The Silent Game
Sherlock, A Silent Darling
Sherlock paced in front of the sofa, the wall behind it becoming their newest evidence board. Lestrade stood in front if it, used to the madman's methods by now. John sat in his chair, going over the details in his mind, looking over the notes he had taken, trying to come up with some form of idea while simultaneously trying not to watch the clock. It showed they had eights hours left and John was all too aware of that little fact.
"Connection, connection, connection." Sherlock muttered as he rubbed his hands together, pacing a hole in the floor. "There must be a connection…" Suddenly he turned to the board, John getting up to joining the other two men as Sherlock talked it all out, pointing to random photos, scribbles and bits of string as he went along. "Carl Powers, killed 20 years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in the stationery from the Czech Republic. The first hostage was from Cornwall, the second from London, the third form Yorkshire, judging by her accent." John frowned at the man's quick words, the man himself spreading his arms wide as he tried in vain to understand the bomber. "What's he doing? Working his way around the world, showing off?"
In the next second, the pink phone decided to ring out again, distracting the three men from the evidence board, John and Lestrade looking to Sherlock as he answered the call.
"You're…enjoying this…aren't you?" Said a shaky voice, clearly heard in the now silent room. John saw that Sherlock didn't even look ashamed of the fact. "Joining the…dots." He's watching us, Sherlock thought and not for the first time. "Three hours….Boom…Boom!" She said as she gasped, starting to sob again.
Sherlock put the phone away after the call cut off, putting his hands together and turned back to the evidence board, ignoring John's worried glance to him and Lestrade's sigh of tiredness. How long could this go on for?
"We're devastated, of course." Rose heard as she followed the victim's brother into a bright, yet grey toned, stripy living room. She sat down in the middle of a cushion covered loveseat, watching as the brother went to stand by the mantle.
"Can I get you anything, Miss?" She heard as her free hand fell on a furless feline that seemed very inquisitive.
"No, thank you." She replied politely.
As the man left them to talk, she turned back to the purple shirted man as he spoke. "Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed." She slipped a hand into her bag - the same one she took to see Mycroft - pulling out the same note pad and pen as she had earlier, starting to take notes. "We didn't always see eye to eye…. But my sister was very dear to me."
Rose gently picked up the cat that was trying to settle on her lap, placing it to the side of her, speaking as she did so, a sympathetic smile on her face. "And to the public, Mr Prince." The cat meowed loudly as it was moved.
"Oh, she was adored." The man said, almost believably. "I've seen her take girls who look like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses." Damned cat, Rose thought, annoyed at both the second meow the animal made and that fact that it was trying to crawl onto her lap again. The man didn't notice though. "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."
She plastered on another sympathetic smile, forcing the emotion into her tone as the cat started to purr in her hands. "Absolutely."
"Great." John heard Sherlock say from the other side of the room. He was stood to the right of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade on the other side of her, all three of the looking at the evidence board. Sherlock was on the other side of the room, in front of the fireplace, speaking on the phone. "Thank you. Thanks again."
"It's a real shame." Mrs Hudson said, looking to the taller men either side of her. "I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours."
"Colours?" Asked Lestrade, not understanding the woman's words.
"What goes best with what." Said John, giving Lestrade's answering look a roll of the eyes.
"I should never wear cerise, apparently." Mrs Hudson gave an example, oblivious to the men's silent conversation. "Drains me."
Lestrade saw Sherlock walk back over to them and decided to talk to him instead of getting fashion advise. "Who's that?"
Sherlock didn't look away from the wall of information, eyebrows pulled together as he answered. "Home Office."
"Home office?" Questioned Lestrade, not quite believing it.
"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour." Sherlock answered, John mouthing the last four words with him, used to the fact that Sherlock knew a lot of people in a lot of places; most of which owed him some form of favour.
"She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much." Mrs Hudson thought aloud, going off on a tangent slightly. "They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces." Sherlock thought of something then as his landlady chuckled on. "It's silly, isn't it? Did you ever see her show?"
"Not until now." Sherlock replied, going to pick up the laptop from the side. He felt his annoyance spike at the sight of it; it was John's laptop. One he had hacked into many times for many reasons, mostly boredom. But he had still not been able to get into Rose's laptop. This had annoyed him to no end. Not even threatening her had worked! He hadn't given up though…
"Oh, you look pasty, love!" Came a voice form the folding devise as the consulting detective held it up for Mrs Hudson and the other two men to see.
"That's the brother." Mrs Hudson pointed out to the man now speaking on the screen. "No love lost there, if you can believe the papers."
"So I gather." Sherlock said in reply. "I've just been having a very fruitful chat with the people who love this show. The fan site's indispensable for gossip."
"There's really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don't you think, girls?" Said the woman in the video, indicating to her brother. She was clapping with the crowd at first, then slapping him on the back, chanting, "Off, off, off, off…"
"Yes, well it would be a lot more common than most people assume. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing." Rose was saying, trying to get as much information on the man as she could. He had just seated himself very close to her however, looking at her intently. She shifted away from him slightly. "If left untreated, it can cause all sorts of problems and such."
"I don't know what I'm going to do now." The man said, his stare seemingly unblinking.
"Right…" She replied, shifting at his invasion of her personal space once again.
"I mean she's left me this place…which is lovely…" He started to explain, still not looking away from her. "…But it's not the same without her."
She sat up, leaning away from him more, turning to face him. "That's why my paper wanted to get the full story. Straight from the horses mouth, so to speak." She offered with a small smile, hoping to anyone who would listen that she wasn't somehow leading him on. Need the information though, a small voice reminded her.
Doesn't make me feel any better, she retorted to the voice.
"Are you sure it's not too soon?" She asked, trying to force herself to become a little more comfortable. It was a wasted effort; she really didn't like the man.
"No." He answered, somehow making her feel a little worse; she wasn't sure how though. "You fire away."
She cleared her throat then looked to her pad of paper, inspiration suddenly striking her. "Actually, do you mind if I make a quick call?
Sherlock noticed somewhere in the back of his vast mind that John had gone to make himself a cup of tea, the offer of a hot drink declined by both detectives. Looking up to the board, he heard his own phone go off, slightly surprised by the sound. Checking the ID, he saw it was Rose.
"Rose." He answered.
As the phone was ringing, Rose waiting for the man to pick up, she had had another idea; this time on how to put off Mr Invades-personal-space. "Sherlock, darling!" She drawled.
Sherlock frowned at the sound, not liking it from her. He knew it was an act though and responded accordingly. "Got yourself another one, my dear?" Like his brother, Sherlock Holmes felt it was only fair.
"Oh, don't start that now!" She said, giggling slightly, though he heard her somewhat exasperated tone. They had had this sort of conversation before after all, both knowing where it would go. "I need you to pay a visit. I think I've got a good one here."
Sherlock deduced that the man was probably listening in on the conversation then. She really meant; got a good idea of what's happened, need a bit of help with it though. "Need anything first?" She usually did, he thought.
"Got a pen?" Came the teasing voice from the other end of the line. He could practically see her smirk.
"I'll remember it, I'm sure." He retorted dryly.