The Game's On: Sherlock and John are OUT on an adventure

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Second Part:

Recap: Investigating a burglary in the salvage warehouse, Sherlock and John accompany warehouse-owner Dodd and four of his workers to the scene of the crime.

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"What do you need with Nathan?" Dodd asked Sherlock as they headed past the storage rooms toward the basement entrance. The detective and owner held the rear, walking side-by-side, whilst John stayed just a pace ahead paired off with Gerry. Briefly, Jack stopped to grab a large Fenix LED Torch from a high shelf, but made quick work to catch up to Nathan and Clara who led the way.

"Mind," Dodd continued. "When we discovered the theft in the basement, he was on deliveries all day. One of our drivers took sick."

"I'm aware," Sherlock replied. "But his knowledge of procedure will help. According to the office diary, Tom and he usually share salvage inventory duties in the basement." John knew that if Sherlock had any other reason for including Nathan, he wouldn't necessarily divulge it at this time, but John also harbored suspicions about the man, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

"Gotta agree with Mr. Dodd," Gerry turned his head and interjected over his shoulder. "Nate and Tom regularly handle Dungeon Duty. Can't blame them for disliking it. I did it years ago. Forgot how dusty 'n tedious it was. But when this special order came in, Nate was out driving and Tom was a no show. So, me and Jack," he thumbed ahead at the youth holding the torch, "went down to fill it. Nate wasn't there 't all."

"Oh, yes, about Tom…," Sherlock added as if an afterthought, but John immediately recognized the diversionary tactic to get the topic off Nathan. With a deep inhalation, Sherlock introduced new information, presumably the truth, at lightning speed. "You may be interested to know that Tom did not come to work due to an unfortunate altercation with a phone box on route. Many witnesses were on hand to provide statements for the accident report and most concur on the essentials—that he swerved his bike to avoid a pushchair; the mother had little Louis in an Out 'n' About Double Nipper style—no, wait, that doesn't matter…"

Sherlock shook his head free of unnecessary clutter. Offering all the details from the official report was like a rocket going off course. He immediately corrected the trajectory to bring his topic back on track. "…Anyway, Tom crashed. It was serious enough to land him in hospital with a concussion, abrasions, something broken, like a finger or two. They expect to release him tomorrow. Ironically, he couldn't ring you from the box because he was unconscious, his texting fingers were out of commission, and anyway his mobile suffered a worst fate—it died at the scene."

Dodd blinked for a moment as if to catch up with everything he had heard, and then boomed, "BLOODY HELL!"

Jack and Clara jumped in fright, Gerry winced nervously, and Nathan assumed a defensive posture with fists raised. Their faces truly seemed alarmed as if they were unaccustomed to hearing Dodd raise his voice and swear. Although John had been paying close attention to the conversation between Sherlock and Dodd, bracing himself for Dodd's reaction was like anticipating a volcano about to erupt. When Dodd finally exploded, John recoiled. At the same time John noticed that Sherlock who had also been prepared for the warehouse owner's outburst succeeded in keeping his reaction in check.

"Tom's in hospital!" Stunned, Dodd repeated as if this would help him believe it. "Sorry," he added gently when he noticed he had startled his employees. They recovered with murmurs of sympathy about Tom.

Hearing the surprise in Dodd's voice and seeing his face stricken with genuine concern, John shed his original apprehension and warmed to the man.

"Poor lad! Didn't know. He's been having a rough patch; his dad was an old friend—passed away nigh a year. His mum's not been well since. Thought working here might help keep the boy out of trouble." In his broad face, Dodd's frown became a toothy grimace as if he suffered sympathy pains. "Which hospital? I'd like to ring him up."

"St. Charles Hospital, Exmoor Street, room 117…Do you often give jobs to the progeny of old friends?" The swift answer followed immediately by the query achieved what Sherlock intended—more information slipping through, but Dodd was an honest man who didn't need interrogation techniques to elicit the truth.

"Sure. Jack's the nephew of a bloke I used to work with. And well, that's how our Clara joined us, eleven years ago, as you mentioned. A recommendation from a friend," Dodd's face fell. "Well, former friend now. Though, she's not a blood relative. This friend's sister and her were best friends. It was at the sister's wedding—Clara. What's her name?"

"Doreen."

"That's right! Clara was Doreen's Maid of Honour. At the wedding, Carl and me talked 'bout, uh, many things, uh," Dodd stammered, indicating he was referring to Clara, "giving 'people' a chance." He winked at Sherlock then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Poor girl. Still finds it hard to get out of her shell."

Dodd's attempt at sotto voce appeared ineffective. Clara tilted her head as if she had heard.

"That would be Carl J. Masterson." Sherlock was using his conciliatory voice, but John knew that was not his motivation. "Yes, I've read the police report. That was a shame and so unnecessary."

