Title: The Case of the Expensive Picture Frame
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: K+ for thematic elements and brief language
Disclaimer: Don't own BBC Sherlock. While I'm fairly certain that Sherlock Holmes in itself is public domain, this particular show is owned by the BBC and created by Moffat and Gatiss, and they're both much better writers than I will ever be. Everything outside the show is mine.
A/N: The plot thickens rapidly, and there's a surprise guest! Several, actually. This story is kind of making me geek out.
John finally caught up to Sherlock dashing down the street, looking particularly heroic with his coat flying out behind him.
"Where are we going?" John asked, panting a bit.
Sherlock, not even bothering to look at him or apologize for so rudely abandoning him at the café, replied, "We need to go to Irene Adler's hotel room and look through it while she's not there." He ignored John's protest, and continued, "I swear I've heard that name before…"
"Come to think of it, so have I," John said thoughtfully, deciding not to comment on the breaking and entering, "Hold on, she's a singer!"
Sherlock, still dashing along, cast an incredulous look at John.
John, somehow feeling a need to defend himself, said, "It's true. Sarah has a CD of hers."
Sherlock snorted with the attitude of a man superior to all others. "Well, she's obviously not his ex-wife, then. A man like that, getting a popular singer?" He snorted again. "Hardly."
"It's possible," John said, more for the sake of arguing than in actual disagreement.
Sherlock recognized it for what it was (as he always did) and refused to deign it with a return remark. "We still need to find out how I've heard of her," he said, "I rather doubt it's because of her singing."
"You think she's a criminal?" John said, recognizing this line of thought.
"Of course."
John sighed. "Of course," he repeated under his breath, "Everyone's a criminal."
"They usually are," Sherlock said, even though John had been speaking quietly. "Are you coming?"
"Why not?" John sighed, "It's not as though I have anything else to do." After a period of silence, in which John trailed after Sherlock, trying to ignore the coat that kept hitting his shins every time the wind blew, John had a thought. "Do you even know where her hotel is?"
Sherlock paused. He coughed. He adjusted his scarf.
"You don't, do you?" John crowed, "You just dashed out of there without even glancing at the hotel and room number."
Sherlock shot him a silent but very deadly glare. John ignored it. He had been on the receiving end of that glare quite a few times, the most recent being when he had decided to take the pig intestines out of the freezer to put in a steak. He was pretty sure Sherlock still hadn't forgiven him for that one.
"Fortunately," John said, reaching inside his coat, "You have a levelheaded friend like me along with you to keep track of those things." He held out the napkin that Davis had written on and held it out, a triumphant smile on his face.
Sherlock snatched it from him irritably, looked at it, then shoved it into a pocket. He glanced at John, said, "Your sister is cheating on her new girlfriend," then strode off.
John took a while to register what he had just said, then ran off after him. "Hold on," he said, "What do you mean by that? Sherlock!"
But Sherlock ignored him and kept walking forward.
The hotel Irene Adler was staying at was incredibly posh. The carpeting was lush and thick, the lighting was tasteful and ambient, and even the doors to the rooms looked like to entrance to a prince's chamber.
Both Sherlock and John ignored these niceties, however, as they walked unobtrusively down the corridor, looking for Irene Adler's room.
"What do we do if she's here?" John whispered. The halls seemed to demand a sort of respect.
Sherlock, of course, felt no such respect and answered in his normal voice, "We'll improvise, John," he said with an odd air of pleasure, "How are your acting skills?"
"Rubbish," said John immediately, still keeping his voice low, "As you well know."
Sherlock smirked, and stopped in front of a door. "This is it," he said, "624." And he knocked.
Almost immediately the door was opened, and John's jaw dropped in disbelief. Even Sherlock raised an eyebrow. For standing in the door was, John swore at the time, the most beautiful woman in the world.
Luxurious black hair cascaded down her shoulders, just reaching the (very low-cut) neckline of her dress. Her eyes were dark and exotic-looking, her lips were large and luscious, and her body had curves "in all the right places," as the saying goes.
Sherlock said, all business, "Miss Adler? I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Doctor John Watson."
John recovered minimal use of his faculties and stepped forward, holding out his hand and saying, "Hello. You can call me John."
Irene and Sherlock looked at him with identical blank expressions on their faces, and John shoved his hand awkwardly into his coat pocket. Irene turned back to Sherlock.
"Jerry sent you, didn't he," she said with the same flat-sounding accent as Davis, "About the picture frame."
"Yes," Sherlock said, "About the picture frame." He didn't reveal anything else.
"Well, you can tell him that unless he pays his dues, he's not getting anything from me," she said irritably, "Unless he mans up, he'll have to do without." Noticing John peering over her shoulder into the room, she added, "And no, you can't search my room."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Sherlock said dryly, "I wouldn't want to encroach upon your privacy." John rolled his eyes when he was pretty sure that neither of the two were looking at him.
