John frowned. "What, the dead one?"
Mr Oliver nodded. "Yes. She snuffed out the candle then. I was paralyzed with fear, but she just turned around and left - that too through the front door. She must've painted the 5. I think I fainted then. When I eventually came to my senses, I hurried upstairs to check on James. And then I found - I found -" He broke into renewed sobs.
Sherlock leaned forward. "What did you find? I need you to tell me exactly what you saw."
"He was in bed, but I realized that his bedside lamp was broken. So I went to wake him up and then I noticed that his eyes were open, but he- he wasn't breathing. I called the police then, and they said - they said - " He broke down completely.
John awkwardly patted his shoulder. "There, there. It's alright…." A policeman stepped forward and kindly led Mr Oliver to his bedroom. Lestrade motioned for John and Sherlock to follow him.
"Mycroft Holmes told me to leave the murder scene exactly as it was." he informed them, as they climbed up the stairs, "The body's still lying there, but you need to be quick. We have to remove it. It's not good for the old man's nerves."
The stairs led to a small room - or a landing, rather - with two doors leading off on each side, one of which had yellow tape covering it. It was this one that John, Sherlock and Lestrade entered. The room was small, with a single bed pushed against one wall, a dresser next to it. A few pictures and posters adorned the faded walls, all of which Sherlock ignored as he made his way to the dead boy lying on the bed. He looked expectantly at John.
John stepped over and carefully examined the corpse. "Early teens, I'd say. Been dead for a day, yes...looks like asphyxiation. Oh." He suddenly went very quiet. "Sherlock, look at this."
"What? What is it?"
For a moment, John found himself distracted by the small scar on Sherlock's lip, and a fresh wave of guilt hit him. Just how badly had he hurt Sherlock in Culverton Smith's morgue? He snapped back to the present and showed Sherlock the boy's throat. "Isn't that how the Golem kills his victims?"
Sherlock's eyes widened slightly in recognition, and John knew that he was thinking about their brief encounter with the Golem. They'd come so close to catching him, but he got away at the last moment.
Lestrade shuddered, turned around and put a hand on his forehead. "My god." he whispered, "The Golem's back. Well, I'm heading downstairs to inform everyone else about this. Let me know when you're ready to leave."
When Lestrade left, Sherlock walked out of the room, heading for the door opposite. On opening it, they discovered that it was mostly a storeroom; there was a dusty old chest of drawers and a cupboard. However, just above a pile of boxes, there was a window. "So that's how he got in." Sherlock muttered.
John peered out. Sure enough, right below the window, a pipe led down to the backyard. "Well, what d'you reckon?" he asked Sherlock, "Why did the Golem do this?"
"Why would anyone want to murder a teenager?" Sherlock muttered. "John, you're the doctor. Does he look like he had any history of drug abuse?"
"None of the tell-tale signs." John said, and headed back to the dead boy's room. Sherlock remained in the store-room, examining it for any clues he might have missed.
As John leant over the corpse again, someone thundered up the stairs, and the door to the room was flung open. There was an exclamation of surprise, and a strangely familiar female voice said, "Well. I didn't think I'd find you here."
John turned around to discover a very breathless Irene Adler.
He stared at her in disbelief. He'd known she was alive since Sherlock's birthday, but to actually see her in the flesh...well, it brought back old memories, to say the least.
"Still alive, I see." he said.
"Still gay, I see." she retorted, "Oh, don't bother denying it again. We'll know the truth soon." She smirked at him in her self-assured, mysterious way. John was about to ask her what she meant, but he was saved as Sherlock entered the room.
If he was surprised to see Irene, he didn't show it. "Hello, Irene." he said, "You've come in a hurry, but you've clearly still made an effort to dress. So you expected you'd see us here. "
John could've been imagining it, but he could swear that he saw a soft blush color her cheeks. "Well, if it isn't Mr Holmes." she said, "Doing your deduction thing again, are you?"
"What are you doing here?" John cut in.
"I should ask you the same thing." she said, "That's my father downstairs. This is my house. In fact, this is the room in which I grew up." A fresh set of howls and sobs interrupted them from downstairs, and a flash of pain flitted across her face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to my father." She disappeared, heels click-clacking on the stairs.
"So…" John turned to Sherlock, who was staring at the place where Irene had stood. Why is he doing that? John thought, irritated. And why is it annoying me?
"Where has she been all this while?" he asked Sherlock.
"No idea." he said, "Help me look through the storeroom, will you? There might be something useful there."
As they headed out of the room, a piercing alarm punctured the air. "Fire." they both said automatically, and each looked at the other, eyes locking, ready to carry the other to safety if need be -
The alarm stopped as suddenly as it had started. They turned to see Irene watching them from the bottom of the stairs, smirking. "Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." she mocked. Then she turned on her heel and left.
When John finally got back to the flat after his shift, Sherlock was putting Rosie to sleep. Sherlock had realized that talking to Rosie and taking care of her helped clear his head - but, well, he also just liked the attention she gave him. John's eyes hovered over the scar on her forehead. "When I find that cabbie, I'm going to kill him." he said.
