Sherlock

Continuing talking to Keith Downing

"No problem Mr. Holmes."

"It's Sherlock."

"Oh yeah. Sorry."

"It's not a big deal Mr. Downing. I just want to ask you some questions regarding your late brother." Keith's face falls, obviously, he's sad he's gone, either that or he's a good actor. I wouldn't put it past him to be lying about feeling bad.

"I loved my brother Mr. Holmes. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you." Don't even bother to correct him. People, easily forget whatever you tell them. "Let me be very blunt here Mr. Downing, were you aware of the conditions of your father's will?"

"You mean the part about if Jack died without any kids then yes."

"I see. And you weren't too happy about him getting the house were you?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business. They said it was an accident."

"Just answer the question." Keith shifts uncomfortably in his chair,

"Now listen. It would have been very nice to live in this house."

"Course it would. It's a nice house. Big, roomy. Just the sort of thing you would want."

"What?"

"Nothing. You do feel some regret that you didn't get the house."

"Of course I did. Wouldn't you?"

"Oh I don't know. It depends on the situation. This house is too big for my taste."

"Oh."

"Now let me be a bit more blunt, did you want to kill your brother?"

"WHAT?"

"Did you want to kill him before he and his wife could have kids?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"One that I want answered."

"I'm not a murderer Mr. Holmes."

"Never said you were." There you go again, humans, jumping too conclusions. Obviously he wanted the house bad enough, but to murder someone? I'm not sure. Need more data.

"It was implied. I wasn't even here when the accident happened."

"No, sorry. You were in Edinburgh."

"Are we finished?"

"I've gotten everything I need. Thank you for your time." Keith stands and shakes my hand before leaving me sitting at the table. I put my fingertips together and place them under my chin, intriguing. He's hiding something. It was definitely not an accident. Now how to prove it? I need to talk to Jane again. Speak of the devil, Jane enters the kitchen looking disgruntled. Just like I feel. She's been put off by something.

"Mr. Holmes, have you spoken to Keith yet?"

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"It's Sherlock and yes I have. Mrs. Downing, I have come to the conclusion that your husband's drowning was not an accident. Keith Downing was definitely hiding something." She smiles weakly,

"I thought as much. Will you be staying for dinner?" she asks me, I shake my head. I'm not hungry, and I have some more things I need to do before I leave.

"No, but thank you." She smiles and starts to set the table, accidentally knocking one of the salt shakers over, spilling salt all over the table. Without really thinking about it she picks up a pinch and tosses it over her shoulder. Classic. "Are you superstitious perchance?"

"Oh, it's not superstition, it's fact." I laugh inside, people hate when you laugh at them, but really? That's all sorts of nonsense then. And she believes it. Wait... That could be important...

"Was your husband the same?"

"Oh yes."

"Just a few more questions if you don't mind."

"Of course Mr- Sherlock." I smile. Good old people, actually trying.

"Was your husband a drinker?"

"No. Not usually. And when he did, it was just beer."

"Thank you, one last one, but it's not about your husband."

"Okay."

"Where did the Scotch come from in the cabinet?" She looks toward the cabinet I gestured to,

"Oh. Keith sent that over. Jack was drinking it before he died."

"I know. Thank you Mrs. Downing." I stand up, "I just need to examine the garden again if you don't mind, and then I'll be out of your hair." She smiles and holds the door open for me.

"Of course Sherlock." I take the fastest route to the gardens and examine the gravel where he fell. Taking samples. It's getting late, I'll have to go to the lab tomorrow. Molly texted me saying she's got something for me. I'll have to go in there tomorrow. That should be exciting, hopefully it's something interesting. What's this? Is that green- paint is it? Interesting. Look over there, about a meter away. Only in two specific spots does this green paint pop up. A ladder then? A green one. Straightening up I head for the front of the house to get a cab back to my flat, nearly running into the the gardener as I did. "Excuse me sir, you wouldn't happen to have a green ladder would you?"

The man shakes his head thoughtfully, "We don't have any green ladders." Not put there by the gardener then. I glance back at the wall, no windows so you wouldn't need a ladder there anyway. And if you did you wouldn't put it on the gravel path, you'd stick it in the flower bed.

"Thank you." I add to the gardener as I leave. But Keith was in Edinburgh, how did the ladder get put there? And why-? Oh. Bad luck to walk under a ladder so a drunken Jack would walk around it, tripping on the gravel and drowning in the two feet of water. I hit my head against the glass of the cab, quietly cursing the decision to leave so soon. The only question remaining is how the ladder got there. Simple, Keith got a friend to do it while he was in Edinburgh. I'll text Jane later, she practically forced her number on me.

