John sprinted through the halls after Sherlock. His shorter legs working furiously to catch up with the detective. The doors were closing as he plowed through them.
. He leaned against the wall of the lift, panting, as Sherlock stared down at his phone.
"Do you ever wait for me? Ever? "
"Anthony Morgan. Age 26. Computer programming student. No available criminal record. No criminal connections. Wait a second-" He scrolled through the man's Facebook, spotting one thing out of place.
"He's friends with Molly's brother." John glanced up. Trying to catch his breath.
"Molly has a brother?" John huffed. He wasn't surprised by the revelation, as much as that Sherlock knew the fact.
"Yes. Which links him to Moriarty." John tilted his head to Sherlock incredulously.
"How does having Molly's brother as a Facebook friend link this random man to Moriarty." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor a the lift doors opened. The doorman was peering in at them suspiciously. Sherlock pocketed his phone and smiled kindly, taking John's hand in has again as they waltzed out of the building.
"You never answered my question." John said after a moment. Sherlock glanced down at the man, and then smiled.
"Molly 'dated' Moriarty for those three days. The time frame was wide enough for Molly's over-protective brother to establish contact with him. Now let's assume that Anthony knew Andrew-" John paused.
"Andrew?" Sherlock nodded.
"Molly's brother. Let's assume that Anthony knew Andrew from University. They would have already been friends. With the 'Mutual Friends' app that Facebook has, odds are Moriarty was paired withthis Anthony at some point. Moriarty saw the potential of a computer programmer at a college, and recruited him. " John shook his head.
"That's a pretty far leap Sherlock." The detective shrugged.
"It fits." They walked in silence for a time, neither one noticing that they were still hand in hand.
"So what's the plan? We bring this Anthony in and interrogate him? We go pay him a personal visit?" Sherlock shook his head.
"By now, Dorothy would have already warned him that we know. If he's guilty of anything more than spying on us, he'll flee. Sherlock jotted something into his phone, and John's pocket vibrated.
"Sherlock, why are you texting me? I'm right beside you." The detective gave a long suffering sigh.
"I wasn't texting you. I was texting Lestrade." John held up the phone, shaking it from sid to side.
"I've got Lestrade's phone, remember? You sacrificed mine to the evening Traffic." Sherlock's nose pinched slightly. He had forgotten about that.
"Could you call him then, and have them find him?" John smirked, going through the phone and calling the DI's office.
"Lestrade? It's me John." There was a huff on the other end of the phone.
"John. Sherlock stole my phone again didn't he." The doctor chuckled.
"Borrowed it. Mine was, err, destroyed. He was just being nice. I think." He glanced at the detective, who was wearing his own half smirk.
"Sherlock's version of being nice is a lot like criminal misdemeanors." John laughed at that, and Sherlock frowned. Before the doctor could stop him, the detective had snatched the phone from him.
"Lestrade. I need you to bring in one Anthony Morgan. Age 26, height 5'11'' , weight 123, approximately 54 kilograms. Caucasian, white blond hair, green eyes. Student at Kings College. No job. Residence unknown." John gaped at the detective. He could imagine Lestrade on the other end, scribbling furiously as he tried to keep up with the flow of information.
"Could you slow do-" Sherlock ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of John's coat.
"You think that he is connected to the murder." John stated, eyeing a few restaurants along the street. He felt his stomach clench at the thought of food. Sherlock noticed the doctor's gaze and sighed internally. He hadn't really eaten had he.
"Yes. Either as the perpetrator or an accomplice, that much is still unclear." Sherlock eyed a quiet looking café and lead the doctor to it. John was surprised by the detective's action, but said nothing, lest he be denied a meal.
The sturdy blonde waitress lead them to a quiet little booth, the table worn but clean.
"Can I getcha dinks?" She asked, a fake smile plastered on. John smiled up at her.
"Some tea would be good, thanks." She looked at Sherlock expectantly, but the detective ignored her, his face buried in his phone. She tapped her heel impatiently and John coughed.
"He, err, he'll be having tea too, please." He didn't know if the last word was meant for the waitress of for his patience. She scurried off, leaving two menus on the table. John cracked his open and skimmed through the lists of food, unsure of what to get. The waitress came back a few moments later. She set the steaming tea on the table, and then stood back. Her pen and pad at the ready.
