Chapter 27
Sherlock flicked through the images on the screen. This was almost too easy. There was only one place in the house where the thief could have been hiding, and it seemed he had been making himself very comfortable. How could John have missed this? It was possibly the most frustrating thing he had ever experienced, being stuck here in London while vital clues were being overlooked at a scale that seemed almost deliberate.
Sherlock reached for his phone.
"Ian? Hi, it's Sherlock. That friend of yours we talked about. Do you think you could introduce him to John?"
"Setting your dear flatmate up with another man?" Mycroft said from the door opening. He was pleased to see Sherlock start, just having put away his phone and not aware that his elder brother had been listening behind him, although of course the younger immediately tried to hide that fact. "Already bored of the new levels of your relationship?"
"Don't be absurd, brother," Sherlock responded haughtily. "The friend in question is a suspect. And besides, I doubt he even exists."
"I'm so glad John has allowed you to take a case again," Mycroft said, no actual emotion to be found in his voice. He sat down in John's chair, facing Sherlock. "I know John is in Cardiff, so probably you'll be even more unpleasant to me than normally, but please do tell me more about the theft."
"Oh, Mycroft. Why don't you do us both a favour and piss off?" Sherlock was not in the mood for this.
"Always so polite." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Mummy would be disappointed, Sherlock. What did they steal from Professor Gryffydd?"
Sherlock snorted. "Oh, so you don't know? You seem to know so much already. Surely your minions can find that out for you. No need to trouble us both by coming here."
"I've come here to look if you're doing well. You were on the verge of death; it is only natural that I am worried about my little brother, isn't it?" Mycroft pulled up his eyebrows.
"No," Sherlock said flatly. "Not when it comes to you. You're up to something. If you really wanted to know how I was doing, you would have called John. So what is it? You need help with something?"
Mycroft gave him a painfully broad smile, then his face went dark. "Mr. Gryffydd has more in his possession than he realizes. Books have always been the mightiest weapons. I need to know which book he has lost."
Sherlock smiled. "Thank you brother. I believe you have just given me valuable insight, that might help me solve this case faster. So the book was definitely not stolen for its monetary value." He leaned back in his chair, smirking at Mycroft.
Mycroft glared at him. "I will find ways to get you off this case within the day if you don't work along."
"Oh." Sherlock managed to seem calm, though he really wanted to giggle with delight at getting Mycroft this worked up. "So you have interests in the book not being found."
"Not exactly," Mycroft said, forcing himself back to calmness.
"Then why would you take me off the case? Why do you even care about this?" Sherlock leaned forward. "Tell me, Mycroft."
Mycroft stood up. "Thank you for your help, Sherlock. I will let you work now."
Sherlock got up too. "Oh no, you won't," he said, glaring at Mycroft. "You know something. Tell me."
"You first," Mycroft answered with a narrow-lipped smile.
Sherlock's stubbornness battled his hunger for information. "Fine," he said, turning away abruptly and walking to the window to stare out. "Gryffydd has lost an actual copy of Abscondita in Aperto."
"Ah. In that case, there is no problem at all. Thank you for reassuring me," Mycroft said.
"Your turn," Sherlock said. "There's more to this."
"Oh, no. Now I know that it's only the Abscondita, there is nothing that you should be worrying about in your weak state. I wish you a good recovery, dear brother. Good day."
Sherlock stormed across the room, placing himself between Mycroft and the door. "No, I don't think so," he hissed. "What else is there in that collection that might interest you enough to come see me?"
Mycroft looked almost amused and shrugged. "You'd think it boring. After all it's something I am interested in."
"Experience has taught me that when you find something interesting, brother dear, it probably means bad news for someone. And I'd rather make sure it isn't me this time."
"Of course not," Mycroft said, as if he was shocked that Sherlock would even think that. "Nor would it harm Dr. Watson," he added quickly. "Frankly, this is about more important people than you two. Just leave it."
"You came to me, so clearly this has got something to do with the case."
"Like I told you, this was about a book in Gryffydd's collection. Not your case. Not everything in the world has to do with you, Sherlock. If only you would listen. Now, if you would be so good to let me out. I wouldn't like to miss my appointment with my employer."
"Right." Sherlock shot him another glare before moving out of his way. "Give her my best."
…
"Was that Sherlock?" John asked, frowning, as Ian put his phone down. He had just walked past in the corridor when he had heard Ian talking in a sickeningly servile voice.
Ian blushed as he looked up. "Yes," he said, almost defiantly. "He asked me to introduce you to my friend Oliver."
"Ah. When can we see him?" John asked, taking out his phone.
'Perhaps you should call me if you want to get anything done, or is Ian really that much more help?' he typed quickly.
"I was just about to call him," Ian said, smiling. He dialled and waited for it to ring. "Oh, straight to voice mail," he said, glancing at John before leaving a message: "Hi Oliver, it's me, Ian. Just trying to reach you, because I have a friend here who would really like to meet you. Give me a call when you hear this, okay?"
As he hung up, he looked back at John. "I guess he's busy."
"Yes, all that while I can't wait to meet him," John said sarcastically.
Ian frowned at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"I'm sorry. I'm a bit annoyed with Sherlock," John admitted. "He just expects me to rush off to do things while he isn't keeping me up to date with his thought process."
