AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
Disclaimer: Almost everything about Johannes Vermeer and his family is fabricated for this story and does not concern any living or the dead.
I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.
Next Day, Early Morning
221B
Helena was sitting on Sherlock's black chair, while John was teaching her the basic functions of a laptop when Sherlock entered in a swirl of a green gown and stopped short. His eyes narrowed at the two and he asked bemused, "You don't know how to use a computer?"
She didn't look up, too immersed in learning more about the wonders of 'internet' and mumbled, "Magic doesn't go well with electronics."
"How do you do the paperwork then?" he asked incredulously.
"Books, parchment paper and quills." She uttered.
Even John blinked and asked curiously, "How do you message each other in case of emergency?"
"Owls." Was the short reply.
John looked at Sherlock, who was staring at her truly aghast and snarked, "What is this? The Victorian era?"
Her lips thinned as she looked up him before turned to look at John, who too, was judging her by the looks of it. Though his expressions turned neutral and he gave her an awkward smile, she knew. Huffing, she pulled out her wand and closed her eyes. Thinking of the happiest memory she had, she said clearly, "Expecto Patronum!"
And out burst her blinding, dazzling, silver stag. It galloped around the room silently, across Sherlock and John, who were staring at it with wide-eyed awe. It turned back towards her, nuzzling its head under her hand affectionately before vanishing.
"That's how we used to communicate during the war. It can take messages and only reveals it to the one it is meant for." She told them smugly.
"Brilliant!" John stated, at the same time Sherlock asked, "What was that?"
"A Patronus – it's the purest form of magic and is only produced if you have happiness and hope. A wizard or a witch of the impure heart cannot produce a Patronus. It is also the only spell effective against Dementors." She informed them.
"Dementors?" John asked curiously, eager to learn more about her world.
"Dark creatures that consume human happiness, creating an ambience of coldness, darkness, misery and despair. Because of their power to drain happiness and hope from humans, they have been set the duty of being guards at Azkaban, the wizarding prison, where they prevent the prisoners from having the will or ability to escape."
John shivered; Sherlock observed her. He had already read about it in the book she had given him, but now he knew that she had faced dementors herself.
Needless to say, they didn't judge her for not having much knowledge about electronics anymore.
2 Hours Later
Close to the River
"Ah, good. You're here." Sherlock said as soon as he saw her. "We've got another one."
She gave Greg a smile, who smiled back before asking, "The bomber?"
Sherlock gave her a nod as they walked towards the open space where the car was found and noticed that the forensics officers were already working on it.
"The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash." Lestrade consulted some notes and added, "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived."
They passed a woman talking with a female police officer, just as they reach the car and Sherlock looked inside the passenger door; while Donovan turned to John and stated, "You're still hanging round the freak."
"Yeah, well..." John said, clearly uninterested.
"Opposites attract, I suppose." She said tauntingly.
"No, we're not..." John started but was cut off as the woman continued, "You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer."
"Sergeant Donavan," Helena said, moving to stand beside John, who gave her a thankful smile.
"It's you," Sally stated, surprised and none too happy to see her.
"Still giving unwarranted advice, I see," Helena said with a fake smile.
Lips pinched, Sally asked, "Are you taking over the case?"
"Not here to make your work easy, Sergeant," Helena replied sardonically.
Sally's eyes narrowed and she frowned. "Why are you here then?"
Done with the inspection, Sherlock walked towards them and said, "She's with me."
"With you?!" Sally burst out, astounded.
"A colleague of Sherlock's?" someone called and they turned to see Anderson walking towards them.
His eyes roamed over her body lecherously, apparently not as stealthy as he thought himself to be. He did not notice how Helena shudder with disgust or the death glare which was thrown his way by both Sally and Sherlock.
"His friend, actually." she said, rolling her eyes at the same time Sherlock snapped, "None of your business, Anderson."
Anderson faltered for a bit, looking between the two, but shrugged his worries and said with a smile, "A pleasure to meet you."
"I wish I could say the same," Helena replied, sounding bored, shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat.
Startling them all, Sherlock stepped in front of Helena, hiding her from Anderson's view and yelled, "Turn around and at least, pretend to do something, Anderson!"
Shaking his head, John turned around, while Helena scowled.
"You've already contaminated the crime with your presence. If you're done with your stupid tricks, why don't you leave?" Anderson said, glaring at the man.
"Your wife is back. Working overtime, are we?" Sherlock asked snidely.
Anderson uttered angrily, "Now listen here, you psychopath…"
"Not this again!" Sherlock sighed with frustration.
"Hm… I had no idea psychopath's solved crimes for a living! Good to know." Helena said sarcastically.
Anderson opened his mouth to speak, but his face became pinched and his hand went to his stomach, looking like he was about to get sick. Sally frowned at him concerned as she took a step closer and even John turned to look when suddenly the man farted.
The four people standing in front of him wrinkled their noses as the man mumbled, "I – don't feel good."
He farted again and his face turned red with embarrassment. Sally took a step back when there was another loud fart and then another and another. Without a word, Anderson turned around and rushed where his car was. With a dirty look at Sherlock and Helena, Sally marched towards Lestrade furiously.
Now, Sherlock turned towards Helena and arched a brow questioningly.
"What?" she asked innocently.
Finally realising what had happened, John threw his hands up exasperatedly and Sherlock rolled his eyes, though it was clear by the grin on his face how much he enjoyed it.
"Come on." He said and walked over to the woman, who was talking to the police officer.
"Mrs Monkford?" He said, making her turn to him tearfully.
"Yes." She looked at him and sighed. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen."
"No, we're not from the police, we're..." John said, but was cut off by Sherlock, who held his hand out and said tearfully, "Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's we, um..." his voice quavered, the very picture of grief as he shook her hand. "...we grew up together."
"I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned you." Both the lady and Sherlock fought back tears.
"Oh, he must have done. This is...this is horrible, isn't it?" He said shakily and a tear fell down his eye.
John looked towards Helena, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep his face neutral, but she wasn't there.
"I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world." Sherlock smiled tearfully, though his eyes were looking around, most possibly trying to locate their missing friend.
"Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?" The woman asked, clearly confused with the bullshit story.
Another tear fell as he asked, "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all." The woman replied.
Shoving his gloved hands in his pockets, Sherlock said, "Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!"
"No, it wasn't." the woman stared at him and Sherlock dropped the 'act' before looking at her intensely, "Wasn't it? Interesting."
With that, he walked away, leaving the woman to glare at him. John followed before asking, "Why did you lie to her?"
"People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?" Sherlock replied, taking his gloves off to wipe the tears from under his eyes.
"Sorry, what?"
"I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature. They've only just found the car." Sherlock said.
John raised his brows and asked disbelievingly, "You think she murdered her husband?"
"Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make." Sherlock shook his head as he headed to the corner where he had seen Helena walking.
"Where did Helena go?" John asked, looking around with a frown, following Sherlock until the man stopped at a secluded spot a couple of meters away. There she was… kneeling in front of a huge snake and hissing something to it. They both stared gobsmacked as the snake stared back at her and nodded… or at least they thought it was a nod.
"Are you talking to a snake?!" John choked out with horror; Sherlock stared at her, clearly mystified.
Startled, her head snapped towards her, while the snake turned towards them and hissed. When Helena saw who it was, she took a relieved breath and said, "John! You scared her."
