Chapter 8: The Blind Banker Part 1

A/N: I'm a day late but this is fairly long so I suppose that makes up for it.

….

Elise stared at the ceiling from her position under the sheets. She had woken up a long time ago, but was reluctant to leave the embrace of her bed; a safe haven. After five days slaving away at school, the 48 hour grace period that was Saturday and Sunday easily became her favorite part of the week. These two precious days were a break from the chaotic nature of secondary school. Even if her life outside of the academy was actually one hundred times crazier, it was her kind of crazy. The good kind of crazy. If that makes any sense.

But even surrounded by the kind of 'crazy' that she preferred, Elise relished an opportunity to have some peace and quiet. That's what she did now. Lord knows when or if she would get another morning like it.

It didn't last long though.

She turned away from the white wall when she heard rustling coming from the kitchen. Not the normal rustling you got on sleepy Saturday mornings but a suspicious kind. The kind that sent a chill down your spine and a heart beating faster.

Elise carefully unwound herself from a cocoon of blue blankets and placed a cotton clad foot on the wooden floor. She perched on the edge of her bed, listening as she quickly grabbed her phone.

Two voices. Both male. One is clearly dad while the other is… unknown. Possibly a client but a normal client wouldn't invoke that suspicious sound I heard earlier. An intruder then…

Without another thought, she sprung from her bed and practically dashed for the exit. Logic told her that running straight towards the origin of the disturbance may not be the best in this situation, but she had to make sure her father was ok. If the circumstances were as dire as she predicted and he was indeed in trouble, the teen couldn't be expected not to at least attempt to aid him.

However, this didn't seem necessary upon arrival. Sherlock was clearly able to handle himself. An exotically dressed man lay face down on the floor, unconscious, the many robes and sashes adorning his body crumpled in a messily around him. A silver sword lay haphazardly off to the side. Her father himself stood over the body, his face tinged with flush. He seemed otherwise unharmed.

Elise shook her head at the sight. There really wasn't a dull moment. Ever.

"Well someone's been busy." she rocked back and forth on her heels. "Have fun?"

He rolled his eyes and plopped ungracefully into his chair. "I see you're awake."

She shrugged and sat down on the couch, already picking at her fingers. She had removed the bandages a few days ago. "Have been for a while now. Didn't feel like getting up. The only reason I did was because I thought you were in trouble." She paused. "Were you in trouble?"

"Of a sort, yes. Not anymore."

"I see." She jerked her head to the body in the middle of their living room. "Do I need to call Lestrade?"

"No." Sherlock curled his lip when he gave a glance to the oblivious figure.

She nodded. "Um…Ok. Where's John?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and propped his fingers beneath his chin. "He went grocery shopping."

"Mm."

Elise found herself staring at the limp form of the mysterious man as she absentmindedly picked at her hands. She was still ignorant to who he was and why he was in 221b. Despite the thoughts racing around her head, she said nothing. Or at least she tried to say nothing. Elise wasn't really the type to hold back what she really thought, unless she had reason to.

Sensing that his daughter had questions, he beat her to the punch.

"Any questions you have are probably not of use as this case is already closed from our end."

He leaned forward in his chair. "This is my message to them."

Now it was Elise's turn to roll her eyes. Couldn't he just give her a straight answer?

"Wow, just as vague and ominous as ever." She stood from the couch and stepped gingerly over the collapsed man. "I'm going to go get dressed. I hope he's gone by the time I get back."

"Believe me." Sherlock said casually. "He will be."

Elise crossed the flat and walked into the direction of her quarters. She didn't have any desire to remain in such proximity to the intruder. As much as she liked to act brave, there were certain things that she didn't want to face before noon. She didn't particularly enjoy a gnawing sensation in her stomach.

The teenager rummaged through her closet and produced a pair of jeans and a blue and black striped sweater. As her hair was being bothersome, she applied a generous amount of product to keep the frizz prone curls intact before stuffing them into a messy ponytail. A few bobby pins were used to clip back some of the more stubborn tendrils. Finished.

She took a moment to admire her handiwork in the long mirror near her dresser. Satisfied, she walked over to her disheveled bed and began to make it up. The blue sheets were pulled taut against the corners and the duvet was placed over it. She carelessly tossed the pillows on the blanket, not to particular about the way they were placed.

Elise sighed and left the room once she was through, ignoring her inner protestations.

Thankfully, her father had been true to his word. Within the 15 minutes that she had used to get dressed, he somehow managed to get rid of him and dispel any evidence that he was there in the first place. Well, except for a sword under his chair.

