GAME OVER!

Sherlock and John are OUT on an adventure

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Fourth Part:

Recap: Returning from the warehouse basement, Sherlock and John face the astonished employees.

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"What did you actually see?" Sherlock asked the stunned warehouse owner.

"Nothin'!" Dodd struggled to recover his voice. "You,... you both were…gone...from the corridor," he nodded slowly, registering what had happened. "We knew you went below, except we couldn't see because the loo door blocked our view. Just as you said, no light came from under the door like it does when the bulb's lit. Didn't see you come back up when Jack came out, but once the loo door closed...well, here you both are right now."

"And where we are standing is the second corridor back to the showroom— the escape route for your burglar who hides in plain sight. I imagine even you can work out the who and the why." Along with his snarky delivery Sherlock wore a conceited grin until a nudge against his ribcage dislodged it. Sliding a quizzical glance toward his partner, the detective observed John's raised brows and pursed lips signaling: a bit not good.

"Gor blimey, Holmes!" Shaking his head in dismay, Dodd expressed his regret with a resounding sigh. "Tis hard for me to believe it, but yeah, I know the why and the who." The warehouse owner's voice was husky with emotion. "Clara, come clean, girl. I won't be too hard on you."

Wringing her hands Clara was sniveling with fear and remorse, moaning, "Sooooo sorry, Big W! I didn't mean to do it. It was awful, I know. Carl always wanted me to look the other way when he nicked little stuff." She was rocking back and forth where she stood, wiping tears spilling from her eyes with the back of her hands. "He said I owed him that. But, then it got bigger. Started with two expensive corbels that had just been off-loaded from the lorry. The guys left them in the showroom."

Dodd laid his thick arm gently over the girl's shoulders as she heaved with broken sobs.

"Carl wheedled me. Said they would be perfect for Doreen's home, her being pregnant and all. It'd be our baby gift. Gave me that awful wink of his, like it was our secret. I know, I know, I know..." she moaned. "They hadn't been inventoried. Just this favor! That's what he asked. Just this favor." Dodd fetched a clean hankey from his back pocket and handed it to Clara who failed to notice the hurt expression on her employer's face. "But after the fight with you, he brought in Stevie."

"Stevie?" Three male voices said in unison with identical skepticism.

Jolted, Dodd took a step back and away from Clara; disillusionment darkened his face.

"That potty drunk?" Nathan showed genuine shock. "He's been coming around for months, baddered as ever I've seen, but pretty harmless."

"Yeah, harmless. Stumbles in in the main doors. Smellin' something awful at times," Jack giggled. "So rat-arsed he is! We'd sport with him a bit, before shoving him back out, not to be mean, mind you, but y'know; gave us a good laugh."

"A bloody good laugh on our account," Dodd snapped with a menacing growl that silenced Jack's chuckles. Slow to respond at first, the extent of the deception had become exceedingly clear to the man whose kindnesses had been blatantly betrayed. "NO!" The giant roared. His pleasant face was nearly unrecognizable; his unmasked fury was terrifying to see. "Robbin' me blind! Unforgiveable feckers!"

Quivering, Clara shrunk against the wall; Nathan and Jack cowered and backed away. Dodd's thundering wrath drew shouts of surprise and curiosity from the showroom where Judi, Tess, and Sammy had been waiting. Although they watched at a relatively safe distance at the far-end of the corridor, they too were perplexed by the rare outburst of their peace-loving employer.

"Under my VERY nose!" Dodd stormed, raising his eyes and huge fists toward the ceiling. His voice was twisted by anguish. "Do a man a good turn 'n he's laughin' behind your back! Mistakin' kindness for weakness! Takin' me for some BLOODY berk!"

