A/N: The Blind Banker is my least favorite episode, so if it seems like the quality's not as good as the others, that's probably the reason why. Also, there's a few guest characters in this episode. I'm just gonna say: I own only the things you don't recognize.
Some notes on reviews:
lostfeather1: I'm glad it made up for it. This one's not as long as the last, but it is longer than the one before that. As for all the attention, let's just say it's going to be a bit of a running gag. Making Sherlock jealous helps me get through this episode.
As for when she meets Moriarty, well... Spoilers! I'll just say that it will be Legen-wait for it-dary!
SirOlives: I'm glad you like the story. It's not going to be exactly canon. There will be little sub-plots that are of my own design. In fact, the plans I have for between the end of the pool scene and the hiker and the car are going to be a bit of a cross-over. Bet you can't guess which show I'm doing it with!
Vedra9: Thank you! It's reviews like this that keep me going. I got so motivated by your review, I knocked out another chapter! Kat's past is extremely complicated. Basically her life before moving sucked, but only I know just how bad. Jealous!Sherlock makes this episode just a bit more bearable for me. As for Sherlock's "note", Kat's going to bring up her vision with Mycroft, hoping he can do something to prevent it, but Mycroft isn't going to react the way she expects.
NEW CHAPTER! WOOHOO!
Another Victim and a Sticky Situation
The next day, I come down to find John just returned from his interview. Sherlock is sitting in one of the dining chairs staring at photographs surrounding the mirror on the wall. John drops his jacket into his chair as I sit in mine.
"I said 'could you pass me a pen?'" Sherlock says before either John or I can speak.
"What?" John asks. "When?"
"'Bout an hour ago," Sherlock answers. I roll my eyes as John sighs.
"Didn't notice he'd gone out, then," I respond as John picks a pen up from the table next to his chair and—without even looking at Sherlock—tosses the pen in Sherlock's direction. I watch in awe as Sherlock—without even looking—catches the pen in his left hand. John walks over to the mirror and takes a closer look at the photos.
"Yeah," he says, "I went to see about a job at that surgery you told me about."
"How was it?" I ask.
"It's great," he answers absently. "She's great." I smirk.
"Who?" Sherlock asks.
"The job," John answers, turning to look at Sherlock.
"'She'?" Sherlock continues. John looks slightly embarrassed.
"…It," he replies. I laugh as Sherlock looks at him suspiciously for a moment. He then jerks his head to the right, gesturing to his laptop.
"Here, have a look," he says.
"Hmm?" John hums, walking over to the table and looking at the web page. I stand up and head over to stand next to him, skimming the news article. "The intruder who can walk through walls."
"Happened last night," Sherlock responds. "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside—exactly the same as Van Coon." John straightens up and looks at Sherlock while I continue reading the article.
"God," John says. "You think…"
"He's killed another one," Sherlock and I say at the same time. John stares at us blankly. "What?" John shakes his head.
"You two do that a lot," he says. Sherlock and I look at each other then turn back to John.
"Do what?" we ask simultaneously. John points at us, smirking.
"That," he answers. "The talking at the same time." He turns to grab his coat again. "Now come on. I may not be a genius or a psychic, but even I know we have to go to Scotland Yard." He heads out the door. Sherlock and I look at each other before I shrug and walk towards the door. I hear Sherlock sigh and glance back at him as he gets up and follows behind, grabbing his coat and scarf along the way. We walk out the door and onto the street. Just as I reach the bottom of the steps, someone runs into me, knocking me over.
"Sorry!" I hear a man's voice say before I see a hand outstretched in front of me. I look up at the arm attached and find a funny looking man in a bowtie and a fez. There's something about him, but I can't place it. I tilt my head at him and take his hand, letting him pull me up.
"Thanks," I mutter, brushing dust off of my pants.
"Kat?" he asks, looking at me curiously. He opens his mouth to speak again but is cut off.
"Doctor!" a distinctly Scottish voice calls. We both look towards the voice. Two women and a man are running towards us: One woman is ginger; the other has sandy blond hair like the man.
