Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Six Thatchers- Eight

Chapter Eight

"There's a kid I know, hacker, brilliant hacker, one of the world's best. He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon's security system and I managed to get him off the charge. Therefore he owes me a favour." I reach with my gloved hand, the door knocker, whilst Sherlock briefed John; Before stepping away again. "So, how does that help us?"

"What?"

"Toby the hacker."

"Toby's not the hacker." I state. "What?" The young man opens the door. Sherlock and I smile to him. "All right, Craig?"

"All right, Sherlock?" Bones barks for attention. "Yes Bones, Craig's got a dog!" I state. A large bloodhound, with a lead attached to his collar, wanders out onto the pavement. "So I see." John murmurs. Sherlock laughs I'm delight whilst kneeling down to the two dogs. "Good boys!"

As Craig grins, Mary comes to his side from inside the house, carrying Rosie in her arms. "Hiya!"

"Hi, baby momma." I smile out. John stares at her in surprise. "Mary, what are you..." He holds up his hands as she comes out of the house. "No, we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case."

"No, exactly, so..." She hands the baby to John. "Don't wait up. Hey, Sherlock."

"Hey."

"But... Mary, what are you doing here?"

"She's better at this than you." I stated. "Better?"

"So I texted her." Sherlock finished. "Hang on. Mary's better than me?" John turned back to me. "Well, she is a retired super agent with a terrifying skill set. Of course she's better."

"Yeah, okay."

"Nothing personal." Sherlock adds. "What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?"

"Oh, what do you think, Sherlock? Shall we take him with us?" Mary prodded on amusingly. "John or the dogs?"

"Ha-ha, that's funny."

"John." Mary answered. "Well..." Sherlock takes a chance to think about it, smugly. "He's handy and loyal." I add. "That's hilarious." We hum in agreement. "Is it too early for a divorce?"

"Aww!"

"I'm feeling the love." I mock dramatically. "Barnicot's house, then. Anyone up for a trudge?" I loop my arm through Mary's whilst Bones jogs in front of us beside Toby. "Let's go!" We fall into step. "Keep up John, their fast."

"Who? Us or the dogs?" Mary rhetorically asks.

Some time later, Toby has sat himself down on the pavement near a phone box whilst Bones circles around us. Mary stands behind him holding his lead and with her feet either side of his backside. John, now having Rosie strapped in front of him in a baby carrier, stands beside her whilst Sherlock stands beside me which is beside John. "He's not moving."

"He's thinking." Sherlock and I chime. Mary idly strokes the top of Toby's head with her fingers and Toby whines. John looks down at him again for a moment before lifting his head. "He's really not moving."

"Slow but sure, John; Not dissimilar to yourself." John frowns and Mary and I share a glance. "You just like this dog, don't you?"

"Well, I like you." Sherlock retaliated. "They do have a bromance." I mumble behind John. Mary snorts in agreement. "He's still not moving." Sherlock looks down at the dog for a few seconds. "Fascinating."

After some convincing, the game is afoot a-paw, and the two dogs gallop alongside the road, identifying scents in their own Sherlockian way. "Well? What do you make of it?"

"They were looking for something."

"Yes, but it wasn't a burglar. They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?" Reaching the Southwark area of London, we head into Borough Market and walk past the stalls until Toby and Bones finally slow down and stop. There's a large pool of blood on the ground and someone has thrown sawdust over it to soak up some of it. Nearby a door opens and a butcher walks out with a pig's carcass over his shoulder.

Toby looks round as another butcher carries another carcass into the area the other man just left. As a third butcher with yet another carcass walks across the pool of blood, a street sweeper begins to brush the soaked sawdust into a heap ready to clean it up. Bones whines mournfully. Sherlock looks at the bloody sawdust. "Clever."

"Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go?"

"Like hiding a tree in a forest."

"Or hiding a shell on a beach." I added along John's thought. "Or blood in a butchers'." Sherlock fusses over Toby whilst I do the same with Bones. "Never mind, boys. Better luck next time, hm?"

"This is it, though. This is the one. I can feel it."

"Not Moriarty?" John questions.

"It has to be him. It's too bizarre; It's too baroque. It's designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last, a noose for me to put my neck into." As he walks away, with Bones and I in tow, John and Mary exchange a concerned look.