"Dad, there's a-."

John suddenly burst through the door, an irritated expression upon his face. Elise noticed that there was no sign of the groceries he had set off to get.

"You took your time. " Sherlock said, not looking up from the book in his hands.

John let out a deep exhale. "Yeah, I didn't get the shopping."

"Clearly," Elise mumbled.

"What? Why not?" Sherlock questioned.

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."

"You ... you had a row with a machine?"

Elise raised her eyebrow in amusement. "John, are you feeling ok? I think you may have come down with something."

He glared at the younger Holmes. "You're sarcastic wit never ceases to amaze me." To Sherlock, "Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?

The curly haired detective fought a smile and nodded to the kitchen table. "Take my card."

John walked towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the table.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left."

Elise grinned knowingly at her father.

"And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

"Yeah what did happen daddy?" she said innocently. "I'm ever so curious to know." She jerked her head towards the floor where the discarded sword lay. John absolutely could not see that.

"Not interested."

He bookmarked his page and took his daughter's cue, scooting the weapon under his chair and thus out of sight. Success.

"I sent them a message."

…..

Elise downed her daily dosage of anxiety medication under her father's watchful eye. The pills slid down her throat almost painfully, not making the experience any more enjoyable. She slammed the cup of water she had used down on the counter and gave him a fake smile.

"There. I took them. Happy?"

He nodded curtly as he tapped on John's laptop. John himself had gone back to the store since he had failed to pick up the shopping the first time. Hopefully no registers would give him trouble again. The flat's food stock was running dangerously low.

As if on cue, the front door slammed closed. John Watson came bumbling up the stairs, plastic bags in tow.

Later, John staggers up the stairs carrying several bags of shopping.

"Don't worry about me." He groaned sarcastically. "I can manage."

Elise stood up with a sigh. "I'll help you."

"Thanks." He handed her one of the bags and together they set the heavy load down to unpack it.

John handed Elise a can of vegetable soup. Elise took it and walked to put it in the cupboard. Sherlock sat at the dining room table, engrossed in what he was reading on the borrowed laptop. The owner of that laptop took notice of this and abruptly put down the produce in his hand.

"Is that my computer?"

Sherlock started to type. "Of course."

"What?!"

The so called genius didn't seem to see the problem and continued to type away. "Mine was in the bedroom."

The Blonde doctor looked at him with harsh incredulity. If looks could kill, her dad would most certainly be slaughtered.

"What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?"

No answer.

"For someone who criticizes their brother in his distaste for physical exertion, you are unfathomably lazy at times daddy."

"Its password protected!" John cried indignantly.

Sherlock ignored the pair's comments and continued typing. "In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He glanced up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

"Right, thank you." John strode over to Sherlock, slammed the lid closed, and whisked the laptop away. He collapsed into his chair and picked up a stack of letters.

"Oh."

Elise watched as he flicked through the papers, she herself settling down with a book on the couch.

"Need to get a job."

"Oh, dull." Sherlock scoffed.

John set the letter down. He looked as if he wanted to say something but hesitated. Finally seeming to gather the courage, he spoke. "Listen, um ... if you'd be able to lend me some..."

He trailed off when Sherlock didn't appear to be paying attention.

"Sherlock, are you listening?"

"Dad, John's trying to talk to you." Elise said without looking up from her novel.

Still placid staring.

"I need to go to the bank."

He sprung to a standing position and headed towards the stairs, taking his coat from the hook on the door as he went. John frowned but jumped up and followed him nonetheless.

Elise sighed and put down her book.

"Guess that means me too."

…..

Later, the group of three strolled in through the glass doors of Shad Sanderson Bank. Elise and John marveled at the large foyer, their eyes bulging and mouths agape. The spacious building was made primarily of glass, employees and customers milling around the ground. Two long escalators lead to the higher floors. Sherlock, Elise, and John stepped onto the moving stairs.

"This place is huge." Elise breathed.

Her eyes scanned the expanse of the establishment, drinking in ever last detail. It was a wonder that she wasn't drooling at the sheer size of the bank. The only place that Elise could picture being bigger was Mycroft's office. If that didn't make a statement then nothing would.

They reached the top of the escalator and her father led the way to the reception desk. He gave the receptionist his name and she tapped the information into her computer. After she cleared them for further entrance, they were lead to a gigantic office with a man inside. He wore a suit that screamed professionalism while his demeanor said average bloke. His face was an unflattering round shape made even worse by his rather awful haircut and irritating smile. As they entered the room, his eyes came alight with recognition.

