Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and the Sherlock universe belong to Moffat, Gatiss, and Doyle.
A/N: This was my first time writing any sort of crime/forensics/"Sherlockian" case. My apologies if it doesn't hang together very well or it seems a bit clunky. This was a very hard chapter to write and I've been over it so many times (rewritten it too many times), it's hard to see where the holes are. Like all the other cases that I've referenced in this story this too is based on a Sir Arthur Conan Doyle work (The Adventure of the Devil's Foot if you're interested). I've done my best at 'updating' it and making it fit into the Sherlock BBC universe so some changes obviously have to be made; some are small, some are large. Please read and review- any feedback is appreciated!
Chapter 9: Sympathy for the Devil
Sherlock and John got out of the cab in front of a little pub in the East end of the city. It was raining again and Sherlock pulled up the collar of his coat. John trundled along behind after paying the cabbie.
"The Cornwall Club?" said John as he caught up with Sherlock and an officer lifted the crime scene tape for them to duck underneath.
"It's a poker club." answered Sherlock.
" I've always been rubbish at cards."
" I've never seen the point of it."
"You can tell what everyone has, can't you?"
"Yes. Can't you?"
"No, Sherlock." John replied with a sigh. Sherlock would never fully understand how normal people operated.
They approached Detective Inspector Lestrade and a few other crime scene analysts. They were clustered around a table in the back of the pub in front of a fireplace. As they got closer Lestrade turned.
"Holmes and Watson. Thank-you for coming."
"It's been too long." Said Sherlock ruefully.
" Thought you would start knocking people off a while ago," Sally Donovan interrupted as she walked up to them. "Just so you would have something to do."
"Donovan. Always a pleasure." Sherlock shot back, sarcasm dripping of every word. "Still scrubbing floors, I see."
She glared at him icily and stalked away to oversee the rest of the analysts.
" It has been some time since we've needed to call you in, Holmes. What have been doing to keep the boredom away? Going over more old cases with that pretty young thing?"
"What does he mean Sherlock?" pestered John.
Sherlock exhaled, irritated. He turned to John, explaining in hushed tones. "Cecilia just helped me understand an old case I was musing on a few weeks ago. She came along when I met with Lestrade to get him to reopen the files." He rolled his eyes.
John forced himself not to grin. "She's our housekeeper." He said to Lestrade.
"Getting domestic, are you? That's new."
John laughed. He hadn't seen anything developing between Sherlock and Cecilia since those first few days when he caught Sherlock staring at her, but it tickled him to know that others saw the same thing he had.
" Can we please focus on the case, Lestrade, and bypass all this inane small talk." Said Sherlock sharply.
Lestrade gave John a knowing look and nodded. "The bodies have already been taken to the morgue, but there were three deceased," he motioned to the table. "All siblings; Bernard, Harold and Avis Tregennis. They were here playing their weekly poker game. The fourth of the game was their other brother Mortimer Tregennis. The waitress discovered them when the pub was closing; when she went to tell them to leave."
"When did this happen? It's rather early in the evening for a pub to be closing."
"This happened last night…or rather," Lestrade held up his watch, "earlier today. She found them at about 4:00 AM but the medical inspector places the time of death at about midnight."
" Why wait so long to call us?" Asked John.
" We've been having such a streak lately that we didn't want to call you in unnecessarily. Anderson begged me not to call you but the particulars of this case have us stumped."
Sherlock moved past Lestrade and began observing the scene. He knelt down by the table, and looked beneath it. "And they are?"
" It's the way they were killed; we can't discern any reason as to why they are dead." There is no trauma, no wounds, no poison in their drinks, no drug use…nothing. They were found at closing time still sitting in their chairs, still holding their cards… just not breathing." He let Sherlock have a few moments to look over the scene. Sherlock seemed to attack it like a starving animal. He was everywhere at once.
"Where's the other brother?" John asked.
"We've got him in custody, but we won't have him for much longer."
"Why's that? It's highly suspicious that all three of his siblings wound up dead."
"We've got nothing to hold him on. He says he was the first out of the game; he finished his drink by the fireplace and then left, waitress says she saw them deal another hand after he walked out. Witnesses and the waitress corroborate his story. There was even a waitress outside on a cigarette break who saw him drive away. She also mentioned that they had all been arguing earlier in the night; she didn't hear much as she was giving them a pretty wide berth; Harold and the sister Avis apparently were extremely touchy about the waitresses walking by them when they were playing. They always accused Bernard of bribing the waitresses to cheat for him. Anyway, she said it sounded like Mortimer asked his siblings for money but none of them wanted to give him any."
