Steven's home was quite impressive. The entire property was ringed by towering hedges, and black, cast iron gates guarded the drive. Sherlock ordered the taxi to wait at the end. It took him under ten minutes to crack the code on the gate and slip inside. Even with Steven dead, he didn't want anyone to know he had visited.
The drive itself was long and curved, shaded by trees that formed a leafy canopy overhead. John would like this. He'd think of it as a date, and pretend not to, even if he knows I know. And he'd flirt. My John.
Once again, he shoved the memories of John deep into his mind. He could not figure out how to deal with the emotions coursing through him-they weren't something he was used to feeling.
Emotions. Those things ordinary people always talked about. Why was it that John brought them out in him? Even after his... No. Don't think about it.
He would deal with the men who took John first.
And then he could lose himself in drugs until those feelings went away.
The house itself was large. It rose four stories into the sky, surrounded by extensive gardens and pathways. The house was built of white stone, with warm brown wooden trim and ivy creeping up the sides. The shingled roof had iron railings around the edge, and a tower in the back. Four or five chimneys were scattered about the roof as well.
Perhaps Steven does not live alone, he mused. I'll have to be extra careful then.
Rounding the building, he found a side door hidden in the ivy vines. It wasn't even locked. The door led to a cloak room. Jackets hung from hooks on the wall, and boots and shoes lay scattered on the floor. At least six kids and nine adults. Listening carefully, he could hear voices from deep inside the house. Stealthily, he slipped out of the room and entered a hallway. To the left was more hallway, with doors leading into other rooms; to the right was a staircase that led up, and a door beneath them that led to the basement. He chose the staircase leading up.
At the top of the stairs, there was a landing with similar hallways leading off. This is going to take forever, he thought. So he found another staircase and went up again. And again. He meant to start at the top and work his way down, but that proved unnecessary. A little boy sat on the landing, moving a toy truck back and forth across the hardwood floors. He was dressed simply, in a blue T-shirt and brown trousers.
"Um, hello," Sherlock said with an attempt at a smile. The boy stared at him. "Yes, um, I'm looking for Steven's room."
Without a word, the tiny blond boy pointed down the hall and resumed his playing. Thanking him, the consulting detective followed his directions and found a closed door at the end. Opening it, he found a neatly organized, spacious room. A bed was tucked into a corner, a desk on the other, next to the closet. Sherlock started with the desk. Any files or papers he deemed unimportant were tossed over his shoulder. From the papers he glanced at, he learned that Steven had an interest in architecture and worked at Wolfram's-an important and very powerful business. Not only that, but that company was owned by the Staffords. Now why would a powerful man like Steven want to...hurt my John? It made no logical sense. He growled. If only John were here! John was always the one he turned to for inspiration. He brings out the best in me. Brought, he corrected himself.
A tic started as he clenched his jaw. Whoever else had hurt his John was going to wish they were dead by the time he was done with them.
Before he went downstairs, Sherlock phoned Lestrade.
"Stafford? Of course I know that name. Mickey Stafford is our prime murder suspect in the death of Frederick Garrison. Those two families have been in a feud since the dawn of time. Why do you ask?"
Sherlock decided not to tell the DI what he knew-he might try to stop Sherlock's revenge. "What about Steven Stafford?"
Over the line, he heard papers being flipped through. "Um...He's Mickey's cousin. A clean record. Why?"
Sherlock hung up on him. Alright. The cousin of a murder suspect killed John. Obviously not because of John himself-no, it had to be his connection to Sherlock. But why? What did they have to gain?
"What are you doing in here?"