"Gotta run," he says. "Amy's trying to steal my fez so River can destroy it with her blaster again. Rory tried talking them down, but… Well, you can see how well that worked." He turns to run from the ginger—Amy. "Later, Kat!" He runs down the street, the two women hot on his heels. The man—Rory—slows to a stop next to me.
"Sorry 'bout them," he says and I nod. "They're…"
"A handful?" I ask, smiling. He nods. "I can tell." He laughs. "You'd better go catch them. I'm not sure the two of them will stop at just the fez." His eyes widen.
"I'm not sure you're wrong," he responds. "I'd…better go. Later!" I wave as he runs off.
"Kat," John calls, and I turn towards him and Sherlock. They're sitting in a taxi waiting for me. "Any time you'd like to join us?" He smirks slightly. I huff and walk over, stepping into the car.
"Scotland Yard, please," I tell the cabbie. Sherlock and John look at me. "What?"
"Who was that?" Sherlock asks.
"I don't know," I answer, shaking my head.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Dimmock sits at his desk with his arms folded. He glances at me in exasperation while Sherlock types something into his laptop.
"Brian Lukis," Sherlock says. "Freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…" He turns the laptop around to show Dimmock the webpage from earlier. "…Doors locked from the inside."
"You've gotta admit, it's similar," John adds as Dimmock scowls at the computer. "Both men killed by someone who can…walk through solid walls."
"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Sherlock asks. Dimmock squirms, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock looks up, exasperated, and sighs dramatically. Drama queen. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"
"Mmm," Dimmock hums, nodding.
"And the shot that killed him: Was it fired from his own gun?" Sherlock asks.
"No," Dimmock answers reluctantly.
"No," Sherlock replies. "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." Dimmock glares back at Sherlock silently.
"Sherlock," I say, nudging him aside before turning and looking at Dimmock. "Detective Inspector, what my charming friend is saying is…" I pause, lean forward and lower my voice. I know how the D.I.s get competitive about cases. "We've just handed you a murder enquiry." I nod towards the computer before finishing a bit louder and smiling. "Could we have five minutes in his flat, please?" Dimmock blinks and nods. "Thank you." I turn to Sherlock. "Being polite has its advantages, Sherlock." Sherlock glares at me and John laughs.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The ride to Lukis' flat is silent. Sherlock glares out the window the entire time. When we get inside the building, Dimmock leads us down a narrow hallway to a door with police tape in front of it. He opens the door and Sherlock ducks under the tape before going up the stairs, Dimmock following close behind. I pull John aside.
"John, did I do something to make Sherlock all cross?" I ask. He looks at me blankly before busting out laughing. "What?!" He takes a minute to calm down, wiping his eyes.
"You don't see it?" he asks.
"See what?" I ask, tilting my head in confusion. He shakes his head.
"If you don't see it, I'm certainly not gonna tell you," he answers, turning away to head up the stairs.
"What? But John…" I argue, but he holds his hand out in front of me, cutting me off.
"Not. Telling. And that's final. If you wanna talk to me when you figure it out, I'll be there, but for now," he says, grinning mischievously towards the end, "I will enjoy knowing something that the psychic of our little band doesn't."
"Psychics can't see everything," I mutter, heading up the stairs. John laughs again.
As we walk up the stairs, a book catches my eye. I pick it up and see the date stamp.
"We have to find out what connects these two men," I hear Sherlock say. I step onto the landing just as Sherlock steps by the stairs. I hand him the book before turning and heading back down the stairs. I walk out of the building and hail a taxi just as Sherlock and John walk out.
"West Kensington Library," Sherlock says to the cabbie once we're all in. I turn to Sherlock.
"Kensington?" I ask and Sherlock nods. "Wouldn't happen to be the same Kensington Sebastian brought up yesterday, would it?" The corners of Sherlock's mouth turn down slightly at the mention of Sebastian.