"Completely unnecessary! Well, you asked me if there might be anyone holding a grudge 'gainst me. He's the only one I could think of." Dodd's dismay appeared authentic. "When you share a trade as long as we have, you share a brotherhood too. Thought that's what we had, but Carl was a bit dodgy at times, and well, that's not how I do business."

"After you left my flat today, I reviewed the official police incident accounts. It seems you were entirely blameless." Sherlock was deliberately nudging the conversation even though Dodd needed little encouragement to talk.

"Whole thing happened right outside my own warehouse! In front of my own workers! Off his trolley, s'what I think. Still don't know what threw him into a fit, but the man was barmy that day!"

"I read you resisted the fight but took a few heavy blows before you defended yourself."

"I know I'm big, so I've been careful 'bout it all my life," Dodd nodded. "But when he picked up the rod, I had to stop him before it got worse. After I took a few hits on my shoulders, I grabbed it off him. He fell, broke his arm. My workers had already called the police. With so many witnesses talking about what they saw, charges were filed against Carl." Dodd wagged his head. "Figured he may have just needed to blow off steam. I was willing to let bygones be bygones."

"Apparently so," Sherlock concurred. "Charges were dropped, but it seems your Carl Masterson indeed had a shady history. With recklessness and battery on record, his solicitor fought to keep assault charges off record. It would have made things much more serious for him."

"I'm not a vengeful man, Mr. Holmes." Dodd sounded more sad than worried.

"Ah, true Mr. Dodd, but you can't say the same for your friend, Mr. Masterson."

Their conversation ended as they reached the half-way point in the rear of the warehouse. Leading in a single row toward the basement door were twelve labeled, but still-open postal boxes aligned and flush against the wall.

"What are these?" Sherlock leaned over each one, reading the labels and likely committing addresses and contents to memory. If any had destinations in London, Sherlock would have had no trouble mapping in his head its most-efficient shipping route.

"These are the mail orders. We ship small items, like hardware, nuts, bolts, doorknobs, switch plates, and such like in these." As the warehouse manager, Gerry maintained a level, business voice, although it was a thin veneer over his marked impatience.

"Do you always have twelve?" Sherlock raised his head and leveled his unpatched eye at the four employees as he waited for a reply.

"Nah. It varies. Some boxes are our regular customers, and some are for calls from new clients," Gerry gestured with his hands for emphasis and pointed at the different labels for clarity. "Clara here handles the shipping end of things."

"As my Product Distribution Supervisor in charge of shipping merchandise," Dodd explained, "Clara coordinates and schedules with carriers—FedEx, UPS, Parecels2Go, DX, you know, if we don't deliver them ourselves. She also schedules our lorry drivers to make deliveries for the big items." Dodd urged Clara gently, "Tell Mr. Holmes about these…" he extended a meaty hand toward the tidy row of boxes at their feet.

Clara looked up at Dodd and then shifted her eyes from Gerry to Jack and rested briefly on Nathan before she dropped her gaze back to the floor. "Once the order is filled, I inspect the items in each box," she said shyly, "against the items listed on the inventory sheet and the shipping manifest before sealing the packages."

The detective said nothing. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and gave a soft grunt. His hands glided through the air as if he were sorting the information on a wall in front of him. Slowly he brought his arms to his sides and began to whirl in place, as if the motion assisted his memory. After two full, slow rotations, Sherlock opened his eyes wide and spun out like a satellite flung from orbit and headed toward a door at the far end of the corridor. Before reaching it, he stopped, surprised by an intersection from another hallway. "This branches off toward the front of the building," he stated rather than asked, "and leads back, full circle, to the showroom and main entrance," dramatically he flicked both index fingers in unison. "Hmmm. A second access-way to the front explains a lot…" his voice trailed as he resumed his progress toward the far door.

Remembering the video footage, John asked, "Is that the door to the side alley?"

"Yeah," Nathan said quickly. "But it's locked. Need a key to get in."

"But one wouldn't need a key to open it from the inside," Sherlock demonstrated effortlessly as he flipped the latch and momentarily opened the door to reveal the deepening twilight outside.

"Yeah, oh, right." Nathan fidgeted, suddenly aware what Sherlock was implying.

"Even so," Clara asserted in a sudden, loud voice. "Judi monitors the video feed from the cameras outside the alley door!" A sharp glance from Sherlock made her lose her nerve. Her voice grew softer. "She watches it on the computer at her desk…all day…."

"Tess takes over when Judi breaks for lunch," Gerry added. "So we do have eyes on the alley door pretty much all the time."

"Pretty much," Sherlock repeated thoughtfully from where he remained examining the alley door. "…All the time, you say. That is an astonishing claim, given the usual interruptions of phones, client needs, and general office work handled by Judi throughout the day."

"Well, you know," Gerry faltered. "She's keeping a general eye out for anything suspicious; she's not actually a watchman."

"Neither a man nor a guard on watch," Sherlock corrected. "No, she's definitely not."

"What do you mean, Holmes?" Dodd's voice registered deepening concern.