"Sherlock Holmes." He said in greeting.

"Sebastian." Her dad replied civilly.

They shook hands, Sebastian clasping Sherlock's hand in both of his.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sherlock looked back at him with only marginally concealed hatred. Sebastian turned to look at the other two guests.

"This is my friend, John Watson. I take it you remember my daughter."

Elise racked her brain for any memories of Sebastian. None came to mind. That was understandable though. She had only been five their last meeting.

"Friend?" Sebastian said with visible surprise.

"Colleague." John corrected.

"Right."

They shook hands too, Sebastian looking at John curiously. Then he zeroed in on the youngest of the three.

"Right. Nice to see you again, Elise. You've gotten big since the last time I saw you!"

Elise tried as hard as she could to be polite but she found it really hard to like the man before her. Judging by the look on John's face, he hadn't made a good impression on him either.

"Hi." She said with a forced smile, taking the offered hand.

"How old are you now?" he asked. "You look tall enough to be sixteen! Must take after your dad."

"I'm thirteen."

He nodded.

"Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"No." the blonde man said.

"I'm fine." Elise replied.

"No?" Sebastian clarified. When no further commentary was made, he waved off the waiting secretary. "We're all sorted here, thanks."

The secretary left the room. The adults sat in the available chairs, Elise perching on the arm of Sherlock's.

"So, you're doing well." The consulting detective began. "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, some."

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

Sebastian pointed at Sherlock and laughed awkwardly.

"Right. You're doing that thing."

He looked to a confused John.

"We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock said quietly.

Sebastian ignored him, plowing on. "He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.'

John nodded his head in understanding. "Yes, I've seen him do it."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him."

Elise's patience was quickly declining.

"Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you're quite right. How could you tell?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to explain but his former classmate beat him to it.

"You're going to tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan."

Several swear words and biting remarks were threatening to escape. Elise picked at her fingers to attempt to calm down. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

"No, I ..."

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sebastian cried.

The detective looked at him intensely.

"I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me."

The silence was deafening.

The teen had to say something. "Bet that wasn't one of your brilliant explanations now was it?"

His eyes flickered over to Elise's hands. She looked down, curious as to what could possibly be so distracting. Then she realized; the picking. Always the picking. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. The last thing she needed was to accidently draw blood in the company of this insufferable git. Besides, she was supposed to be trying to break the habit.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

…

Sebastian led the group out of his office and towards the hall.

"Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night."

"What did they steal?" John asked

"Nothing. Just left a little message."

Elise's brow furrowed. "A message? What sort of message?"

Who broke into a bank just to leave a message? It didn't make any sense.

"You'll see mini-Holmes."

Elise opened her mouth to rebuke but John gave her a faint shake of the head. She pursed her lips and imagined pushing Mr. Wilkes down the escalator. May seem a bit extreme but he had insulted her family and called her by a despicable nickname. She didn't need nor want this from Sebastian. Sally and Anderson had already filled the position of 'annoying idiots.'

Sebastian waved a security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Inside, an enormous portrait of a man in a suit hung on a white wall behind a wide desk- presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait, someone has sprayed what looks like a graffiti 'tag' in yellow paint.

This probably was the message that git was talking about.

The tag looks vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. Across the eyes of the portrait itself, another almost horizontal straight line has been sprayed. The artist- if you could even call him that- had done quite a messy job as the paint trailed slightly of the painting and to the hard surface behind.

Sebastian led the way towards the desk and then stepped aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moved to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looked at Sherlock expectantly while the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti. Elise followed, opting to stand beside John rather than Sebastian.

Once Sherlock seemed to be done, they were brought back to Mr. Wilkes' office.

He flicked between security footage of the photograph between the times of 23:34:01 and 23:33:01. Not once in this minute had any change been made. The frame remained intact along with canvas portrait itself. There were no shadows or silhouettes of the proclaimed suspect. Just the picture and a time slot that made for a nearly impossible escape.

"So," Sebastian began. "Someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and then left within a minute."

"Impossible." Elise shook her head. "There's no way-"

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock interrupted.

Sebastian shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

…

Back in the reception area, Sebastian showed them a screen on a computer which has a layout of the trading floor and its surrounding offices. Each indicated door has a light against it showing its security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

Wilkes nodded in reply.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures."

He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a slip of paper. A check.

"This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian."

He walks away. John watched him go, then turns to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously."