"Oh." Ian nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose we could go and see if Oliver is home... I know where he lives."
"Yeah," John nodded. "I guess that's a good idea."
'What do I ask Oliver? Hi, I'm John, did you steal the book?' he texted, irritated that he hadn't had an answer yet.
"I'll get the car," Ian said, heading for the door.
"Thank you."
"Are you two going off? Anything about my book yet?" Owain asked, coming towards the door.
"We're working on it," John said friendly. "Sherlock probably has some ideas."
Owain nodded. "Don't stay too long, Ian, in a few hours I'd really like a cup of tea again. Let me know when you have more information. I'd really like to have it back in my collection."
Ian nodded as he went out to find the driver.
John glanced at his phone again. Still no answers from Sherlock. What was he doing?
As soon as the car stood in front of the house, he got in, and finally felt his phone buzz as he sat down. 'You'll know when you see him.'
John rolled his eyes.
'I'm really not in the mood for cryptic crap, Sherlock. What am I looking for?'
'Just let me know if you find him.'
John glared daggers at his phone. "He really is the most annoying man in the world," he mumbled, knowing that Ian was listening. It would only help to discourage the young man's interest in Sherlock, he hoped.
Ian frowned. "He's a genius isn't he? I mean an actual genius. I think they are always a bit... special."
John pulled up his eyebrow. "That's one way to put it, yeah. At the moment I'd rather go with 'insufferable dick who thinks everyone else is an idiot'."
Ian snorted. "Oh, I'm sure he can't be that bad."
John looked away and rolled his eyes. "So, what kind of person is this Oliver?"
"Oh," Ian laughed. "He's this really funny geeky type. I met him through friends and found out he shares my passion for vintage graphic novels. He was really impressed by my collection."
"Ah, so you're also a book collector," John smiled. "We once had this case we called the Geek Interpreter. So, are you two just friends, or?"
"Oh yeah," Ian laughed. "Though at one point while he was staying at Gryffydd Hall, I kind of got the feeling he was flirting with me. But he's really not my type." Ian stopped himself and blushed.
John thought he could imagine what Ian's type looked like, and that it was quite similar to his own. He could also imagine that if Oliver was the thief, he would easily get into flirting with Owain's nephew.
Ian looked out the window. "Oh," he said. "Here we are."
The car stopped in front of a block of flats and Ian got out, walking to one of the doors.
John followed, quickly checking if he hadn't missed any messages from Sherlock.
Ian stopped at the doorphone, looking puzzled. "This can't be right," he said.
"What's wrong?"
"His name isn't here," Ian said, frowning at the labels. "I'm sure it's the right door, but where it was supposed to say 'Burghess' it says 'Henley' instead."
John sighed. "I think Sherlock already expected this."
"Really? How could he have?" Ian looked back at the labels. "I don't understand this."
"This might hurt, Ian, but possibly Oliver was not who he told you he was. I think that Sherlock believes that he used his friendship with you to get into your uncle's house," John explained quietly.
Ian stood frozen for a moment, absorbing the words. "No," he said. "He was genuine. It must be some mistake. Maybe he moved and just hasn't told me yet." He got his phone out of his pocket. "I'm gonna talk to Sherlock. Clear this up."
"Uhm, wait, I'll call him." If Ian was already shocked and denying everything when John carefully suggested Oliver's betrayal, he really didn't want to know how the boy would react on Sherlock's way of telling him. "Really, let me."
Ian practically pouted, but then nodded. "Okay."
John nodded at him and took his phone. "Sherlock? It turns out Oliver has given Ian a false address, of a certain Henley. I take it you expected this?"
"Of course. His real name is Thomas Elton and he is a minor con artist from Belfast. I suspect this particular job was done on request."
John carefully glanced at Ian. "Is he dangerous? Where do you think we can find him?"
"Oh no, he's strictly into assuming identities to get close to the object he is seeking, and once he's obtained it, he withdraws. He is back in Belfast it would seem. Maybe I should go talk to him."
"No, you can stay in London. Does it help us any further if I find him, or should we concentrate on his employer?"
"We definitely need to find the employer. And therefore I think we need to talk to Thomas Elton. But there are also some other avenues that need exploring. You must find out more about the convention Gryffydd went to and who it was that asked for more information on the book."
"Alright. I'll talk to Professor Gryffydd, and then I'll go to Belfast as soon as I can. I'll call you tonight. Feel free to text your ideas in the mean time," John said.
"I will." Sherlock thought for a moment and then added: "I love you."
John couldn't suppress a broad smile. "You too. Bye."
He looked at Ian. "I'm sorry, but it is true. Sherlock has discovered that Oliver's real name is Thomas Elton, and he lives in Belfast. I understand if you want to confront him with this. You could join me?" John found it a lot easier to be friendly to Ian after hearing Sherlock in person, certainly with the detective even taking the time to tell him he loved him.
Ian almost looked devastated. "Yes, I suppose so."
"I'm really sorry, Ian." John put a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder for a moment, then looked back at the car. "I should ask your uncle a few more questions, and then we should leave for Belfast immediately. The faster we are, the easier it will be to bring the book back." It would be hard enough already, since days had passed since the theft and it could easily be sold, if that was the thief's purpose.
