I.

He was greeted by numerous clocks, the clicking of heels on marble, and hundreds of people skittering about, caught up in their own daily battles. To his right, a woman hurried down the escalator, her concern about her dog evident in the crease on her forehead. A man passed in front of him, holding a phone to his ear and cheating on his wife by the look of his hand and left shoulder. Another man was lying to the receptionist, though it wasn't immediately clear about what.

Sherlock could feel John's confusion. It had an almost physical presence, firmly plonked in the gap between them like a third party. When he'd said he needed to go to the bank, Sherlock hadn't been exactly forthcoming, and he imagined John didn't peg him as someone interested in acquiring stocks and shares. What Sherlock was interested in was distraction, and his companion... well, he was interested in getting a hold of some cash. Sebastian Wilkes could hopefully offer both.

There was something else about John too, another reason why he dragged along despite his initial protests and tangible annoyance. There was also a healthy aura of curiosity around him, which is why Sherlock suspected John hadn't run for the hills yet. Few people were curious enough about Sherlock's methods to get past his person. It was... a peculiar deviation from the norm.

"Sherlock Holmes," he informed the receptionist. She nodded knowingly in response, stood up, and whipped her security card out.

"Mr. Wilkes' office is on the tenth floor. Get in the first lift and you'll see it on the right. I'll phone you in with his assistant."

A woman to their left, who up until now had been leaning sideways on the desk, turned her head to look at them. Professional, and well paid to be wearing that suit, though that was hardly surprising considering the setting. John caught her eye and she smiled politely before returning her attention to her phone. The receptionist she was waiting on was on the phone, chewing on her lip and saying nothing. Whomever she was trying to reach clearly wasn't answering.

Sherlock brushed through the security gate and, for just a brief second, grimaced. He wasn't too excited about seeing this particular acquaintance again.

Kira stared at the text message and felt a twang of annoyance spread through her skull. She'd had a pretty poor day, what with being yelled at first thing in the morning about a project she was barely involved in and almost getting smacked on the head by a flying bucket of yoghurt on her way to the bank. Van Coon, the man she'd contacted via email yesterday and who had assured her that her company's inquiries were top priority, didn't even bother to pick up his phone. To top it all, Jamie was getting smug about having traced Lukis already.

Putting the phone down, she eyed the pair making their way through the security gates. As far as she knew, Shad Sanderson employed only one Mr. Wilkes important enough to have an office. Meeting Sebastian on a Monday? Poor bastards. Kira could only hope, for their sake, that it was worthwhile.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Van Coon's assistant isn't answering. Perhaps he's been delayed at another meeting or-"

Or someone got to him before I did. Pity.

"Is there anyone else I can speak to in his department? We need some information rather urgently," Kira pressed gently, emanating the young financier eager to sink her teeth into a good investment. If she just turned around and walked away, she might raise a suspicious eyebrow or two. She could also make a scene, but Kira didn't want to draw any attention to Scion, beyond what was absolutely required.

"I'll phone around. I'm sure someone in the Hong Kong department will be able to help," the receptionist replied with a nervous smile, dialing a number with deft fingers. Judging by the way she'd flinched when Kira had walked up to her and asked about Van Coon, she'd already been shouted at by a few disgruntled Hugo Boss suits.

It took three attempts for the receptionist - Stephanie who had recently graduated from University of Leeds and moved to London to be with her boyfriend, as Kira discovered through idle chit-chat between calls - to get through to someone useful. The first person she'd called, Emma Something or Other, was in a meeting. The second hadn't even answered the phone. Kira was starting to wonder whether any actual work was being done in this building and had half a mind to set HMRC on their arses. Finally, Stephanie heard back from a Mr. Knowles.

"He's very knowledgeable and has a lot of experience working with, uh, commercial clients," she clearly meant non-financial clients which was somewhat of an anathema in this part of the world, "so going over your options shouldn't be a problem. He should be available in about twenty minutes."