"I keep forgetting you're American," John interrupts and I turn to him. He shrugs. "The Kensington family are really rich. And they should be, 'cause they're the lead producer of tea in the country and are somewhat royal. The current Head of Family, Alexander Kensington, is the oldest son of Princess Margaret, who's the Queen's younger sister." I nod. "He and his wife, Selena, had a daughter, Katherine, in 1988. A few months after her birth, she was kidnapped. No one's seen her since."
"Until recently," Sherlock adds. "Lately there have been quite a few young women stepping forward claiming to be the missing heiress. None so far have proven to be her." He looks at me curiously. "Kat, what's your full given name?"
"Oh, come on," John interrupts. "You don't think she's the missing heiress, do you? I mean, she's American!"
"I don't mind, John," I tell him before turning to Sherlock. "My full given name is Elizabeth Kaitlyn Wilson. I go by Kat because, growing up, I refused to be called anything else."
"We're here," the cabbie calls from the front, interrupting our conversation. I look up to see that we have, in fact, arrived. We step out of the cab and I pay the cabbie.
"So why's the library named after them if they're in the tea business?" I ask as we walk inside.
"They donated quite a sum of money some years back," Sherlock answers. "The library was about to go down, and in gratitude for the donation, they renamed it." I nod as we step onto an escalator. Sherlock heads over to one of the many computers set out to help people find what they're looking for and checks the reference number on the books spine. "Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." We step away from the computer and Sherlock leads us to the correct shelf. He and I start examining the books in front of us while John takes the shelf opposite.
"Sherlock, Kat," John says and we turn towards him. Sherlock reaches into the shelf and starts pulling more books out, revealing the same graffiti from the bank office on the shelf. Sherlock takes some pictures of the paint before the three of us leave the library without another word and head back to Baker Street.
When we get back to the flat, Sherlock adds photos of the shelf to the photos from earlier. The three of us stand in front of the fireplace, looking at the pictures.
"So, the killer goes to the bank," Sherlock starts, "leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."
"The killer finds Lukis at the library," John continues. "He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home."
"Late that night, he dies too," I finish.
"Why do they die?" John asks as Sherlock runs his fingers over the line painted across the portrait.
"Only the cipher can tell us," I answer as Sherlock thoughtfully taps his finger against the photo. His expression sharpens.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The three of us walk through Trafalgar Square towards the National Gallery. I buy a coffee along the way—Audrey's addiction is spreading, it seems—and take a sip before talking to John.
"The world's run on codes and ciphers, John," I say. "From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the chip-and-PIN machine you had a row with; cryptography is a part of everything."
"Yes," John responds, "okay, but…"
"…But it's all computer generated," Sherlock finishes. "Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."
"Where are we headed?" John asks. I take another sip.
"I need to ask some advice," Sherlock answers, and I choke.
"What?!" John asks, smiling in disbelief as he tries to help me breathe again. "Sorry?!" Sherlock looks at him darkly.
"You heard me perfectly," he says. "I'm not saying it again."
"You cough need cough advice?" I ask. Sherlock looks at me with some slight concern. I take another sip of my coffee to help the last sip go down. It works, and I can breathe again.
"On painting, yes," Sherlock answers. "I need to talk to an expert." Sherlock leads us towards the entrance and then turns sharply to walk around the front. We head towards the back of the building to find a young man spray-painting the wall with a can in both hands.
"Part of a new exhibition," the young man says, not looking at us.
"Interesting," Sherlock says in a tone that says it's anything but.
"I call it 'Urban Bloodlust Frenzy'," the young man responds, chuckling.
"Catchy," John says, deadpan.
"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner," the young man says glancing to Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?" Sherlock takes his phone from his pocket and holds it out to the young man, who turns around and tosses one of the spray cans to me. He then takes the phone from Sherlock and scrolls through the pictures.
"Know the author?" Sherlock asks.
"Recognize the paint," the young man answers. "I'd be willin' to tell ya if your pretty friend would like to get take-away with me." Sherlock and I both glare at him. "Alright, alright. It's like Michigan: Hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."
"What about the symbols: D'you recognize them?" Sherlock asks. The young man squints at the pictures.
"Not even sure it's a proper language," he answers.
"Two men have been murdered, Raz," Sherlock replies. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."
