishes quickly.

"Lost five million in one morning. Made it all back a week later."

"That's great, but we're trying to solve a murder here, if you could give us useful information," I cut in, losing my patience.

"What's made you so jumpy, you were sweet a few hours ago," Sebastian almost complains.

"A murder, you idiot! I'm trying to solve this case before anyone else dies. You, complaining about my attitude, is far from what I'm concerned about right now."

"Wow, Sherlock, she definitely is a feisty one," Sebastian states to him under his breath.

"Say that one more time, I dare you!" I yell angrily. I glare at him as he takes a slight step back, his phone going off at the same time. He reaches for it, his face stoic as he looks at the message.

"It's my chairman, police have been coming on to him. Told him it was a suicide," he states, looking over to Sherlock.

"They've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered," Sherlock replies.

"Looks like they don't think that."

"So?"

"Neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job, don't get sidetracked." Sebastian moves to walk away, but my hand flies up to grab his collar before I can think.

"Listen here, you bastard," I start, holding him against the wall. "We're doing our jobs. We've been to the crime scene, we saw the bullet wound. We told the police what we knew, and they threw it out like last week's chips. Are you really going to listen to someone who won't acknowledge the difference between a left or right handed man? It's not Sherlock's fault we've been 'sidetracked', it's the goddamn whole of Scotland Yard and its police force. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Sebastian replies, though strained.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page," I state, letting him go. The moment I do, he straightens his tie and hurries away. I smile at Sherlock, who's face breaks into a grin. "So, dinner?"