Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Great Game- Seven

Chapter Seven

Sherlock, John and I clamber into a cab. Sherlock has the pink iPhone in hand, restlessly turning it over. I drew a pattern over his hand soothingly before he intertwined my fingers with his. "But why hasn't the phone, he's broken his pattern why?"

"Where now? The gallery?"

"In a bit." Sherlock hastily scribbles a note with one hand. "The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why've they got hold of the Old Master?"

"Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. We need data." We arrive at Waterloo Bridge, I climb out. "Can you wait? Won't be a minute." I tell the driver. I climb over the gate and dart down the stairs towards the river. John and Sherlock follow. A young, trustafarian female beggar is on the steps. "Change? Any change, please?"

"What for?" Sherlock asked. "Cup of tea, of course." Sherlock beams at her, John has just caught up "I've only got a fifty."

"In that case, a magnum of champagne!" The beggar exclaims. I hand over the money and run back up the steps towards the cab. "What're you doing?"

"Investing." Sherlock stated. "Now we go to the gallery. Got any cash on you?" Sherlock asked John. "I've got it." I say, holding my hand up. We arrive at Hickman on South Bank. We jump out the cab and I walk off whilst Sherlock gives John further instruction.

I walk into the gallery and head to the locker room, Sherlock hot on my heels. "So change into security guards?" I question. He nods. I open one locker and pull my jacket and trousers of. I wasn't particularly bothered if Sherlock could see me or not. "Why?" He asked suddenly. "Why what?" I questioned, popping the last button in, "Why would you want a breast enlargement?" He was genuinely curious. About me?

"I don't really know myself now that I've come to think about it. I sometimes feel ashamed of the body I'm in. I just went through a phase where I wanted attention, to feel wanted. Mind, body and soul. Stupid really because people take one look at me but it's as if they look through me. I'm a spare piece in this world it's a blessing and a curse." I laugh out briefly. "We all crave attention and I guess dare I say I wanted to feel loved but I've adapted around it and for that I think it's done me good." Brushing my dress trousers down he stared at me. "What?" I asked. "You told me when we first met that I must be vigilant to believe people out there care. I guess you should try listening to your own advice. Don't see why you should feel ashamed of who you are though the anatomy of a woman is beautiful." We stood there for a moment just staring into each others eyes. I smiled briefly, Showing a genuine smile although slightly winded by that comment. Is this his way of saying he finds me attractive? "Thank you, Sherlock." I placed my hand on his face, circling my thumb over his cheek before kissing his cheek.

We head towards the installation. Glazed brick walls, modern canvases, everything was suffused with its amber light. On another wall, surrounded by plush canopy sat The Last Vermeer. A small but beautiful painting of the city of Delft by night, under a star-filled sky. We stand shoulder by neck, looking towards it. "Don't you have something to do?" Sherlock turns around to face the person. "Just admiring the view."

"Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work, the pair of you."

"Doesn't it bother you?" I ask, now turning to face her. "What?"

"That the painting's a fake." Sherlock finishes. "What?"

"It has to be a fake. It's the only explanation. Are you in charge Miss Wenceslas?" I ask her. "Who are you?"

"Alex Woodbridge knew it was a fake, so someone sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?" I stand walking closer to her with each word falling from me. "'Golem'? What the hell are you talking about?"