"What, and this is all you've got to go on?" Raz asks. "It's hardly much, now, is it?"
"Are you gonna help us or not?" Sherlock asks, irritated.
"I'll ask around," Raz answers.
"Somebody must know something about it," Sherlock responds.
"Oi!" A voice calls out. The four of us look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards us. Sherlock instantly grabs his phone from Raz and runs off in the opposite direction, John following close behind him, while Raz drops his spray can, kicks his bag towards me and runs after Sherlock and John. By the time I realize they've left, I'm still standing there with a spray can in my hand. I turn to the two officers.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" one of them asks me. "This gallery is a listed public building."
"Okay, hold on here," I say. "This can isn't mine. You've just seen three men run from here. It belongs to one of them. If I were guilty of anything, I would have run off, too. I wouldn't stand here, waiting to get caught."
"Maybe if you were an idiot," the second officer suggests.
"Excuse me? I'll have you know that I am a detective for Scotland Yard, working on a case for Detective Inspector Dimmock," I glare at them. "I'll also have you know that if you check the surveillance tape from the camera behind me, you'll see I had nothing to do with the paint on the wall. And, if you'll check the cans in the bag for prints, you won't find any of mine on them."
"Alright, say we believe you," the first officer says trying to calm me down. "What's a detective doing talking to a vandal, anyway."
"Two men have been murdered," I explain, and their eyes widen. "Both men were threatened by the murderer with graffiti in yellow spray-paint. My partners and I were asking the vandal, Raz, if he recognized the tag or the paint." The two officers nod.
"Okay, but you'll have to come with us," the first officer says. "We've just got to verify your story." I nod as they lead me to the awaiting car.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
I walk into 221B to find Sherlock standing in front of the fireplace with a book in his hand. The mirror is now almost completely covered. I hear John making noises in the kitchen, probably making tea. I take my coat off as I head to my chair and lay it on the seat.
"You've been a while," Sherlock says. John comes out of the kitchen with a mug in his hand.
"Yeah, well, you know how it is," I respond, shrugging. I decide to make them feel bad for abandoning me. "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" John's jaw drops.
"Oh, God," he mutters. "Kat, I'm really sorry. We didn't mean to abandon you, it just sort of happened." I fake a glare at him before sighing.
"It was just formalities," I say, and John visibly relaxes. "Fingerprints, charge sheet." John turns white. "Oh, and I've got to be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."
"What?" Sherlock asks absently.
"Me, Sherlock," I answer, pretending to be angry, "in court on Tuesday. They're giving me an ASBO!" John looks down at the carpet while Sherlock continues to stare at his book. He glances up for a second and looks at me.
"You told them you worked for Scotland Yard and you were on a case," he says. "You had them check surveillance tapes and had them call Dimmock. You're not charged with anything." He turns back to his book. John looks up at me, hopeful.
"Is that true?" he asks, and I nod.
"Sorry, John," I answer. "I was trying to get Mr. Robot over there," I gesture to Sherlock, "to feel bad, but apparently that's impossible."
"I don't know about that," John says softly and I turn to him sharply.
"What?" I ask. He shakes his head. Sherlock slams his book shut, causing John to jump.
"This symbol: I can't place it," Sherlock says, annoyed. He puts the book down and walks over to his coat. He grabs John's and hands it to him. "I need you two to go to the police station, ask about the journalist." He steers John towards the door while I grab my coat and put it back on.
"His personal effects would've been impounded," I explain to John, seeing where Sherlock's going with this train of thought. "We need to get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us where he's been." The three of us head down the stairs and out onto the street.
"I'm gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A.. If we retrace their steps," Sherlock says.
"Somewhere they'll coincide," I finish. Sherlock walks off down the street while John hails a taxi that's coming around the corner. I glance across the street to see a Chinese woman wearing dark sunglasses taking pictures. Her camera is aimed in our direction, and I get chills.
"Scotland Yard," John says to the cabbie. I glance at them before looking back across the street. The woman is gone.
"Right," the cabbie says. John and I get into the back of the taxi and we head off.