The Blind Banker part 4
A/n: I've decided to stick with the current update schedule and chapter lengths for the time being. However, school starts for me in less than a week (internal screaming) so this may be subject to change. I'll keep you guys posted :3
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC. I own Elise and the plots/original characters associated with her.
Happy Reading!
-TheCurlyGal6218
…
When John arrived back at 221b, Sherlock was sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the table. He had printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William's portrait and stuck them around the mirror above the fireplace. His fingers were steeped under his chin, eyes transfixed on the images.
"I said, could you get me that pen?" Sherlock said without looking up.
John was confused. He had just gotten there! "What? When?"
"About an hour ago."
John sighed. How was he supposed to fetch Sherlock a pen when he wasn't even home? Besides, the detective had a pair of working legs, he could get the writing utensil himself.
"Didn't notice I'd gone out, then." John muttered to himself. He looked around the flat, noticing the missing presence of a certain teenager. Usually Elise would be in the living room, reading on the couch, playing with her Guinea pig, or complaining of boredom with her father. If she wasn't there, she would be in her room, playing music from her speakers while she did god knows what. Neither of which were going on.
That's odd…
"Sherlock where's Elise?"
The man ignored him, opting to stay exactly as he was.
"Sherlock?"
An unintelligible mutter.
"Sherlock, Elise isn't here."
Still nothing.
John's eyes widened with realization. He couldn't have… Did he?
"Did you leave her at the restaurant?"
"Oh relax." Sherlock said absently. "She has cab fare- I always make sure she does. She'll probably be joining us shortly."
John looked at him incredulously. For a declared genius, he often lacked the common sense and general tact needed to make reasonable decisions. John got that. He had somewhat come to terms with it since joining the Holmes household. This in no way excused Sherlock's behavior.
"What if something happens to her, Sherlock? It's an unfamiliar side of town and she's barely a teen!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, Elise is almost fourteen years old. I wouldn't call that barely a teenager. If I had any doubt that she couldn't take care of herself, she wouldn't be going places on her own. She goes off on her own all the time. Now about this case… What are you doing?"
John dialed Elise's number into his phone and pressed the call button. No way would he stand by and do nothing. "I'm calling her to make sure she's ok."
"Your concern is unnecessary. I assure you she's fine."
"Yeah, you can shut up now." John said dismissively. He heard a click from the other end of the line.
"Hello?"
"Hey Elise. It's John. I was calling to see if you're ok."
"Yeah I'm swell! Except for the fact that my father is a careless git! You can tell him I said that too."
"Yeah… ok. Where are you?"
"I caught a cab back to Baker Street. I'm almost there. Don't you dare let him run off without me again, John. Oh! And can you feed Gizmo? I forgot to do it this morning. Poor bugger is probably starved."
"Yeah. I'm doing that now." He walked over to the cage, fetching the bag of food pellets when he passed the kitchen. "I'll see you when you get here."
"Alright. Bye."
"Bye."
He hung up and poured the food into the small, blue dish. The animal gratefully gobbled up his meal, his sharp teeth crunching into the hard morsels. John smiled and stroked his fur gently. Gizmo jumped in surprise, not yet used to seeing the unfamiliar face and feeling the man's touch. The animal scurried into his plastic igloo. Guinea pigs were timid like that, untrusting to the new and clingy to the old. John supposed that wasn't anything to take offense too. It must be hard to be so tiny in a world of giants.
He stood and picked up a pen from the table beside his chair. Without even looking at Sherlock, he tossed it in his direction. Sherlock caught it easily, still focused on the printed photographs. John walked over to the mirror to look more closely at them.
"So she's ok?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah," he said. Then he sighed. "On another note, I went to see about a job at that surgery."
"How was it?" The consulting detective asked.
"It's great." John replied. "She's great."
"Who?"
John looked round at him, not realizing his slip of tongue until it was too late. "The job." He said quickly. Too quickly.