"As efficient and capable at multitasking as Judi appears to be—I was impressed by her thoroughness earlier when she explained how operations are run here—she is not infallible. In fact, statistics show that the vast majority of workers' lives are filled with distractions that reduce their ability to remain focused on any task for too long. Some researchers contend that there really is no such thing as multitasking, 'only faster and faster oscillations of attention between or among various attention-grabbing stimuli.' However, assuming all this is true, there must be moments when Judi is distracted especially when the dearth of 'suspicious' activity in the alley becomes monotonous."

After tapping his foot and waving both hands, Sherlock had begun to pace as though his body needed to keep moving. Just as suddenly, he halted, every twitch of his body ceased as he remembered something. "What about her family?" he muttered softly, but gradually his voice built in volume along with his certainty. "I noticed Judi took her mobile out and placed it on her desk—force of habit—when we spoke earlier. This is where she usually keeps her phone: within reach on her desk. She must be receiving calls during the work day, personal calls, right— Gerry? And you let it slide, as a courtesy: one manager to another."

Hesitating, Gerry peered sheepishly at Dodd before admitting, "Judi talks to her daughter. The girl's away at uni in the States. Every Tuesday and Friday, at the same time, Lyla calls her mum, it's but for five minutes. This is their only time to talk. Has something to do with scheduling conflicts due to class times, work, and of course the time difference."

"I see." Sherlock nodded. "And she receives those calls around half-noon, correct? When Tess is midway through her lunch break."

Gerry's face was wide with amazement, but Clara gasped out loud. "How d'ya know all that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock quipped and glanced at John.

Deducing the whole distraction-by-mobile-family connections was genius, as far as John was concerned, although it was obvious how Sherlock figured out the time: On each of the CCTV videos when the alley door had been opened from within, the time stamp read 12.30 give or take a minute. John smiled slightly. It was nice being on the magician's side of the illusion for once.

Sherlock lingered at the alley door, bent down to sniff the handle, and once he seemed satisfied with his investigation, took his time rejoining the others.

In the meantime, the warehouse men had used the wait for business chatter about new shipments, damaged salvaged pieces, and who would fill orders with Tom still out. Among them all, Gerry's voice carried the loudest with an edginess that seemed to increase every time he looked at his wristwatch, which he did constantly. Clara stood apart with her eyes averted.

Taking advantage of the diversion created by their boisterous shop talk, Sherlock approached John and leaned over to whisper in his ear: "Judi was not the one letting the burglar in, as she was distracted by her daughter's conversation. The burglaries began long before Sammy was transferred here, and Tess was nearly always out to lunch and running errands— plus the doorknob smells of cheap perfume."

John kept his face neutral and did not shift his sight toward Clara, but he sympathized with the young woman for this information was indeed incriminating.

"EXPLAIN, please!" With an authoritative roar, Sherlock recaptured the men's attention and silenced them at once. When all eyes were on him, he restored his voice to normal volume and pointed toward a door on the facing wall, directly across from the basement entrance. "This door?"

"It's the women's loo." Jack piped up. "The gents' around the corner up there." Jack pointed to the corridor closer to the alley door, the one Sherlock had found fascinating because it returned to the showroom.

Sherlock nodded and pulled on the loo door. It opened for easy access from the storage rooms and main office where the women worked. Whilst John and Dodd stood on that side of the opening, Clara, Nathan, and Gerry were behind and had to step aside out of the way as it swung on squeaking hinges and mostly blocked the corridor in its sweep. Sherlock played with the creaking door several more times, standing first on one side and then the other, viewing it from different angles as he swung it opened and closed. Ducking inside, he flushed several times and timed how long the water closet took to refill. "Mmm…a bit of an antique, that is. Over two minutes: two minutes forty seconds precisely." He remarked aloud although he wasn't addressing anyone in particular. "Certainly not a modern unit that uses less water and refills in a fraction of the time."

"Yeah, the original plumbing has held up all these years. Only need to replace the lid and seat now and then." Pressing a large finger to his temple Dodd searched his memory. "Maybe eighteen months ago."

Sherlock seemed enthralled by the door. He resumed testing the arc of the door, swinging it forward and back, as he listened to the pitch and timbre of the hinges like he was tuning his violin. Whilst John understood Sherlock was memorizing the sound changes at each degree, probably composing the "melody" of the door in his genius head, the doctor also realized how odd this all appeared to the others. Either the repetitive swinging of the door or the unpleasant monotony of the hinge sounds appeared to annoy Nathan, Gerry, Jack, and Dodd who watched with growing impatience. However, Clara was distracted, looking down at her shoes as if she wanted to be anywhere else.

After Sherlock maneuvered the door many more times, seemingly mesmerized by the action, John leaned forward and inquired softly, "Um. Seen enough?"

"Right, John!" Sherlock clapped his hands and grinned with delight. "Now, to the basement!"

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Still more story to come and more thanks to give. ;-)