The Silent Banker

A Silent Thought

Walking into the still empty living room, she wondered what was taking her flatmates so long. Checking the time, and seeing it was just coming up to two a clock in the afternoon, she pondered the idea of them going to get something to eat for John, and thought it was likely. Thinking about times and how long they might be, she guessed she had about half an hour before they returned.

Using the time wisely, she searched her own room with a metaphorical fine toothed comb for any signs of any sort of devise. Finding none, she thought she would just have to trust him for now. Laughing at the thought of trusting a man who was watching her flat from the inside out, she changed her mind. She would have to just have to keep an eye out for any changes in anything in the flat.

Deciding to alter her previous plan concerning her laptop, she went up stairs and moved it from its position on the desk, and leaned it up against the side of the sofa, memorising its position exactly. This would also tell her if it had been moved or not.

Hearing a car pull up outside the flat, she went to the window to see it was a cab, and her two flatmates got out of it, looking a little put out, but determined. She checked the clock. Thirty five minutes. I'm good, she thought smugly.

Walking into the living room, Sherlock walked past her as she went to the kitchen and noticed something he never liked noticing. His back went a little straighter in automatic defiance to the deduction, and he went to sit at the desk, also noticing there was something different about the room. First he would find out what was different about the room, then he would talk to his flat mate. If it was what he thought it was, then he would need to tread carefully.

John, noticing neither the difference in the room, nor the way his flatmates seemed to be a little lost in their own minds, went to sit in his preferred chair - the one with the union jack cushion - picking up his laptop on the way. He needed to start looking for some form of job, whether he liked it or not.

Rose came back into the living room, a steaming cup of tea for John in one hand, and an equally steaming cup of coffee for Sherlock in the other. Setting down the cups next the their respective owners, she received a quiet "Thanks," from John, and Sherlock's equivalent; a cold and empty stare. But there was something different this time.

Sure, she was used to his emotionless stares and even more disturbing cold glares, but this was something completely different. It was cold, and suspicious and didn't just flicker up to acknowledge her setting down the cup, but it stayed watching her, even as she went and sat on the sofa, lighting a cigarette and looking up at the ceiling.

As she sat down, he noticed what was different about the room. There was a shiny, midnight blue laptop tucked away, in between the wall and the side of the sofa. He smirked, and did another quick once over of the room. That was all that was different it appeared. This took some weight off his shoulders, though looking back to the young woman on the sofa, he found it had returned, as had her gaze on him. He thought he may as well say it, she shouldn't keep things from him after all.

"You've seen Mycroft." He stated, voice calm, though she noticed the suspicion gently laced through it. John's gaze flickered up at the comment; he remembered Mycroft all to well.

She grimaced. "Unfortunately." She said. Turning her head in its side, she asked him. "How did you know?"

"I know my brothers cologne." Was the reply she got. She remembered when she gave her little threat, and she had leaned in to whisper it to him. Had it really rubbed off? She thought. Didn't even notice it.

"Ah. By the way, what does he actually do?" She may have met the man twice and been warned about him, but she didn't really know all that much about him.

"He is the British government. The one that pulls all the strings, everywhere."

This made her thoughts stop in their tracks. Is the British government? She remembered his reply, sounding as though he was doing his best to hold back laughter, I'd like to see you try. Now she understood, and with this understanding cam a small bout of panic.

What would happen if she were to annoy him too much. Would she be arrested? He had already shown he could get a camera in their flat, and not get caught. And he had hinted that he knew about her brother. How did he know what Zach had said? Her over active imagination put forth an idea then that scared her quite a bit. What if she wasn't arrested, she thought wildly. What if she just disappeared?

Well, she couldn't back down now! At the very least, the man was expecting some form of retaliation. She may have to rethink her methods though…

While his flatmate was having an internal melt down of some form or another, Sherlock sat in his chair, waiting for her to come back to the world of the living and the murdering. He watched her closely, wondering what could have happened to make her react like this. At his description of his brothers occupation, her eyes had flown open and seconds later a small whisper of an expletive passed her lips. But after ten seconds of watching the woman stare into space, often bringing up her glowing cigarette to draw heavily on it, Sherlock had gotten bored. So, deciding to go an check his various experiments, mind racing as he though about how and where to set up new ones, he made his way to the kitchen, but paused half way.

Looked down to the floor, he saw a small pile of broken black plastic, and glass, interwoven with small wires and metal components. He discreetly took a picture on his phone, and decided to see to it later, as his theory may require a pair of shoes taken from his flat mate - who was, annoyingly, still wearing them.

