Hey guys! Here's second rewritten chapter for you :) Thank you everyone for the new follows and favourites, it always makes me smile so much, when I get the notification that someone liked my story. Love you all 3

(I do not own anything except my OC, all rights go to BBC and AC Doyle.)

Chapter 2: Connection, connection

SARAH WINSTON

I listened to Dr Watson as he explained to me how they found Van Coon's body. Things were getting more and more intriguing. Sherlock didn't say a word to us on our ride to see this Sebastian who was apparently Van Coon's boss at the Shad Sanderson Bank. At the bank, there was a yellow graffiti, a threat to Van Coon, according to Holmes.

Our cab stopped in front of a very fancy restaurant. Sherlock Holmes casually walked in as if he owned the place and John and I just followed after him. He stopped by a table with a group of business people in suits chatting and laughing. One of them was telling the others a story and they all clearly found it very hilarious. I saw Holmes rolling his eyes out of the corner of my eyes.
"... and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!" the talking man said with a wide grin on his face, when he noticed Sherlock standing over him and his smile dropped.
"It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant," Holmes announced.
"I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" He asked annoyedly and then his gaze shifted to me. His eyes lingered on me for a while and I looked at Holmes, nudging him to continue with my eyes.
"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders - somone who worked in your office - was killed." Sherlock interrupted him and Sebastian finally looked away from me.
"What?"
"Van Coon. The police are in his flat." John added.
"Killed?"
"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion." Sherlock told to the rest of the table, but I was sure he didn't exactly mean it. "Still wanna make an appointment?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. "Would maybe nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" He asked with raised eyebrows and Sebastian nervously put down his glass.

We relocated to the loos. Yeah, men's loos. I tried to oppose, but Holmes just basically shoved me in and closed the door behind all of us. Rude. I awkwardly stood near the door, begging for this to be over as soon as possible. Sebastian walked over to the sink and started washing his hands. He caught my gaze in the mirror and he smirked.
"You haven't introduced me to your company yet, Sherlock. Another colleague?" He said and he turned to face me.
"Sebastian, this is Dr Sarah Winston. She's helping on the case."
"Nice to meet you," he offered his hand.
"Hm, yes, hello..." I said and I took his hand and quickly let go. "I've actually met Mr Holmes about an hour ago, so not exactly company." I chuckled lightly, eyeing the detective who returned the glance.
I didn't feel quite good in the presence of this Sebastian guy. He seemed so sly and... disgusting, just from the way he looked me up and down several times since he first laid his eyes on me.
"I see, better keep it that way... this guy here is quite the weirdo." He said jokingly, patting Sherlock's back who glared at Sebastian. I scoffed.
"This man here is quite the genius, from what I've seen." I bit back a bit agressively. I hated people who put others down like this just because they were different.
"But not to get sidetracked. Van Coon." I demanded.
After a while of awkwad silence, Sebastian sighed. "Harrow, Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while so..."
"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts," John finished for him.
"Hm, lost five mill in a single morning. Made it all back in just a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."
"Who'd want to kill him?" John asked him.
"We all make enemies."
"You don't all end up with a bullet in you brain." I stated simply.
"Not usually. 'Scuse me." Sebastian took a glance at his phone. "It's my Chairman. The police have been to him. Apparently they've told him it was suicide."
"Well then the police got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered." Sherlock told him with a hint of annoyance.
"Well I'm afraid they don't see it like that."
"Seb."
"And neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." He gave Holmes a pointed look. John sighed and the three of us walked out of the men's room, leaving Sebastian there.

"Where are we, exactly?" I asked as soon as we stepped out of the cab onto a pavement in front of a row of houses.
"Baker Street. We live here," John explained and he pointed his finger to a door behind him that said '221B'. Sherlock opened the door and turned his head towards me.
"Are you just going to stay here and wait for an official invitation?" He asked with a hint of small smile.
"Right, sorry. Dr Watson, you're not coming in?" I looked at John who was stepping back into the cab.
"Oh, no. I've got a job interview. Haven't had a job since coming back from Afghanistan... So, see you in a few. And please, John is just fine." He smiled and waved goodbye.
"So John's an army doctor?" I asked Holmes as we made our way up the stairs to his flat.
"Obviously," he stated.
"Sure, obviously... Ooh, is it the way his posture is?" I asked, quite intrigued at the idea of making my own deductions.
"That, amongst other things."
"Like?" I inquired and he turned to face me when we arrived in the living room.
"His haircut, his tan line, his posture, and he had a psychosomatic limp when we met."
"Impressive, Mr Holmes." I praised him and he raised his eyebrow.
"...Thank you. And it's Sherlock. Formalities are dull, dont't you think, Sarah?"
"Yeah." I smiled at him and I looked around the living space. It was quite cozy. There was a hint of mischief in the flat, the skull on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, various science tools scattered on the table in their kitchen. I bet they were never bored. I felt Sherlock's gaze on me, but it was different than when Sebastian was gawking at me. Sherlock was deducing me. I shifted nervously. What did he see?