"He must be involved somehow."
" Can't say for sure. He's pretty broken up about them, and he's got a fair alibi."
"John?" Sherlock called as he was crouched down in front of the fireplace.
" Have you found something Sherlock?" He came over to where Sherlock was kneeling.
"Nothing… Isn't it fantastic? A real case!"
" I think we need to go look at the bodies."
" Quite right, John." He grinned and stood up. "Lestrade, send copies of all financial records and any information you have thus far on all the Tregennises to the flat."
Lestrade nodded. He could not help but to admit some sort of defeat in having to call Sherlock in, but he kept reminding himself that it was for the greater good.
Sherlock and John left the bar and John hailed a taxi. Sherlock was busy with his phone. They got into the cab that pulled up a few moments later.
"Where to boys?" the cabbie grunted at them.
"The morgue?" John asked Sherlock.
" Yes. Molly is working tonight."
John told the cabbie the address and they drove off into the rain. Sherlock was quiet in the cab. John didn't want to disrupt his thoughts in case he was putting something together. John sat back and listened to the sloshing of the puddles as the car tires rolled through them. His thoughts turned to Sarah. He did love investigating cases with Sherlock. It brought back the excitement he had been missing since he came back from the war. However, there was a comfort when he was with Sarah, she was exciting in a completely unexciting way and he had a few misgivings being away from her. He glanced at Sherlock, still researching something or other on his phone. He knew Sherlock would never have misgivings like this. Sherlock would never miss someone the way he missed Sarah. But then Cecilia came unbidden to his mind. She and Sherlock had gotten along rather well. Apparently he wasn't the only one who saw something between them as well. John shook his head; he was just being foolish.
They pulled up at the hospital. Sherlock got out of the cab and headed straight for the entrance. John sighed and paid the driver. He jogged to catch up.
"Just once it would be nice if you could pay for the cab."
"I'm sure it would be." He put his phone away and passed through the doors.
Molly was just finishing some paperwork in the morgue when her phone rang, or rather vibrated in her pocket. She flailed a bit to get it out. Her lab coat making the process of extricating it from her slacks a difficult one. She put the file she was holding on the Tregennis siblings down on the counter and finally got the phone out.
: Long time, no see.
: SH
She was surprised. It had been more than a month since Sherlock had last contacted her. There was a tapping on the safety window and she looked up. Sherlock and John were there. How does he always manage to look so dashing? She thought to herself. She waved them in.
"Sherlock! So nice of you to come visit!" She couldn't help letting a little flirt come into her voice.
Sherlock responded in kind. "Molly. You've cut your hair again." He allowed his eyes to obviously flicker up and down her body.
She fought a nervous giggle. "I did. Just a trim, though. You always notice, Sherlock."
Sherlock moved closer to her and looked into her eyes." Molly, we need to see the bodies of the Tregennis family." He saw the hurt look on Molly's face that was quickly brought back to smiling, though it no longer reached her eyes. Sherlock knew exactly how to get what he wanted from Molly; she was as easy to play as his violin.
"Oh, okay." she was crestfallen. "I actually finished with them a few hours ago." She walked to the back of the large room, her low sensible heels clicked on the hard tile floor. She opened a small door a chest height open and rolled the drawer out. A black body bag lay on top. She did this twice more. Soon all three deceased Tregennis siblings were presented for Sherlock and John.
"You're a doll." He winked at her. He and John followed her to the first body.
"This is Bernard Tregennis." She announced as she unzipped the black bag and pulled the sides down around the body. There was a flush in her cheeks. "To be honest, there's not much to see. I've finished the autopsy and the only thing I can find is that there is some damage to the lungs."
"What kind of damage?" asked John. He and Molly stood back as Sherlock looked the body over, sniffing here and there. He looked into the mouth and the nose. He checked the fingernails. Bernard Tregennis's eyes had been closed at some point on the journey to the morgue, Sherlock opened them.
"There was some very slight tissue damage; it looked like a bruise on the inside."
" This was present in all three?"
"Yes."
"Open the other two." Sherlock directed Molly. He let the flirtatious façade fall. He needed to see something. Molly complied and unzipped the other two bags. There was a strong family resemblance between them. They were all quite pale with mousey hair, all a little heavy. Sherlock lifted the eyelids of the other two Tregennis siblings in turn.