Going to the kitchen, he got out a spare plastic evidence bag, and went to put the "evidence" into it. He then put it on the kitchen table to go back to once the place was full of sleeping people.

Suddenly, snapping Rose out of her reverie, John leapt up off his chair, and grabbed his coat again. "Got a job interview." He said to her quizzical look.

"Wish me luck!" He shouted as he ran down the stairs, eager to get to get there.

"Good luck!" She shouted, just before she heard the door close.

She sat there for a few more minutes before the utter silence of the flat made her snap. She hated the quiet, always had, and not even the madman in the kitchen was making any noise. So she grabbed her laptop, and went down to her room. She turned her music up, sat back on her bed and took a little incentive from her friend, now at a job interview.

After an hour and a half of searching the internet, she found a grand total of; nothing. Anything she did find, she either wasn't qualified for, or was too far away. It was not surprising, but it still annoyed her.

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Wondering who it could be, she went to open the door.

There stood John, Tesco bag in hand and smile on his face.

"Hey, just got a bit of shopping." He said happily, bringing the bag up to show her. "Want some pizza?" He offered.

It reminded her of when she used to live with her brother back in Wales, and he would cook one large pizza for them to share. Smiling thankfully, she replied. "Sure, thanks. I'll be up in a minute."

"Alright." And he went up stairs to put the oven on.

As she went back into her room, she turned her music off, and picked up her laptop, tucking it under her arm. But as she looked back into her room from her door way, she felt a small pang of nostalgia. She missed her brothers, even if they were idiots. Sighing, she turned away and closed her door, making her way up the living room, just in time to see John throw a pen to Sherlock, with out looking at him, who caught it, also with out looking at John.

"Nice catch." She said, trying to pull her self out of her thoughts.

She went to sit of the sofa again - it seemed to be her usual place to relax now - and decided to leave her search for the day, and went on Facebook instead.

As she waited for the page to load, she turned to John. "So, how did it go?"

"Good, yeah great! She was great." A small smile played on his mouth when he said she.

Giving a knowing smirk, she called him out on it. "She?"

"What?" Was the reply she got, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"You said she." Supplied Sherlock, for once joining in their conversation.

"No, I didn't." Said john, backtracking quickly.

"Yeah, you did." But seeing the look on his face, she changed the subject. "So when do you start?"

Thankful for the out, John said, "Tomorrow. Eight thirty, sharp."

"Dull." Came the voice from the kitchen, and laughing, Rose went back to her computer.

She soon changed her mind from going on Facebook however, when she caught herself looking at her eldest brothers profile page. Sighing again, she went in search of a game, and soon found one called "Clusterz." It was a silly game of destroy all the coloured balls, but it kept her mind busy until the pizza was ready.

A few hours later, Rose bid her flatmates good night, and left her lap top - turned off - beside the sofa again. Going to her room, she turned on the light, and stood for a few minutes, listening to the empty silence. She changed into her pyjamas, and lay in her bed, not bothering to put on her usual quiet music, that would lull her into a warm sleep.

After a few seconds, she felt a tear trickle down her face, soon followed by another one. She didn't sob, she just let the emotions wash over her, and allowed them, for once, to leak out of her eyes.

Everything seemed negative as she lay there. She missed her funny brothers, her insane parents, her old, equally insane and funny friends, and the whole life she had back in Wales. She missed the rain and the green, and the cold, her old creaky house that made the strangest of noises, for no apparent reason.

She wondered, once again, whether moving into 221B was the right decision, and whether her brother was right. Maybe she should just move out, pack a bag, find somewhere else to go.

Then a sound cut through the silence. The smooth sound of a bow on violin strings. She looked at the clock on her bedside table.

11:43

John, must have gone to bed by now, she thought absently.

But as she lay there, listening to the soothing music, she found that she felt better somehow. She had moved on, moved forward, and she was better for it.

And so, wiping her face, she turned over, closing her eyes, and let the calming music flow through her room, taking the edge off her emotions, and letting her drift off into a peaceful, if heavy, slumber.

John, had turned in not long ago, talking about early mornings and work, and Sherlock found his curiosity was back full swing.

First, he went to the kitchen to examine the heap of whatever-it-was he found on the floor, earlier that evening. Looking closely, he found it was plastic, glass, and wires, certainly, but the glass had been circular. A lens. The plastic was also curved, as though from a cylindrical case. Putting the two together, he came up with the only thing that could have found its way into their flat. One of Mycroft's cameras. The conclusion as to how it got in its current state was an easy one. It couldn't have been John, he was with him before he found it. If it was one of Mycroft's people - though they would never be so clumsy - they would have cleaned it up. But Rose, she could have left it there to prove a point. Seemed like the sort of thing she would do, he thought. At a guess to what had happened to it, he would say… boot. It was completely crushed, but had only been hit once, so something with a large enough surface area, not a hammer then. One good stamp would have done it, and he knew she had steel toe caps - he had seen them earlier as she put out her cigarette on the sole of one of them.

