Chapter Five: The Adventure on the Streets
Disclaimer: You know the drill; I'm not making monetary profit off of this, so on and soforth.
Reviews and PMs are always welcomed and given a good home.
Acknowledgments: I have to thank all of the betas for helping me with grammar andpunctuation, brit-picking, suggestions and reminders of what they liked.Sloggingthrough this on my own would have been impossible. TheDubliner, MeiHitokiri, xXMildredXx, thisisforyou, SapphireElric, Sianco, Kanna-chan94, and LosGatos.
Lestrade eyed Irene before lifting the caution tape for them to duck under.
"Pretend she's not here," Sherlock told him, giving a pointed look to Irene and then to Lestrade. Irene had her scarf obscuring most of her face, but Sherlock didn't think taking the risk of someone identifying her was going to give them any insight into what had happened.
Sergeant Sally Donovan sniffed disdainfully. She did not like having outsiders on crime scenes or near evidence or showing off and making snide comments the whole time.
Lestrade gave Sherlock one of the 'whatever you say...' looks that he had mastered by using on Sherlock.
They were standing near a small lake, where Zoe Malone's body had been found. Lestrade had called them in around 12p.m. Apparently that was the earliest the man could get them onto a crime scene.
"I'd tell you there's nothing to see but you'll just call me an idiot. Our boys combed the place." Lestrade complained.
The better of the two detectives gave him an annoyed look, a look he had perfected by using on just about everybody.
"Spare us," Sherlock muttered and began surveying the grass with his eyes.
He ignored the facts that even Lestrade's 'boys' would have picked up on, it had rained nearly every day for the past three weeks, there were five sets of footprints leading to where the body had been, and someone had a dog that frequently marked this as his territory.
Sherlock bent to the ground and sniffed; the smell of burnt plastic. "Sergeant Donovan, would you collect the bits of grass here, I've found traces of the drug." He told the continuously annoyed looking Sally, "Make sure you get a 3 centimetre radius from the diameter, and make the bag as airtight as possible."
"An' how'm I supposed to make the bag airtight, exactly?"
"A straw works wonders."
Irene smirked as Sergeant Donovan scowled and pulled out an evidence bag.
Sherlock observed the scene for another half an hour before announcing to Lestrade that it was time to move onto the next crime scene. He shouted now over to Irene who was talking to one of the locals that lived just a block away and had come down to see 'what was happening now.' She patted the elderly man on the arm and thanked him before she strutted over to the car.
Sherlock commented as they were about to get into the car, "You may want to change the police tape on that last crime scene."
Lestrade didn't even blink. Instead he made a note of it in his mobile. They took the police car over to The Somerset, an upscale luxury hotel that was privately owned.
As they walked down the gold papered walls towards room number 1044 Irene mused so only Sherlock could hear how she had met clients here.
Even without the police tape across the door, as soon as one entered room 1044 one knew it was a crime scene. Sherlock went straight to the bathroom. The report he had gotten from Molly had told him everything about the layout of the scene and that Maria Fisher's body had been found in the bathroom.
Sherlock Holmes pulled back the expensive glass shower door, he scanned over the surface of the deep jacuzzi bathtub, looked in all the drains and in the water reservoir of the toilet. Lastly Sherlock looked under the sink, and that was where he found the intravenous needle.
"So.. We have the drug, the women and the needle that couriered the drug into their systems," he turned to Irene and Lestrade who were both leaning in the doorway.
"Evidence bag," Sherlock demanded. Lestrade pulled one out of his pants pocket and tossed it over. Sherlock carefully put the needle inside the plastic and pocketed it.
Sherlock's phone began to ring shrilly and he reached for it in his pants pocket, he frowned when it wasn't there and felt his other pockets, finding it in the left jacket pocket where Irene had put it.
The caller I.D. claimed it was his brother, and indeed it was. He answered the phone with a question, "When are you picking us up?"
"There will be a car outside your flat in five minutes, and let's not keep it waiting, little brother."
The line went silent. Sherlock made a sour face and put the phone back in the proper pocket.
"Lestrade, we need to run off, important things to do." Sherlock informed the Inspector. He stood and voiced somewhat smugly,
"Assistant! We've got other business to attend to, remind Sergeant Donovan to have the grass sent over to the flat," as he passed under the Police tape.
Five Minutes
"Where are we running off to now?" Irene asked as she caught up to him. She kept pace with him easily. "We're taking a shortcut home. Did you remind Donovan?"
He increased his speed and started to turn his walk into a light jog down the finely carpeted halls.
"Yes, I don't think she enjoyed it as much as I did. A shortcut?" She sounded confused.
"Yes! A shortcut, keep up now!" He said as they dashed through the emergency exit door, setting off alarms in their wake.
They took the stairs all the way down, Irene considered losing her heels before realizing she'd have to race across the wintry ground in her stockings. They left The Somerset and found themselves in a back-alley.
Four Minutes
Sherlock kept going, accelerating once more. He took a sharp left, Irene on his heels. They sprinted through another alley and made a quick break as the traffic light they wanted to stay red turned green.