"She?" Sherlock pressed curiously.
"... It."
Sherlock looked at him suspiciously for a moment, not at all believing him, before turning back around. "Here, have a look."
"Hmm?"
Sherlock walked briskly over to the table and looked at the web page on his laptop, John right behind him. The lead article on the 'Online News' page is headlined, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police." Next to it is a photograph of a bald man, and the article reads: An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in.
"The 'intruder who can walk through walls.'" John commented.
"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."
The blonde doctor straightened up and looked at his flat mate with a horrified expression. "God. You think..."
"He's killed another one."
Sherlock bit his lip, thinking about what to do. John was reasonably horrified. The moment a homicide turned into a multiple homicide case was frighteningly horrible. While it meant a more exciting ordeal for Sherlock and good pay for the Scotland Yarders, it also was the death of two people. It was grief for two sets of families and friends. This wasn't to say that these people were 100% innocent, but it was still a sad ordeal.
"John?"
He looked up abruptly, snapped free of his thoughts by Sherlock.
"What?" John asked.
"Call Elise back. Tell her to get the cabbie to take her to The Yard. I'll pay the fee when she arrives." He walked to the coat rack and swept his Belstaff off the hook and onto his shoulders. "Come on. Do it while you walk."
…..
Elise sighed as John hung up the phone. Apparently someone else had been killed and now they had to go to Scotland Yard. She was very tired, not to mention still a bit jittery from the crime scene earlier. Being in a cab also played a factor. The serial suicide cases were still fresh in her mind, as if it only happened yesterday. Even though it had been weeks, Elise could still hear the sound of Jeff Hope's voice, the way he called her 'sweetheart' like she was a weakling; a simpering child in pigtails and a frilly skirt. She could still her his body falling to the ground after John shot him, his pitiful whimpers wringing in her ears though her eyes remained closed.
Elise could still feel the terror of thinking her father was about to die, hot tears rushing down her face.
She hoped that it would go away soon. Feelings of nervousness were debilitating in tough jobs like this. Impulse was everything. Fear had to be shucked out the metaphorical window.
Nevertheless, she told the driver to turn around and head for The Yard, swallowing her unease like her daily dose of Prozac. Hopefully everything would be said and done soon so that she could go home and read. Maybe have a cup of tea. That never failed to calm her down. Elise propped her head against the window and watched as London flashed by. The sky was full of stratus clouds, making the world seem gray and cold and stormy. People bustled through the streets, kids with parents, businessmen barking into Blackberries, Dogs being walked in parks by their owners. It was a postcard of a typical day.
Soon the cab pulled up to the building. Sherlock and John stood outside, the former wearing an irritated expression on his face while the latter just looked exhausted. Much like herself. Her dad came up to the window and flung a wad of bills into the Cab driver's awaiting hand before helping Elise out, a bit rougher than usual due to his growing impatience. John gave a small smile in greeting. Elise returned the gesture though it came out as more of a grimace.
The group filed inside and headed toward Dimmock's office. The man sat in a big wheelie chair, drumming his fingers on the wooden desk. His lips curled when his eyes landed on the teen but he said nothing.
Good. His silence was a blessing.
John and Elise sat down in the provided chairs. Dimmock rolled his eyes when Sherlock strolled uncaringly behind his desk and began to type on the computer, not bothered to ask if he could use it. John snickered, the same thing having happened earlier today with his laptop.
Talk about Deja- Vu.
"Brian Lukis," The consulting detective began. "Freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat..."
He turned the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page which John was looking at earlier.
"...doors locked from the inside."
Dimmock scowled at the computer.
"You've got to admit," John said. "It's similar."
"It has to be the same person." Elise said added. "Too much of a coincidence to be another person."
"Both men killed by someone who can...walk through solid walls."
Sherlock nodded. "Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?"
Dimmock squirmed, not meeting his eyes. Sherlock looked up, exasperated, and sighed pointedly. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"
"Mm." Dimmock said, nodding. His embarrassment shone like the sun.