"I scared her?!" John cried out incredulously. "Well, that's a relief!"
Rolling her eyes, she looked around before discreetly taking her wand out and waved it in a circular motion. Out of nowhere, a couple of dead mice appeared in a nearby corner. The snake hissed something at Helena before it slithered past them.
She looked rather pleased with herself and Sherlock eyed her warily. He knew that look by now. It was something he had seen right before she had turned his ears pink! So, he asked curiously, "What are you planning?"
"She was hungry. We came to an arrangement." Helena shrugged before walking back calmly towards the main road through the crime scene.
John looked at Sherlock, hoping to get some answers, but the man was staring at Helena transfixed.
Suddenly a scream permeated the air and the two of them rushed to see Sergeant Donavan lying on the ground and the snake literally on top of her. The two men gaped at the scene before turning to look at Helena, who smiled back innocently.
John crossed his arms and glared at her, so she said placatingly, "Don't look at me like that! She won't harm anyone! She's not even venomous!"
"You bribed the snake to scare Sally." Sherlock finally spoke.
Helena shuffled uncomfortably under the heavy gaze of her two friends until Sherlock remarked, "That was ingenious."
Pleased, she beamed up at him and he smiled back.
A genuine and rare smile from the detective that John hadn't seen before and he hung his head tiredly, knowing that he wouldn't be able to deal with the two!
He didn't think anyone could!
Janus Cars
The three of them left Mr Ewert's office and headed back across the forecourt.
"I-I've got change if you still want to, uh..." John said, but Sherlock patted my upper arm. "Nicotine patches, remember? I'm doing well."
John asked confused, "So, what was that all about?"
"I needed to look inside his wallet," Sherlock stated.
Shaking his head, John asked, "Why?"
"Because Mr Ewert was lying," Helena told John, earning a nod from Sherlock.
221B
[Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia.]
Sherlock typed the message on his website before sending it. Within seconds, the pink phone rang, which was lying just beside the computer. He accepted the call and the young man spoke tearfully into the speaker, [He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please.]
He couldn't help the smile that broke out as he looked up at John and Helena.
Later that Night
221C
Sherlock looked at his watch before knocking on the door. Now that the case was solved, for now, he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he ate and it wasn't 11 yet, so they could still go to the Chinese place nearby. John was finishing his work and would be down in the next 4 minutes.
Opening the door slightly, Helena peeked out, hiding the view of her apartment and said, "Now is not a good time, Sherlock."
She was wearing a bathrobe and her long hair were unruly and wild, more than he had ever seen. Her lips were swollen and she was a little bit out of breath. There were two empty glasses of wine lying on the table.
His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why?"
She blushed slightly before uttering, "Uh… I'm busy."
He stared at her intently before taking a step closer, stepping right into her personal space. Towering over her, he stated, "You were about to indulge in intercourse."
Wide green eyes met grey as she turned red. Sherlock didn't miss the way her body flushed down to her sternum and he was surprised to figure out that the knowledge of her having sex with someone upset him.
"Let's go, shall we?" Came John's voice and Helena grimaced, but Sherlock kept glaring.
"Is everything all right?" Came another voice, this one from inside the apartment and Helena hung her head and opened the door finally. This wasn't what she had planned for today! She had been about to get laid after years! Quite frankly, she didn't want to indulge anyone right now. But she had never been lucky, had she?
Sherlock and John stared wide-eyed at Greg, who was standing behind her in nothing but his shorts.
Annoyed for some reason, he snapped indignantly, "Gavin?! You were about to have sex with Gavin? Couldn't find anyone else?"
"Sherlock!" John yelled before looking at Helena and Greg apologetically.
"You don't get a say in who I have sex with!" She shouted at Sherlock incredulously. "What's your problem?!"
Surprising them all, Sherlock didn't insult her like they had been expecting. Nor did he stomp back to his flat or outside for that matter. Instead, he straightened up to his full height and pushed the door open before stomping towards her bookshelf. Picking the first book he got his hands on, he threw himself on her sofa.
Shell-shocked, Greg, John and Helena gaped and it took them a few seconds to react.
John shook his head tiredly and muttered tiredly, "Sherlock!" as if that would've helped, while Helena yelled, "Fucking Hell, Sherlock! Get out!"
Of course, the man didn't reply but hid his face in the book as he made himself comfortable.
Gritting her teeth, she said, "You know what? Fine! We can go to Greg's place."
"No, you can't. His sister is in town for a week and is living on his sofa." Sherlock told her smugly.
She looked at Greg for confirmation, who nodded apologetically and she closed her eyes, feeling like she might just end up killing Sherlock if she stayed here any longer. Picking up her broomstick from the corner, she hit Sherlock on the head on her way, earning a yelp from the detective. Sherlock didn't look away from the book as she marched back to her room and slammed the door behind her with a loud bang.
Baffled, Greg stared at the scene in front of his before sharing a look with John, which spoke volumes.
Next Day
221B
"AAHHHHHH….!"
A piercing scream erupted in 221B, startling its residents. John rushed to the kitchen, gun in hand when he noticed his flatmate's red face, which was turning purple steadily and blinked at the scene in front of him. On Sherlock's work station, was a card which looked like it had been burning seconds ago. Steady smoke was rising from it and he frowned at it before turning to look at Sherlock who had rushed to the windows and was opening them all hurriedly. His face was pinched and he looked ready to puke.
"Er… what's happening?" he asked confused.
"The smell, John!" Came a muffled reply as the man covered his face with his scarf.
John sniffed the air, but couldn't smell out of ordinary. "What smell?"
Sherlock whirled, ready to tell about the rancid smell all over the apartment when his eyes widened and he screamed even louder.
"HELENA….!"
In 221C, Helena smirked satisfied.
Next Morning
Cafe
Helena, John and Sherlock were in a nearby café. John was having proper breakfast, while Helena was tucking into her sandwich before she had to rush to office. Sherlock was scowling at her or maybe he was pouting, she wasn't sure.
Finally giving in, Sherlock lowered his head to look at her through his lashes and mumbled, "Please."
"No." She replied simply; there was no negotiation in her voice.
Rather put out, he stated, "No? What do you mean no? I said please!"
"Not the word I want to hear." She cut in, taking another bite of her breakfast sandwich.
"It's nauseating! I can't even step inside my flat anymore!" He cried out incredulously.
"I can't smell anything," John informed unnecessarily.
Sherlock threw a glare his way, while Helena turned to John and responded in a conceited way, "That's because the card is meant specially for Sherlock."
"It's a health hazard! I could get sick!" Sherlock shrieked.
"No, you won't. It's not real. That's why no one apart from you can smell it." She informed, much to John's amusement as he listened to them bickering again.
At his wit's end and unable to control himself, Sherlock demanded, "How do I remove it?"
"You can't." She told him with a fake smile that could've rivalled his as she took another sip of her tea.
Sherlock stared; mouth agape, actually stunned speechless by her insolence. John couldn't help himself and pulled out his phone before clicking Sherlock's picture hurriedly, who snapped his heads towards John and glared. John thought he looked too much like a kicked puppy until the man sneered, "Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Loads. Thank you for asking." John replied with a smile and went back to his breakfast, making Helena chuckle; Sherlock pouted, finally concluding that arguing was a waste of his time as he wasn't about to get his way and stared intently at the pink phone, which was lying on the table.
"Mmm. You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started." John mused, eating another forkful before looking at Sherlock thoughtfully. "Has it occurred to you...?"