Kira was directed towards the trading floor and absent-mindedly bid Stephanie a goodbye. As she pushed through the gate, she went over the scenario in her head. The company she worked for, Scion, was hoping to improve its long-term funding by investing in the Hong Kong market. Shad Sanderson was to provide a research report for Scion, with the meeting in question being devoted to a preliminary report which Van Coon was meant to present.

Except now Kira had to sit through a report she didn't care much about, delivered by a man she didn't care about at all. The whole plot was concocted so she could gently prod Van Coon about his recent trip to Asia and perhaps get a lead on the Black Lotus operatives currently kicking about in London.

She was shown to a waiting area at the top of the floor and Knowles' P.A., a young and power-hungry man in a grey suit, had the decency to offer her a cuppa. Behind the glass divider, she could hear traders laughing loudly, whispering into phones, clicking away on their keyboards. Kira sipped her coffee, instant by the taste of it and not very strong, and briefly thought back to her time as a junior analyst. She occasionally had to deal with trading desks and didn't miss the more-knowledgeable-than-thou attitude a lot of these people carried, particularly because it was mostly unwarranted. Though they could be good fun on a night out.

Kira pulled up a note on one of Van Coon's more recent clients, a hedge fund. The banker had engaged it on a trip to mainland China before he headed the Hong Kong department. The fund was primarily focused on investing in tech companies in emerging markets, which was as common practice as it could get. However, it also developed an odd taste for art on the side, pooling money into musical, theatrical, and various other artistic performances. It stayed in the shadows, collecting sums once an event was over and swiftly moving on to the next, but the name had popped up in a magazine article in relation to a stage performance by the Shanghai Theater Troupe. They had enjoyed a decor spruce-up as a result of the fund's involvement.

A hedge fund would always diversify its portfolio by investing in different industries but, as far as Kira could tell, this one wasn't making the huge buck that specialised art investment funds were attracting. Hedge funds did not dabble in simple patroning of the arts and neither did they invest large sums for mediocre returns. If her trip to the bank yielded nothing else, at least Kira could try and recoup some wasted time by wriggling out some information about the fund from this Mr. Knowles.

Kira finally decided she was holding onto the lukewarm coffee purely out of habit, so she scouted the floor in front of her for bins. Finding one next to a middle row desk, she placed the cup inside so as to avoid spraying bland coffee all over a passing trader's white shirt and straightened up. From here she could just about glance into William Shad's office, enclosed in predictably pristine glass. At the very edge of her vision was the old boy's portrait, undoubtedly more valuable than the caricature of the current CEO that hung miserably in the lobby. Kira took a curious step forward, but hurried steps from the back of the room distracted her from her target.

The steps accompanied the top of a head which was currently speeding towards the offices. Traders here and there followed the movements, some with confusion, some with mockery, giving the impression that sprinting from one end of the floor to the other wasn't common practice in the bank. The head circled the sea of desks and came around Kira's side, revealing that it was attached to a body, and a familiar one at that. Him and his pal had been scheduled to see Sebastian earlier, Kira recalled.

The man stopped just short of bulldozing through Kira, pressed his back against an office door and squatted.

She simply couldn't restrain herself.

"What are you doing?"

His brain registered the words, then immediately discarded the office behind him from the list. Shad's portrait was not visible from any angle, taking into account the distance from the door to the desk. Sherlock got up in one swift motion and twirled around, eyes scanning the remainder of the floor.

"Could be further back if there's a thirteen degree angle past the column," he muttered to himself. Taking a wide step towards the corner of the room, Sherlock came face to face with the owner of the voice.

"Stretching your legs?"

She spoke with a strong Edinburgh accent and there was a faint amusement to her voice. Sherlock frowned.

"Looking for something. It's quite important," he added sternly.

People - police officers excepting, they hardly seemed to get anything right - generally got the hint and left him alone whenever he used that voice. The woman just crossed her arms thoughtfully and followed his line of sight. "Up and over... for visibility," she muttered to herself, craning her neck to get a better view, wide eyes taking in the floor hungrily.

