His Favorite Melody

We've Only Just Begun

Sherlock, John, and Melody all sat in a ground floor office opposite a flashily dressed, tanned, skeevy looking man. The wall behind him was covered in pictures of cars.

"Can’t see how I can help, gentlemen." Mr. Ewart said, completely ignoring Melody.

John looked at notes in the small notebook in his lap, then looked up at the man. "Mr Monkford hired the car from you
yesterday."

"Yup. Lovely motor. Nissan 350Z. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself."

It took everything in Melody's being to not roll her eyes at the man's mannerisms.

Sherlock pointed at some pictures low down on the wall. "Is that one?"

Ewart turned in his swivel chair, bending low. "Nah. They’re all Jags. I can see you’re not a car man." He scoffed.

"Surely you can afford one? A Nissan, I mean." Sherlock continued, ignoring the comment.

"Fair point! But, you know how it is. It’s like working in a sweet shop. Once you start picking at the Liquorice Allsorts, where does it stop? I'm sure you understand, working with a sweet little bird like that." He said, winking at Mel in acknowledgement for the first unfortunate time. He scratched his upper arm as Mel grimaced.

"You definitely didn’t know Mr Monkford?" She asked him, her face betraying the disgust she felt.

"No. He was just a client. Walked in
here and hired one of my cars. I’ve
no idea what happened to him, poor
sod." Ewart replied with a shrug.

"Nice holiday, Mr Ewart?" Sherlock asked, drawing the man's attention back to him.

"Eh?"

"You’ve been abroad, haven’t you?"

Ewart looked at his tan and smirked. "This, you mean? Nah. Sunbeds, I’m afraid. Too busy to get away. My wife’d love it, though. Bit of sun."

Sherlock just nod, then suddenly brightened. "D’you have change for the
machine?"

"What?" Ewart and Melody asked at the same time.

"I noticed there was one on the way in and I’m out of change. I’m gasping. Here." He said, fishing a tenner from his pocket

Ewart got out his own wallet and rifled through. "Nah. Sorry."

"Not to worry. Well, thanks for your time, Mr Ewart. You’ve been very helpful." Sherlock stood, straightening his jacket.

"What do you reckon happened to him, then? Gang stuff, was it? A drive-by?" Ewart presses.

"Something like that, I’m sure. Come on, John. Melody." He said, moving to open the door for his two companions.

As they passed the cigarette machine on the way out, and John looked up at Sherlock.

"I’ve got change if you still need it." John offered.

"Nicotine patches, remember. I’m doing well." Sherlock reminded him.

"Then what was all that about?"

"I needed a look in his wallet."

"Why?"

"Because Mr Ewart is a liar, isnt he?" Melody finally chimed in.

"Yes. Yes he is." Sherlock confirmed.

An hour or so later, Sherlock was crouched in the back of the hire-car. He stared
intently at the blood-stained back seat then held out his hand towards Melody. She procured from her pocket, a bag containing rows of tiny glass bottles and opened it. Sherlock selected one. Which held a colourless liquid with a pipette in the lid. He dropped a tiny quantity of the stuff onto the blood-stain and watched intently.