"Did you check their eyes?"
Molly was surprised, she had checked the eyes as part of her preliminary observations, but at that time there had been nothing amiss. "Yes. There was nothing out of the ordinary."
"When did you check them?"
"When they arrived…"
"When was that?" Sherlock shouted.
" About 12 hours ago now," Molly glanced at the clock above the door, "Give or take a few minutes."
"Well, all three have conjunctive petechiae now."
John rushed over to check the bodies. "You're right, Sherlock. All three have pinpoint red dots in their eyes. It's when the tiny blood vessels rupture and it's usually a pretty good sign of asphyxiation, though it's unusual that it would take this long to present. Sherlock, do you think they died of asphyxiation?"
"There are no other signs of it. There's no bruising around the necks. There were no fibers anywhere…if they were asphyxiated it would have been done by cutting all the air off in the room, and that would have been impossible."
"What about a carbon monoxide leak or something at the bar?" John asked.
"I've tested their blood for all the normal toxins. The levels were normal for everything. Carbon Monoxide poisoning would have shown up."
"No toxins or poisons present in their blood at all?" Sherlock asked.
"Just some alcohol."
"Keep an eye on any other developments with these bodies, particularly any bruising. Text me if anything changes." Sherlock stalked out of the room, as he left he picked up the file labeled Tregennis that lay on the counter and smoothly slipped it into his coat.
"Thanks Molly!" John followed Sherlock out of the room.
Sherlock and John were on their way back to 221b Baker when Sherlock's phone rang again. He put the file down on his lap and got it out of his pocket. It was Lestrade. Sherlock stared at it for a few moments, letting it ring.
"Are you going to answer that?"
" Lestrade knows I prefer to text." He handed the phone to John and went back to looking at the file he had taken from Molly. It had all the basic information for the Tregennises; heights, weights, ages, addresses.
John answered. "Sherlock's phone…yes this is John…well text him next time." He playfully punched Sherlock in the shoulder. "…what?" John listened and nodded for a minute "...okay, I'll let him know."
Sherlock looked at John quizzically as he took his phone back.
"Lestrade says that Morty Tregennis has confessed."
Sherlock looked shocked and confused.
"He's confessed to knowing who killed his siblings. He says he was in debt to some serious bookie called 'Big Eddy Roundhay. He couldn't pay up so Big Eddy sent his thugs in to send a warning to Morty."
" No. Thugs weren't responsible for that."
"They've released Morty into protective custody while they investigate further, but Lestrade says they've been looking for something to take Big Eddy down with for a while…it might be case closed."
"Cab driver," Sherlock leaned forward and tapped on the Plexiglas divider, "Change of plans. We need to go to 431 Tredannick Road." He read the address form the file.
"What are we going to do, Sherlock?"
" I need to speak with this 'Morty'" Sherlock put extra emphasis onto the name. He did not think much of it, nor of its owner. He knew gangsters were not responsible for this type of elegant death. They always wanted to send a message; one punctuated with blood and underlined with violence. These deaths were far too ambiguous and subtle. Something was amiss.
"Cab driver, pull over!" Sherlock yelled. The cab quickly swerved over to the curb. Sherlock opened the door. "John, carry on to Tregennis's flat. Wait outside the building, I'll be along shortly."
"What are you doing?"
" I need some information, something isn't sitting well." He closed the cab's door and watched it drive off into the rain.
Sherlock scanned the nearly deserted city street. Most people were tucked safely into their homes, warm, dry, and completely useless. Sherlock walked down the street looking for one of his network of homeless informants. He paid them well for their help and in return he could be informed on almost any dealing in London's criminal underworld. Finally he found a face he recognized peering out at him from beneath a set of stairs. Sherlock ducked beneath them. The girl was sitting on a crate and holding a garbage bag over her head. She was very skinny; even many layers of clothes couldn't hide that, and her blonde hair was greasy and knotted.
"Mr. Holmes. What'chu after tonight?" She extended her hand to him.
Sherlock grasped her hand and pressed a few bills into it. " I need to know what Eddie Roundhay is up to."
The homeless girl snorted. "Easiest money I ever made. Big Eddy is dead. He was taken out three weeks ago by some Irish gang."
"You're sure?"
" Positive, Donny saw them put the body in their trunk."