"So, who is the psychopath in your family?" He asked me suddenly and I snapped my head around to look at him.
"Excuse me?"
"Ah, someone has to be. Is it your father? Mother?"
"No. My parents are dead." I said flatly. I didn't really want to talk about this now. But Sherlock kept on pushing.
"So a brother then?"
"I don't think this is an appropriate time to talk about this..."
"Come on, you clearly went to study psychiatry to find out what's wrong with him. He might've possibly even done something... unlawful that pushed you to solve crimes. To find out why and what made him do what he did and how he did it. Did you ever figure out what'd he do? No, no, of course you did. But..." he stepped a bit closer, staring directly into my eyes. "Did you ever prove it?"
I opened my mouth in shock. God, he was good. Too good. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Stop it, before you cross the line, Holmes." I warned him, clenching my fist.
Sherlock didn't listen, he was far too invested in this now. God, why?
"Or even a better question. Did you even try to prove it? Is this crime solving just a way to make yourself feel better? Bad conscience? Knowing that a family member is a criminal and not turning him in might be the final push. Maybe you want to bring closure to others now because you couldn't get closure for the people your brother-"
"HOLMES!" I snapped, shouting at him and he stopped talking and there was a flash of shock in his eyes, but it faded. I breathed out angrily. "While your deductions are impressive, I asked you to stop. Don't cross the line you've already crossed even more, or you'll end up getting punched in that face of yours. I don't like to talk about these things."
"Obviously. But at least tell me this. Was it your brother?" He asked eagerly as I rolled my eyes.
"Yes."
"Yes! Finally got it right." He exclaimed happily but then he quickly dropped his smile when he caught my glare. "Sorry..." he muttered an apology.
I sighed. He was a stranger, we only met today. But his deductions weren't competely correct and I felt that I needed to set things straight. I needed him to understand my situation, though I didn't hold out for much hope because I noticed Sherlock being a bit... distant of human emotions, to put it gently. I suppose he deserved a chance, at least.
"He killed my- I mean our parents." I said quietly. Sherlock studied me with new interest gleaming in his eyes.
"I'm sure of it. They all kept saying it was an accident, but I knew. He basically told me." I sneered, anger pumping in my veins. "He mocked me. He knew that nobody would believe a twelwe year old, they would all think it was the trauma talking."
"Car accident?" He asked as he walked over to the window.
I nodded. "I was supposed to die with them in the car. It was just a poor coincidence that I survived." I watched him as he stared down at the street and there was silence for a while.
"The universe is rarely so lazy." Sherlock said quietly, still staring out the window.
"What?"
"Something my brother once said. About coincidences."
"You've got a brother too?"
"Unfortunately." He grimaced and I smiled.
"I bet it can't be worse than a literal psychopath."
"Well-"
"It can't!" I laughed. "What did he do? Did he steal your toy trains?"
Sherlock turned from the window and narrowed his eyes at me and I tried to stop myself from smiling. After a while, I sighed.
"Anyway... I did try to prove it. But nobody believed me. They thought I was just shocked and traumatized and that I was trying to find someone to blame." I shrugged. "So no, Sherlock, it's not because of bad conscience, it's 'cause I couldn't get closure for myself."
He nodded in understanding and then he cleared his throat. "So... the case," he started slowly.
"The case."
"Yes, shall we?" Sherlock clasped his hands together.
"Oh, definitely."

Sherlock started printing the pictures of the graffiti and I helped him put some of them on the wall and the mirror above the fireplace. We worked quietly, both stuck in our own thoughts, what could the graffiti mean. After a while I found myself sitting down in the black leather armchair near the fireplace and Sherlock was sitting on a chair, sometimes typing something into a laptop, sometimes staring blankly into space with his fingers steepled under his chin.
"John, could you pass me a pen?" Suddenly Sherlock asked and I frowned.
"John's still not here, Sherlock," I said slowly as I eyed him. He didn't respond after that so I sighed, and decided to be a good person and find him a pen. I rummaged trough my black handbag until I found one and I tossed it to him on the table. He didn't even move a bit and I rolled my eyes at the man.

Later, I was holding one of the pictures of the graffiti in my hand, googling on my phone in the other hand, trying to find any meaning of it, when John finally returned back from his job interview. I waved at him from the chair with a small smile and Sherlock didn't even acknowledge his return.
"I said, could you pass me a pen?" Sherlock said again and I couldn't believe my ears. I let out a short breath.
"What? When?" John turned to the detective with confusion in his face.
"'Bout an hour ago..." Sherlock answered.
"If you actually paid attention to the things happening around you, you would notice that I already tossed the pen to you and it's on the table. John didn't even step trough the front door of the apartment with us, Holmes." I said, trying to sound annoyed, but it was acutally quite amusing. Shelrock glanced at me with raised eyebrows and then he looked down at the table. And of course, there was a pen lying on it. Sherlock frowned at it as if it just magically appeared there.
"Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery, remember?" John added.
"How was it?" Sherlock asked, more out of politeness, I assumed.
"It's... great. She's great." John said with a little dreamy undertone and Sherlock and I both turned our eyes to him.
"Who?" Sherlock questioned and I snorted.
"The job," the doctor said slowly, clearing his throat.
"She?" We both asked him in unison.
"... It," John finished. There was an awkward silence and then Sherlock jerked his head, signalling for John to come closer. He then looked at me, so I stood up and walked over to him as well.
"Here, have a look." He showed us a site on the laptop - Online News with a headline Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police - An intruder, who can walk trough walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat, but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in...