"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?"
The Inspector was hesitant to answer. "No."
"No?" Sherlock clarified sarcastically. "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel."
Dimmock didn't say anything. Sherlock leaned forward over the desk and spoke quietly but intensely in his face.
"I've just handed you a murder enquiry." He jerked his head toward the computer. "Five minutes in his flat." He demanded.
Who could say no? Definitely not Dimmock.
…
Sherlock went upstairs once they got to Lukis' flat, shortly followed by Dimmock, John, and Elise. They walked into the living room. There was an open empty suitcase on the floor, books scattered everywhere. Several open newspapers also lie on the ground. Sherlock sauntered over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. He pulled back the net curtain for a better look.
Elise noticed a black origami flower on the carpet, just like the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon's mouth. She stooped down to get a better look. It was folded the exact same, black paper with small embellishments carved in; extremely gorgeous yet ultimately terrifying. There was no doubt about it. This was definitely the work of the same killer.
Or killers.
"Four floors up." Sherlock said. "That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable."
"Obviously not or else they wouldn't be dead." Elise mused, still fascinatedly studying the Locus.
Sherlock walked into the middle of the room again.
"They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." He turned back towards the stairs and looked up to the skylight on the ceiling.
Dimmock was confused- per usual. "I don't understand."
Sherlock went out on the landing. "You're dealing with a killer who can climb." Sherlock hopped up on something – maybe a box? She couldn't see from her crouch on the floor– to get closer to the skylight on the high, angled roof.
"What are you doing?" Inspector Dimmock asked.
"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He unhooked the latch and pushed the window upwards. "That's how he got in."
"What?!" Dimmock grilled.
"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."
"You're not serious!" Dimmock blustered. "Like Spiderman?!"
Elise looked up at the skylight, squinting at the brightness despite the gloomy day. She rattled off deductions in her head. It's fairly high off the ground, at least 15-20 feet give or take a few. An unlucky fall from that height could result in serious injury depending on how one landed. Whoever got inside would have to be extremely talented with stunts and be able to land correctly in order to avoid bodily harm. Possible parkour involved? They could have used a rope in assistance, but there's no fact to support that theory. Nothing's on the ceiling. They had to have dropped.
"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building," Sherlock said. "Jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."
Elise wrinkled her nose. Ok not exactly parkour but close enough.
Dimmock laughed in disbelief. "Oh, ho-hold on!"
"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock stepped back down onto the landing and looked around again, not unlike a king looking upon his subjects. "We have to find out what connects these two men."
His eyes fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs, he picks up one particular book which has fallen open at its front page, showing that it has been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he took it with him as he headed off down the stairs.
Elise groaned as she came to a standing position, her muscles protesting at the change of position. John removed himself from the wall he leant against, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. He gestured to the door where Sherlock had disappeared through, Elise marching over at his beckoning.
"Ladies first."
….
After a long Taxi Journey, Sherlock, John, and Elise were once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Elise breathed in a sigh of content. The sight of so many books was intoxicating, filling her with a marvelous sense of euphoria, numbing the ensuing Armageddon that was her nerves. Books. Beautiful paperbacks and hardbacks and leather bound beauties. Old yellow paper that smelled strangely like heaven and the comforting atmosphere that could only be reached in a place like this. The teen longed to browse around, read some synopsizes, and maybe check out one. Or two. Or three. She imagined herself sitting between the tall bookcases, drinking in the story like an alcoholic guzzled beer. The paper would crinkle under her touch, the text seemingly melting like velvet into her fingertips, and she would read.
But not right now. Work was to be done.
Sherlock led way to the aisle where Lukis' book came from, watching his daughter's longing gaze out of the corner of his eye. He would've let her go off had he been thinking about anything other than the case. But he wasn't, so he couldn't be bothered. She would trail off anyway if she was so inclined to do so.