Sherlock turned and stood up. "Thanks." His mind was swirling, he needed to get back to John.
John saw a cab pull up only a few minutes after he had been waiting. Sherlock got out, paid the driver, and ran over to John.
"Eddie Roundhay had been dead for three weeks. He can't be threatening Tregennis."
"So it was Morty that killed his siblings?"
"Obviously."
"So were just going to go up and talk to a murderer?"
" How else can we prove what he did?"
Sherlock paused around the corner from Morty's flat. He pulled out one of Lestrade's badges that he had pick-pocketed from the inside pocket of his overcoat. He strode towards the apathetic officer guarding the door of Morty's apartment.
"I need to speak with Mr. Tregennis." He flashed the badge at the officer, too quickly for him to see the name on the badge, but with enough confidence to allay any doubts. He knocked on Morty's door.
"Who's there?" a small and greasy voice answered from behind the door.
Sherlock held the badge up to the peephole. "I'm a Detective sent by Lestrade. Open the door. We have a few more questions for you."
"I thought you were done with the questions." Morty said as he opened the door.
Sherlock and John stepped through the door and Morty slammed the door behind them. "Who did you say you were again?"
"I'm Detective Inspector Hudson, and this is Anderson." Sherlock motioned to John. John made a face at Sherlock.
"What'chu want then?"
"Just a few follow up questions." John jumped in; he was getting the hang of keeping up with Sherlock when they did this sort of subterfuge.
Sherlock quickly took in Morty's flat. It was a small one-bedroom affair with dingy walls. There was a small fireplace in his combination dining and sitting room, but it looked like it had never been used. It was cold; the small window above Morty's table was open and letting in the cool air from the rain soaked city. Covering Morty's table were several weeks worth of horse racing papers, all with several names circled.
"Mr. Tregennis, what was the argument you had with your siblings prior to their deaths about?"
At the mention of his siblings Morty's face contorted into something between grief and anger. "''Arry, Bern an Avis didn't want to lend me any money. I'm in deep, I told this to Lestrade, to Roundhay. I thought if they would each lend me a little I could put it all on this real hot tip I got and pay off all my debts. They didn't have nothin' else to do with their money; no kids or wives or husband."
" The Tregennises aren't the marrying type?" John asked.
"No." Morty snorted. "Well, I was. I was always the black sheep of the family. They always left me out, especially after mum and dad died. They also hated my wife." He pointed to an old picture hanging on the wall. It was the only picture in the room. It was of a smiling woman in her wedding gown.
"That's your wife?" Asked John.
Sherlock was busy on his phone as John questioned Morty. He was looking up winners of horse races for the past few weeks. Morty had indeed lost quite a few races.
" Ex-wife."
" That would be Leona Tregennis?" Sherlock chimed in, remembering the name from the file.
"She goes by Leona Sterndale now." Morty answered. "We split up a long time ago. After she became a doctor she thought she was too good for me."
"She's a doctor, where does she practice?" John thought he might have insight on how to find her.
"Not that kind of doctor. She's a botanist, always going on and on about her plants and her research in the Congo. Waste of time if you ask me.
"Do you have any contact with her anymore?"
"Not for about ten years."
Sherlock turned his attention to Morty himself. He looked like his brothers. He was pale and had mousey brown hair, blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and a jacket so he looked bulkier than he was. In actuality he was quite slight. "Where did you go after you left the pub last night?"
"Here. I was getting awful hands all night. Finally I went all in on a flush hand and damnit if Avis didn't have a full house. I finished my drink and came home. Cops rang my doorbell at about 5 am this morning and told me what happened."
Sherlock heard the ding of his phone. He looked down at it. It was a text form Molly.
: closer inspection found soot like substance inside noses.
: was there incense at the pub?
Sherlock knew there was no incense at the pub, but what could the Tregennises have inhaled that made it look like that?
"It's a bit chilly in here." John interrupted. He zipped up his own jacket.
Morty eyed him warily. " I like it cold." He fussed with the lapel of his jacket.
Sherlock noticed that when Morty raised his right arm the underside of his cuff was singed. The cheap jacket was made out of a polyester blend and he could see where it had melted and blackened. There was also soot on Morty's wrist. Morty had singed his cuff recently.
"I think we have everything we need." Sherlock said; his eyes were focused on Morty's wrist. He turned on his heel and made for the door. John followed him out into the hallway.