Dark eyes and eyebrows atypical of a natural blonde - could be really good hair dye but has a grey undertone routinely seen in naturals, minimal makeup mostly concentrated in the eye area, speaking of general confidence about looks but care for presentation hence the overly sharp lapels, not squinting so good eyesight, wears sunglasses often judging by the slight discolouration around the sockets, his brain rattled off on its own. Sherlock had learned to ignore the part that recorded and categorised his surroundings for future referral, choosing to focus on more present matters instead. That whole Mind Palace idea was neat.

"Oh dear." The woman had stopped in her tracks and was grinning strangely. "Someone has it in for poor Mr. Shad."

Sherlock's legs carried him a step further, the office fully coming into sight. His gaze shifted between the portrait and the woman. The civilian population rarely approached strangers to question them about odd behaviour, especially in England. When they did, they didn't then try to figure out half of it on their own. Plus, she was laughing at a defaced portrait which failed to depict a pun or genitalia. Sherlock, while admittedly not a great connoisseur of comedy, struggled to find the source of entertainment.

"Not for him," he murmured, mind returning to his investigation. Sherlock eyed the offices on the right. There were three - no, two - doors which seemed promising.

"A message for someone else then? Unorthodox way of communicating."

It took three seconds for Sherlock to gather that the closest of the two rooms wasn't an option. A column obscured the view, leaving only a sliver of the portrait visible from within. He ignored the venomous stare the owner of the office gave him and left as quickly as he'd entered.

The woman was standing closer to Shad's office, attention pinned to the symbols. "No luck?" She asked, half-turning to face him.

"The other one..."

Sherlock was thinking out loud, really, his mind too preoccupied with constructing and discarding theories about the motive, the entrance point, the type of paint used, and the perpetrators to simultaneously hold what John referred to as a normal conversation.

"Sherlock, mate, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job," Sebastian's voice rang out from somewhere on his left and Sherlock felt his eyes rolling out of their own volition, "but you're distracting my boys!"

He slapped the man nearest to him on the back with a wide smile. The trader winced, wishing he could be elsewhere and, more importantly, not involved in the exchange. The woman whipped around with pursed lips and her eyes met Sebastian's. The Venetian mask-style smirk dropped from his face.

"Uh-"

"Distracting them from daein' nout?" She queried, glancing briefly at a man leaning back in his chair. He rose slowly, his attention suddenly captured by his computer, the back of his head managing to look guilty.

"Well, y'know, people to call, money to make." Sebastian cleared his throat. He appeared suddenly uncomfortable. "We should really limit this floor to clients for the time being, heh. What with old William looking a bit worse for wear."

"Eh, you could market the piece as postmodern."

"Been some time since I've seen you, anyway. Still working for that, uh, motor company of yours?"

"It's aircraft propulsion technology," the woman replied with an even tone.

The small pause at the end resounded with meaning. It sounded an awful lot like 'pleb'. Sherlock promptly lost a fight with a smirk and for all his nearsightedness in most other matters, Sebastian didn't miss that. His gaze quickly shifted between the woman and the detective.

"You two know each other?"

"No," Sherlock replied at the same time the woman said "Getting there."

"Oh. Well, don't go becoming best mates now. Can't have the two thorns in my student arse teaming up!" A painfully bright laugh followed.

Sherlock very consciously didn't exhale sharply through the nose. For someone who needed his help, Sebastian certainly didn't shy away from reminding him how disliked he had been in his university days. The woman seemed equally irritated, but for entirely different reasons.

"Two tho-? Plural? I was clearly too lenient with you. Though one in each asscheek is tactically better."

Sherlock really needed to get a move on and figure out who and where the intended recipient was, but his feet were firmly planted on the ground, eyes following the exchange. There was something uniquely pleasing about seeing Sebastian shift irritably and push at that dreaded cowlick with his eyebrows.