"Probably." Sherlock cut in.
John didn't even bother to huff as he said, "No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into Helena's flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."
"Yes, I know." Sherlock smiled, looking rather proud and Helena rolled her eyes because he would be the only one finding 'excitement' in such a situation.
"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked.
Sherlock turned his eyes away and replied, "Perhaps."
The pink phone beeped with a message alert and Sherlock turned it so both Helena and John could see before switching it on. There was a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman on the screen and he shook his head confused. "That could be anybody."
Helena too was confused when John said, "It could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."
Sherlock looked at him and asked, "How d'you mean?"
"Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly." With that, he walked over to the counter, pick up the remote and turn on the television hanging on the wall. He switched channels a couple of times until the woman from the photograph pop on the screen.
Just on cue, the pink phone rang and Sherlock picked it up and answered, [Hello?]
Helena leaned forward, casting a light charm to hear what was being said on the other side.
[This one... is a bit... defective. Sorry.] An old woman speaks tremulously. [She's blind. This is... a funny one.] Helena looked appalled as John walked back to the table. [I'll give you... twelve hours.]
Sherlock looked at Helena and asked the bomber, [Why are you doing this?]
[I like... to watch you... dance.] The woman gasped before the line went dead.
Lowering the phone, Sherlock shook his head, clearly irritated and dropped the phone onto the table before turning to look at the telly.
As the footage of the woman continues playing along with the headline – 'Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.'
And a reporter's voice takes over, "... continuing onto the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss. Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead..."
With a tired sigh, Helena started rummaging through her small purse; Sherlock and John gaped as her whole hand vanished inside it.
"Ah-ha!" She said triumphantly and pulled a coin out before handing it to John and said, "Here. In case you're in danger, just hold it in your hand. It'll grow hot and I can be there in a jiffy."
"Is this real gold?" John asked awed, staring at the coin in his hand. Even Sherlock leaned over the table to peek at the coin curiously.
"It's a Galleon – wizarding currency. Electronics don't work in the ministry, so we had to find something else, something discreet." She told them.
Bewildered, John asked, "You have your own money?"
"Of course. We have banks, shops, schools, jobs… and for that you need money. And seeing that purebloods hate muggles or anything related to them, they wouldn't use the muggle money or shops or banks." She said before musing, "Anyway, how exactly do you think people would react kindly if a goblin starts managing their finances?"
"Goblins?" he questioned.
"They run Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Extremely clever, not the friendliest of beasts and can use magic without the aid of a wand. We co-exist, but they don't like humans in general – wizards or mu… normal people." She said before adding as an afterthought, "Well, they hate me, Hermione and Ron in particular. They banned us from entering Gringotts for about 10 years. Just got our 'privileges' back."
"Why?" John and Sherlock asked simultaneously.
"Er… we broke into Gringotts when we were 16 and then we stole their dragon." She told them sheepishly.
Gobsmacked.
There was no other way to describe the look on their faces as they gaped at her, doing a marvellous impression of 'a fish that had been thrown out of water.'
"Dragons!?" John finally managed.
"Oh, yeah. Just as dangerous as they show in telly. Ron's brother is a dragon tamer in a dragon reserve in Romania." She informed offhandedly, eying Sherlock warily as the man's eyes were now shining in a way that brought no good.
And true to words, he stared at her intently before asking, "How do I get one?"
"What?" John snapped at the same time Helena said primly, "They're not pets! You'll be ash before you know it."
Sherlock glared and she arched an eyebrow before relenting, for now, and asked, "How come John gets the coin and I don't?"
Betrayal laced his tone and the look on his face made Helena feel like a parent who had forgotten to buy a present for the younger child out of the two siblings. Huffing to herself, she replied, "That's because John will use it only if there's an emergency… unlike someone, who gets too tardy to move his hand and pick a piece of paper, which by the way, was right in front of them!"
"It was one time!" he reminded her with a mild glare.
"17 messages within 25 minutes stating that it was a life or death matter!" she cried out incredulously.
"It was an important paper!" he said petulantly.
"GUYS!" John shouted suddenly, "Remember that we only have 12 hours to save the woman."
Sherlock picked the phone and stood up, ready to leave for Barts and Helena looked at John sheepishly.
Later that Night
Scotland Yard
"What took you so long?" Sherlock snapped impatiently as soon as he saw Helena before turning around and stalking towards the main office. She huffed but followed him inside along with John to Greg's office already regretting her decision to come here after Sherlock's message.
He brandished a folder towards Greg as soon as he entered and said, "Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin." He dropped the folder in front of Lestrade, who picked it up as Sherlock leaned closer to him and added, "We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."
Helena looked at Greg, feeling increasingly awkward after their lase debacle when their eyes met. In turn, he looked just the same, if not a bit more. Sherlock scowled at him as the DI walked towards his office and the three followed.
"So how'd he do it?" John asked.
"Botox injection," Sherlock replied.
"Botox?" Lestrade asked confused, making Helena feel a bit better because everything that was being said was flying over her head. 'Why was she here again?'
"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases." Sherlock fired before pointing to the folder. "He's been bulk-ordering Botox for months."
Helena noticed how John stared at Sherlock perplexed, his expression becoming furious by the second as Sherlock finished, "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."
"You sure about this?" Lestrade asked.
Sherlock replied, "I'm sure."
"All right, my office," Lestrade said as he cast a not-so-discreet look at Helena before turning around and walking towards his office.
Sherlock turned to follow but was stopped by John, who was trying to keep his anger down. "Hey, Sherlock, how long?" he asked.
Helena looked between the two but decided against saying anything. She was out of the loop as it is.
Sherlock asked, "What?"
"How long have you known?" John asked.
"Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake." Sherlock explained and turned to walk towards Lestrade's office but John stopped him again. "No, but Sherlock, the hostage... the old woman, she's been there all this time!"
"I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!" Sherlock stated as he stared at John intensely before heading inside Lestrade's office.
Irked, John pursed his lips and looked at Helena before shaking his head and the two followed.
Sherlock settled himself on the desk and was on his laptop, so Helena walked over and stood beside his chair. She saw him opening his website before he typed – [Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, Botox.]
As soon as he sent the message, the pink phone rang and he picked it up before answering, [Hello?]
[Help me.] The old woman said slowly in a thick voice.
She had been crying or was in pain as Sherlock asked, [Tell us where you are. Address.]
[He was so... His voice...] The woman started but was interrupted as Sherlock uttered urgently, [No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.]
[He sounded so... soft.] The woman whispered just as a single shot was fired and the phone went dead instantly.
Helena stared at the phone with utter disbelief. Not that she should be surprised, the woman was describing the bomber, so it would perceptibly be his next move, but still, she swallowed as she stared at Sherlock.
His eyes had widened when the shot rang, but he still tried and spoke into the phone, [Hello?]
"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as he leaned down to look at the man.
Obviously, there was no reply, so he brought the phone away from his ear and stared at it, clearly upset.
"What's happened?" John asked but Sherlock bit his lower lip, trying to reign in his emotions and stared ahead blankly.
Next Morning
221B
John and Sherlock were sitting in their armchairs, while Helena was leaning against the study table, watching the news on the TV. She had repaired the windows and banished the dung bomb. The pink phone was sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair as on telly, the reporter spoke, "The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..."
John glanced over his shoulder to Sherlock briefly before muttering, "Old block of flats. He certainly gets about."
