Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Blind Banker- Three

Chapter Three

"What are we gonna do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

I looked at the buzzers and noticed a new label above Van Coon titled 'Wintle'. Its brand new, meaning someone has recently moved in. "Just moved in." I stated. "Sorry, what?"

"Floor above. New label."

"Could of just replaced it." I turned my head to look at him. "No one ever does that, John." Sherlock then presses the buzzer. "Hello?"

"Hi. I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."

"No. Well I've just moved in..."

"Told you so." I muttered. Sherlock spares a triumphant glance at John. "I've actually just locked my keys in the flat."

"Do you want me to buzz you in?"

"Please, can we use you balcony too?"

"What?" After some strong convincing from myself, Miss Wintle allowed us to use her balcony. Sherlock then climbs over the edge so he could lower himself down. "Coming, Michelle?" Rolling my eyes I too, climb over and drop myself down. However, my ankle twisted whilst going over so I fell with a yelp, unexpectantly into Sherlock Holmes arms, bridal style. Typical! I looked up and saw Sherlock's eyes on me. One arm placed on my back the other in the curve of my legs. It felt kinda nice. Sherlock looked down for a brief moment smirking devilishly. "Th-Thank you." Blinking his eyes a few times he let me down. "Welcome."

Pushing the patio door open we go into a flat that's pale and sterile. I spotted a telephone near by next to a book called 'A and Z of London.' "Sherlock." John's voice rang but we ignored. Sherlock rifles through the kitchen. Very little there, other than a fridge full of champagne. "Sherlock? Michelle? You alright?" I poked my head into a tiny bathroom standing there was a single toothbrush and a dispenser of liquid soap. "Any time you feel like letting me in..." John's voice droned on. Sherlock and I then head to the bedroom. With a kick of the door Edward Van Coon lies on his bed. Dead. Shot through the head. "I'll let John in." Before walking, buzzing him in.

John and I watched as police swarmed through in search of forensic evidence. I just stared at the body and his outstretched hand. "You think maybe he'd lost a lot of money? Suicide rate is pretty high amongst these city types."

"We don't know that it's suicide, John."

"Come on! His door was locked from the inside. You had to both climb across the balcony..." I watched as Sherlock observes the suitcase, stuffed to the brim of clothes but also shows a large indent of something heavy being placed on top. "Been away. Three days, judging by the laundry. Look, something was packed tightly inside the case."

"Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

"What's the matter?" Sherlock looked over to John. "I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

"Those symbols from the bank, that graffiti. Why was it put there?"

"You think it was some sort of code?" John asked. "Well obviously, but Sherlock is saying why paint it? Why not use email if you want to make contact? Or a phone?"

"Maybe he wasn't answering..."

"Good. You follow."

"No. Not really."

"John, what sort of message would everyone avoid? What kind of message would you avoid?" I asked. "Bills?"

"Yes. He was being threatened."

"And not by the gas board." I stated, absentmindedly. I walked up to the body and pried his mouth open. A black origami flower was retrieved from his mouth. Placing it in a evidence bag, an Inspector walks in. "Ah, Sergeant... We haven't met." Sherlock walked up to him about to shake his hand, but without joy, the guy responded: "Yeah. I know who you are. I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." I walked up to him and handed the evidence bag over without word. "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy, I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant. Its Detective Inspector Dimmock... We're obviously looking at a suicide."

"Yes, it does seem the only explanation of the facts."

"Wrong." I stated. The DI looked at me with question but Sherlock started to spit-fire. "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like... But you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" I then stepped forward and spoke. "The wound is on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." I finished. Sherlock mimed shooting his right temple with his left hand. "Requires a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?"

"I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around the flat Dimmock!" I seethed. "Tea stains from the bottom of mugs, where he's been resting them on the arm of that chair. The left arm. Pad and paper on the left side of his phone, means he could hold it in his right hand and take messages with his left. All his expensive, favourite suits on the left side of his wardrobe, because he'd open the left-hand door, want me go on?" Sherlock stated, through mid-conclusion. I think John sensed Dimmock's irritation. "I might as well or Michelle, you may?" I turned to him smiling briefly before finishing his flying deduction: "The butter knife on the kitchen surface has butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. Unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion: Someone broke in and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"But the gun..."

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

"What?" That's where John stepped in. "Today at the bank. A sort of warning."

"He fired when his attacker came in."

"But the bullet?"

"Went out the window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?" I walked up to him saying: "Wait for the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it!" I walked off out the flat whilst the pair still spoke with Dimmock.

Standing outside, lighting a cigarette, my phone buzzed:

How's Sherlock doing?  MH.

Currently on a case, brought forward by the bank.  MP.

Sliding my phone away the boys and I made our way to Sebastian...

We stride over towards the restaurant table. "It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant."

"I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" I stepped forward to face him, rushing this over I stated: "Oh you mean the one you've been shagging?" With an embarrassed sigh him and the boys went over to the gents toilets. I stood outside waiting.

You've been causing problems with everyone I see.  MH.

I laughed, looking up I noticed a few cameras facing me. Then moving sideways very slowly. I waved, knowingly.

Have you been watching us?  MP.

I see you've caused Mr Wilkes some problems, could lose his job.  MH.

Not my fault if he cannot follow through and do his job correctly. Besides I thought it was wrong for him to discriminate Sherlock after asking for his help.  MP.

The boys exit the toilets. "I thought bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards."

"Well that's a nice way putting it I thought most were wankers. Hey John! I know what you should call your next blogged case." I stood still, the boys turned their heads to face me. "What?" John asked.

"The blind wanker." Sherlock snorted in a laugh. John shook his head like a disappointed parent "I don't know what to do with you Michelle."

"Oh shush, I make life exciting." Raising my hands shaking them jazz style for effect.