"Ready to order?" John was about to ask for more time, when Sherlock spoke.
"He'll be having You're number 7 with no lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, mushroom, or onions. Light on the mustard, and cheese on the side. Nothing for me, thanks." The waitress glanced between the two of them, and the smiled softly. She tapped the side of her nose and winked knowingly.
"Coming right up hon." The doctor crossed his arms over his chest and glared playfully at Sherlock.
"What did you just order?" The detective glanced up.
"What you wanted?" The question in his voice was faint, but John stil caught it.
"What did I want?" Sherlock smirked.
"The classic burger with chips. Simple, filling." Sherlock shrugged. The doctor shook his head. He had been looking at that particular meal.
"You really are something, you know that?" Sherlock pocketed his phone laced his fingers together in front of him. Head on hands, elbows on the table.
"What sort of something am I?" John felt some color touch his cheeks, and glanced around the room. Up to the side, anywhere but at Sherlock, who was boring holes into him.
"Err, you're Sherlock. Umm. You're a smart something, and err handsome." The doctor quickly sipped his tea. Sherlock smirked quietly. The thought that John thought that he was handsome was strangly pleasant. Another point towards confirming his hypothesis.
"So what are your thoughts on this whole case?" Sherlock mused. The detective shrugged.
"Part of me just wants to chalk it up to a psyco with a dramatic side, but then the little part of me that is you is sitting their shouting that everything is interlaced into a massive web that encompasses every criminal in London." The detective's eyes glittered. Or was that just John's imagination?
"What does that John think of everything that's happened today?" His voice had dropped an octave, the baritone rippling around John.
"I think that this Morgan guy used Miss Jenkins' fascination with us as both a resource and asa cover for his pwn information gathering. He figured that we would stop searching after we found her, and assume that no one else was watching. By keeping tabs on us, he could see where the progress in the case was, and see if he was going to get away with his part of it or if he needed to run. "The detective nodded.
"That's the obvious things. Now, infer. Deduce." John closed his eyes taking a deep breath and focusing. Sherlock wouldn't ask him to do this is he didn't already know the answer, or that John could do it.
"Being the technical wizard that he most likely is, I'd recon that his part in the murders was in that realm. Considering that all of the victims found the cult via email, it's possible that the emails were encrypted with something else, some file or code. Maybe even some subliminal messages or something." His eyes snapped open, and he looked at Sherlock, wide eyed.
"That's how he did it, isn't it? He laced those emails with subliminal messages so that they would attend, and then continued the patterns in different ways until they got to the state that we saw them in." Sherlock nodded, clapping softly.
"Well done doctor Watson. Now, take that into a broader sense with Moriarty." John's chest constricted slightly.
"He was working on subliminal messages for Moriarty. Ones that are strong enough to brainwash 6 bright college kids into forming a cult, and walking to their own deaths. Imagine what Moriarty could do with that." Sherlock nodded. The waitress came back, placing the plate of food between them. John snatched up the burger, taking a large chunk out of it while Sherlock talked.
"Exactly John. That's exactly what I thought. It also would explain the files that I found on Dorothy's computer." John quirked an eyebrow, his mouth too full to speak.
"They were blank. Completely blank, all 6 of them. But then I layered them together, I got a picture of us. The coding in the white scale was a background to different images. Images that her mind saw in rapid succession. While her conscious mind didn't notice them-" John nodded.
"Her subconscious one did. But you have access to your own subconscious mind, don't you. So you just looked back and saw what the rest of us never notice." Sherlock felt the warmth in his stomach again, and smiled at John.
"Exactly. The problem now is, does Moriarty already have this ability, or was Morgan simply testing it on those kids." John nodded, chewing thoughtfully.
"Sherlock, how did those kids die? I mean, there were no visible marks. No signs of violence ore self-harm." The detective's eyes widened slightly, as the truth of what had happened settled over him. A quick text to Molly got the answer that he was dreading.
"How did they die?-SH"
"Brain Aneurism. All of them. –Molly" The doctor saw the shift in Sherlock's features, shock and horror dawning on his own.
"Oh no. He can't do that, can he?" Sherlock nodded.
"He can train people to die."
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