The next morning

Mike's in when I get there. Seems to be an interesting enough person.

"Morning Mike."

"Hello Sherlock." Maybe he knows someone I can have a flat share with. Don't want to ask him too upright and straight forward though.

"Listen, I might not be around anymore." He looks surprised,

"What?"

"I've got things I've got to do. I've got to find a flat that doesn't require me to get a job, which right now isn't possible."

"Oh I don't know. You could get a flat share or something," I scoff, no seriously, who would want to be my flat mate?

"I'm a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Who'd want to share a flat with me?" He smiles, good old Mike,

"I don't know Sherlock. We'd miss you around here. I'll see what I can do yeah?"

"Thanks Mike. Where you off to?"

"My break, been in all night."

"Well I could have told you that."

"What?"

"Nothing. Have a nice break Mike."

"Thank you Sherlock!" I proceed down the hall, leaving Mike to enjoy his break.

"Good morning Molly. You said you have something for me?" She smiles as she looks up,

"You know those eyes you were looking for a week ago?"

"Have you got some for me?"

"Of course. I put them next to your coat."

"Molly! You're a life saver! I can't thank you enough!"

"What are you going to use them for?"

"Oh, just an experiment I have in mind." I turn to leave, great! Eyeballs! I was looking for some that I could use recently. Molly grips my arm before I can make it out of the mortuary. I had just put my coat on too.

"Sounds entertaining. I've got a body too." I look down at her,

"A body?"

"Would you like to see it? You left your riding crop last time, thought you might want to claim it and maybe look at the body." I smile,

"Show me." She leads me to the black body bag on the table. I pull the zipper down and sniff, "How fresh?"

"Just in, sixty seven, natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice." She smiles at me.

"Fine, we'll start with the riding crop."

Several whacks and minutes later

"Bad day was it?" I look up, Molly's come back and she's wearing lipstick now. Hm.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes, a man's alibi depends on it."

"Listen, I was wondering if when you're finished-" I look up at her fully this time,

"You're wearing lipstick, you weren't wearing lipstick before." She smiles at me,

"I just refreshed it a bit." I smile a little and look back down before allowing her to continue,

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have a coffee?" Coffee, good lunch, must be about lunch time now.

"Black. Two sugars please. I'll be upstairs."

"O-kay..." I head up stairs, grabbing my coat and other effects so that all I have to do when I leave is grab my riding crop and eye samples. Smart. I do have an ongoing experiment, and Mike should be in soon. His break must be almost over. I get out my petri dish preparing for some more experiments. I put it on the table. Hm. Mike has someone with him, someone with a limp. Usually he wouldn't make so much noise on the stairs. The door opens and Mike and his friend walk in. Military, really bad limp, short military style haircut, simple.

"Bit different from my day." Doctor then. An army doctor. Trained at Bart's.

"Oh you have no idea."

"Mike can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the land line?"

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry. I left it in my other coat." Typical Mike. His friend speaks up though. Not limping any more. Psychosomatic then.

"Here. Use mine." Interesting. I don't even know his name and he's offering me the use of his phone? I see some potential in that. I get up from my emails to take the mobile.

"That's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Hand-me down. Harry Watson. Older brother then, from Clara with three kisses. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Probably getting a divorce. He left her, three months old and he's giving it away? He's a drunk. Must be, the USB port says so. Tan face, no tan above the wrist. He's been abroad, not sun bathing. Where can you get yourself wounded in action and an uneven tan? Two places that I can think of,

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"What?"

"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

If brother has green ladder, arrest brother.

SH

I hit send before dialing in Jane's number. How convenient.

"Afghanistan. How did you-?" I hand his phone back without answering. Molly enters with my coffee. Perfect,

"Ah Molly. Coffee. Thank you. What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement, mouth's too small now."

"Okay." She leaves. Silly girl. I take a sip of the coffee, perfect. Now I just have to finish up this email to my brother, telling him to leave me alone. That's the third time this week.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"Sorry what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Oh I've rattled his cage. This is great.

"You told him about me?" John asks Mike.

"Not a word."

"Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did." Oh this is fun. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for." I pull my coat on, "And now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly home from military service. It wasn't a difficult leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we should be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I left my riding crop in the mortuary." What fun. He's bemused. He certainly looks it. Now he's going to ask questions when I'm trying to leave.

"Is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met and now we're going to go look at a flat?"

"Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

"I know you're an army doctor and you're an invalid home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother that's worried about you but you won't go to him for help, possibly because he's an alcoholic more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on don't you think?" I can't leave it like that. He still doesn't know where we're meeting and he won't come if he doesn't know. He seems like an interesting person and I don't want to totally freak him out and have him dislike me. I pause, halfway out the door.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."