Joan woke late next morning and sat up with a jolt. She grabbed her phone and saw that it was past nine. There was a series of messages, all from Sherlock.

-(5:45 AM) Found evidence of gang connection to launderette applicant. Visiting now. When are you getting up?

-(6:22 AM) Laundry owner very grumpy and speaks only Korean. Mine too rusty, need translator. Where are you?

-(7.03 AM) Kingston in London has largest South Korean diaspora in Europe. Ringing old flatmate there to find decent translator. Why is nobody here out of bed yet?

-(7.57 AM) Strip mall developer's office unhelpful. Nonsense about being closed for personal reasons. Watson, the day is wasting away.

-(8.35AM) Korean translation suggests laundromat owner keen to shake off old gang connections and forge new life in landof the free. Are you up yet?

-(8.48 AM) Priest aware of victim's change of faith - saw him in showers after swimming. Keeping priest on back burner purely for excessively creepy behaviour. Text me when awake.

-(8.53 AM) On way back. Hope you are up. Bringing croissants.

Joan chuckled.

xxxx

She wandered downstairs, fresh and warm from a shower, and put coffee on. The green juice could wait. Had two glasses of wine with Toby last night really wiped her out? It seemed so. The companion business did not make for high alcohol tolerance.

She padded into the front room, cradling her mug of coffee, and found Sherlock crouched at the computer, snarling. He waved a hand at a crumpled paper bag on the desk beside him. "I saved you one."

"If the launderette owner speaks only Korean, how did he file a planning application in English?" Joan asked, settling cross-legged on the other desk chair. She bit into the croissant and it flaked everywhere.

"Exactly! Watson, you're learning." Sherlock turned to grin at her, excitement in his eyes. "He was lying. He was so keen to tell me how much he loved his new country, he didn't notice me pocketing his cup."

He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a tiny white tea cup in a plastic bag. "In case we should need a DNA sample," Sherlock said. "I'll drop it to the lab on our way."

"Where are we going?"

Sherlock glanced at her and frowned, then reached in to flick crumbs from her top. Joan batted him away and brushed herself off. "The strip mall developer's office. Let's see if they've deigned to open for business yet. There's a connection between these applicants and the killings, I'm sure of it. We're going to find it."