Sherlock quickly calculated the risk of injury before scooting in front of the oncoming vehicles. Horns blared and beeped at the two figures as they bounded toward a fence, Irene shouting, "I can't jump that in these shoes!"
Three Minutes
"Then lose them!" He shouted over his shoulder to her as he leapt over the barrier between him and the yard that was beside Baker Street.
Irene paused before she got too close to the fence and took her shoes off quickly and efficiently. She chucked her shoes over both fences, one of them narrowly missing Sherlock's head before clattering to the pavement on Baker Street.
She silently cursed as her stockings got wet, droplets of water flying from them as she flew through the mucky yard and up over the fence.
Sherlock could see the black car sitting out front of his flat as he was picking Irene's shoes up off the ground. He tore down his street.
Two Minutes
He reached the car as Anthea stepped out. He glanced back at Irene, who was swiftly re-wrapping her scarf about her lower face and pulling up the deep hood of her coat as she ran.
One Minute
Anthea stepped aside for Sherlock to get in. By the time he had clambered in Irene was opening the door opposite him. Sherlock rolled down the window. "Anthea, I trust this is all being done under the radar."
She offered him a sly smile as the car began moving. "Of course, Mr Homes."
Sherlock swore, rolled the window up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He rapped on the tinted window separating their driver from his passengers. "How many minutes before we arrive?" he asked once the driver had rolled the large window down just enough to hear and be heard.
"It should take fifteen minutes, traffic being good."
"Thank you," Sherlock said, closing his eyes.
"Don't worry about it, she's one of mine." Irene said a bit breathlessly beside him once the dividing window had been rolled up the inches it had been opened. He heard the 'click' of her seat belt being done up.
He pulled his own across his lap and fitted the metal ends together. "Anthea is one of yours?"
"Has been for a while." Irene smiled, remembering a few days she had spent with the woman who was connected to nothing but Mycroft.
"Even if she had recognized me, she'd have to keep it to herself, unless she wants the world to know she has a father/daughter complex when it comes to your elder brother."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose just a fraction. "It makes sense," he admitted.
"Here." He handed her shoes back to her.
"Aah, thank you." She hiked her skirt up a bit and pulled her stockings down her leg one at a time; pulling them off and putting them in her coat pocket.
"You should know-" Irene said as she slipped her left shoe on, "-that my grandmother-" right shoe on, "-raised me."
"I'm fully aware."
"Really, how is that?" She asked as she fixed her skirt.
"I looked into your background when we first crossed paths. It became apparent that your mother could not have raised you due to how very conventional she is. She sent you to St. Rose." He began to laugh, "I can only imagine you at St. Rose, you must have caused a few uproars."
"Often," she agreed.
"I assume I am correct when I say your grandmother is very wealthy?"
"Not that it is any of your business; but yes."
He pondered this for a moment. "Well, I look forward to meeting her."
"And I expect she shall enjoy meeting you." Irene said just as the car pulled to a stop out front of Barfield Home.
The lobby they walked into was narrow but exquisitely furnished. Underneath the smell of freshly baked pie was the crisp clean feel that all medical facilities have. The woman working at the reception desk smiled pleasantly at them. Sherlock made a small file for her and stored it in his hard drive as a temporary document. She had pale blonde hair that was neatly styled down her back, crow's feet that could still be reversed if she wanted them to be, and eyes of slate and asphalt. Her navy blue blazer was the same well-tailored make as her tan skirt. He noticed the photo pinned to her computer monitor, it was of her three children now as teenagers.
"How can I help you?" she asked as Sherlock ran his finger along the lacquered wood of her desk.
"I have a meeting arranged by Mycroft Holmes."
Her slate and asphalt eyes glimmered. "Oh of course... here." She handed him an I.D. swipe card.
"Go 'round through there." She indicated a heavy door to her left.
He strode over to the door, turned the handle before running the magnetic strip downwards through the scanner, waited for the small light to blink green, and pushed open the door.
Once he and Irene were in the stairwell she spoke up. "That was a bit easier than I thought."
"Mycroft is well connected. What floor is she on?"
"The seventh," she replied as she began walking up the stairs. When they reached the seventh floor landing, Sherlock used the swipe card to open the door once more.
He followed Irene down the cream walls with evenly spaced wood doors, observing the names as he went.
When they came to room number 1726, with the name "Gladys Adler" Irene stopped.
After what seemed more than enough time to open a door, Sherlock looked each way down the hall, trying to see if there was something causing the delay. "Is there something you are waiting for?" he asked.
"It's been a very long time," she started. Sherlock could figure out the rest of it.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you," he attempted to reassure her.
He didn't think it worked, but she knocked on the door before twisting the golden knob.
Well my dears, here is an update! What do you think so far? What do you think about Anthea being one of Irene's? How do you think the meeting with Irene's grandmother is going to go? How do you think the case is developing?
No sneak peek this week because I will be posting the next chapter tonight! I just can't resist; it is my favorite chapter.