Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Blind Banker- Two

Chapter Two

"When you said we were going to the bank..."

Midday - Shad Sanderson, Sebastian's Office

We were in a corner office, corporate with art and chrome. "Sherlock Holmes!" A man came walking in, Sebastian Wilkes. The so-called Director of the Trading Floor. Ravelled with floppy hair that screams 'Eton'. "Sebastian." Sherlock curtly nodded, shaking his hand. "These are my friends, John Watson..." Shaking hands with him. "And Michelle Phillips." Sebastian then moved on to shake my hand, as well as kiss it. When he wasn't looking I wiped my hand on the back of my coat. This guy is a creep! "How are you, buddy? How long's it been? Eight years since I clapped eyes on you?"

"Friend? Colleagues." John said quietly to me. "No John, Friends or in case my friend." I stated, proudly to some degree. John looked at me a shocked that I categorised Sherlock as a friend so early within the game but he also had a pinch of guilt on his face.

"Well grab a pew." There were only two chairs provided, I was going to stand but Sherlock nudged me to take a chair. Nodding my head in gratitude, I sat. "Need something? Coffee? Water? No? We're all sorted here thanks." John sat beside me, whilst Sherlock vacated to stand behind me. "Flying all the way round the world. Twice a month!" Sebastian smiles briefly before accusing Sherlock of doing the 'thing' again. "Yes, I've seen him do it."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him." My brows furrowed. "You'd come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak..." I sat up straighter in my chair, glaring. "He would know who you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed." He laughs, "Go on. Enlighten me. 'Two trips a month, flying all round the world'. You're quite right. But how could you tell?" I hear Sherlock intake breath to speak, but... "Gonna tell 'em there's a stain on my tie? From a type of ketchup you can only buy from Manhattan?"

"No. I..."

"Or maybe it's the mud on my shoes..." I snapped clenching my fists I replied: "Your watch, the hands on it are correct but the date is wrong, it actually says the day before yesterday. You crossed the date line twice and didn't alter it. A new Rolex, which only came out February. Of course you would know, your PA bought it for you as a 'thank you' for the holiday you went on together, and it wasn't ketchup it was mustard from the late night stands in New York. The mud on your shoes was from your weekend away to Egypt with your wife. Now tell me does she know of your Affair?" Tilting my head sideways in question. He seemed winded for a moment then drained from colour. Shocked. John snorted, I looked in his direction with a face of coldness.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break in." Standing up, he lead us across the trading floor. Telephones buzz and squawk, boxes chatter. Each trader has a personalised name plate. Metal signs were suspended from the ceiling delineate the trading groups: Sterling; Dollars; Yen. We reached a darkened corner office with a glass front.

"Sir William's Office. The bank's former chairman. His room has been left here. Like a sort of memorial... Someone broke in here late last night."

"What did they steal?"

"Nothing. They just left a message." Shown on the laptop, an old leather-top desk, blotter, pen, brass lamp. The man who sat here has passed away, but the place has been left like a museum. A gilt-framed oil painting: a portrait of a grim-faced banker. The plaque reads: 'SIR WILLIAM SHAD. 1944-2009. CHAIRMAN' But the picture has been vandalised. Someone has drew a thick line across Sir William's eyes using a bright yellow aerosol. The paint has dripped leaving a row of yellow tentacles. On the wall below the artist has left his tag. An illegible scrawl.

The footage shows the office late last night. A still frame every sixty seconds. It lurches from one grainy shot to the next, the portrait just left visible in the gloom. Then, miraculously, the paint suddenly appears. Sebastian freezes the picture: '11.34pm'. He then flicks back to the previous still: '11.33pm'. No paint. Forward again. '11.34pm'. Paint. "Sixty seconds apart. So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?"

"That's where it gets really interesting... Every door that opens in the bank it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard. Every toilet."

"Well you would know." I murmured. Sherlock studies the digital display. Lines and lines of recorded times. "That door didn't open last night?"

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures." He reaches into his pocket, brandishing a cheque. "This is only an advance. Tell me how he got in there, there's a bigger one on the way."

"I don't need incentives, Sebastian."

"No you don't Sherlock, but he does if he wants us to keep hush over his lovers quarrel." Plucking the cheque from his fingers, I turn and walk away...

Third POV

Sherlock, John and Sebastian stood there. Glued to their spots. Watching Michelle walk away. Sherlock double took to take notice in the swivel of her hips as she walked with her head held high. He also couldn't help but smile. "Keep her on a leash will you?" Sebastian asked, quite rightly pissed off from the fact that Michelle pointed out his ongoing affair. John's face hardened with comment and if they weren't where they were he would of gladly punched him for it. Sherlock however, was stunned and stung slightly by comment. Shaking his head he walked away with a: "Na, laters!"

Sherlock was photographing the vandalised portrait as well as the tags on the adjacent wall. Exploring Sir William's office I noticed that there was access out onto a tiny private balcony. I walked through and noticed below, how I was up five floors at least. A vertiginous drop. What if this vandaliser could climb? Sherlock was dancing, he was inspecting the vandalised portrait from all areas of different angles. Not caring if people were stopping and staring. He then darts into the office next door 'HONG KONG DESK HEAD'. I could hear the public address speaking as well as a bell ringing to signify one o'clock...

"So 'two trips around a month'?" We were descending in a glass lift, me in the middle of the boys. "Yep."

"Why did you...?"

"I just wanted to rub something in his face really plus he was being damn right rude don't you think? Expecting Sherlock's help then being an all round arsehole about it. Pff! I don't think so! And did he really call me a dog?" I turned my head in recognition. "Hmm? Oh yes he did." John answered. I laughed. "Pease, I'm far more than a dog."

"I should think so." Sherlock murmured. I looked at him, noticing his head down focussed on his phone. I smiled briefly. Bell dinging, we left the lift. "You think we should sniff around here a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks." I handed John the cheque so he could keep safe of it. Sherlock strode down the street, myself and John following after. "That graffiti is a message, John. For someone at the bank working on the trading floor. We find the intended recipient and..."

"He'll lead us to the person who sent it." He finished Sherlock's ongoing thought. "Three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

"The pillars." I answered. "The what?"

"Hmm yes and the screens. Very few places where you could see the graffiti. That narrows it down considerably. And of course, the message left at 11.34 last night. That tells us a lot." Sherlock reiterated. "Does it?"

"Yes, John. Traders come to work at all hours. Some people trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night." I answered. "The message was intended for someone who came at midnight." Sherlock states.