The Silent Banker
The Silence of Contemplation
They were standing in the office of DI Dimmock again, and they were not a happy trio.
When Rose hand woken up, John hand given her the bottle of water, which she swallowed painfully, and he took a look at her neck. Half way through the brief examination however, she turned bright red, realising that she wasn't wearing her scarf, and was showing a decent amount of chest. She closed her eyes in embarrassment, and reassured herself with the fact that John was a gentleman and a doctor, and Sherlock was just Sherlock. It didn't stop her grabbing her scarf as soon as she could and wrap it around her neck though.
Now stood in the office, she was only half listening to the conversation around her as her sore neck was uncomfortable and distracting. She heard John getting agitated though.
"How many murders is it going to take before you realise this maniac is out there?" But Dimmock walked away, only making John more frustrated. Looks like he wants to punch him, she mused. Wouldn't blame him.
She sighed, and stood up from the chair she was given and walked after him before either of the men could do anything. She stood in front of him, blocking his path when he tried to move around her, and glared up at him. "It's rude to walk away from someone when they are talking to you." She croaked, making the man frown.
John stepped in then. "A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims, in three days. And your supposed to be finding him."
Sherlock wondered over to them at that point, also trying to convince the DI. "Brian Lucas and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers, a gang called the Black Lotus, operating here, in London, right under your nose."
Dimmock stilled for a second, then turned to face Sherlock. "Can you prove that?" He spat out. A challenge, not believing that Sherlock could actually do it. But Sherlock drew up to his full height and looked down on the inspector.
"Yes I can."
With those three words, they made their way to another building - Rose wasn't paying much attention as to where they were going - and they walked through, heading for a canteen.
They approached a young woman, a little older than Rose, and Sherlock spoke to her. "What are you thinking, pork or the pasta?"
She looked up, then back down, trying to hide a small smile. "Oh, it's you." Rose saw immediately that the woman had a thing for Sherlock. Poor girl, she thought.
"I'd stick with the pasta." He recommended. "Don't want to eat the roast pork, not if your slicing up cadavers." This caught Rose's attention though. What…?
"What are you having?" The woman asked.
Sherlock looked to the food again. "Don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down." Sounds like something only Sherlock could say, and get away with, she thought.
"So, you're working here tonight?" Said the new woman, not looking Sherlock in the eyes.
"Need to examine some bodies." He explained.
"Some?" She questioned.
"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lucas." The consultant clarified.
She looked to the clipboard in her arms, frowning slightly. "They're on my list…"
Rose was shocked by what she saw then. It almost seemed as though Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, was trying to be charming! "Can you wheel them out again for me?"
"The paper works already gone through…" She said, still not looking him in the eye. Trying to say no to him, Rose deduced.
Sherlock frowned a little, and went to turn away, but suddenly turned back, seeing something he could use. "You've changed your hair." He stated.
"What?" Replied the woman, caught off guard. She looked up to meet his eyes.
"The style," He explained, trying to sound nice. "It's usually parted in the middle." Rose raised an eyebrow at John, who rolled his eyes. They both knew what was going on.
"Yes, well.." She tried to come up with something to say, but couldn't think of anything. He saved her the trouble though.
"It looks good, umm," He really hated social situations like this. "It suits you better this way." He nodded, trying his best to look genuine, even though he couldn't care less. He offered the short woman a smile, which she returned, turning to lead them to the lab. Before they got the door though, Rose spoke up.
"Are we going to look at dead people now?" She asked bluntly, but quietly to John.
"Yeah." Was the simply answer she got.
So, she nodded, and told him, "I'm going out for a cigarette then, if you don't mind." Though John knew she wasn't going out because she wanted a cigarette - rather, she didn't want to see another dead person just yet.
In the cab to Scotland Yard they had told her about Soo Lin Yao. She had nodded grimly and looked out of the window, but John swore he saw her wipe away a tear.
"Sure, do you want me to keep you company?" He offered.
She just smiled at him, always the gentleman. "Nah, go with Sherlock. Try not to let him add Dimmock to the morgue." They both saw how angry Sherlock was getting with the uncooperative DI, even if he did try to hide it. They chuckled and went their separate ways.
Rose found her way out of the building again, and went to lean against the wall, standing in the shadows but near enough to the door so she could see when they came out.
As she light her minty stick of tobacco with shaking hands, she took a deep pull, feeling a scratch on the inside of her throat. As she blew out the smoke, she felt a single tear trickle down her face.
She wasn't one for openly sobbing and crying loudly. She would maybe sob if something was really bad, but never loudly; she didn't see the need for it. As she stood there, smoke billowing graceful around her tear streaked face, she thought again about everything that had happened, and made up her mind.
She would stay. She may be chasing a gang of murdering smugglers, and she had been choked twice in two days, but she knew she was much happier than she had been in a long while. John and Sherlock didn't treat her like a child; like she couldn't take care of herself. They knew she smoked and accepted it, even though one of them had quit.
They accepted her for who she was.
This thought made her smile, but she noticed that he cigarette was almost to the butt. This only served to wipe the smile off her face; it reminded her of Soo Lin, and how her life was so cruelly burnt up and taken from her. She felt anger boil deep in her veins, the sort of anger that only leaves when it has been vented in some way. It made her determined to get the bastard that killed the young woman.
She threw the butt on the floor, stood on it and pushed of the wall. She pushed her arms to the side of her, reaching out as far as she could , feeling her muscles protest under the strain. She opened her fingers, doing the same, but felt a sharp stab of pain on the finger her ring was on. Inspecting it, she found that she had a small cut from when her hand had hit the floor and the metal had sliced into the flesh. Sighing, she took the ring off and looped her necklace through it. She rolled her neck, feeling every bit of the bruising, but knowing that it would get worse before it got better, as so she got the worst of it over with. She rolled her shoulders, and stood up straight, lifting her head up so she was at her full height, head held proudly. It was a routine she found had worked to get her to stop being so down and negative. It worked and she strode with purpose towards the door that, at that moment, opened.
They had shown Dimmock the tattoos on the heels of the dead men - who then proceed to silently admit defeat and ask what they wanted. Sherlock had said their books, confusing Dimmock, but the men offered no explanation.
Walking down the corridors of the building, John couldn't help but think of the young woman waiting outside. She had been through so much in such a short space of time, and he didn't know how she would handle it. Would she break down? Move out? Stay, but completely ignore them? He had no idea, and it bugged him to no end.
"Relax John." Said Sherlock, obviously sensing the mans distress. Dimmock had gone to make the call to bring the books, and the flatmates had decided to go back to their flat to await the arrival of the books.
"She's barely twenty Sherlock." John replied with worry.
"You underestimate her." Said Sherlock simply, as though it were simple.
"You overestimate her." John countered. Sherlock only smirked as the approached the doors that would lead them outside. The sight that met them stopped Johns thoughts in their worrisome track, and made Sherlock's smirk grow in size.
In front of them was a young woman, no longer broken or upset. John saw a fire in her eyes, a determination to work and not stop until they had their man.
It was the same spark he saw in Sherlock's eyes when he got an interesting puzzle.
She saw the look in John's eyes and Sherlock's smirk, bigger than usual. John had thought she would crumble, and Sherlock had disagreed. It was obvious to her. She didn't judge John though, she knew he only meant well and would not hold her back.
The two men walked down the steps to meet their flat mate, Sherlock clapping her on the shoulder as he passed, a silent encouragement and, though she didn't know it, to him it was a symbol of pride that she had persevered and was still willing to work and carry on.
Silently, they hailed a cab, heading back to their flat.