Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Six Thatchers- Nine

Chapter Nine

Third POV

Elsewhere, someone smashes a hammer into another white plaster bust of Thatcher and then brings the hammer down again to break the bits into smaller pieces before rummaging through the fragments. A second identical bust stands beside the shattered one, and the intruder lifts it and then slams it down onto the table to break it.

Mary and John's bedroom

The Watsons lay side by side in bed with their eyes closed. They speak quietly and tiredly: "You should have seen the state of the front room. It was like 'The Exorcist'."

"Hm! Was Rosie's head spinning round?"

"No. Just the projectile vomiting."

"Nice." He shifts slightly in the bed. "Hm! No, you'd think we'd have noticed when she was born."

"Noticed what?"

"The little '666' on her forehead." John hums thoughtfully. "That's 'The Omen'." Mary opens her eyes and looks across to him. "So?"

"Well, you said it was like 'The Exorcist.' They're two different things. She can't be the Devil and the Antichrist." Mary sighs and closes her eyes. From the next bedroom, Rosie starts to cry. John opens his eyes and lifts his head slightly and they both look in the direction of the sound. "Yeah, can't she?" John groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. Mary throws back her side of the duvet and gets up. "Coming, darling." John pushes the top of the duvet down a little and presses the backs of his hands over his eyes for a moment. Mary heads for the other bedroom. "Mummy's coming."

On his bedside table, John's phone buzzes an incoming message. He rolls over and picks up the phone. "Oh, what are you doing?! What are you doing?! Come here!" As she continues chatting to her daughter, John looks at his phone. His eyebrows raise at what he sees, then he frowns.

Craigs house

Craig sits at his computer typing with Michelle beside him while Sherlock stands behind them both. "Have you heard of that thing, in Germany?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Craig."

"'Ostalgie.' People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?" Michelle rhetorically asked. Sherlock narrows his eyes momentarily. "According to this, there's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia: Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin. Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like, I dunno, Napoleon now."

"Yes, fascinating, irrelevant. Where exactly did they come from?"

"I've got into the records of the suppliers: Gelder & Co. Seems they're from Georgia."

"Where exactly?"

"Tbilisi. Batch of six." Michelle answered, scrolling through documents on a computer. Sherlock straightens up, looking thoughtful. "One to Welsborough; One to Hassan; One to Doctor Barnicot. Two to Miss Orrie Harker, one to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading."

Sherlock's quick to answer his phone and starts speaking immediately: "Lestrade, another one?"

"Yeah."

"Harker or Sandeford?" Michelle questions.

Outdoors somewhere, Greg looks skywards as if wondering which magic pixie whispered those names into Sherlock and Michelle's ears. Behind him is a crime scene tape and two forensics technicians in white body coversuits, along with a couple of police officers in neon yellow coats. "Harker. And it's murder this time."

"That perks things up a bit."

Orrie Harker's back garden

Greg, Sherlock and Michelle walk across the garden to where Miss Harker's body is lying face down on the grass. The forensic investigators are taking photographs. "Defensive wounds on her face and hands. Throat cut, sharp blade."