"How…how could we know he was stealin', boss? We did what we could…." Gesturing nervously, Gerry showed unexpected bravery trying to calm Dodd down with reassurances. "Always made sure I booted Stevie out after I checked his pockets first. Right, boys?" Gerry turned toward his coworkers to solicit their support before swiftly resuming his plea for clemency. "The boys and me. We checked him. Never seemed to be filching merchandise. He was always clean. Just stinking drunk— we...we...we," Gerry stammered, flustered by his inadequate excuses and struggling to find better explanations why it happened.

Dodd ended further discussion with a dismissive shake of his head and dropped his chin to his chest. Covering his face with one large hand, the disheartened man took long, deep inhalations whilst softly muttering to himself.

During the uncomfortable silence that followed, the warehouse workers wrestled with their uneasiness. In the distance, the curious staff paced anxiously and wagged their heads in confusion. As no other instructions were offered, first Sammy, then Tess retired to the showroom to wait. Only Judi stood her ground prepared to help if the need arose.

John had witnessed Dodd's explosive rage with tremendous concern. Had the mammoth man become a raging bull, restraining him would have been a massive task for their mixed company. Just as important was the physical and psychological strain on the man himself whose blood pressure no doubt had spiked to dangerous levels. Watching closely, John noticed Dodd appeared practiced at using anger-management techniques to control his rage—a good thing for such a formidable man—moreover, what he was doing seemed to be working.

As Dodd's tension abated, John had one lingering concern: Sherlock's insensitivity to social cues might trigger another volatile scene with a carelessly placed remark.

Yet, Sherlock surprised him. Dispensing with his usual methods of brusque interrogation, Sherlock used soothing tones to ask his next question and kept tempers from flaring. "Did you ever find a torch or a mobile on him?"

Catching Sherlock's eye, John flashed him a grateful grin. Whilst the detective did not overtly acknowledge the signal, John noticed the tell-tale twitch in his cheeks, the precursor of a smile, indicating he understood.

"Huh? A Torch? Mobile?" Jack repeated and looked toward the others who were still stunned by Dodd's anger. "Hey, hey, Gerry? Nate?" He jostled them alert by their sleeves. "Y'listening?"

Sherlock repeated his question calmly. "Did you find either a mobile or torch in Stevie's pockets?"

Three "NOs" in succession made the detective smile broadly. "How about a black fabric swatch in his pocket?" Sherlock produced the eyepatch he had been wearing until returning from the basement. "Like this?"

Gerry, Jack, and Nathan looked at each other as their jaws dropped. Reluctantly, Gerry nodded. "Some nasty stuff, a small flask of god-awful whiskey, rags and crumbled paper, food wrappers that looked licked clean... that's what we found in his pockets, but we didn't give that cloth thing a second look."

"I swear the plastered prat only came in and went out by the front door," Nathan still wasn't able to believe they could have missed such an obvious intruder, and Jack agreed. "Swear, we never saw him near the basement door."

Sherlock frowned at the sniffling woman. "Clara, you were the only one NOT amused when Dr. Watson and I entered the warehouse wearing eyepatches, You've seen Stevie wearing one when you let him in the alley door. Timing your loo visit with Judi's phone call and Tess' lunch break allowed Stevie to sneak into the unlit basement."

Her shoulders heaving with soft sobs, Clara turned toward the wall and hid her face with shame.

"Leave off, Holmes." A weary voice interceded, and Dodd lifted his bowed head slowly. Under furrowed brows, his expression was fixed with pain, but a gentile dignity had returned to his eyes. He spoke firmly in her defense. "If you knew Carl, you'd know Clara's not really to blame. He's a bully and a lout. Out on a bender, he's owned to threatening and terrorizing whole construction crews, laughin' bout how he made them grovel just for sport." Dodd leveled his sad gaze on Clara and shook his head. "I tried. I tried to find the good in the man…not bloody likely, but Clara, I know there's good in you."

Clara did not turn around, but her sobbing ceased.

Dodd cleared the weariness from his throat, rolled his shoulders back with a deep breath, and regained control of himself. "Gerry," he said. "Explain to Mr. Holmes and Doc Watson the procedure that involves access to the basement."

