Chapter Four: The Body

Sylvester paused for a great while, kneeling beside the body. In his silence, his gloved fingers danced on the body, inspecting for missed tidbits of information. Twice I had to restrain Tobias's fury for 'Tampering with a body', and twice he assaulted my dignity with his insults. But eventually, he gave up his fight for dominance, and stayed as far away as possible from Sylvester as he inspected the body.

"Like my friend and I said; Poison." he placed his index and middle finger close together, right beside the man's lip. I leaned in close to inspect the dead man's mouth, and found that the area around it was still damp. Quickly, I came to the conclusion that Sherlock had come to. "Ooh!" He startled the Inspector in his quick movement upwards, making the bear nearly lose his black metal hat. "This is rare! Rare indeed..."

The bear furrowed his brow. "Spit it out, would you?"

Sherlock laughed to himself. "I'm sure our friend wishes that you would have told him that beforehand!" I rolled my eyes, and he continued his monologue. "This is a very rare poison. And, just as Benjamin has proclaimed, it is extremely valuable; only those with grand ties could possibly get a millilitre of this substance. Of course, that's all you'd need to murder this poor fellow, and two of his colleagues."

"Three men?!"

He wiped an imaginary substance off of his gloves, and proceeded to take them off and toss them in a waste basket. "Sad. Those were my favorite pair..." he struck a match against the heel of his boot, and flung it inside the basket, proceeding to throw the entire receptacle out the open door.

"Cooper!"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Three men. It's a very complicated mixture of four chemical substances, Chloride, Potassium, Nitrate, and..." He looked hesitantly at the Inspector, "...and something else. This all must be blended with the stomach acid of a creature on the island of Madagascar; the Ruby-throated Dart Frog. Very rare species, and the deadliest reptilian on the planet."

"Extraordinary..."

"And very easy to detect, if you have the correct tools. Which you, and all of Scotland Yard don't. Obviously."

I smirked as the Inspector fumed. But he kep his temper tempered. "Please. Continue."

"What time did you say this man died?"

"The Bobby said half-past Five."

"And he knows this by a... a scream, you say?"

"Yes."

He glanced back toward myself. "Are you positive that it was the deceased who shouted?"

Tobias turned his head sideways. "Well who else would be screaming at half-past Five? Obviously it was him, Cooper."

Uh-Oh. At that time, I truly wished that the bear hadn't said that. Obviously was a word that my friend hated more than most anything, especially when it came from a police officer. But he kept himself right, only his ear twitched with annoyance as he continued.

"Is there any... true... evidence, that enforces that it was him, besides the man who heard the scream?"

The Inspector sighed impatiently. "No. Nothing."

"Then don't assume anything. It could very well have been this poor soul's killer, in an attempt to throw the idiot at guard off guard." He started pacing quickly, stepping over the body.

"At Guard off guard?" he whispered into my ear. I shrugged.

"His Suit is in pristine condition; I haven't seen such cleanliness except in pictures. This man cared for himself very greatly. Every picture is spread out evenly, at a completely straight 180 Degree angle, every piece of furniture is set out at such an angle that, if someone were to sit in each chair, no spot on this floor could be missed by a wandering eye. And..." He bounded up the stairs loudly, and we heard him rushing around. He shouted down to us, "And the entire home is laid out in this manner!"

"Yes, yes, he was a freak. What of it?"

Sylvester slid down the small banister with grace, and landed on his boots quietly. "On the contrary, friend. He was an Obsessive-conpulsive. Not a single thing in his home could be offset, else his entire lifestyle would come crashing down on him like cinderblocks." He picked up a blue vase on the oak table between two chairs, and turned it over. "Shame. A reproduction."

The bear nearly exploded, almost slamming one of the officers working the crime in the forehead with his massive forearm. "Yes, FINE. But what in bloody hell does it have to do with this sap's death?!"

Putting down the vase, my companion sighed and shook his head. He pointed with his right hand behind the inspector, "Look at the hooks on the wall beside you, if you would be so patient with me."

Scowling, he glared at the four bronze hooks that jutted out from a wooden base secured on the wallpaper. "So?"

"There are brown and black coats on them, correct?"

"Yes..."

"Now look below them, in the container for Umbrellas... what do you call that, Watson?"

"An Umbrella Stand, Sylvester."

He perked up. "Really? I thought it was something more complex than that. Huh." He stood pondering that quietly for a few seconds. "Nevermind. How many of the totes can you see, Inspector?"

He pointed to each of them as he counted, and mouthed the number. "Three."

Sherlock clapped sarcastically, "Good, Gregson! And how many coats?"

"...Three. So?"