Irene's attitude suddenly changed, and she adopted a seductive position. "Unless," she said, her attention completely on Sherlock. John felt a bit like he was blending into the wallpaper. Irene continued, "Unless you wanting to come into my room for a completely differently different reason." She leaned forward so her breasts were just barely brushing against Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well," he said, "I think we've got what we wanted, thank you. I'll tell Jerry what you said as soon as we get back."
And with that he set off down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. It took a long moment, in which Irene Adler had smirked at him and shut her door, before John remembered that he was supposed to do the same.
He caught up to Sherlock on the landing below, and said breathlessly, "That is one hell of a woman."
Sherlock smirked, not slowing down his pace for John. "You're absolutely right, John," he said absently, with the satisfied air of having figured something out that was bugging him, "She is one hell of a woman."
"You've figured something out," John said, "What?"
"I believe," Sherlock said with a flourish, "That Jerry Davis is not what he seems."
"Alright," John said impatiently, "We've established that. What else?"
"Not yet," Sherlock said, "I have to confirm something first. I'm going to visit Lestrade." He barreled on before John could interrupt, "You're not going with me. I need you to go back to the flat and look up all you can on Irene Adler and Jerry Davis. Fan sites, newspaper, social networks, anything. Also, there's a file on your laptop called 'known criminals.' See if you can find Adler on there."
John wondered how Sherlock had found his laptop yet again. Sherlock, sensing his thoughts, shot an amused look back at John. "If you don't want me to find your laptop," he said, "Don't hide it behind the refrigerator."
John rolled his eyes and sighed again.
An hour or so later, back at the flat, John was looking through fan sites on the internet and trying to ignore the stench of the dead pig. Mrs. Hudson had refused to go near the flat while that thing was still there, and so John had to make do with some stale crackers he had found in an unused drawer for sustenance.
Sherlock suddenly bounded in, his eyes bright with excitement and just a hint of nastiness. Without preamble he sat on the arm of John's chair, leaned over his shoulder and said, "Look up the top news story from a few days ago."
John did so, and read the headline. "Genius Diamond Robbery Shocks America," he said, "What's that got to do with anything?"
Sherlock jumped off the couch and started pacing around the room. John sat back, realizing that Sherlock was about to go into a long lecture on how clever he was. He rather wished he had more tea.
"Everything, John!" Sherlock was saying, "It has everything to do with anything. Don't you see?"
John blinked and looked at him blankly.
"Oh, what's the use," Sherlock muttered to himself, "Sometimes I forget how dense you are."
"Thanks," said John, "What's your point, Sherlock? Or are you just going to pace around and insult my intelligence all day."
"Alright," Sherlock said with an exasperated sigh, "Let's add up the pieces. Priceless diamonds go missing in America. Jerry Davis and Irene Adler have spent the last ten years in America. The authorities think that the diamonds must have been smuggled into England. Our lovely couple has just moved back to England with a very important picture frame."
"So," John said, piecing it all together in his head, "You think that Irene Adler and Jerry Davis stole the diamonds and smuggled them back to England in the picture frame."
"That's exactly what I think," Sherlock said, looking extremely smug.
"Well, that makes sense," John said, pulling up a tab at his computer, "Because Jerry Davis works at the company whose diamonds were robbed. Look at his Facebook profile."
Sherlock looked at the profile and then crowed with delight. "Of course! Brilliant! He and Adler steal the diamonds, which is easy since he already knows everything about them. They put the diamonds in the picture frame, and travel back to England. But that's where it falls apart, because Adler takes the frame for herself. Davis knows he's up against something big and terrifying, so he goes to the smartest man in England to help him out- me."
John ignored Sherlock's arrogance, as he ignored so many of Sherlock's flaws, and said, "What's he up against that's so big and terrible? What else, besides Adler?"
Sherlock gave a grim smile. "Moriarty."
"Really?"
Sherlock nodded, saying, "Where I had heard Adler's name before was at the crime scene of one of the crimes that I'm certain Moriarty was involved in. Her status as a singer makes it ideal for her to travel around the world, committing crimes wherever she goes."
John shook his head. "A woman like that, a world-class criminal. Life's just not fair."
"True beauty isn't always on the outside, John," Sherlock said sagely. John looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"I got that off a fortune cookie," Sherlock admitted.
John rolled his eyes, then became serious again and said, "So, if Davis is going up against Moriarty, doesn't that mean that he's in danger?"
"Grave danger," Sherlock agreed, "We need to go talk to him now."
As John was gathering his coat (Sherlock had never taken his off), a voice came from the door that said, "I wouldn't recommend that."
John looked in the direction that Sherlock was already glaring in, and saw Mycroft standing there.
A/N: What's Mycroft doing there? How does Moriarty fit into all this? Will Hazel ever get off her butt and write more? Only time will tell!