"Do you know something?" John whispered to Sherlock.
Sherlock looked over his shoulder, waiting until they were out of earshot of the officer. "The cuff of his coat was recently singed, within the last day. He hasn't had a fire in his flat and the only other place he's been is the pub. But he said himself that he likes the cold. The waitress said that he finished his drink standing by the fire; why would a man, who likes the cold, stand so close to a fire that it singed his cuff?"
"I don't know."
"We need to get the contents of the fireplace of the Cornwall Club. Morty is unaccustomed to having a fire; I would wager he's never lit one in his apartment fireplace. Someone who doesn't know what they're doing might accidentally singe their sleeve if.."
"..If they were throwing something into the fire!" finished John.
"Glad to see you're following along, John." Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text to Lestrade.
: get samples of contents of Cornwall Club fireplace analyzed.
: send the rest to 221b
:SH
Sherlock and John arrived at the flat just before the officer rang the bell at the front entrance of 221 Baker St. They went down and helped him carry in two large bins of ash, charcoal, and various detritus from the fireplace of the Cornwall Club as well as a few boxes of photocopied pages of personal information belonging to the Tregennis siblings.
"They said the fireplace hadn't been cleaned in over a year," the officer said as he panted up the stairs with the heavy plastic bin.
"Of course not." John carried the other one up the stairs. They dropped them inside the door of the flat. John shook the officers' hand and said goodbye.
"What exactly do you plan to do with all this, Sherlock?" John asked after the officer had left.
" I'm going to see if my theory is correct."
" Are you going to sift through all of this ash and soot until you find something?"
" Something like that." Sherlock was already pulling a bin over to the small fireplace.
" Looks like it's going to be a long night. I'm going to go get some coffee, you want some?" John paused at the door.
"Why don't you just make some?"
"Because I need some fresh air…and speaking of fresh air; if you're going to do what I think you're about to do, make sure you open a window." John started down the stairs. The real reason he was volunteering to go get some coffee was that he wanted a few minutes to himself so that he could call Sarah. He wanted to apologize for how the evening had ended and to let her know that everything was going to be fine.
Sherlock went to work. He built a fire in the fireplace and when it was burning steadily he took a scoop from the bin and placed it in the flames taking care not to smother the fire. After fifteen minutes nothing had happened and Sherlock added another scoop. He was sitting on the floor watching the flames when John returned with two styrofoam cups. He handed one to Sherlock who took it wordlessly, never taking his eyes off the fire.
"I thought I told you to keep the window open." John crossed the living room and opened the window a crack, letting the cool night air ease into the room. John breathed deeply. "What if you were right, Sherlock? You could have killed yourself just like the Tregennises."
"Experimenting on oneself is part of the grand scientific tradition."
" And so is killing yourself accidentally?"
Sherlock didn't respond, he just continued to stare into the flames.
"Any word from Lestrade?" John asked after a time.
"Nothing yet." Sherlock sprinkled another scoop onto the fire and sipped his coffee. "Why don't you make yourself useful and start going through the personal information?" Sherlock pointed behind him at the boxes still sitting by the door.
John walked over to the boxes and pulled them around to the couch. He settled himself and began reading. He didn't glean much new information from the first few pages he read. Periodically Sherlock would place another scoop of ash into the fire, or put more wood on it to keep it burning but he would always return to sitting in front of the fire breathing deeply. Hours passed and John slipped quietly into sleep.
Early the next morning John opened his eyes and checked his watch. He had only been asleep for three hours. Sherlock was still sitting in the same spot by the fire.
" I have a shift today, Sherlock." John said as he rubbed his face free of sleep.
"It's fine John, if you're just going to sleep instead of work you might as well do it at the clinic."
" Yeah. How dare I get three hours of sleep when there's so much fire-staring to do!"
"I am very carefully noting any physiological changes to my body in case my theory is correct."
"I'm not so sure all that time off hasn't dulled your talent, Sherlock." John shook his head and tromped off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.
Sherlock placed another scoop in the fire; he was just beginning on the second bin. He tied not to dwell on what John had said but the truth was that similar thoughts had been going through his mind for the past few hours. Several times, after he could hear the soft sounds of John snoring, he had to remind himself to focus on the case. He kept descending into remembrances of warm lips pressed against his, the feel of smooth skin under his fingertips, and what might have happened if John had decided to go to Sarah's that night instead of coming home…
"Right then, I'm off." John announced as he walked towards the door. Sherlock didn't know how long he had been lost in thought; it must have been quite some time as the fire had burned down to embers and Sherlock had to quickly add more wood to bank it up. He didn't respond to John, he needed to focus. "Have a good day, John." John said in mock tones filling in for Sherlock's lack of response. "Well, thank-you, Sherlock. I certainly will." He answered himself and closed the door.
