Sherlock fic: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 7
Title: The Problem with Personal Blogs, Part 7/21
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, exposition
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
7. Scotland Yard
Before John could react, Sherlock
seized the laptop from him and began typing. Moments later, he slammed his fist
against the table in frustration. "Damn!"
"What is it?"
"She's set up her user profile
through Denmark again. Probably she has an Internet-savvy friend there who
posts things for her." Sherlock subsided, glaring at the screen. "No
local IP address," he grumbled. "No way to fix her current
location."
John hated to say it, but thought
he'd better. "Are you sure this student, Miss Doyle, isn't the author?
After all-"
"No, no, no." Sherlock
sprang to his feet to pace. "I've run the writing analysis. There is a
strong correlation between only two of the six style points that commonly are
used to establish authorship."
"But a paper she writes for
University will be so different-"
"If you don't mind, I would
prefer to concentrate my energy on the possibilities that are not dead ends.
The balance of probability is that the guilty party witnessed my meeting with
this young woman last night. It’s possible that Miss Doyle might have
communicated the encounter to a third person in sufficient detail for the author
to reconstruct events, but considering the lateness of the hour and the fact
that the confidant would subsequently have to write and post the entry that
same evening- and knowing that she’s a person who rises early enough in the
morning to observe and react to the notice in The Sun- makes it much
more likely that our obsessive fantasizer observed our meeting directly. Now,
who could that person be? I saw no one following me. It was devilish cold;
someone wouldn't be lingering in the darkness on the odd chance that I might
pass by, and it would be a feat of genius for the person to have predicted my
movements-a level of mental acumen that is not borne out by the writing. The
odds therefore are strongly in favor of the perpetrator being someone who knows
Lisa Doyle personally, as I didn't remove enough of my disguise for easy
recognition before then, and the fact that our libidinous author describes yet
another late night visit to her fictional ex-virgin. So, is the writer a member
of the household?
“We already know that the mother was
almost certainly present, although she wasn't seen. My inference at the time
was that she was watching telly; I can think of nothing else that might have
kept her so occupied that she would neglect asking her daughter who had come to
the door. If she had heard my voice, she would certainly have come forward,
especially considering how keen her daughter described her as being regarding
my previous visit. However, suppose she wasn't watching telly at all? Due to
the drone from the sitting room, someone within the house could only have
overheard our conversation from the top of the stairs. The lights were on in at
least one of the upper rooms, but I heard no voices. If there were visitors in
the house, in the normal way I would have overheard their conversation.
Therefore we can safely speculate that, if anyone was listening from upstairs,
they were alone, or at least deliberately holding themselves quiet. Who would
do this? The only likely candidate is the mother. But she would be a wretched
mother indeed to injure her daughter's reputation in this way. From Miss
Doyle's recitation of prior events concerning the case, I have the feeling the
pair was rather close. Therefore, we can eliminate the mother.
"A neighbor? This Mrs. Wallace
has demonstrated interest in the matter. Yet her house was dark when I reached
the Doyles'. Could she have been sitting in the dark, just waiting for a chance
to spy upon her neighbor? Highly unlikely. Yet, that the author should be
someone unrelated to myself or the Doyles is more unlikely still. The lights
were on in the house adjoining the Doyles' on the opposite side; we know
nothing of the residents, or what possible interest they might have in spying
upon the Doyles or me. Perhaps there's a local feud, and they enjoyed
implicating Miss Doyle in their scheme. But, if so, why did the young lady not
say so? If relations between them were not friendly, she would have no motive
in hiding her suspicions. In short, I can think of no readily apparent resolution
to the problem." He turned those keen eyes on John. "Have you any
thoughts on the matter?"
John started. "Me? No!"
"Yet there must be a
connection." Sherlock smacked a fist into a palm in frustration. He
stopped abruptly. "I'm going to the Yard."
John blinked. "You think they
might know something about it?"
"Most unlikely. But I would
appreciate a distraction. Lestrade at least will want to hear only about the
burglary. I'd find that a relief at the moment, actually."
"Do you want me to go with
you?"
Sherlock smiled. "Always,
John." He headed briskly toward his room to dress. "You can keep an
eye out for this mysterious 'first-time poster' whilst my back is turned. But,
if you do spot her, whatever you do, don't jump her."
John was pleased to be recruited as
backup. "Why not? So you can follow her?"
"No." Sherlock paused in
the doorway and gave him one of his tightlipped smiles. "She'd like it too
much." He then slipped away, leaving John in sole possession of 197 blog
comments and 87,942 page hits… and climbing.
#
The taxi dropped them at the front
door of Scotland Yard. John was vigilant in his observations as he and Sherlock
approached the building. To his disappointment, most of the passersby didn't
seem to take any particular notice of them, although it was hard to be sure;
quite a few people, men and women alike, marked Sherlock's progress in his
great billowing coat, but their interest didn't seem to be anything out of the
ordinary way. John sighed. With Sherlock's addiction to the dramatic and his
sartorial flair, picking out a potential stalker from amongst the many who were
innocently drawn to his flamboyant style would not be an easy task.