The woman stared Sherlock up and down, curiosity glinting in her eyes. He returned the courtesy with a slight frown, his brain helpfully picking out smaller details and storing them away.

"What can compete with having your name mispronounced at the Morgan Stanley presentation?"

"I knew that was you," Sebastian muttered sourly.

"How many people would naturally assume your name is pronounced 'Shuh-vastian'?"

"Isn't even a bloody name," Sebastian said quickly before barking out another laugh, "though it made for a good story at the pub."

"Changed the spelling of his name on the panel's copies so it had an 'h' after the 'b', then told them it was an old Gelic version of the name. Like Siobhan. Went down a treat," she explained to Sherlock proudly. "Switching up the documents so Seb here didn't find out prematurely took me longer than the actual research."

"Good to know you used your time so productively while the rest of us were busy, y'know, studying."

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull Goldman Sachs employee," the woman said wisely. One didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that his old university colleague ended up in Goldman Sachs after graduating. Sebastian tried to scoff lightheartedly and missed the mark, only to land on 'clearly annoyed'. He rocked on his heels and clapped the detective on the elbow, eager to change the subject.

"Sherlock and I used to share halls in our distant youth. He did this-" Sebastian's eyes flickered towards Sherlock's unreadable expression, "-thing, he'd look at you and tell you all about yourself. What you studied, where you were last night, which professors disliked you. Pissed us all off when he'd rattle on about it on Sunday morning and we were just trying to get through a hangover. Got a job as a detective out of it, though, so it wasn't all in vain."

The woman's eyes lit up with understanding and she glanced at the portrait with a small smile.

"If you're trying to figure out who did this, then here's a theory for you. He did it to himself. Begrudgingly rose from the grave and spray-painted a blindfold on because he couldn't bear the sight of how this establishment is being managed."

The words were said in good humour, but Sherlock could see the small indent on Sebastian's cheek. He was biting the corner of his tongue, a gesture usually reserved for pre-exam conditions and that one time Sherlock caught him making a pass at a friend's girlfriend.

"Ken, no one is picking up the phone, the guy I was scheduled to meet isn't here and hasn't left any instructions, and the second guy I got an appointment with said he'd be twenty minutes," she theatrically squinted at her watch, rose gold, new, "well over half an hour ago. Which reminds me, I need to dash. I have actual work to do, unfortunately. Please thank Mr. Knowles for his time. Good day."

The woman turned to Sherlock and bowed her head. "It was nice to meet you. Good luck with your investigation," and with that she marched off, throwing one last look at Shad's office before disappearing around the corner.

"What was that all about?"

John, who had appeared mid-rant with a cup of tea in his hand, shifted his gaze between Sherlock and Sebastian. The banker shrugged off the embarrassed stupor he had fallen into and chuckled.

"Just Kira having a fit. Nothing unusual." He cleared his throat. "Better leave you to it, then. Right."

Sherlock watched Sebastian walk away with grim satisfaction. The man's arrogance surrounded him like thick smoke and had done so for as long as the detective had known him. In his university days, Sebastian was somewhat more insufferable, bristling with youthful energy and emboldened by his new surroundings. He managed to surround himself with people he deemed worthy of attention and make the rest feel out of place. Strangely, Sherlock had belonged to both groups simultaneously. He didn't entirely despise Sebastian, because his attitude wasn't a product of conscious menace as much as willful ignorance, but he didn't particularly like him, either. It was good to see him brought down to size.

"Found out anything from the guards?" He asked John as he headed towards the next cubicle. That one ought to be it.

Author's note: Hello all! This is the first story I've had the guts (and patience) to post on here, so I'm really rather excited. The rating is mostly there for cursing, and Scottish cursing at that, and some violence in keeping with the show's tradition and is subject to change. If you have any comments, please, let me know. Constructive criticism is not only appreciated, it's greatly required for improvement!

Disclaimer: I do not, nor can I ever dream to, own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs Hudson or any other recognisable characters and settings. I have simply borrowed them for the time being, and shan't be profiting from them in any way.