We both looked at Tobias with condescending glares. I knew that he was thick, but not concrete-thick. I put my fingers to my temples, and sighed. "Even I know this, Inspector. Think."

The dim look on his face stayed there for what seemed like a minute. Then the old fool finally woke up what called a brain, and he shook his head as he walked off into the dead man's bedroom, passing some of the policemen on the job. "How you ever became such a rank on the force, Tobias, is an unfathomable fact for me. And that, my friend, is saying a great deal."

"Oh, I almost forgot; what was that piece of information that you 'forgot' to tell us?"

The Inspector growled. "Well, since I am such an unfathomable specimen, I don't believe I can tell you. Maybe afterwards."

Our eyes rolled again.

After a few more harsh words flew between us, we proceeded to investigate the rest of the home. But as the idiotic inspector (a name which I will go out of my way to call Tobias at every opportunity given to me) had said, the entire home was clean. Only the Stolen object, and the decaying specimen by the front door was out-of-place anywhere. The more I saw around the place, the more I was disappointed and appalled of the home's previous occupant. Furniture, garbs, hats, his bedroom, even the salt and pepper shakers on his perfectly dining table! And the floor! Not a single bit of dust could be seen anywhere. Even though I knew the effects of the disorder, as a distant friend of mine was diagnosed with it before my expedition to the war, it shocked me to see it again.

Instinctively, my leg started to act up again, feeling like the entire appendage was one large bruise. My friend turned back to me when I lacked behind, as we were walking up the stairs to the attic of the abode, and looked at me with sympathy. Climbing back down, he put a hand on my shoulder. "Gregson!" He shouted above to the Bear, "I'm afraid we must take our leave presently. If any other facts are found, or you decide to say something worthwhile... just call!" He hurried me along as I heard the idiot fuming, "Fly, you fool, unless you wish to be Grizzly Chow!"

We had been inside that building for much longer than I had previously thought, as the sun was just dipping down past the row of buildings to the west. It was already... already very late in the day, as I had forgotten to take my timepiece along with me. We had gone quickly to the flat; we had made it a sort of game between the two of us. Whomever made their way to the flat first paid the brunt of the month's rent, and today was the day to pay rent. Because of my pain currently, Sylvester had given me a ten second head start...

"Well my friend," He said, "It seems you'll have to dip into that secret fund of yours!"

...which I wished had been doubled.

"Ah well. I'll ask her if we could pay tomorrow." I yawned loudly, suddenly feeling exhausted from the run. "Well, I should be getting to bed. Good Night, Sylvester!" I called as I shut the door of my bedroom. I heard his muffled voice as he closed his door, saying the same.

I sighed heavily. Nearly crashing onto the bed, I didn't even feel like changing from my clothing to go to sleep. And I would have fallen asleep quite quickly, if not for a particular gleam in the closet that caught my eye; The gleam of an eye. A bright blue eye, I believe.

Quietly, as not to arouse suspicion, I put my arm behind my pillow to prop my cranium up. I gripped the revolver that I kept below the pillow in case of emergencies, which this situation might very well have been, and created a sound of a snore in the pit of my throat.

After a short while, I heard the scraping of the door opening slowly. The carpeted floor hid most of the intruder's footsteps, but I heard the quiet plodding of his feet. I shifted my hand again, adjusting my grip on the pistol. When I saw the growing lack of light as the intruder moved past the window, I made my move. I sat up straight, and pointed the metal device straight at the shadowy figure's torso. I smirked when I saw the white eyes open wide with surprise. "If you don't want to have to order a coffin, I'd start explaining. Quickly."

The person sighed. And when she spoke, I almost dropped my gun. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

This intruder was a woman! Getting a better look in the moonlight as my eyes adjusted, her figure made it clear. She put her hands on her hips, awaiting me to question her.

"... Who are you?"

The eyes furrowed in a confident glare, and the long furry tail behind her swished with delight. She was grinning, from a slight gleam I saw at her mouth. "Yes, yes... what to call me? I've been called many names, you know..." She started to promenade around the room, as if in thought. "The Shadow, The Queen Runner, Quick-Foot Carmelita..." She giggled lightly, "Such a ridiculous name, Carmelita. Anyway... Yes..." She was at the foot of my bed, which because of the angle, I could not see her face. "But people only called me that because they never got a good look at me. But you, Benjamin Watson..." She pulled out a small box from her jacket pocket, a matchbox I believe, and struck it to illuminate her face. "May call me...Rache. Or Irene, whichever you fancy."

There was a bit more comedy in this chapter than what I expected to write, but I don't think it turned out too badly. What'll come of this mysterious meeting between these two? All will be told... maybe... in time...