"Sure, boss" Gerry obliged relieved to see Dodd's normal demeanor. "Part of Nathan and Tom's job is to separate the vintage pieces from the modern equivalents, place them in corresponding crates, mark the crates, and arrange them on shelves that have corresponding labels. They're also required to fill out a customer order by selecting the pieces, recording the ordered items on the inventory list, bringing them up, and sorting them accordingly in ready-to-ship containers by the basement door."

"We do this twice a week, on Monday and Thursdays," Nathan added, "unless there's a special order."

Gerry nodded. "This system ensures that not only is each item tracked coming into the warehouse, but through the detailed shipping records, items that are going out are tracked as well."

"So you bring up the merchandise and put it in the shipping box," Sherlock tilted his head, considering what he had just heard. "How long does this task take?"

"Sorting through the orders is tedious work," Nathan replied. "Depends on how much stuff we have to collect. Takes at least twenty minutes on a good day. On a bad day, 'bout an hour."

"Not, two minutes and forty seconds…." Sherlock nodded and turned toward his partner. "John, you asked the right question before. You noted there was very little time for someone to go down in the total darkness, find specific items, and exit, unless they were pre-selected. On this particular day, the routine was disrupted, somehow. The person who normally does the pre-selecting was not working basement duty. The burglar was at a disadvantage and had to sort through the merchandise to find what he needed. Within the usual time constraints to grab and go, there was definitely no time to replace the crates. That's how this theft was finally exposed."

"Clara," John addressed her gently. "Who helped you?"

"Nobody," She mumbled without turning around, resting her head against the wall.

"Time to ring the Met, Mr. Dodd," Sherlock advised stiffly. "If she turns Crown's evidence the law might go easier on her."

Calling in the Met? John nearly choked even though he knew Sherlock was laying the bait for the guilty party.

Taking a step back, Nathan stepped into Sherlock's trap—the final proof the detective sought.

"Not goin' to have her charged, Holmes." Dodd warned flatly.

"Clara," Sherlock addressed the woman whilst shooting a penetrating glare at Nathan who was squirming noticeably. "How did you get Nathan to select the merchandise for Stevie?"

Clara pulled her head up abruptly, a look of astonishment widening her red-rimmed eyes. She rushed toward Dodd and clutched his shirt. Looking up at her boss, she pleaded tearfully, "I gave him a second list. The one Carl gave me. I didn't tell Nathan why…just told him to put those items on the worktable for later. I never wanted to make trouble for Nathan." Clara whimpered as she dabbed her eyes and twisted the hankey nervously. "I didn't know the routine got changed. I didn't know Gerry had assigned Nathan driving duty on Monday when he should have been pulling items for the list." She lamented and covered her face with her hands.

Directing his remarks toward Nathan, Sherlock did nothing to keep the accusation out of his voice. "You and Tom were the only two going into the basement regularly. Didn't you suspect something?"

A sheepish Nathan shrugged and scuffed his feet against the floor. "Thought it best to look the other way. Clara knew I wanted more driving duties. Trying to improve my lot, y' know," He looked down at his band-less ring finger. "And she was helping me. Thought if I didn't ask questions, she'd keep assigning me." He wagged his head nervously. "Didn't know the stuff on the lists was being stolen."

"But you suspected," Sherlock charged him sharply.

"No! Not really. Didn't actually care either way—hated that job! I'm capable of more! Sorry, Mr. Dodd, but it's true—me and Tom, we did what we were told and got out as quick as we could." Nathan shook his head. "Anyways, I didn't think twice about it, not until I heard about the break-in."

"So now we are left with an important unanswered question," Sherlock addressed the warehouse personnel, "Who is Stevie? Obviously, that's not his real name."