"Well, obviously I lost that round. Although technically, I did solve the case." Sherlock stated as he picked the remote control and lowered the volume.
"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him," Helena uttered and Sherlock nodded. "Just once, he put himself in the firing line."
John turned around and looked at the two before asking, "What do you mean?"
"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact." Sherlock said.
"What... like the Connie Prince murder, he-he arranged that? So, people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John asked sardonically.
"Novel," Sherlock mumbled softly, appreciatively.
John looked at him before his eyes met Helena's with disbelief before he turned back to the TV.
Sherlock looked at the pink phone and muttered, "Taking his time this time."
John cleared his throat uncomfortably and asked, "Anything on the Carl Powers case?"
"Nothing. All the living classmate check out spotless. No connection." Sherlock told him.
"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" John said with a bit of hesitation.
"The thought had occurred," Sherlock said.
"So, why's he doing this, then? Playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?" John asked frustrated.
Sherlock pressed his fingertips together in front of my mouth and mumbled with a slight smile, "I think he wants to be distracted."
John shook his head and chuckled humourlessly before standing up and heading towards the kitchen. He muttered, "I hope you'll be very happy together."
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked confused, making John turn and he yelled furiously, "There are lives at stake, Sherlock. Actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"
"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock asked crossly.
John leaned his hands on the back of his chair and shook his head. "Nope."
"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake." Sherlock snapped disdainfully.
As the two argued, Helena frowned, deep in thought. She remembered Sherlock being over-emotional. He had fought with Dudley because of her; he used to sneak her food because he knew she would be hungry; she remembered him being in awe of whatever 'Mike' did; him being overly upset because she hadn't met him at the park like they usually did, but later, when he realised that she had been hurt, he had refused to let her leave and had thrown a fit right in front of his parents!
Something must've happened that the boy she knew changed himself to an extent that he turned into a sociopath – someone who is unable to understand feelings. Such people make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they cause.
And she knew without a doubt that he was not a sociopath, but she also knew that this Sherlock was indeed unable to understand emotions and sentiments on a basic level. Suddenly realisation hit Helena like a punch in the face. So, this is what Mycroft meant when he said that 'Sherlock was different.' He didn't have a single friend until he met her again. He had been alone all these years. No one possibly understood him, so he decided that being like this was the better option. He locked the part that made him vulnerable, so he wouldn't get hurt.
This was why he wasn't able to grasp feelings as easily as others did, especially if they were the ones that didn't concern him. She could bet on her vault that if John or she died, Sherlock would feel… though to what extent, she didn't know… and maybe this was why it had been easy for him to forget her even though they had been best friends for 4 years. His flippant comment about the 'corpses', made more sense now. He had been a tad bit guilty, even if he wasn't able to apologise. Or the way he had shifted to 'hey' from 'gay' in front of Molly the other day, possibly to spare them the embarrassment.
Yesterday, he hadn't been entirely unaffected as he liked to pretend. She had seen his face… noticed the exact moment when he felt unsettled when the woman was shot, even if was for a moment. He wasn't condescending anyone on purpose, he possibly didn't even realise that what he was doing was taken disrespectfully. With this new realisation, Helena found it easier to accept him just the way he was.
"And you find that easy, do you?" John asked the smile on his face was frozen.
Shooting him a narrow glance, he asked blatantly, "Yes, very. Is that news to you?"
"No. No." John smiled bitterly as he shook his head once.
Sherlock looked at Helena, who was standing there with an unreadable expression on her face. He frowned before turning back to John and studied him for a moment before concluding, "I've disappointed you."
"That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah." He smiled angrily now.
"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." Sherlock stated calmly as if explaining a theory.
Shaking his head, John went to the kitchen and Sherlock turned to look at her and asked loftily, "Have I disappointed you too?
His tone was mocking, but Helena saw that it mattered to him… maybe not much, but enough that he asked it aloud. So, she replied truthfully, "Surprisingly, no. There was nothing more you could've done."
Caught off-guard, he stared at her nonplussed. He didn't know how to respond to that, when she added softly, "Heroes do exist, you know. They're just different for every person. You might not think so, but you certainly could be the hero for the people you've saved until now."
Befuddled, he stared at her, loss at words when the pink phone rang, alerting them of a text.
"Excellent!" He whispered before picking up the phone. Another photograph of a riverbank, Sherlock recognised immediately, "View of the Thames. South Bank, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." He reached inside his jacket to pull his phone out and said to John, "You check the papers; I'll look online..."
As he looked up, he noticed John standing with his head hanging low and hands braced on his chair.
"Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help," Sherlock stated and John shrugged. "Not much cop, this caring lark."
John stared as Sherlock begin searching on his phone before looking at Helena helplessly, who gave him a sympathetic smile. She saw amused as John sniffed, while Sherlock continued his search, and walked over to the sofa to search through the pile of newspapers lying on the table.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then." She said, already moving towards the stairs.
"It's your day off. You're coming along." Sherlock stated, even though he didn't look up from his phone.
She didn't bother correcting him that technically, it wasn't her day off. She just needed some time before she had to go and round up all the wolves in Greyback's pack. Instead, she spoke indignantly, "But I've been utterly useless until now! I don't even understand half the things you say! Like that – that…. Botox thing! I had to ask John what it was!"
"You're a witch who grew up in a different world. It's quite obvious you wouldn't know about things that don't concern you." He said as if she was a dunce. "Now, don't pretend to be an idiot."
John stared amazed and slightly shocked at the words that Sherlock sprouted, feeling as if he had somehow stepped into a parallel universe where the detective refrained himself from directly insulting people.
Thames
"Do you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock pulled a pair of latex gloves on and walked closer to the body.
John and Helena stood beside the body as Sherlock held the pink phone up and said, "Must be. Odd, though, he hasn't been in touch."
"Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" Lestrade said tiredly.
"Yes," Sherlock stated before stepping back and observing the body.
Lestrade asked, "Any ideas?"
Sherlock cocked his head to the side and replied, "Seven... so far."
"Seven?" Lestrade repeated puzzled.
Walking closer to the body, Sherlock squatted down and started examining the body with his magnifier. He looked at the ripped pocket on the shirt before making his way towards the man's feet. He pulled one of the socks off and examined the sole of the feet before standing up. Then, he jerked his head, silently ordering John to examine the body. John looked at Lestrade enquiringly, asking for permission, who held his hand out in a 'be my guest' gesture. Squatting down beside the body, John took hold of the man's wrist as Sherlock walked a few steps back and pulled his phone out.
"He's dead about 24 hours. Maybe a bit longer." John looked up at Lestrade and asked, "Did he drown?"
"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated." Lestrade replied as Sherlock searched something on his phone.
"Yes. I agree." John said before pointing towards the red marks on the man's face. "There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises… here and here."
"Fingertips." Sherlock muttered thoughtfully, just as John stood up and said, "In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition."
"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock quirked a grin and declared, "But I'll tell you one thing, that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."
Helena looked at him and asked confused, "What?"
"The lost Vermeer painting is fake." Sherlock replied before stating, "We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates…"
"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?" Lestrade rambled.
Sherlock's eyes screamed 'you idiot' as he asked, "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."
Helena shook her head and clarified, "You mean Johannes Vermeer? The Dutch artist?"
"Yes." Sherlock replied shortly as he eyed her cynically and asked, "Why?"