He flipped to the back of the book from Lukis' flat where the checkout card was. "Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." The detective said. He checked the reference number stuck to the bottom of the book's spine. Then, he went to the correct place along the shelves and started pulling out the publications and examining them. John, probably just for something to do, pulled out some too on a nearby shelf opposite Sherlock's, quickly finding what he needed. Elise leaned against the shelf, closing her eyes to collect herself. The rigidness wouldn't leave. Why was she so tense?
Breath. Just breathe. Keep calm and breath deep.
"Sherlock." John said.
Elise opened her eyes at John's voice. Sherlock turned and saw John staring into the gap left by the books removed. He stepped over to him and reached to pull some more off the shelf. After a bit more digging, the back of the bookcase was shown, revealing another graffiti mark- just like the one at the bank.
The curly haired teen sighed and walked over to where the boys stood, both of them with mildly surprised looks on their faces.
"What did you lot find…" the words died on her lips when she saw the yellow symbol, blaringly bright in all its glory.
A message from the murderer.
Another clue.
Sherlock took some photos of the new development on his cell phone while John helped the youngest of their party put the books back where they had found them. Once they were through, the trio exited the library, no one choosing to say anything, all of them lost in thought as they entered the cab Sherlock hailed.
So much for calming down. If anything I'm more on edge. This new lead proved once and for all that Van Coon and Lukis were slain by the same people. Both victims had the code posted in a place in which they would be sure to see it. It was the same paint, same color, same everything; identical. A combined total of two black origami lotus flowers were found at each respective crime scene, one found in a mouth and the other strewn on the floor.
They had what, when, and how. Now they just needed to figure out why.
When they got back to 221B, Elise threw herself onto the couch after checking that Gizmo had food. Thankfully, she discovered that John followed her directions and fed him earlier. She was completely and utterly exhausted, the fact that she was anxious not helping one bit. Sherlock added the new photographs of the shelf to the earlier photos stuck around the mirror in the living room. John stood next to him, both men looking at the pictures.
Sherlock was the first to end the deafening silence. "So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."
John spoke next. "The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home."
"Late that night, he dies too."
Elise pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be difficult. "So we know they were killed by the same person. We sort of know-how, dad said they climbed the walls to get in. But we don't have a motive." She looked up at them with her tired blue eyes. "We need a motive."
John turned towards the curly haired detective. "Why did they die, Sherlock?" he asked softly.
Sherlock ran his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face.
"Only the cipher can tell us. "He thoughtfully tapped his finger against the photo. Then his expression sharpened. Apparently, he had an idea.
Elise looked at him, eyebrow raised in questioning. "Have something to share daddy dearest?" she said sarcastically, picking at her nails.
He sighed and walked over to her and pried her hands apart, his eyes cold yet bright at the same time.
"Go bandage your hands. And be quick about it. We have to go somewhere."
Elise stood slowly, taking great care not to let her feelings get the best of her, and made her way to the restroom. Her stomach bubbled with apprehension, nauseating her slightly and making her lightheaded. Why am I so on edge today? I haven't done anything! Don't panic. Don't panic. You can panic when the case is over but not now. If you puke now then Dad and John will make you stay behind. Stop being weak Elise. Just bandage up your stupid hands and go!
Those thoughts in no way helped. Her chest tightened painfully and tears welled up in her eyes. Why does this happen to me? Am I not cut out for this? Am I really meant to be a detective? Is there something wrong with me?
"Elise come on!" John shouted from the living room.
She did as she was told quickly and re- entered the sitting room, fresh wrappings coating her self-ravaged hands. John and Sherlock already had their coats and gloves on. Elise grabbed her own from the rack, slipping it on as they traipsed down the stairs, repeating her mantra over and over.
Keep calm and breath deep.
….
Soon they were near the rear of the National Art Gallery where a young man has spray-stenciled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig's snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man's feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, "RAZ", below the image and is now adding the finishing touches to his 'artwork.' He continued spraying, unperturbed, as the group approached.