As soon as they entered the offices,
it became obvious that most of the staff were aware of the Seduce A Sleuth
development. Snickers, curious looks, and speculative interest marked
Sherlock's progress through the offices. Sherlock affected to ignore the
excessive attention, being very much on his dignity, but he could hardly have
failed to notice the general sentiment, even had he not been gifted with
extraordinary powers of observation. Although it may have been an improvement
over the resentment he usually attracted, it was clear that Sherlock found
their amusement equally rankling. He stood taller and his back grew stiffer the
further into the building they went.
Unfortunately, the first one to
greet them outside of Lestrade's office was Anderson. The forensics chief met
them with a sneer. "Well, look who's here. Good morning... Silky."
"I am not silky!"
Sherlock snapped.
Lestrade came to the door, an
excessively smug smile on his face. "I see you've made the paper again.
Congratulations."
Sherlock's retort, which no doubt
had been building with every step he'd taken beyond the front door, issued
forth. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Lestrade. How anyone in this
country can publish a report of such a dubious article without taking the least
effort to inquire into its veracity-"
"Hello, Freak!" Donovan
greeted him cheerfully, coming up. "So, you managed to get some friends at
last. Internet ones, but still..."
"They are not
friends!" Sherlock growled. "They are stalkers, slanderers,
empty-minded-"
"Admirers?" Donovan
studied his face. "I see you had some trouble fighting them off."
"Yes, what's this?" Frowning,
Lestrade pointed at Sherlock's chin.
Sherlock glowered under the
scrutiny. "Calling card from the young lady's brother."
Donovan looked intrigued. "Oh,
you found the brother, did you?"
John muttered, "The brother
found him."
"Well, out with it." Donovan
leaned against the open door frame, smiling. "I could use a good
story."
"The story is," John said,
when Sherlock looked sullenly away, refusing to elaborate, "that Sherlock
was able to trace the likely-well, fellow victim, since she didn't write it.
But that only led to another story about their meeting last night being
published in a fictional rendition this morning."
"I saw that," Donovan
said. "It did strain credulity. Try as I might, I can't imagine the Freak
as a homeless person."
"I have to admit, I glanced at
the Web site myself this morning." Lestrade's eyes twinkled. "How
does it feel to be Seduce A Sleuth's main draw?"
Sherlock glared, but Donovan
laughed. "I can't understand it. No one would write such stories if they
actually knew him."
"I heartily agree with you,
Sally." Sherlock angrily loosened his gloves. "In person, I'd have no
difficulty in putting them off."
Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Oh,
go on. You aren't that bad looking."
"By my manner,"
Sherlock snapped. "Besides, I don't know what you're so cheerful
about."
Lestrade grinned. "You've got
to be joking."
"You're a sleuth."
"Well... a detective,
anyway."
"The site is called Seduce A
Sleuth." Sherlock held his gaze. "You're in the paper far oftener
than I am. The next case down the road, someone might decide to take an
interest in you."
Lestrade stiffened. "No one
would want to write about me."
"That's what Sherlock
thought," John countered.
"Yes," Sherlock continued,
to Lestrade's growing horror. "A week or two from now, we could find your
fictional exploits publicly posted for the benefit of the author's numerous
beta readers." Sherlock frowned. "What are beta readers,
anyway?"
Donovan answered. "They're
people who read over a story before it's published and check it for grammar,
plot, punctuation-that sort of thing."
"Well, this author could
certainly use a beta reader-or a better one, I should say, as the
mistakes in the published piece were appalling.”
“Quite right,” John said brightly.
“We can’t have typographical errors interfering with the pornographic
content."
“It’s erotica,” corrected
Donovan. “And honestly, I’m not as bothered over the mechanics of it as much as
some people.”
Lestrade looked intrigued. "Are
you telling me that you actually read this stuff?”
Donovan shrugged. "Doesn't
everyone?"
"I don't," Anderson said
instantly. John chose to remain silent.
"Besides," Sherlock said,
turning toward Donovan, "I don't know why you're so complacent. You're a
sleuth as well. You could be drawn into their fictional folds at any
moment."
"I'm a woman," she retorted.
"It doesn't mean they wouldn't
use you as a supporting character. They could pair you up with Anderson-sorry,
we're after fictional liaisons. I meant, they could partner you with Lestrade
over there, with John-even me."
Donovan's eyes grew huge. To John's
amusement, she and Lestrade shrank slightly farther away from each other.
"I'm not a sleuth,"
Anderson announced.
"That much is obvious," said
Sherlock. "However, as everyone is interested only in sleuths at the
moment, including myself-" He turned toward Lestrade. "I wondered if
you wouldn't mind giving me another look at those surveillance videos from the
break-in."
Lestrade started. "Certainly.
Be happy to."