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat as he remembered A Study In Pink, and the exact moment when he had realized that John had been the one who shot Jeff Hope. They'd barely just met, but John had killed a man for him, and Sherlock had realized that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to keep John Hamish Watson in his life.
"Haven't you killed enough cabbies to last you a lifetime?" he asked.
"I've only killed one." John retorted. He grabbed some food from the kitchen/chemistry lab and settled into the armchair opposite Sherlock. "Any ideas about this new case, then?"
"Seven, so far." Sherlock said. He had been doing some thinking and come up with some weird theories, each crazier than the last. "Now, who do we know who's apparently come back from the dead?"
"You." John said immediately.
"Oh, that woman didn't fake her death. No chance of her faking cancer; she was clearly too unwell to take care of the garden for some time before she died. Anyone else?"
"There was Moriarty. I mean, he is dead, but his videos made us think he was alive."
"Exactly." said Sherlock, leaning back in his armchair, "The point of those videos was to intimidate. Distract. Create panic and confusion."
"What does this have to do with the Oliver case?"
"His wife's definitely dead, I did some digging." Sherlock said.
"What kind of digging?" John asked.
"The point is," Sherlock continued, ignoring him, "Someone pretended to be his dead wife. Remember, he only caught a glimpse of her, and that too in dim candlelight. Even if it was someone who moderately resembled her, his brain would've warped it around to suit what he wanted to see: his wife, alive again." Sherlock hesitated. He wondered if this was too painful for John to think about, but John motioned for him to continue. "While this prankster was distracting him, the Golem was upstairs, murdering his son. Oliver then fainted, and by the time he came to, both the Golem and his wife were gone."
"Alright, that makes sense." John said, "But why murder his son in the first place?"
Sherlock laced his fingertips together; he was rather enjoying this case. "We'll have to look into their family history."
"What about that giant 5 on the door, then? It be a warning or a countdown of some sort. 5 days, weeks, months?"
"Absolutely no idea." Sherlock said.
"Do you think this could have something to do with Irene?" John pressed, "I mean, she's been on the run for all these years. How would her father even know where to reach her in case of an emergency like this? Why randomly turn up now?"
"Ah, now you're asking the right questions. They weren't her real mother and brother, by the way. Stepbrother, or maybe half-brother, obviously."
"How do you even know that?" John asked, putting his fork down.
"The age difference, for one thing. She obviously just came back to London after a long time, that much was evident from her shoes, but she barely reacted when she saw his corpse. You saw her face; she was a little upset, no doubt, as you would be if you found a dead body in your old childhood room. But there was no sorrow there; no attachment, then, probably just met him for the first time. She's been away from home a long time, long enough to change her entire identity from Oliver to Adler. I don't know how her father got in touch with her, but she rushed to London as soon as she heard about the boy's death. If she cares about her father so much, why not come right after his wife died?"
John nodded, meaning suddenly dawning on him. "You think she's come for some other reason. She knew we were going to be investigating this, since it's too bizarre to pass up."
"Yes, and when she entered the house, she headed straight for her old room. Didn't even take off her coat. She's hiding something in that room, John, and as soon as she heard it was going to be crawling with detectives, she came back to get it."
John frowned. "What's she hiding? Why hide it in her childhood home and not, you know, deposit it in a bank or something?"
"She obviously doesn't want anyone else to see it, not even bank officials." Sherlock said rapidly. "The house is pretty old, probably has a few secret hiding places. She grew up there, so she would know about them. It's most probably in the boy's room - she rushed straight up to check on it."
"Er, I know this is a crazy theory, but if it's in the boy's room, maybe he found out about it and reached out to her." John said, "She hired the Golem to murder the boy. Doesn't really explain the dead wife, though."
Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I did think about it, but it doesn't add up. Irene Adler is a lot of things, but she isn't a cold-hearted killer." He leaned back in his chair. "Before I jump to any conclusions, I need to find out where she's been and what she's been up to. I need to find whatever she's hiding."
"Well, we obviously can't use the smoke alarm trick on her again." John said. Sherlock's eyes met his for a moment, but flitted away almost instantly.
They both sat in silence for a while. "Mycroft was right." Sherlock finally said, "This is an intriguing case. The Golem and his accomplice didn't even leave anything substantial for me to draw deductions from. Whoever we're dealing with - oh, they're smart."
"I think I have a plan." John said quietly, "But you might not like it."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Possibly."
"Then let's hear it."
"I get into the house on the pretext of comforting the old man." John said, "I'll get him drunk, sneak away and snoop around a little. Meanwhile, you will keep Irene out of the way and find out what she's been up to. We'll kill two birds with one stone."
"How will I keep Irene out of the way?"
"By taking her out on a date, of course."
Reminder: The Golem (Oscar Dzundza) is an assassin hired by Moriarty in 'The Great Game'. He kills his victims by squeezing the life out of them (literally).