Sherlock - The Game Is On!

A Study In Pink- Eight

Chapter Eight

"Pull up here, please sir." Climbing out of Mycroft's private car I turned to the driver. "Thank you for driving me but I'll make my own way from here."

"Are you sure ma'am?" Nodding my head. "Please pass on my gratitude to the older Holmes." Waving the driver off I went to the garage. "I know its late, but I wish to pay the rest off." Passing the money to Max I climbed on my now, new motorbike, curtesy of Mycroft. Zooming off in the street I made my way to Baker Street...

Third POV

John enters, still limping with the cane in hand. The room was half-lighted. Sherlock Holmes lays on a sofa, seeming to be in a dreamy contemplation. Surrounded by paper, his laptop and his phone. Looking like he hasn't moved in hours. Rolled up arms, hands placed near his chin, eyes closed. Mind palace.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock unmoving, responded to John: "Nicotine patch, helps me think! Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, bad news for brain work!"

"Good news for breathing." John stated passively. "Oh, breathing, breathing's boring." He snapped back. Stepping closer John sees not one, not two but three, three nicotine patches on his arm. "Three patches??"

"It's a three patch problem." Lying there, ignoring John, deep in thought, staring at the ceiling. "Well?" Continuing to stare, lost in thought John proceeds to carry on. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

"Oh yes, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" He asked. "My phone!"

"Don't want to use mine, always a chance the number will be recognised. Its on the website. Where's Michelle?"

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone." John looked at him deeply. "Yeah, but she's downstairs. I tried shouting, she didn't hear me. Now where is Michelle?"

"We were on the other side of London!!"

"There was no hurry." Sherlock held his hand out, imperiously for his phone. John was seething, but saw that there was no point so he gave in, plopping his phone into Sherlock's hand. "What's this about? The case?"

"Her case." Sherlock corrected. "Her case?" Looking up at him, disturbing his movement. "Yes, her suitcase, obviously! The murderer took her suitcase. The first big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?"

"There's a phone number on my desk, I want you to send a text." John glanced at him in frustration. "You brought me here to send a text!"

"A text, yes! Number on the desk!" He looked at John who was hesitating. "What's wrong."

"Just met a friend of yours."

"A friend."

"An enemy."

I walked upstairs and through the open door of the flat. "Oh! Which one?"

"Your arch enemy, according to him. Do people have arch enemies?" Banging my helmet on the nearest table I caught both men's attention. "Oh! Michelle your back, are you alright? Did he hurt you?" John was fussing over me. "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."
"Yes."

John and I said at the same time. John looked at me, irritated. "You did what! We don't even know him." I chuckled. "Well I did, by first glance, both quite touching for the dramatics I must say. 'The hidden genius, Who sees all, sees everything and explains it so naturally.' he called me. Don't know if that should be taken as a compliment? However, he is no enemy, his name is Mycroft." Chucking a roll of cash to Sherlock, who caught it gracefully, smiled at me. "I spent my half on the refurbishments on my motor baby."

"He told you his name? Looks like he's met someone who isn't boring." Sherlock stated. Smiling at him I turned to John, scolding him. "John think it through next time, we could split the fee. Who says no to free cash?"

"Who is he though?" John asked. Sherlock and I look to each other, having a silent conversation. Not moving his eyes from mine, Sherlock answered: "He is the most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem, right now. On my desk, the number!" Glaring at John on the last sentence, John stepped closer to the desk finding the slip of card with a phone number at the bottom. "Jennifer Wilson? That was... Hang on, wasn't that the dead women?"

"Yes, doesn't matter, just enter the number... Have you done it?"

"Hang on."

"Now these words exactly, 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland street. Please come.'"

"You blacked out?"

"What? No, no. Type and send, quickly." Sherlock sprang up from the sofa, going to the chair pulling over a pink suitcase. Exactly the way he described. Wheeled, with an extendable handle. Opening it up, "That's... That's the pink lady's case... Jennifer Wilson's case..."

"Perhaps he should mention, he didn't kill her." I answered. John looked between us. "I never said he did."

"Why not? Given the text I had you send and the fact I have this case, it would be a perfectly logical assumption." John overlooked the obvious. "Okay. So how did you get this?"

"He got it by looking, the killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident, if it was in a car..." I stopped to let Sherlock continue. "No one could be seen with this case without attracting attention, practically a man..." I clipped back in. "Which is statistically likely..."

"So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it, wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake."

"So I'm guessing you checked every backstreet wide enough for the radiance of a car within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens, anywhere they could dispose of a bulky object without being observed."

"Quite correct, Michelle." Sherlock gave me a piercing gaze. "You sure you haven't done this kind of thing before, Michelle?" John asked, confused with how I knew such things. "Like I said John, I am a women of mystery. This is child's play for me." Sitting back, I just smiled. "Took me less than a hour to find the right skip."

"Pink? You both got all that because you knew the case would be pink?" I laughed, "Well it wasn't going to be orange, or blue was it now?"

"It had to be pink obviously."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John murmured sarcastically. "Because you're an idiot." Sherlock responded. My gaze hardened towards him. "Don't look like that, practically everyone is."

"Well that's rude." I stated. Ignoring my comment he proceeded to ask what was missing from her case. Of course it was her phone and we knew she had one because her number was there and John had just texted it. "Question is, where is that phone now?"

"The murderer? You think the murderer has the phone? Sorry, what are we doing here? Did we just text a murderer? What good does that do?" Right on queue, John's phone began to ring. "A few hours since his last victim and now he's got a text which can only be from her... Now someone who'd just found the phone would ignore a text like that. But the murderer..." The phone stopped ringing so I continued his trail of thought. "Would panic."

Springing to his feet, Sherlock began to put his coat on. "Sherlock have you talked to the police?"

"Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police."

"Then why are you explaining it to me?"

"Because my auntie took his skull so your doing the job of filling in." I answered, noticing the empty fireplace. "Relax, you're doing fine. Well?"

"Well what?"

"You could watch telly... But I prefer company when I go out, I think better out aloud and the skull attracts attention." John stood up but hesitated. "Problem?"

"Sergeant Donovan..."

"What about her?"

"She said you get off on this. You enjoy it."

Sherlock pauses, Looking at him for a moment. A ghost of a smile appears. "And I said 'dangerous'. Yet here you are."