Sherlock poured another scoop onto the fire. Nothing. Another scoop. Nothing. He was nearly through the second bin of ash, maybe his theory was wrong. He banked the fire again and gathered another scoop of ash. This scoop had more charcoal and other debris in it. He carefully spread it over the fire. Almost instantly he could feel a stinging in his throat. He coughed. It was getting hard to breath and he was getting dizzy. Sherlock's vision blackened around the edges and he was finding it very difficult to move. He couldn't help but think how easy it would be to just keep sitting right here and fall into oblivion.
The wind picked up outside and a gust of fresh air blew hard through the open window. His senses cleared a little; he had to get out of here! Sherlock stretched along the floor and did his best to crawl towards the door. He was trying not to breath but his throat felt like it was bring crushed and his lungs were demanding air. He pulled himself arm over arm until he had reached the door. He coughed and nearly retched. He reached up and grasped the door handle. He was so weak he could barely turn it. With all his might he grasped the handle and turned finally hearing the click of the mechanism. He could only open the door a crack as he was still lying in front of it but he pushed his nose and mouth as close to the crack as possible and breathed as deeply as he could. The clean air loosened the clenching pain in his throat and chest; the black at the edges of his vision receded a little. He wedged his fingers in the crack and pulled the door open while rolling his body out of the way. He lay in front of the open door for a few more breaths; allowing his head to clear. His chest still ached and his throat was on fire but he was still alive. He crawled out onto the landing and closed the door to 221b behind him. He lay prone on the landing for a few minutes just enjoying the sensation of breathing.
Sherlock heard the main entrance of 221 Baker St. open and the sound of women's laughter filled the space. It was Cecilia and Sarah. Sherlock rolled towards the dark corner of the landing that was not visible from the entranceway. He didn't exactly know why he hid from her, he only know that he did not want her to see him this way.
"Thanks for taking me out to breakfast, Sarah."
" It was good to finally have some one on one time. Are you sure you won't reconsider? It's not like you're seeing anyone."
Sherlock couldn't hear Cecilia respond.
"Are you?" Sarah's voice quavered with amazement.
Sherlock felt his stomach sink and his chest tighten.
"No." Cecilia said quietly.
"So… You're going on this date."
Cecilia made a sound of frustration. "Fine."
"Tonight, at seven?"
"If you promise this will be the one and only time you do this."
Sarah's singsong laughter was the last thing he heard before the door to Mrs. Hudson's apartment closed.
Sherlock lay quiet for a moment; his mind was miles away from the case. He had the distinct feeling that something was slipping away from him but he couldn't determine exactly what it was. His train of thought was interrupted when he heard an incoming text from Lestrade.
-ding-
: Mass Spec. found anomalous plant matter. Could be a toxin. Still analyzing.
: next move?
: Lestrade
Sherlock's mind was hauled defiantly back to the task at hand. Plant matter? Mortimer Tregennis killed his siblings with a toxic plant he had thrown into the fire. Where had he gotten such a plant? He replied to Lestrade:
: Take Morty into custody
: he murdered siblings. check his cuff.
: SH
Sherlock rolled over onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself up to standing. His throat and chest still ached but it was passing. He cracked the door of the flat open and peered inside, he held his breath just to be sure. The fire was well on its way to going out; there were only a few embers left. The window was still open as well so eventually the flat would air itself out. He walked into the flat cautiously. He inhaled but remained ready to leave again at the first sign of the searing pain in his throat. Nothing so far. He got closer to the fireplace; nothing. He came within about ten feet of the fireplace and he could just detect the acrid odor that had first assaulted him. He took a step back and opened another window in the living room and moved into the kitchen and opened the small window there as well. Now he knew why Morty had wanted his window open. Maybe he had been testing the on himself? The toxin only affected a localized atmosphere, and it had to be burned to do that. Sherlock grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew his nose. He looked down at the tissue; sure enough a black soot-like substance was there.
A few minutes later he received a second message:
-ding-
:Morty is dead.