Elise cleared her throat. "Well. He's not lying when he says he doesn't need an incentive but….." she rubbed her fingers together suggestively. "I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to one."

John held out his hand. "Sh-shall I look after that for him?"

Sebastian gave John the check.

"Thanks."

He and Elise quickly sped away, giggling as they did. John flashed her the numbers on the slip of paper.

"I can't believe this is only an advance! That is a lot of digits!"

Elise grinned cheekily. "A good case and some extra cash. Today is looking up Watson."

…..

Elise watched as her father weaved throughout the clusters of grey cubicles. He popped upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. Then he ducked sideways and hurried across the floor. This bemused both her and the office workers who had no choice to watch. Nevertheless, Sherlock continued to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He danced across the floor again and twirls around a column, knocking it over before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. He abruptly halted in that doorway, his eyes still fixed on Sir William's office, then turned and went into the office and headed to the other side of the desk. Elise turned away, giving up all hope of figuring out the motive behind his unusual actions.

She wandered off towards John who was tattering away on his phone. He looked up as she came to stand next to him.

"Tired?" he asked.

She nodded. "Very. I woke up early."

John frowned in bemusement. "I didn't see you when I left for the store. Well, the first time."

"I was hiding in my room."

"Why?"

Elise shrugged. "Didn't feel like getting up."

John shook his head incredulously. "You sound like your Dad."

Elise narrowed her eyes. "I do not."

"Yeah. You do."

"No. I don't!"

"We could argue about this. Or you could just accept it as the fact that it is."

"You wound me John Watson."

He laughed and continued to tap his device. "You're impossible."

"Highly likely." She said cheekily.

Not long afterwards, Sherlock led them back towards the escalators. They were done at Shad Sanderson Bank for the mean time. It was on to the next exciting thing.

"Two trips around the world this month." John said. "You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him."

Sherlock smiled but didn't respond.

"How did you know?"

Sherlock nodded towards his daughter. "Did you notice his watch?"

Elise shook her head. "No. I was too busy imagining throwing him down the escalator. Why?"

Sherlock wasn't fazed. "The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Ah."

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?" John asked.

"New Breitling. Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Did you take pictures?" Elise asked.

"Of course I did." He snapped. "Only an idiot wouldn't."

Elise rolled her eyes. "Yes, right. Even more proof that you don't fall into that category. May I see?"

Sherlock handed her his phone distractedly. She scrolled through the photos he had taken, looking for clues. Sadly, she was no graffiti expert and had nothing to offer. She wordlessly handed the cell back to her dad who pocketed it.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and..."

He deliberately trailed off, allowing John to finish the sentence.

"...they'll lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious."

"For you." Elise mumbled.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John questioned

"Pillars."

"What?"

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

They pushed through the glass revolving doors and exited the building. The early London afternoon was seasonably cold and windy, blowing a few strands from Elise's ponytail. Whatever efforts she had made to make her hair presentable had been officially wasted.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

He held up a name card to show them.

"Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." He held up his hand at a passing cab.

"Taxi!"

….

After the taxi ride, the trio came up to a block of flats. Sherlock pressed the door buzzer marked 'Van Coon'. Releasing it, he looked into the security camera above the buzzers, waited a couple of seconds, and then pressed the buzzer again.

Nothing.

"No one's home." Elise sighed. "Great. That complicates things."

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" john asked irritably.

Sherlock ignored his companion's moaning and looked at the number of buzzers on the wall. Then he took a step back and looked at the front of the building. After a beat, he addressed the awaiting teen and adult.

"Just moved in."

"What?"

Elise caught on quickly. "You checked the layout."

Sherlock nodded. "Precisely. The floor above. New label."

He pointed to another buzzer with a handwritten label. Evidence.

"Could have just replaced it." John said pointedly.

Sherlock pressed the buzzer, then looked at John again.

"No-one ever does that."

Elise added. "Probably too lazy."

A woman's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Hello?"

Sherlock pasted on a smile so convincing that it would've fooled anyone who didn't know him personally.

"'Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met."

"No," the woman said cautiously. "Well, uh, I've just moved in."

Sherlock turned to throw a brief 'told you so' glance at the pair before turning back to the camera.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat."

He grimaced and bit his lip plaintively

Elise nudged John. He looked at her.

"His acting skills are scary." She whispered.

John chuckled. "I'll say."

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" Ms. Wintle asked

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

…..

A/N: Review? *Hugs laptop* Thanks! I didn't proofread this very thoroughly so don't hesitate to point out any mistakes. It makes for better writing in the future.