"Oh." Sherlock noticed how her eyes darted towards Gavin before meeting his and she muttered, "Well, he's quite famous."
Sherlock stared back at her, resisting the urge to shake her. She couldn't even lie to save herself. 'How could someone like her be utter shite when it comes to something as meagre as lying?'
"Ok." Lestrade spoke before asking Sherlock, "So, what has the painting got to do with the stiff?"
Turning back to Lestrade, Sherlock grinned and said, "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"
"Golem?" Helena and Lestrade asked simultaneously.
John looked confused as he asked, "It's a horror story, isn't it? What are you saying?"
"Jewish folk story. A gigantic man, made of clay – it's also the name of an assassin. Real name Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world." Sherlock told them before pointing towards the body. "That is his trademark style."
"So this is a hit?" Lestrade asked.
"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Sherlock explained.
Still confused and frustrated, Lestrade asked, "But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see..."
"You do see, you just don't observe," Sherlock stated annoyed.
"Yes. All right, all right, girls! Calm down." John interrupted, making Helena grin briefly and asked, "Sherlock, do you want to take us through it?"
Sighing, Sherlock took a step back before explaining, "What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the 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. There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."
"Tube driver?" Lestrade asked.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Helena snapped exasperatedly. "He was a security guard working for an art museum where the Vermeer painting was kept. And he was killed because he realised that it was a fake!"
Sherlock looked rather put out and he threw a dark glare her way, while John and Lestrade stared open-mouthed before the latter asked, "How in the world could you possibly know that?"
Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Sherlock jumped and slapped his hand over her mouth before she could spoil it further and said hurriedly, "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 buttons of the alarm are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied which shows he did regular night shifts."
Suddenly, he pulled his hand away from her mouth with a squawk, only now noticing that she was scowling at him. Stupefied, he stared at her and said indignantly, "You licked me."
Crossing her arms across her chest, she asked sweetly, "Would you've preferred if I'd bitten instead?"
"I'll stick with the licking, thanks." He mumbled with a pout before turning to look at Lestrade and John, who were staring at them with morbid fascination.
He raised an eyebrow and Lestrade blinked before stumbling for words as he said, "Er… you were saying?"
"Yes. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution." Sherlock took out a small scrunched-up ball of paper from his pocket and said, "Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably..."
"Tickets?" John asked peering at the ball of paper.
Helena stayed quiet this time and let him have his 'moment of glory.'
"Ticket stubs. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." He pointed down to the body and said, "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 getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."
"Fantastic," John said admiringly.
"Meretricious." Sherlock corrected.
"And a Happy New Year!" Lestrade threw in.
John threw him a look before turning to Helena and asked, "How did you get that? You didn't even look at the body closely."
"Uh… Well, the man undoubtedly was a security guard. Sherlock said that the painting being displayed is fake and the assassin was hired to kill the man. It seems the only plausible explanation." She shrugged, uncomfortable by the way these three men were staring at her.
Shaking his head, John looked down at the body again and muttered, "Poor sod."
Lestrade looked over to Helena before turning to Sherlock and said, "I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character."
"Pointless. You'll never find him. But I know a man who can." Sherlock told him.
"Who?" asked Lestrade.
"Obviously, him." Helena mumbled at the same time Sherlock said with a smirk, "Me."
"Come on." With that, Sherlock took her by the elbow and dragged her along.
Lestrade looked at John, who huffed before following the two.
Taxi
"What?" Helena asked when she noticed Sherlock staring at her continuously.
"So? How do you know about Vermeer?" he asked as John looked between the two confused.
Helena sighed because nothing escaped the man, did it? She waved her wand discreetly in the direction of the cabbie and cast a silencing charm.
"Johannes Vermeer married Catharina Bones – a pureblood. He was a muggle. They are considered third-class citizens even now, so imagine what it must've been like for them in the 17th century. Anyway, he wasn't accepted by her family so they ran away. They were married for nearly 20 years before their family found them and they were killed for shaming the family. It was quite a debacle."
John stared astounded and burst out, "That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard!"
Helena winced. "Well, it's not uncommon in the wizarding world. Andromeda, Teddy's grandmother was disowned by her family for marrying a muggle-born. Teddy's father, Remus Lupin, was the most kind-hearted man I've ever met. He taught me how to cast a Patronus. He faced prejudice all his life because he was a werewolf, bitten by Greyback when he was 4."
"Wow." John breathed, unable to say anything.
"Yeah," she mumbled with a humourless smile.
"How do you know about Vermeer's?" Sherlock asked, partly because he was curious, but partly because he was sure some pieces of history might be fragmented if they were written by the said family.
"Susan Bones, a friend is the descendant of one of their children – Ignatius Vermeer. He was a wizard and later his son changed his name to Ignatius Bones." She replied before adding as an afterthought, "And his daughter, Cornelia, died not long ago."
"His daughter?!" John gasped wide-eyed. "She would be, what? Almost 300?"
Sherlock leaned closer to hear more. It was all very fascinating.
"I think she was born sometime in 1708, so that would make her 293 years old." Helena mused.
"How is it even possible?!" John choked out.
"Wizards and witches have a long-life span. The oldest wizards known are Nicolas Flamel and his wife Perenelle Flamel."
Sherlock straightened up in his seat and stated, "The French scribe and manuscript-seller? An alchemist believed to have discovered the philosopher's stone and thereby achieved immortality, but he died in 1418 and his wife Perenelle in 1397."
"What?" John looked confused as ever.
She nodded and said, "Some of the facts are true, but they couldn't very well let muggles know about the philosopher's stone now, could they? They were born in early 1300's and were killed by Voldemort in 1995."
"Because of the philosopher's stone." He realised and his eyes shined before he asked exuberantly, "Is it real?"
"Wait, what is the philosopher's stone?" John asked again.
"Alchemists believed that an elixir of life could be derived from it. But there is no proof." Sherlock fired before asking again, "So? Is it?"
She gave a curt nod and replied slowly, "It's legendary for its magical properties. It's a stone which can be used to create the Elixir of Life, making the drinker immortal, as well as transform any metal into pure gold."
"The book. Do you have it?" he asked suddenly.
"I don't know?" She shrugged. "Hermione read about it in our 1st year at Hogwarts."
He stared at her intently as if deducing something before nodding to himself. There was silence for a couple of seconds before Sherlock looked at the pink phone with frustration and mumbled, "Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?"
Hickman Gallery
Sherlock and Helena step out of the taxi, but John was stopped by Sherlock, who said, "No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address."
"Okay." John nodded before closing the door and gave new instructions to the driver.
Hickman Gallery
They were staring at a small but beautiful painting of the city of Delft by night, under a star-filled sky - The lost Vermeer!
"Wow… its…" Helena stopped, searching for words as she stared at the painting. Beside her, Sherlock nodded.
"Hermione would know what's wrong with it." She muttered without thought, only realising what she had said when there was no reply from her companion. She turned her head to peer up at him and yup – he was glowering at her.
"We had astronomy and she did top the class!" She amended hastily before adding, "And let's be honest, you don't know much about it."
"I deleted it!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "There is a difference!"
"Yes, well…" She started but stopped when they heard the clicking of heels and their eyes widened.