"We thought he was a pesky loiterer," Dodd sighed deeply. "When he first showed up, he stayed back, not really annoying the employees and customers, but we were suspicious that he might be pocketing items. After checking to make sure he was not hiding anything in his pockets, my warehouse managers and stock boys would take turns escorting him out of the store. At first we thought 'bout reporting him for disturbing the peace, but I took pity on him, 'cause he wasn't up to no harm—I thought. It's my fault for looking the other way."

"When did you start noticing merchandise was missing. Mr. Dodd?" John asked.

"Judi couldn't account for a few small items at first. This was about three months ago, but it didn't ring any alarms. We were hoping the items were merely misplaced somehow. Except, our inventory records are usually quite accurate. Several weeks ago, I took a hard look at the books and realized it was a consistent problem that was adding up to serious losses." Dodd seemed visibly shaken. "I was wrong to have dismissed them as insignificant, but the biggest mistake I made was to misplace my trust."

Uncovering her face, Clara bowed her head, hiccoughed and sobbed again.

"Now, now, girl," Dodd patted her on the back to comfort her. "I was talking about Carl."

Hearing the compassion in his voice, Clara lifted tear-filled eyes glazed with gratitude and hope.

"When did Stevie start showing up?" Ignoring the emotional waterworks as irrelevant, Sherlock grew more determined to guide the group to the conclusion he had already drawn.

"Four months, maybe," Gerry responded thoughtfully, folding his arms and clasping his elbows. "When would you say, Nate?

"No wait," Nathan raised a finger to his temple. "It was just about five months. I remember because he reminded me of a new customer who started an account with us around that time. Remember, Gerry? How could I forget? It was the first time you let me handle a prospective client. You were too busy working on that big order with Belfour, remember?"

"Was that client's name Eric Christopher?" Sherlock asked, sounding like he knew the answer.

"Yeah!" Nathan rejoined with amazement, "How d'ya guess?"

"I don't guess," Sherlock bristled. "It's the name on the virtual address box at the basement door."

"He's a real client," Nathan insisted. "Mr. Christopher, a walk-in, came during our busiest time of the day when we'd get lots of in-and-out traffic. He was different, though, not like the other folks that browsed. Christopher was professional and he had lots of questions. Needed details about particular salvage items. He seemed like a real likeable bloke, too. Since he was a potentially big client, me and Tom showed him our inventory, gave him a tour of the basement. He was that interested."

"Oh, brilliant!" Sherlock's voice was filled with sarcasm. Although his sharp disapproval sliced through their naiveté, Sherlock nearly leaped for joy. "You helped the soon-to-be-thief determine how to commit the thefts. Just so we're clear on this point, Christopher made a small purchase that day, established his clientele status with the warehouse, and left. You haven't seen him since."

Looking everywhere but at their accuser, Nathan and Gerry stood humiliated and sheepish. Their reluctance to reply was as loud and clear as a resounding yes. It was obvious to everyone Sherlock had got the details correct.

"This confirms what happened." Sherlock revealed the facts as if he had witnessed them himself. "The so-called client Christopher had done his surveillance, and returning as Stevie, he formulated a plan to get back into the basement. The plan required extreme patience, but the slow burn of revenge made it all the sweeter for Masterson, looking to retaliate for his trouble with the law, and it gave Stevie time to work the drunk act for weeks before the nuisance of his presence became routine, even a warehouse joke. "

John saw it all so clearly. "Once Stevie became a routine figure, he could make his move."

"I'd say, John, it's time we make a counter-move," Sherlock declared, clapping his hands in satisfaction. "I think Detective Inspector Lestrade will find these details helpful. We've done all the legwork, merely hand-delivering the resolution." Turning toward the warehouse owner, he added, "It's up to you, Mr. Dodd, to press charges, but if my calculations are correct—which they usually are—in a few days, it will be game over for Masterson."

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Just the Epilogue now! You've lasted this long; don't miss the conclusion...

Many thanks to my beautiful Beta englishtutor and my other "anonymous" friend who serves me well.