:Come to 431 Tredannick Road
: Lestrade
Things were developing as fast as Sherlock could put them together. His reputation depended on keeping ahead of the case; he needed to focus.
Sherlock was soon back at Morty Tregennises apartment building. He walked down the hall to the small flat through a crowd of officers that were congesting the hallway. He spotted the guard from the previous night coming towards him in conversation with another officer. Sherlock ducked down under the guise of tying his shoe. He didn't want anyone to know he had been here the night before. He arrived at the door to the small dingy flat and could see Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson all in the living room.
The body of Mortimer Tregennis was still where it had been found. Lestrade and a few officers had come at Sherlock's insistence to take him into custody and found him lying on floor. He was face down and one hand was extended in the direction of the door. Sherlock took stock of the room and noticed immediately that the window above the now clutter free table had been closed. There was also ash and charcoal in the fireplace.
"Sherlock, glad you could get here so quickly." Lestrade welcomed him into the room and turned back to the body. "It looks as though the same method was used to kill him as was used to kill the other Tregennises."
Sherlock looked for other things that were amiss in the room. The flat looked as though it had been hastily cleaned up. The clutter from the table had been piled next to the wall. A half empty bottle of wine was sitting on the kitchen counter. There were burned down candles on the mantle. "Was there another body found here?"
"No." replied Lestrade sounding confused. "Why?"
Sherlock looked at the wall behind Lestrade. The picture of the smiling woman in her wedding gown was gone. He could see the outline on the wallpaper where it had faded around the frame.
" We need to find Leona Sterndale."
Sherlock waited hours at Scotland Yard for Lestrade to let him speak with Leona Sterndale. She had been taken into custody at work, the research department of a large multinational pharmaceutical corporation. Sherlock had cornered him in the hallway outside the interrogation room where Leona sat.
"Until you tell me what's going on I won't let you speak to her."
" What do you mean?"
" Why did we arrest this woman?"
Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. "The Tregennises all displayed tell tale signs of asphyxiation and they had black residue in their nostrils; something I can attest is absolutely indicative of the toxin from the fire, a toxin that was found to be anomalous plant matter. Morty burned the cuff of his jacket by placing that on the fire, he's not accustomed to being around fires so he accidentally got to close. He quickly left and the toxic fumes killed his siblings. No one else was harmed as the waitresses gave them a wide berth and the toxin only affects a rather small radius around the fire.
"How did he get his hands on this toxic plant in the first place?"
" That's what I'd like to find out."
Lestrade allowed Sherlock to speak with Leona Sterndale. Sherlock opened the door and sat down across the table from the redheaded scared looking woman.
"It's okay." He began, sympathy flooding his voice. " I don't work for the police."
" Then why are you here?"
" I only come in when the police can't understand what's going on."
" What's all this got to do with me? I haven't had contact with my ex-husband in over ten years."
"That's not true. You saw him last night. After you heard about the mysterious circumstances of the Tregennis sibling's deaths you contacted him. You must have put on quite the act as he thought you were headed to reconciliation; wine, candles, romantic fire. But you took some of the precise plant that he used to kill his brothers and sister and you did the same to him. Why?"
"When I first got back from the Congo, I told him about this plant's properties; I was so excited by what I had found. The name comes from what some of the witch doctors in the jungle call it. In small doses, and treated with specific chemicals, the Devil's Foot plant is a very safe and effective anti-depressant, the witch-doctors used it by heating very small amounts. They would breath in the fumes and it would help them achieve a deeper meditative state. It's fatal though if too much is used, or it's exposed to direct flames. I told him all this even though all my research belonged to my company and I wasn't supposed to share any of my findings, but he was my husband; though, not for long. I didn't know that he had taken some of my samples, or that he held on to them all this time. When I saw on the news about Harold, Bernard and Avis… I knew that he had killed them, and how. I knew if it got out that the Devil's Foot plant was being used to kill people that my entire career, ten years of research, would be gone; not to mention all the people this drug could help. I had to stop him."
" What is right is not always what is legal. I understand that. But it will be up to Detective Lestrade to decide your fate." Sherlock got up and went out to tell Lestrade everything about the case and what evidence he needed to present to prove it.
As Sherlock left Scotland Yard the sun was setting. It was almost 6:30. He hadn't slept in over 48 hours but the fatigue didn't bother him. In fact it felt like he was getting back to normal. His mind felt sharp again.