Hastily, Helena pulled her wand out and waved it at Sherlock – who looked down at himself astounded. Instead of the clothes he had been wearing seconds ago, he was now dressed just like a security guard with a black jacket and a cap. He looked up and found the place empty as Helena was nowhere in sight. Then a hand grasped his and he stiffened when he noticed that it was invisible, but relaxed as soon as he felt soft fingers squeezing his hand a bit and Helena's voice whispered in his ear, "It's me."
Before he could inspect it further, a woman stepped into view and asked in an Eastern European accent, "Don't you have something to do?"
He felt the fingers slipping from his own, but he felt her presence nearby. Composing himself, he shrugged. "Just admiring the view."
"Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work – we open tonight." The woman ordered.
Finally, Sherlock looked over his shoulder before turning around. He walked towards her and asked, "Doesn't it bother you?"
"What?" she asked confused
"That the painting's a fake?" He stated, staring at the woman intently.
"What?" Wenceslas asked somewhat angrily.
"It's a fake. It has to be. It's the only possible explanation." Walking closer, he looked down at her badge and asked, "You're in charge, aren't you, Miss. Wenceslas?"
Helena blinked and didn't stop the smile that slipped onto her face.
'Ah! How could she have forgotten that Sherlock had a lisp? It was still adorable though! Even more so than before and she resisted herself from melting into a puddle because seriously, how graceful and confident could someone be?!' And then she face-palmed, because no! She wasn't going there. Though a small part of her reminded – 'She was already there!'
"Who are you?" the woman asked.
Stared into her eyes, he asked, "Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?"
"Golem? What the hell are you talking about?" the woman scoffed.
He continued as if he hadn't heard her and asked, "Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?"
"It's not a fake." She said insistently.
"It is a fake. Don't know why, but there's something wrong with it. There has to be." Sherlock urged persistently.
"What the hell are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot." She threatened.
"Not a problem." He stated.
She raised an eyebrow questioningly. "No?"
"No. I don't work here, you see. Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice." He told the woman smugly.
"How did you get in?" she asked.
"Please!" Sherlock said snidely.
"I want to know." The woman demanded again.
"The art of a disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight." He stated before turning around and taking his cap off.
Aggrieved, she asked, "Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes." He replied before dropping the cap onto the top of the railing posts and walked towards the exit.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?" she called.
"You should be." He called back as he took the jacket off and deliberately dropped it onto the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoved it open and danced out of the room. "Have a nice day."
Helena shook her head before she noticed Miss. Wenceslas walking closer to the painting and looking at it as the door closed behind Sherlock.
He was waiting for her when she made her way outside and snapped impatiently, "What took you so long?"
She didn't bother replying, instead stated slowly, "You have a lisp."
His eyes snapped to hers and when he saw her smirking, his ears turned red and he grumbled grouchily, "Shut up."
She hid her face, so he wouldn't see her smiling and handed him something he hadn't noticed before. "Here."
He looked at it to her, thoroughly confused and asked, "The hat? Why?"
"I just couldn't leave it behind! It made you look good enough to eat." She rasped truthfully, delighted by the way his cheeks flushed even as he threw a half-hearted glare her way.
Baker's Street
"Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art," John said as soon as he got out of the cab.
"And?" Sherlock asked.
"And..." John uttered as Sherlock looked towards the homeless girl before heading towards her.
"Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?" Sherlock asked.
"No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer." John called, but Sherlock turned and pointed towards the cab and said, "Hold that cab."
Helena didn't notice the girl handing over a crumpled piece of paper to Sherlock because her eyes found Neville, who was walking towards her. 'Why would he be here?' she thought to herself as she walked towards him and asked with a frown, "What is it?"
"We got him. Silas Crump." Neville whispered urgently.
Her eyes widened with disbelief. "How?"
He shifted uncomfortably and said, "He… he was in London to drop the last body they took and to search for their new victim."
Already knowing and dreading his answer, she asked, "The child? Is he…?"
Neville's face fell and he shook his head before muttering a soft, "Sorry."
Helena closed her eyes, when Sherlock asked, "Who's Silas Crump?"
She was so startled that she nearly jumped but sighed with relief when she saw who it was. Exhaling a breath, she rubbed her eyes and said, "He's Greyback's second in command."
"The werewolf," Sherlock stated with child-like excitement.
Neville looked back at her and whispered again, "He broke Terry's wand before we caught him. This is big, Helena. If we manage to break his shield, we'll find out everything."
Helena nodded before turning towards Sherlock and said, "Sorry, but I have to go. If you need me, use the coin, yeah? I'll try to be there as soon as I can."
Sherlock waved her off before giving a parting nod to Neville and saw as the two 'wizards' vanished into a darkened alley before he climbed into his cab.
Next Day
Scotland Yard
Sherlock was sitting beside Miss. Wenceslas in front of Lestrade's desk, staring into his phone as he said thoughtfully, "Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats..."
Panicked, she stared at Lestrade and stated, "I didn't know anything about that! All those things! Please believe me."
Sherlock gave him a tiny nod to confirm that the woman was telling the truth.
"I just wanted my share. The thirty million." She said, looking at Sherlock before lowering her head again. "I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean – really. Brushwork, immaculate. Could fool anyone."
"Mmm!" Sherlock scoffed sarcastically.
She looked at him briefly before amending her statement, "Well, nearly anyone. But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea. A spark which he blew into a flame."
His head snapped towards her and he asked sharply, "Who?"
She shook her head and stated, "I don't know." Lestrade laughed disbelievingly and the woman nearly shouted, "It's true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually, I was… put in touch with people... his people."
Sherlock sat up slowly, concentrating at her as she continued, "Well, there was never any real contact. Just messages... whispers."
Sherlock leaned closer and asked intensely, "And did those whispers have a name?"
She gazed ahead for a moment before nodding and said, "Moriarty."
An Hour Later
Café
Helena sighed tiredly as she sipped her tea. It took a while, but they had finally managed to break into Crump's mind. They had all the information about the hideouts, their plans, how their pack attacked, and what they were planning next. Now she wanted to go home and take a nap, but after the day she had, she needed a strong cuppa. She pulled her phone out to let Sherlock know that she was done, in case he or John needed help.
She had just typed the message when someone cleared their throat and she looked up to see none other than Molly's boyfriend, smiling down at her.
"Hello." He smiled creepily.
"Molly's boyfriend… Jim, yeah?" Awkwardly, she smiled back. "Hello."
He cocked his head, observing her and said, "I didn't think anyone would remember me."
"Er… well, I do." She shifted uncomfortably.
"You know, I would've loved to know more about you… but…" he shook his head sadly and sang, "Sorry!"
Alarm bells rang in her head, but just then, someone stabbed a needle in her neck. Gasping with sudden pain, she hastened to grab her purse, which held her wand as it was lying on the booth right beside her but didn't go too far. Her limbs were heavy, her brain felt mushy and she had to fight to keep her eyes from dropping. She was frozen with fear when she tried to pull her wand out, but her hands were shaking so badly, they didn't cooperate.
He moved to sit right beside her and said, "You're stronger than I imagined."
When she blinked at him dizzily, he stated in a child-like voice, "You should've passed out after drinking the tea! But, you're not exactly fragile, are you? That's why Sherlock keeps you around!"
And much to her horror, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her up without effort.
"Moriarty?" she mumbled and he stopped for a second, his grip on her tightened before she felt another needle piercing her skin, and her world faded into darkness.
Evening
221B
Still staring at his phone, Sherlock asked, "Have you heard from Helena?"