"Part of a new exhibition." The vandalistic man said casually, as if Sherlock was one of his best mates.
"Interesting." The tall detective said disinterestedly.
"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." He said with a chuckle.
"Catchy!" John commented.
Elise nodded. "It's got a nice punk ring to it."
Raz nodded and kept spraying. "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?"
Sherlock produced his phone from his coat pocket and held it out towards Raz, who turned around and tossed one of the spray cans at John. He instinctively caught it, and looked at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz took Sherlock's phone and scrolled through the photographs of the yellow ciphers from Sir William's office and the library.
"Know the author?"
Raz twisted his mouth in thought. "Recognize the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."
"What about the symbols: d'you recognize them?"
"Do you know what they mean? Cause we sure don't." Elise added.
Raz squinted at the screen. "Not even sure it's a proper language. Ain't no way of telling what it means, sweetheart."
Elise flinched when he called her 'sweetheart'. Flashes of the cabbie pointing a "gun" at Sherlock flitted through her mind, chilling her to the bone and making her feel even sicker. Her chest tightened painfully at the memory, a memory that she didn't want to relive with every fiber of her being. She brushed it to the side before she got too worked up over it, skillfully diverting her attention back to the painting.
At least I know that's a trigger now.
"Two men have been murdered, Raz." Sherlock said pointedly. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."
"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna help us or not?"
Raz shrugged and looked at the phone again. "I'll ask around."
"Somebody must know something about it."
"Oi!"
The three of them looked round and saw two Community Support Officers hurrying towards them. Sherlock instantly snatched his phone from Raz, grabbed Elise by the hand, and ran off in the opposite direction. Raz fled too, dropping his spray can, and kicking his bag toward John. John was the one left behind this time. Not Elise.
Elise shook Sherlock's hand from hers but continued to run, thankful for her Track experience and long legs. It comes in handy when you had to keep up with a 6 foot tall detective who could run like the wind. Elise's feet pounded against the pavement of the alley, mirroring that of her father's. Raz was nowhere to be seen, presumably turning one of the corners they passed on the way. She hadn't expected him to stick around. He didn't seem like the type to stay in one place for too long.
After all, he had just vandalized a building.
The Holmes' eventually came to a stop once they were a safe distance away, gasping desperately for air. Elise doubled over, putting her head between her knees as she fought the anxiety plaguing her. Running from authority definitely wasn't helping in any means to settle her. Her vision clouded, her head seemingly growing in weight.
Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up.
"Elise?" Sherlock asked, enviously regaining his composure quickly. "Let's go."
She righted herself, some of her discomfort ebbing away. The dizziness had cleared enough to let her walk, albeit staggeringly. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth just like her doctor showed her. It helped only slightly. My god, is this what death feels like.
Elise had become pretty skilled at hiding her anxiety. That didn't mean it hurt any less. To her, one of the worst feelings in the world was trying to hold back a panic attack in public. She couldn't explain it to anyone accurately. Hell she couldn't even explain it to herself.
Sherlock didn't notice her distress, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. He had already begun walking away, leaving Elise to trudge behind him, still reeling, fists clenched.
Get it together Elise! Quit being stupid! You're fine!
None of these thoughts helped her. She took a few staggering breaths and exhaled like her doctor had taught her the best she could. She continued this process with closed eyes, imagining herself anywhere but here.
C'mon Holmes. Work needs to be done.
Sherlock thought about what Raz had told them. He knew what kind of paint it was but that wasn't significant. Not yet. Although the fellow didn't have a clue as to what the symbols meant, he could find people who did and that's what was important. Anyone with even the smallest piece information was beneficial at this stage. Sherlock would never admit it, but sometimes, he could use all the help he could get.
"Um, Dad?"
His daughter's shaky address tugged him free of his mind.
"We forgot John."
….
