Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Three
"Piece of Meat"

Eddie Van Coon's Flat

"Do you think he lost the lot of money?" John asks as Sherlock dons on latex gloves. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys."

"You don't know that it was suicide," Sherlock mumbles turning to the suitcase pushed up against the wall.

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside. You had to climb down the balcony."

"And I picked the lock and it locked behind me," Quinn said hovering over the consultant. "Killer could have gotten in that way."

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry." Sherlock stands nearly hitting Quinn as he did.

"Sorry," she breathed backing away.

"Look at the case, John. There was something tightly packed inside it."

John nods, turning back to the body. "Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

"Problem?"

John looks at him incredulously. "Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some blokes dirty underwear."

"Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti, why were they put there?" Sherlock inquired.

Quinn turned back to the body as the boys bounced back and forth, getting a bit miffed when Sherlock shoves her off to riffle through the man's pockets.

"What kind of message would everyone try to avoid? What about this morning, those letters you were looking at?" Sherlock questions as he pulls a wad of slobbery black paper from the victim's mouth.

"Bills."

"Yes. He was being threatened."

"Not by the gas board."

"Course not." Anabeth looks over in time to see a man join them in the room. "Looks like we've got company."

"Ah Sergeant, we haven't met," Sherlock say reaching out to shake his hand.

The man blatantly refuses, putting his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I know who you are. I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with the evidence."

Anabeth clears her throat. "Someone didn't get laid last night," she murmurs under her breath.

Sherlock gives her a warning look and hands over the evidence bag containing the paper. "I phone Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmick." DI Dimmick turned on his heel and left the room. "We're looking at a suicide."

"That does seem to be the only explanation of all the facts," John says glancing around the flat.

"Wrong! It's one possible explanation of some of the facts," Sherlock says looking between the two men. "You've got a solution you like but you're choosing to ignore any evidence that doesn't comply with it."

"Damn skippy," Anabeth quips earning strange looks for everyone within earshot.

"Like?" Dimmick requests.

"The wound's on the right side of his head," answers Sherlock.

"And?"

"Van Coon was left handed. Would call for quite a bit of contortion," he explains as he atempts to shoot himself in the right side of his head with his finger gun.

"Left-handed?"

"Oh come on!" Anabeth shouts. "All you had to do is look around. If it was a snake it would have bitten you, multiple times. Coffee table of the left-hand-side of the couch. The handle of the coffee mug is pointing to the left. The plug in the outlet is on the left. Pen and paper on the left side of the phone because he habitually picked it up with his right. Easier to write messages down that way; it's a hassle to switch hands during a phone call, especially with a corded phone."

"I think you've covered it, Anabeth," John says.

"Oh, let her continue, she's nearly to the bottom of the list," Sherlock retorts.

Anabeth smiled and gave a little curtsy. "Thank you, Holmes. In the kitchen, next to the piece of toast, there's a knife with butter on the right side of the knife, 'cause he spread it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Therefore someone broke in here, and murdered him. The only explanation of all the facts. Ergo, it was not a suicide."

"But the gun-"

"He was waiting for the killer," Sherlock tells. "He'd been threatened."

"What?"

"Today at the bank," John explains as Sherlock dons on his coat and scarf.

"He fired a shot," Anabeth says as she went to leave. "The bullet went through the open window. When the ballistics come back you'll find that the shot that killed Eddie Van Coon was not the one fired from his gun."

"Oh come on, what are the chances of that?" Dimmick asks.

Anabeth shrugged. "A lot better than you think."

"But if the door was locked from the inside-"

"Well, he wasn't stupid, was he?" Anabeth sneers. "He did try to keep the killer out. The killer just... found another way in."

"Then how'd he get in?"

"Good," Sherlock says as if talking to a petulant child. "Now you're finally asking the right questions."

"That, back there, that was impressive," John says as Sherlock flags down a taxi.

Anabeth gives a smile. "Thank you, John. I try my best."

"Are you two coming?" Sherlock questions from the open taxicab door.

Quinn's phone buzzes and plays the first bar of the Star Trek theme. It's a text from a blocked number but she knows who it is.

