Authors Note
Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out, this semester has been crazy. Once May rolls around, and school wraps up, we should be able to write some more. Thanks for your patience, and please don't be afraid to comment and tell us what you think of the new material!
"The first and most important element in this case is not how the perpetrators got out of the vault, but rather, how they got in."
The duo stood inside of the massive bank vault, examining the emptied safety deposit boxes, and the wide open space where 6 million had once been.
"From a cursory glance, there are 6… make that 3, possible scenarios that fit the evidence currently in front of us." Sherlock continued in the rushed tone he used when he was thinking through a difficult problem; as he began slowly walking around the vault, his keen eyes scanning the area for the hints only he could see, occasionally murmuring things to himself that made no sense to anyone outside his head. John however, was still completely baffled as to what they were looking at. He had seen the headlines of a bank robbery plastered all over the newspaper and telly, but he had been so caught up with the Christmas preparations he had totally ignored it. So now, here he was, completely in the dark next to Sherlock's all seeing brilliance. Nothing had changed there.
As Sherlock surveyed the crime scene, the Detective Inspector in charge of the case came up beside John, scowling at the new addition to the case. He was a young man for his post, in his early thirties, in a wrinkled suit he had obviously slept in, looking tired and no more happy than John was to be here on Christmas.
"Your partner had better be as good as everyone says he is. My superiors will have my head if I let a civilian in here without anything to show for it." He said, frowning down at John, but holding his hand out to shake nonetheless.
"He is. Sherlock is the best there is. The only one there is, actually." John said, gesturing to his friend, who was still completely oblivious to their presence.
"So what exactly happened here?" John said, happy he could ask someone besides Sherlock for information. Had he asked, Sherlock would have treated him to a look of incredulity, asking him why he could not see for himself from the evidence all around him, making him feel small and like punching him in the face, all at the same time.
"Late last night, a security guard heard noises coming from inside the vault. He alerted bank personnel, and when they got someone in to check it out, they found this. Third one this week, and the last thing the banks want during Christmas season. Folks are panicking, pulling their money out of the banks, which is the last things the economy needs right now. The department is starting to get desperate. They need to catch this one, and they don't much care how they do it. Which would be why you're friend here got an invite to the party." the detective said, gesturing to Sherlock, still hard at work, then continued.
"The bank vault never opened or closed after bank hours, and there are no signs of drilling, so unless the thief could walk through walls, there's no proper explanation for this."
"WRONG."
Sherlock said, without even looking up from his in-depth exploration of a particularly foul smelling stain on the floor.
He stood, finally finished with his clue-finding expedition, and strode over to them, looking at the detective inspector as if he were a particularly foul smelling stain. However, unlike the detective, Sherlock had actually interested in the stain for a moment.
"There is a logical answer to every problem, detective inspector, if one is only clever enough to see it. The perpetrator didn't travel through the walls, he came in through the air ducts, obviously."
The detective inspector shook his head, laughing in disbelief at Sherlock's words, as if he were listening to a mental patient. In most other aspects of Sherlock's life, he wouldn't be far off the mark, but in his work Sherlock was seldom incorrect. An oblivious arsehole at times, but not wrong.
"That's impossible, they're too small for a person to fit into. I let you in here because Detective Inspector Lestrade vouched for you, but if you don't start giving me some real information instead of these ridiculous conspiracy theories…"
"It's too small for an adult person to fit into. Even you can figure that part out
John sighed internally to himself, as the detective began yelling at Sherlock. Not 10 minutes into the case, and Sherlock had already managed to piss off the lead detective of their case. Well, with any luck, he thought, maybe they'd get thrown off the case and he could get Sherlock to the hospital. Not that getting thrown off a case had ever stopped Sherlock before. A far more likely scenario involved crawling in through windows and sewers, and ended with him being charged with a crime, but one could always hope for the best.
John looked up as the Detective Inspector stormed out of the room in a fury, yelling to his men, no doubt to have them removed from the crime scene. He walked quickly over to Sherlock, who was oblivious to their precarious situation, observing the room once more.
"We should probably get out of here, before the nice detective decides to arrest us." John said, as he grabbed Sherlock by the arm and began dragging him from the room. Finally noticing him, he realized the trouble they were in, nodded his head in agreement, and matched his speed as they quietly slipped out onto the quiet city streets.
The snow was falling in large flakes as they walked hurriedly away from the bank, walking together in silence. John walked quietly, considering what he could possibly say to deter Sherlock from this ridiculous case, and keep him from his certain death at the hands of Irene. After a few blocks, Sherlock turned to John, with the excited gleam in his eye that he always had while he was on a case.
"Well now, shall we begin?"
"No Sherlock, let's not. Lets go to the hospital see Irene, and then in a few days, after Christmas is over, then we can begin." John said, mimicking his dramatic, drawn-out drawl on the last word, grabbing his arm to stop him in his tracks. Sherlock only responded with a look, he really didn't need much more than that. A simple raise of the eyebrow, furrowing of the lips, and he could effortlessly convey what took others long streams of complicated words.
His current look told John he thought him a complete idiot. And not the endearing kind he usually was. Then after a moment, his face cleared, and he moved on, his mind going back to the familiar. The cases, always back to the cases. They were his safety blanket, his bridge connecting him to the rest of society. The cases were the only time he could finally breath, and laugh, and live. Normality stifled Sherlock, it was the extraordinary that awakened his passion, and allowed him to feel the things everyone else took for granted everyday.
"Once you have eliminated the impossible solutions, the ones left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Sherlock said, as he began his leisurely stroll that he always used when walking beside his vertically challenged friend.
"So what is the truth, then?" John said sighing, as he resigned himself to a slow death at the hands of Irene Adler, and matched his partners pace.