No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

A Noose a Hand and a Camera

Apparently, traveling with the living embodiment of the British government didn't mean you had a free pass to life. 147, or St. Raphael's as Celestia refused to call it, was a fortress; a circular fort of black stone that blotted out the sun. The security gate they had previously driven through was only the beginning. Metal detectors had to be walked through, and IDs had to be shown. Celeste did not fail to realize that, while everything that could be doubted about the intentions of Sherlock and herself was, no one said a word to the eldest Holmes. He seemed perfectly content to watch with a mild expression of interest as they were peppered with questions and checked at least thrice for weapons. Celestia's scarf had been taken off, and her eyes flicked to the floor as the official's gaze fell upon her neck. She assumed he recognized her, because his next words had lost their sting of indifference as he returned the grey article and allowed her to join Mycroft.

When Sherlock finally joined them, they approached a large metal door that opened with the swipe of a key card into a tall tunnel with light at the end. Their footsteps echoed against the domed ceiling and only quieted when they had broken out of the short space and into a pool of sunshine.

The building apparently wasn't a full, complete, filled in circle. It was a ring. The building wrapped around the central courtyard in which they now stood. High above, a brilliant azure sky broke the shadows of dismal, dark stone. Cool air filtered down, causing Celestia to stuff her hands in her pockets for warmth. "Where are we going?" she questioned. Without a word Sherlock strode to the middle of the clearing where a peculiar circle of something clear lay bolted to the ground. Celeste followed and peered down at it, startled to see that the circle, which had a diameter of about two meters, was covering a hole, and not just a hole, an expanse. She couldn't see very clearly, but she could make out three things that were obstructing her view to the bottom.

Mycroft quickly led them out of the open space and in through a door at the other end of the ring. "This isn't the St. Rapheal's that you've no doubt heard things about. There is no torture or grotesque methods of using humans as lab rats," Mycroft explained as they wound their way through a corridor and down a flight of empty stairs. "Here at 147 they specialize in the containment of criminals of another class. Psychopaths and people with extreme phobias are just some of those that are housed here. A different kind of criminal means a different kind of method should be used. Throw one of these people in an ordinary prison and you've set yourself up for failure. Upstairs we have a mental health treatment center, where some of the inmates who aren't as dangerous can be treated and possibly reformed from their violent ways of dealing with things. And downstairs..." They came to the end of a hall where an elevator waited. After entering a code, the doors closed behind the trio and the elevator began its slow descend into the earth. "Downstairs we have the ones that could make all hell break loose," he finished as the doors opened yet again.

The bright artificial, hospital like lighting gave way to a dim flicker. The hallway was narrow and lined with large steel doors on the right side of the wall, curving in with the circular shape of the building. At every door an armed guard stood, all in black, staring ahead blankly. Their feet slapped against the faded tile, obviously original to the building. It was the only sound in the passage; an eerie quiet seemed to control the place. Finally they came to a larger door; almost impossible to get into with its various locks that Mycroft steadily disabled.

Inside was a padded cell, circular and impossibly high... but it didn't have a ceiling. Above were rafters keeping the structure stable, but a railing lined the top of the enclosure, allowing someone to physically observe the occupant. And far, far above that was the glass tile they had seen in the courtyard. But all of this filtered through Celestia's mind in a matter of seconds. The three things that had obstructed her view before now came into focus. Three nooses hung from the rafters above, their victims swinging gently in the current of air that was flowing from a nearby vent. They were a good five meters off of the ground and by the still sterile scent they hadn't been there long. A pool of blood had collected under the corpses, a matching wound on their arms dripping.

On the padded wall, in stunning red, was a handprint. Only a bit larger than Celestia's, it was obviously a woman's. The blood was beginning to dry but it had left trails running down the wall giving the mark a horrifying appearance.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" Celestia asked, turning to Mycroft.

"Oh, we know exactly who our murderer is."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"Clara Fairworth: the only inmate to have ever escaped this facility. We had a quick finger print check and it was most definitely her hand that made that print." He pointed to the scarlet hand. "She wants us to know she did this, that much is obvious, but she wasn't caught on video and no one claims to have seen her. One minute three of the most dangerous people in England are safe in their cells and the next they're in a room hanging. No signs of the killer can be found and all of their guards sedated with drugs they would most definitely not have stored in their rooms prior.

"Where is the camera for this particular room located?" Sherlock demanded, his eyes darting over the space.

"It's in the door," Mycroft replied, mentioning back to the door that had slid shut behind them.

"It was open, then."

"Do explain."

Sherlock sighed. "If they had taken care of the guards then the risk of being caught on camera would have been far worse then being confronted. Thus, they simply kept the door open to avoid being caught on tape."

"There was a camera directly outside the door though, Sherlock," Celeste added.

Impatiently, he led them back out into the hallway and approached the camera that was mounted on the wall. It seemed to have something blocking the lens. "Disabling it would have automatically notified security, but this," he pulled a photo off of a small makeshift wire stand that had been fixed to the front of the camera, "is a much safer alternative." He turned the small rectangle around to reveal a picture of the hallway, exactly as it would look from the camera's point of view. "No one suspects an empty hallway."

Celeste let out a big breath. "Wow, so what exactly are we up against?"

"Ms. Fairworth is a seasoned killer. She was admitted due to a mini massacre she put into motion that killed nearly 200 people that were somehow connected to this very facility. Her father was one of the original 147..."

"I'm assuming this is all pretty hush-hush since you've resorted to enlisting your brother's help," she stated pointedly.

"Yes, yes it is," Mycroft countered matter-of-factly. "And if you breathe a word of this to anyone you had better believe you'll be on the next flight to Australia." And with that he turned on his heel and started down the hallway. "Oh, and Sherlock?" he called back. "You have an hour before forensics takes over."