Join me for dinner?

She has to stifle an eye roll. As if he'd truly give her a choice. "Actually, I have a date. I will catch on with you two later back at Baker Street." With a curt nod she begins to walk towards their usual meet up place.

A Small Townhouse Somewhere in London

"I am here! What do you want now?" Quinn calls as she saunters into the study.

"Oh, Annie-belle, don't be like that," her caller says from behind the desk. "Anger doesn't suit you. You look too tense."

"You summoned me like a dog. I am not a plaything. Wrong choice of words." She shakes her head. "What do you want Jim? I have plans tonight, and work. I cannot miss another day. Calling in sick because it is that time of the month is one thing. But missing random days is beneath me."

Jim frowns. "I don't like you working there. I don't like people looking at my possessions like their a piece of meat."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Oh, you own me now, do you?"

"Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you left me. At the altar, Jim. Looking like a complete fool. I do not think you can claim me as yours anymore."

He frowned briefly before standing and circling her, He pressed a kiss to the sensitive part of her neck, right above her tattoo hidden beneath her dress. "But the fact that you came, proves I still can."

Quinn heaves a sigh. "I still have work. And a life. You said you do not want this affair to be too obvious. I cannot keep dropping everything and come to your every beck and call."

"I did make this meeting optional."

"No you did not. A meeting with you is never optional."

He giggled, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. "You've got me there... Alright you can go. But I'll be in touch. And remember, I'm always watching." He spun her around and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. "Bye-bye, my little forever love."

Quinn flashes a hazy smile to the man before her. Her heels make a hollow echo in the vaulted ceiling-ed room as she leaves pausing at the door only to call out what she hopes is a convincing, "I love you."

221B Baker Street
The next day

"I said 'Could you pass me a pen?'"

The sudden noise jolts Anabeth awake. She'd come home later than usual that morning having been suckered into cleaning duty since one of the custodians had called in sick. Of course, being on a case Sherlock was awake and had heard her coming in. He promptly jumped at the chance at having "someone whose not a complete idiot" on the case. She had a feeling that was as close to a compliment that she's get from him.

At the time she was exhausted and just wanted to shower and go to bed, and after some bargaining she managed to convince him to let her shower and nap for a little while. She got a text from him an hour into her "nap" saying he needed to bounce ideas off her. Somehow she ended up on the sofa sleeping much longer than normal.

"What? When?" John asks.

"About an hour ago."

"Didn't notice I'd gone out then," John says, grabbing a pen off a table and tossing it to Sherlock who caught it one handed without looking. "I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?"

"Great. She's great."

"Who?"

"The job."

"She?" Anabeth asks.

John spun around and smiled at the girl. She certainly was a sight to see. She was still clad in her sleep wear (hidden beneath a long black silk dressing gown), her hair was not straightened instead it looked a mess and in need of heavy brushing. "How'd you sleep?"

"Ah ah ah. No changing the subject. Who is this she?"

"It. I meant 'it'."

Sherlock rolled his eye. "Here. Have a look."

John reaches the laptop before Anabeth, who decides not to crowd the men with her half-dressed self, choosing instead to stare at the symbols some more.

"'The intruder who can walk through walls'," John quotes from the article.

"It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted. Exactly the same as Van Coon."

"God. You think..."

"He's killed another one."

"Well, if we're going to see Detective Inspector Dimmick, I'm going to need to get changed." Anabeth spun around, the robe fanning out causing the ties to fall apart and reveal the baby doll lingerie hidden beneath it. She smirks at the dumbfound look on both men's faces. She managed to stand there for a full two minutes before Sherlock spoke up.

"Thatsprobablyagoodidea."

"Come again?" Anabeth asked, a hint of humor in her voice.

He cleared his throat. "That's probably a good idea."

"Thought that's what you said," she spoke with a wink. She chuckled as she left the room, wrapping herself back up.

Like a piece of meat indeed.

Hello my little readers. I just want to thank you all very much for reading and favoring and reviewing this story. Really means a lot to me. I hope you guys are enjoying this little story! Thanks so much, loves!