"The intruder, who can walk trough walls," John said softly and Sherlock nodded.
"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside."
"The same as Van Coon." I pointed out and John straightened up with a frown.
"God, you two think..."
"He's killed another one." Sherlock said with a spark in his eyes and I nodded. This was getting more and more captivating, I had to admit. I don't think I've ever had a case as interesting and challenging as this one, and this was only the beginning. I went to grab my coat and Sherlock stood up from his chair, so I grabbed his coat as well and I handed it to him. We both shared a brief look of understanding - it was about time we paid a little visit to out new friend, Detective Inspector Dimmock.

When we got to the New Scotland Yard, the three of us made our way to Dimmock's office, Sherlock, of course, reaching him first. He stopped just in front of his desk and he put his laptop on it.
"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat, door locked from the inside," he said, showing Dimmock the article.
"You've got to admit it's similar," John looked at him.
"Both men killed by someone who can... walk trough solid walls." I joined in quietly.
"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows expectantly at Dimmock who was silent this entire time, staring at the laptop screen without any words. He didn't even look at any of us.
"You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and Dimmock nodded, still avoiding our looks. "And the shot that killed him, was it fired from his own gun?"
"... No."
"No... so this investigation might move a bit quicker, if you were to take my word as gospel." Sherlock leaned in, staring at Dimmock. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat."
There was silence. "Please." I added, eyeing Sherlock who rolled his eyes again. He seemed to do that a lot.

A while later, we repositioned to Lukis' flat. We ducked under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock marched up the stairs, the rest of us following him. I carefully looked around the flat. I almost tripped over the suitcase, slightly bumping into Sherlock's shoulder. He looked over at me with a little frown and I quietly apologized. I think I would actually fall if there was any place to do so. The whole flat was just... books. Books were literally everywhere, in the suitcase I almost tripped over, on the floor along with some newspapers and stacked in piles near the walls. I suddently noticed a small, black origami flower lying on the ground. I exchanged meaningful looks with John and Sherlock, who walked over to Lukis' kitchen and he scanned the rooftops of the buildings that could be seen out of the kitchen's window. He smirked.

"Four floors up. That's why they think the're safe! Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut, think they're inpregnable," he said with a smug smirk on his face as he walked back to us in the living room. "The don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." Then he turned around to face the hallway, where I also noticed a skylight. I think I understood what he meant. I walked over to the skylight with him and Dimmock spoke up.
"I don't understand."
"You're dealing with a killer who can climb," he said casually, as if that was a normal thing to happen on a daily basis. I noticed a little stool in the corner of the hallway and I walked over to pick it up. I handed it to Sherlock who gave me a thankful look as he took it. He hopped up on the stool and he opened the skylight window.
"What are you doing?" Dimmock frowned.
"He clings to the walls like an insect."
"That's how he got in," I explained to Dimmock and John.
"What?!" Dimmock exclaimed unbelievably.
"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in trough the skylight," Sherlock said simply.
"You're not serious! Like Spider-man?"
"Pretty much," I grinned. "That's how he also got into Van Coon's flat, right, Sherlock?"
"Yes. See? Sarah gets it, so why can't you?" He jumped down from the stool. "We have to find out what connects these two men."
We looked around for a while and I saw Sherlock notice a book opened on one of the piles on the staircase. He picked it up and he smirked. I walked over so I could see what he was looking at and I understood. The book has been borrowed from West Kingston Library. The date same as the day Lukis died. I assumed that was our next destination so I raised my eyebrow at Sherlock and he nodded in confirmation. The detective slammed the book shut and he took it with him, heading out of the flat as I followed after him. I heard John sigh behind us and soon I heard his footsteps down the stairs.

We arrived at the West Kingston Library and we stood on an escalator, waiting to take us upstairs. Sherlock strolled down the aisles with books until he found the right one. He turned to me and John and he showed us the book.
"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." I nodded in agreement and John hummed. Sherlock continued to look around, checking the books, examining them. I wanted to help, so I joined him and I tried to look for anything of use, John joining us as well, even though we weren't exactly sure what we were looking for. Suddenly, John called our names and Sherlock and I turned to see what he wanted. We found John staring into a gap left by a few books he pulled out of the shelf. Sherlock pulled out even more books so we could see the whole thing. We stood face to face with the same grafiiti symbols as the boys showed me were at the Shad Sanderson Bank. I took out my phone and I took a picture of it, light flashing as I did so.