Welcome to Baker Street

109. Snitches get stitches

The screen doesn't switch off completely, and the monitor shows a peculiar screensaver: a sequence of straight and curved dash marks on a white background.

– ᴗ ᴗ – ᴗ ᴗ – ᴗ ᴗ – ᴗ ᴗ – ᴗ ᴗ – /

They shoot a dazed look at it, still grasping the difficulty of that challenge.

"Do you think it is a coded message in Morse code again?" John asks. "After all, the signs resembling the bottom half of a circle might be considered dots. However, I don't see how five consecutive letters 'D' and a final 'T' would mean anything," he speculates, resorting once again to his military skills.

"If there's one thing Sherlock has always made clear is that Moriarty doesn't repeat himself," Giulia recites that mantra.

"And I stand by that. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We don't possess enough information yet. We can worry about the screen later." Sherlock waves a dismissive hand in the air, and they simultaneously move closer to examine the boxes on the table.

On each lid, there is a handwritten label—just a small sentence. They start with the first one to the left bearing the writing 'The beginning from which a lot of misery and suffering derived.'

Sherlock delicately lifts the lid to reveal three fruits: an apple, a pear, and a strawberry.

"This one's easy. Adam, Eve and the tempting snake; nothing screams 'beginning' like the Genesis—the very beginning of the world, for those who believe that. What more suffering and misery could derive from the expulsion from the garden of Eden?" he says matter-of-factly, fetching the apple and juggling it in the air. He catches it and cocks a brow at Giulia's perplexed expression.

"I think it's the perfect fit. Unless someone has problems with my answer." A pinch of irony enwraps his words.

"I admit that's where my first thought went as well," John confirms, yet Giulia keeps frowning.

"I only have problems with your implicit assumption that religion is equivalent to epic myths." She gives a nod to the statue of the Muse of epic poetry. "I understand that to an atheist like you, the Bible or other religious books are nothing more than works of fiction, and I certainly don't intend on raising a theological discussion right now. But I'm not entirely convinced that your explanation for choosing the apple, albeit logical, would be consistent with the epic theme of this room. Why don't we just postpone our decision on the first object and proceed with the other boxes? Maybe we could find some links to corroborate your proposal," she diplomatically suggests.

"Or to contradict it." He smirks at her, dissipating the sudden tension between them. They have already been down that path in Molly's room. This time, they can't let their differences oppose them. They are all on the same side, and everyone must agree with each answer.

John approaches the second box and reads the label out loud. "The trick that put an end to a long dispute."

He removes the lid and takes out three items: a handwoven blanket, a miniaturised wooden rocking horse, and some building blocks. He turns them around in his hands, astonished.

"Truth be told, I don't see how anyone could use a toy to break up a dispute or end a tantrum. When I was a kid, whenever I was fighting with my sister Harriet, it was always over toys, but those were the problem, never the solution," he points out.

Holmes squints his eyes at him, failing to follow his reasoning.

"Why would you assume we are talking about children?"

"Look, Sherlock, I suppose you didn't have a regular childhood, and I imagine that in your early days, you and Mycroft were mostly bickering over who could use the microscope or the chemistry set. But these objects are clearly kids' toys," he insists.