"No, but I'm sure she's fine." John replied as he closed the lid of his laptop and said, "I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge."
"Mmm!" Sherlock's mused before his eyes went back to the TV.
John stopped at the door before turning around and said, "Uh, milk. We need milk."
"I'll get some," Sherlock replied.
John stared with disbelief and gasped, "Really?!"
"Really," Sherlock repeated.
John tried his luck and asked, "And some beans, then?"
"Mmm," Sherlock replied, still not looking away from the TV.
John hesitated, suspicious and surprised, but nodded before walking away.
Once Sherlock was sure, John had left, he picked up his laptop from where it had been tucked down beside him. Opening the lid, he opened his website and typed – [Found. The Bruce-Partington Plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight.] His lips quirked in a small smile as he sent the message and closed the lid.
The Pool
Midnight
He entered the area surrounding an indoor swimming pool and looked around. The lights were on, but he couldn't see anyone. Stopping at the edge of the pool, he turned, trying to see up into the viewing gallery. Finally, turning back towards the pool, he raised one hand and help up the memory stick.
"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this." Sherlock called loudly, gesturing with the memory stick and looked around, waiting for a response.
His back was turned as he heard a door opening and looked over his shoulder, to see Helena walking towards him. She was wrapped in her brown coat with her hands tucked into both the pockets. She looked at him impassively, while his eyes widened with absolute shock. He couldn't comprehend what was happening.
'Had she been toying with him all this time? But…'
"Evening." She said.
Sherlock lowered his hand slowly, but couldn't move, frozen as he was with utter disbelief.
"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" she asked blankly.
"Helena! What the hell…?" He asked softly, shocked to his very core.
Stonily, she replied, "Bet you never saw this coming."
He turned around, finally managing to face the woman he had believed was his friend until now. He walked towards her slowly – bewildered and upset, feeling like a child who had been kicked. To his surprise, she exhaled loudly, somewhat shakily as she pulled her hands out from the pockets and opened the coat to reveal a bomb strapped to her chest. A sniper's laser immediately began dancing over the bomb.
"What… would you like me… to make her say… next?"
Sherlock continued moving towards her, looking everywhere to see who else was in the area.
She spoke again, narrating the words spoken to her into the earpiece. "Gottle o'geer... gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer."
Her voice almost broke on the last phase and Sherlock couldn't help himself and called, "Stop it."
"Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop Helena Potter too." She spoke, looking pissed as she looked down at the laser point on her chest. "Stop her heart."
"Who are you?" Sherlock called anxiously, trying to keep the sudden panic that was bubbling inside him down and looked around again.
A door opened at the far end of the pool and a soft male voice with an Irish accent spoke plaintively, "I gave you my number. I thought you might call."
Sherlock turned around to see a man walking towards him slowly. He was dressed sharply, his hair was immaculate and he looked murderous. He didn't miss the deep gash on the side of man's forehead. It was recent. The man had his hands shoved into his pockets as he strolled alongside the pool casually.
"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket..." The man asked, all hint of plaintiveness gone from his voice. Sherlock reached for the pistol hidden in his back pocket of his trousers and pulled it out, just as he, "...or are you just pleased to see me?"
Sherlock raised the pistol, aimed it towards Jim and said, "Both."
Jim stopped, looking, confident and unbothered as he said, "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"
Sherlock tilted his head, looking closely at the man and was surprised to see that it was none other than Jim, Molly's boyfriend. Indeed, he had left his number.
"Jim? Jim from the hospital?" he said as he started walking towards the deep end again.
Sherlock moved his other hand to support the gun, aiming it at Jim, who tuts as if disappointed and asked, "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."
Then, he looked at Helena and gave a fleeting smile. It was all teeth as he said softly, "But this one… she remembered me."
Frowning, Sherlock looked at Helena to see the sniper's laser flickering over her throat before he eyed Jim warily as the man walked closer and said, "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty."
Reaching towards the pool, he stopped again. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist you see." He looked at Sherlock with something akin to pride. "...like you!"
"Dear Jim... please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock quoted, making Jim grin and he started walking again. "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"
"Just so," Jim said, stopping again.
"Consulting criminal." Sherlock said softly, "Brilliant."
Helena closed her eyes and counted to ten, so she wouldn't end up basing both their heads together or worse, triggering her magic that would set the bomb off.
"Isn't it? No-one ever gets to me. And no-one ever will." Jim stated arrogantly.
"I did," Sherlock replied and cocked the pistol.
"You've come the closet. Now you're in my way." Jim sang.
"Thank you."
Jim said, "Didn't mean it as a compliment."
"Yes, you did," Sherlock stated confidently.
"Yeah, OK, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock." Jim shrugged before he sang in a high-pitched voice, "Daddy's had enough now!"
He started strolling again, and continued, "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play."
Sherlock's eyes shifted to Helena, noticing how she had closed her eyes, clearly strained before turning back to Jim as the man said, "So take this as a friendly warning… my dear. Back off." He added with a smile, "Although I have loved this, this little game of ours." He changed the accent back to the British one for a moment. "Playing Jim from I.T." He switched back to the Irish accent again. "Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"
"People have died," Sherlock stated.
"That's what people DO!" he screamed the last word furiously, his personality changing instantly.
Helena recoiled internally, but gave no other reaction, while Sherlock stated confidently, "I will stop you."
Jim shook his said and said calmly, "No, you won't."
Sherlock looked at Helena, gun still aimed at Jim and asked softly, "You all right?"
She didn't reply and kept her gaze away, presumably having been given instructions earlier about not talking.
Jim strides forward, closer to her and said, "You can talk, Helena. Go ahead."
Helena met Sherlock's eyes briefly and gave a single nod. He held the memory stick towards Jim and said, "Take it."
"Mm? Oh… That!" Strolling past Helena, he took the stick with a grin. "The missile plans."
Sherlock kept the pistol aimed at Jim as he kissed the stick and sang in a high-pitched voice, "Boring! I could have got them anywhere."
With that, he tossed it in the pool nonchalantly. Seeing her opportunity, Helena rushed forward and within seconds had Jim in a chokehold, making him yelp at the suddenness of her action. Startled, Sherlock took a step back, his eyes widen with surprise a fraction, but he kept the pistol aimed at Jim.
"Sherlock, run!" she yelled, her eyes glaring down at Jim.
Delighted, Jim laughed and choked out, "Good! Very Good."
Sherlock didn't move, still aiming the pistol at Jim's head, but looked around apprehensively, his hands trembled as he wondered what action the hidden sniper might take.
"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jimmy, then we both go up." Helena hissed.
"Lovely, isn't she? You know it was a choice – her or the doctor. I'm glad I picked her. The doctor would've been too smart to fight back. Boring!" Jim said mildly as he looked at Sherlock. He pointed towards the gash on his face and said sadly, "She hit me, feisty little thing! And a bonus? She's not dumb! I can see why you keep her around. I would like to have someone like her… who would be ready to die for me!"
With another grin towards Sherlock, he added, "Maybe I'll just keep her."
Helena grimaced but tightened her hold on him and whispered, "Not only did you drugged me, but you also groped me and then put a bomb on me. I'm going to feed you to a Merrow!"
Jim and Sherlock looked at her confused and asked together, "Merrow?"
"They like to feed on the flesh of a human. Easily angered. And with how gyrating your voice is, they'll have no difficulty in doing just that." She told him casually.