Elise rested on the couch, a cup of tea in hand, reading a book silently. It was a tale of a mysterious disappearing girl and the teen boy hopelessly infatuated with her. The premise had seemed terrible at first, but the librarian's recommendation and a skim of the first page had intrigued her. So she had picked it up. Good thing she did too. It was actually pretty decent. Would've been a missed opportunity had she not. This novelization managed to calm her.
Sherlock stood at the fireplace again. The mirror was now almost completely covered because he has added several sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. His head was lowered as he consulted a book, much like Elise though the reasoning was different. While Elise read for pleasure, Sherlock read because he needed to in order to solve his case. Completely different motives.
Then again, they were completely different people.
A slamming door announces John's return to the flat, an angry one at that judging by his face. He clearly had been through something since the Holmes' had seen him last.
"You've been a while." Sherlock said.
John walked a few more paces into the room, his shoulders rigid and his fists clenched. He stopped, blinking as he fights to hold onto his anger, then turns to Sherlock.
"Yeah," he said tightly. "Well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?"
Elise put down her book and grimaced. She truly did feel bad about dashing off without him, despite Sherlock's indifference.
"Yeah. Sorry about that." She said apologetically. "If it makes you feel any better…" she racked her brain for anything to comfort John but came up empty. "Yeah actually I've got nothing. Sorry."
He started pacing, an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face.
"Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."
"What?" Sherlock said, obviously not having paid attention.
John was practically boiling. "Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They're given' me an ASBO!"
"Good." The detective said absently. "Fine."
John looked at the other Holmes with an 'is he serious?' look on his face. Elise shrugged helplessly.
"He's been like this all day."
He didn't even notice I had a panic attack.
John addressed his flat mate again. "You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time."
Sherlock, still blissfully ignorant, slammed his book closed. "This symbol: I still can't place it."
Turning and putting down the book, he walked over to John who has just started to take off his jacket, and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders. "No, I need you to go to the police station..."
"Oi!" John protested.
"... Ask about the journalist."
"Daddy you can't just force him out!" Elise sprung off the couch, much to her stomach's dismay.
"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements."
Sherlock and John disappeared down the stairs, Elise close behind.
They went out onto the street.
"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A." Sherlock said. "If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide."
He walked off down the street. Elise and John were left alone.
"Well I guess it's just you and me huh?" John said, calmed down a bit from before. Elise offered him a soft smile.
"I guess so."
John saw a taxi coming around the corner and hailed it. As it pulls over to the curb he sees an Oriental-looking woman with dark hair and sunglasses standing on the other side of the road and taking a photograph. Her camera is aimed in his direction. He bends to the taxi driver's window.
"Scotland Yard."
"Right."
He and Elise climbed into the back of the taxi. John looked to Elise questioningly.
"Did you see that?" He asked her.
John stole a glance behind him. The woman was gone.
Talk about strange.
…
Sherlock was in Van Coon's office, standing beside his personal assistant, Amanda, looked at an online calendar. She had proved to be fairly helpful thus far and not as bothersome as others he had met. While she wasn't the brightest bulb in box- or at least by Sherlock's standards- Amanda managed to carry out what the detective needed without that much of a fuss. The late Van Coon had picked a capable assistant.
"Flew back from Dalian Friday." Amanda said. "Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team."
"Can you print me up a copy?"
"Sure."
"What about the day he died?" Sherlock asked. "Can you tell me where he was?"
Amanda looked at the screen, biting her lip as she searched. "Sorry. Bit of a gap."
Sherlock began to doubt his former opinions on the blonde woman's capability.
Then she said something useful. "I have all his receipts."
Bingo.
"Let me fetch them."
She left the room only to return a moment later, a stack of paper in her hands. She spread the receipts out on the desk. Sherlock watched her as she carried out the simple task, a question burning like fire in the back of his throat.
"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?"
Amanda laughed at the thought. "Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag."
Sherlock nodded and knelt on the floor to give himself easier access to the receipts. While he was taking off his gloves, his watchful eye detected a pump-action bottle of luxury hand lotion at the back of the desk. He glanced sneakily at Amanda.
"Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn't he?"
This wasn't the purchase of a mediocrely payed assistant. This was the purchase of a wealthy businessman. Clearly he was attached to this woman personally along with professionally. Otherwise, he wouldn't spend money- no matter how plentiful- on a lavish gift. Amanda mentioned that he was unappreciative though. The relationship either ended badly or is ongoing and rough. I favor the latter. If it had ended badly, the hand cream would've been disposed of.
The accusation threw Amanda off. Fiddling nervously with a pin in her hair, she looked at the detective in surprise. Sherlock shuffled through the paperwork and picked up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt is for £18.50. He handed it up to Amanda.
"Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."
She relaxed when the subject was changed. "That would get him to the office." Amanda elaborated.
"Not rush hour; check the time." Sherlock indicated. "Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as..."
"The West End. I remember him saying."
Sherlock found a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at "Piccadilly", which is spelled incorrectly. He then proceeded to hand it to Amanda before rummaging through the receipts again.
"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."
Amanda took the ticket and examined it. "So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?"
"Because he was delivering something heavy." Sherlock answered. He kept digging through the mounds. "Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator."
"Delivering?" Amanda asked with a raised brow.
"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then..."
He found another receipt and lifted it to show her. It was from an Italian expresso joint. His mind flashed to Elise and her love of coffee and pizza. The girl could literally be condemned to a diet of nothing but that and wouldn't complain. Her love for those foods was impressively strong.
Maybe once I solve this I can take her there? I'm sure she would like- Ugh focus Sherlock. No straying thoughts on a case.
"... Stopped on his way. He got peckish."
…
Elise and John walked down the street after retrieving Lukis' diary. Elise felt like completely and utterly drained. The soothing effects that her earlier cup of tea had on her stomach were gone, replaced with a sharp, burning sensation in her lower abdomen. In an attempt to distract herself from her predicament, she decided to text Christina. Elise still wanted to know what possessed her best friend into giving her mobile number to Leo. She wasn't mad about it, just curious.
Message sent to contact: Christina Bentley.
Hey- EH
Can I talk to you? – EH
It took her about 5 minutes to respond.
Yah what's up? -CB
Leo Henrik texted me today…- EH
Oh?-CB
Yeah. Any idea how he got my number? –EH
I might've given it to him…- CB
You might've? Really? - EH
Ok. I did. –CB
I know ;) Why? – EH
He asked for it. I didn't think you would care. Besides, you need more friends. – CB
Do you care? – CB
No, I guess I don't care.-EH
And I'm fine with who I have thanks. –EH
If you say so. –CB
Elise pocketed her phone and sighed. She loved Christina like a sister. That didn't mean that she didn't get on her nerves.
John read the diary as they walked, completely engrossed in what he was reading. Because of this, he hadn't noticed a certain detective walking obliviously towards him. Sherlock and John collided, both men grunting in surprise.
"Right." John said.
Elise gave a half smile. "We got the diary. Dimmock was sufficiently annoying but he handed it over eventually."
Sherlock nodded furtively, not wanting to waste time with formalities. "Great. Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information..."
"Sherlock..." John interrupted.
"... Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."
"Sherlock..."
"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but..."
John pointed to the other side of the road where a small shop sat. "That shop over there."
Sherlock stopped his rapid fire banter, looked at the shop, then looked back to John with a frown. "How can you tell?" He asked bemusedly.
John rapped on the book in his hands. "Lukis' diary." He showed the diary to Sherlock. "He was here too. He wrote down the address." John started walking to the shop.
Elise laughed at the baffled expression on Sherlock's face. He frowned
"Why are you laughing? What's funny?"
Elise covered her mouth with her hand to quiet the sounds. "Your face. It's refreshing to see someone figure something out before you."
And with that she followed John to the shop.
….
A/N: See? I told you this would be long this story is really fun to write
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