So, she had destroyed another of Mycroft's cameras. The thought made him smile crookedly. There was no one there, so he let it slip onto his sharp features. Mycroft wouldn't care, he knew, but it meant that he had tried - and failed - to bug their flat again. The delay would annoy him somewhat, to Sherlock's amusement.

Standing up again, he looked into the living room, and his eyes were once again drawn to the midnight blue laptop, slid between the sofa and the wall. He knew she had done it on purpose, but he didn't care how he got it. Just that he found out what ever she was hiding from him. He still didn't understand her.

Sitting in her earlier seat, he unfolded the devise, and pressed the power button. While it loaded, he cast his mind thinking of what she could have used. He clicked the little icon for her user, and saw the little box pop up for the user to type the password into. Smirking, he tried his first thought.

Zach

Password incorrect. It was a long shot, he knew, but worth trying. She didn't seem the type to use numbers, or change the capitols - except for nouns and the like - so he didn't try that. He cast his mind around a little, then remembered another of his flat mates habits - smoking. But she didn't have normal cigarettes or have them all that often.

mint

Password incorrect. She had them when she was annoyed, or stressed.

stress

Password incorrect. He was getting a little annoyed now. He didn't know all that much about her. She had the fashion sense of a humorous man, and listened to all types of music. But she did enjoy her music.

music

Password incorrect. Again? He sighed, getting a little more annoyed. He had seen the hint button, but really didn't want to use it. Even if no one would know, he would. He thought hard, about everything he knew about her. She liked cooler colours; blues, greens, greys and that sort of thing

blue

Password incorrect.

green

Password incorrect.

grey

Password incorrect.

He tried every colour he could think of, always getting the same bloody answer from the machine; Password incorrect. She seemed to enjoy her food, and so he tried the typical foods she had bought in the two weeks she had lived there. Still; Password incorrect.

He didn't know any of her childhood pets, or even if she had any! She didn't seem to get along well with her family, so that was a no go, too. Again, he didn't even know her family, only that she had two brothers, both parents were alive, and she had an uncle, from her mothers side - he over heard the call she had with him the day after her brother had come around.

He suddenly remembered the way she spoke to him when her and John had found the head in the fridge. As though to a child, but it seemed practised. He thought she either had younger siblings, but on finding out she only had two older brothers, concluded she must have had a baby sitting job at some point. Again he didn't know the name or names of the children she baby sat.

He didn't think it would be this difficult.

The hint button tempted him again, and after ten more minutes of fruitless thought, he clicked it.

Something Sherlock doesn't understand.

As the words came up on the screen, he narrowed his eyes. She had done it on purpose. She had changed her password. He had suspected it, but didn't know how to confirm it. Now he didn't need to. He also had the impression that she knew that this hint would annoy him. And it did.

But it also gave him an idea. He had proclaimed, in front of her, that he was a sociopath. She knew he didn't do well with emotional things. Smiling in triumph, he typed in his latest theory.

emotion

Password incorrect.

"Damn it!" He growled out, lowly. He thought again. Emotion… he tried several things then. Love, hate, friendship, care, compassion, all producing those same two infuriating words. Password incorrect.

He got up off the sofa, and picked up his violin, playing any random song that came to his mind. He played for hours, contemplating the young woman asleep downstairs. After seeing that it was gone three in the morning, he resigned himself to an hours nap on the sofa.

So, setting down his wooden instrument and its bow, he lay down on the sofa, closed his eyes, and let his mind run free. It lingered on his deduction earlier that she had seen Mycroft. Surely what was on there couldn't be that important could it? But he wondered, and with out having any answers, Sherlock fell into a restless sleep, lasting all of two hours, before he woke again.

With a fresh mind, he looked back to midnight blue devise, still open, still turned on, and looking as innocent as possible. He never trusted innocence.

Unfolding himself from the sofa, he picked up the laptop once more, and typed in the last idea he had.

Mycroft

Closing his eyes, he pressed the enter key, and when he opened them again, saw the screen he was far too familiar with.

Password incorrect.

Glaring at the devise, he turned it off again, tucked it back into its little hiding place, and went to make coffee. He was not in a good mood.