Jim looked at Sherlock questioningly as if to ask – 'was she was being serious?' who shrugged.
"So touchingly loyal. But, oops!" Jim grinned at her briefly before looking at Sherlock.
Helena stared horrified as a new laser point appeared in the middle of Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock guessed what had happened by her expressions and shook his head slightly.
"Gotcha!" Jim chuckled as Helena released her grip on him and stepped back, holding her hand up to show that she won't be trying anything else.
Jim brushed his hand down to his suit, straightening it and stated indignantly, "Westwood! Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"
"Oh, let me guess, I get killed," Sherlock replied, sounding bored.
"Kill you?" Jim made a face. "No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going kill you anyway, someday. I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." He looks down at Sherlock's body and snarled viciously, "I'll burn the heart out of you."
"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one," Sherlock told the man softly, making Helena wince with shame as she remembered the words, she and John had thrown at him not long ago.
"But we both know that's not quite true," Jim said as if talking to a child, making Sherlock blink involuntarily. Jim smiled before shrugging, "Well, I'd better be off."
He looked around nonchalantly before gazing Helena and said with a smirk, "Well, it was nice to meet you. I'll be seeing you again." He looked back at Sherlock and added, "…both of you."
Sherlock raised the pistol higher, closer to Jim's head and said, "What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?"
"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He said, completely unperturbed, opening his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking surprise. Then, he grinned. "Cos I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would."
Scrunching his nose up, he added, "And just a teensy bit… disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."
With that, he turned and winked at Helena, making her cringe.
Sherlock took a step forward to keep him in sight and said, "Catch you... later."
As the door opened, Jim sang again, "No, you won't!"
The door closed with a bang, but Sherlock kept his pistol aimed towards the door before his gaze drifted towards Helena. Bending down instantly, he put the pistol on the floor and dropped to his knee in front of her, hastily unfastening the vest to which the bomb was attached.
"All right?" he asked, but Helena didn't reply and stumbled back, panting heavily, so he asked again, loudly and urgently, "Are you all aright?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Having unfastened the vest, he jumped up and hurried behind her, starting to pull the coat and bomb vest off together. "I'm fine."
He too was breathing heavily now as he tugged the coat and vest off her vehemently. She wasn't sure if he had heard her, so gasped again, "Sherlock."
Finally, he stripped them off her roughly, making her stagger.
"Sh-Sherlock!"
He bent down and skimmed the items as far away along the floor as he can; Helena stumbled as she reached up and pulled the earpiece from her ear, breathing heavily.
Sherlock turned and stares at her for a moment, then picked the pistol hurriedly before racing towards the door through which Moriarty left.
Helena's knees buckle and she staggered towards the nearest support, the edge of one of the changing cubicles and gasped, "Dear Merlin."
Feeling drained, she turned and dropped down with her back against the cubicle's edge. Now that the adrenaline was over, she could feel the haze of drugs she had been injected with flowing through her mind and body. Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down, all the while making revenge plans in her head. The bloody bastard had drugged her and she had left her purse in the café!
Having seen no sign of Moriarty outside, Sherlock came back in and started pacing in front of her, so hyper and distracted that he started scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked.
"Are you okay?" She asked breathlessly.
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." He fired quickly, scratching his head with the pistol.
He was wide-eyed and breathless as he waved the hand with the gun in the air and said, "That, er... thing that you… er, that you did, that, um..." he cleared his throat unnecessarily. "... you offered to do. That was, um... good."
She stared blankly ahead of herself and murmured darkly, "I am going to… feed him… to the dementors."
"Hmm?" he lowered his hand and said, "I would pay to watch that."
Helena snorted out a laugh and he grinned as she stood up, more than ready to leave, when they were stopped, as the beams from the sniper's laser began dancing over both their chests.
She looked down and mumbled with a grimace, "Yeah, I'm going to skin him alive."
The door opened and Jim entered again, clapping his hands together and said cheerfully, "Sorry, guys! I'm sooooo changeable!"
Sherlock didn't turn to look at Jim, but looked up, trying to judge how many snipers there might be up there. It was obvious there were quite a few because at least two laser points were hovering over Helena and at least three were hovering over him.
Jim laughed manically, spreading his arms wide and said, "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."
Sherlock turned his head to look at Helena, who gazed back at him. Something silent passed between the two as Jim continued, "You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." he laughed and sang in his high-pitched voice again, "...everything I have to say had already crossed your mind!"
Once again, Sherlock's eyes met hers and she gave a single, but determined nod as she moved to stand beside him.
His eyes never left hers as he said, "Probably my answer has crossed yours."
Then, he raised his pistol to point at Jim, who smiled back confidently. Slowly, Sherlock lowered his pistol until it was pointing towards the bombed vest. The smile fell from Jim's lips as he stared at Sherlock anxiously, who was staring back at him.
Suddenly, a song began playing tinnily, making both Sherlock and Helena frown as they look around confused, but Jim briefly closed his eyes and sigh exasperatedly before asking, "Do you mind if I get that?"
"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life." Sherlock said nonchalantly.
Jim pulled the phone from his pocket and answered, [Hello? ... Yes, of course, it is. What do you want?]
Silently, he mouthed 'Sorry' to Sherlock, who mouthed back sarcastically, 'Oh, it's fine'.
Rolling his eyes, Jim turned away, listening to whatever was being said on the phone, before spinning back around suddenly and shouted furiously, [SAY THAT AGAIN!]
Unconsciously, Helena moved her hand and grabbed the back of Sherlock's jacket tightly in her fist, making him frown, but he kept his eyes firmly his at Jim, who said malevolently, [Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you.]
[Wait.] Lowering the phone, he walked towards the coat and Sherlock adjusted his grip on the pistol, ready to shoot. Stopping in front of the coat, Jim gazed down at it thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock's and said, "Sorry… Wrong day to die."
"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked casually.
Jim looked back at his phone before turning around and started walking towards the door slowly. "You'll be hearing from me."
Lifting his phone to his ear, he said, [So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."]
He clicked his fingers as soon as he raised the main door and instantly, all lasers pointed at Sherlock and Helena disappeared.
They both looked around before she finally relented her grip on his coat and asked, "Who the hell called him?"
"That's the question, isn't it? Who changed his mind." he told her slowly, before turning to look at her and asked, "Your wand?"
"I was having tea when he drugged me. My purse… it should be in the café." She sighed and he nodded like he expected it all long.
Then, much to her surprise, he took her hand in his, just like she had done in the gallery and said, "Come on, we'll get it on the way to home. And we'll have to stop at the store. I told John I'd get milk and beans."
He didn't look at her as he pulled her along and for once, instead of whining or saying something sarcastic, she found herself tightening her grip on his hand.
Two Days Later
221C
Sherlock rushed downstairs and as always, barged into her flat. Frowning, he looked around until he noticed a paper lying on the table. Picking it up, he read,
'Work. Should be back before the full moon. The flat is warded but keyed to the three of you. The books in the living room are relatively harmless. You can read them if you want.'
Helena
PS: Tell John there's food in the fridge.
He scowled at the note before stomping back upstairs with a loud huff.
EN: Here, it's done. I'll try to post part 3 of this series soon if you are interested in reading more of this.
Some events are changed, some are the same as the ones in BBC's Sherlock. I decided not to mention everything – only the necessary ones. You can always go back and watch the series as I do from time to time. 😊
Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.
October 29th, 2020