Donovan smirked at Sherlock.
"Afraid to go back into the area near the shop, are you?"
"He should be." Anderson
gestured at Sherlock's jaw. "Look at what happened to him the last
time."
"Come inside," Lestrade
said to Sherlock. "The rest of you: back to work."
"That Internet post isn't all
bad, if it gets that kind of result," Donovan said to Anderson, as
Lestrade ushered John and Sherlock into his office.
"Still, it's not much of
a bruise, is it?" Anderson replied. "And did you know the page count
has now passed 90,000 hits?"
"Unbelievable. 90,000 people,
keen to see the Freak."
The door mercifully shut out the
rest of their conversation.
Lestrade ignored his guests for the
moment, heading for his desk. He pulled a plastic tube from his second drawer
and handed it to Sherlock. "Try this."
Sherlock turned the tube round to
look at the labeling. "Acne medicine?"
"It's tinted." Lestrade
nodded at Sherlock's chin. "It will help to cover that up."
John smiled. "It sounds as if
you have some experience with this sort of thing."
"Yes, it doesn't do to go on
telly sporting bruises. Sends the wrong message." Lestrade thrust his
hands into his pockets, looked at Sherlock, and sighed. "I'm sorry about
the trouble. No, really. I feel responsible somehow, calling you in..."
Sherlock waved him away. "It's
nothing to do with you."
"Still, if there's anything I
can do to help..."
"Just... help me get my mind
off it."
"As I said last night, I would
prefer having your attention channeled in this direction anyway." Lestrade
watched Sherlock contemplate the tube in his hand. "Do you need a
mirror?"
"I'll stop in the gents on the
way over."
"Fair enough. I'll have the
video waiting for you."
Continued in Part 8
Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade, the BBC gang (Molly, Sarah, Donovan, Anderson)
Rating: PG to Strong Adult - this part PG
Warnings: Excessive estrogen, exposition
Summary: Sherlock finds himself the recipient of unwanted attention, thanks to the Internet.
Notes: Thank you winterstorrm for the beta and Britpick.
For a complete list of chapters, see: The Problem with Personal Blogs, chapter list.
7. Scotland Yard
Before John could react, Sherlock
seized the laptop from him and began typing. Moments later, he slammed his fist
against the table in frustration. "Damn!"
"What is it?"
"She's set up her user profile
through Denmark again. Probably she has an Internet-savvy friend there who
posts things for her." Sherlock subsided, glaring at the screen. "No
local IP address," he grumbled. "No way to fix her current
location."
John hated to say it, but thought
he'd better. "Are you sure this student, Miss Doyle, isn't the author?
After all-"
"No, no, no." Sherlock
sprang to his feet to pace. "I've run the writing analysis. There is a
strong correlation between only two of the six style points that commonly are
used to establish authorship."
"But a paper she writes for
University will be so different-"
"If you don't mind, I would
prefer to concentrate my energy on the possibilities that are not dead ends.
The balance of probability is that the guilty party witnessed my meeting with
this young woman last night. It’s possible that Miss Doyle might have
communicated the encounter to a third person in sufficient detail for the author
to reconstruct events, but considering the lateness of the hour and the fact
that the confidant would subsequently have to write and post the entry that
same evening- and knowing that she’s a person who rises early enough in the
morning to observe and react to the notice in The Sun- makes it much
more likely that our obsessive fantasizer observed our meeting directly. Now,
who could that person be? I saw no one following me. It was devilish cold;
someone wouldn't be lingering in the darkness on the odd chance that I might
pass by, and it would be a feat of genius for the person to have predicted my
movements-a level of mental acumen that is not borne out by the writing. The
odds therefore are strongly in favor of the perpetrator being someone who knows
Lisa Doyle personally, as I didn't remove enough of my disguise for easy
recognition before then, and the fact that our libidinous author describes yet
another late night visit to her fictional ex-virgin. So, is the writer a member
of the household?
“We already know that the mother was
almost certainly present, although she wasn't seen. My inference at the time
was that she was watching telly; I can think of nothing else that might have
kept her so occupied that she would neglect asking her daughter who had come to
the door. If she had heard my voice, she would certainly have come forward,
especially considering how keen her daughter described her as being regarding
my previous visit. However, suppose she wasn't watching telly at all? Due to
the drone from the sitting room, someone within the house could only have
overheard our conversation from the top of the stairs. The lights were on in at
least one of the upper rooms, but I heard no voices. If there were visitors in
the house, in the normal way I would have overheard their conversation.
Therefore we can safely speculate that, if anyone was listening from upstairs,
they were alone, or at least deliberately holding themselves quiet. Who would
do this? The only likely candidate is the mother. But she would be a wretched
mother indeed to injure her daughter's reputation in this way. From Miss
Doyle's recitation of prior events concerning the case, I have the feeling the
pair was rather close. Therefore, we can eliminate the mother.
"A neighbor? This Mrs. Wallace
has demonstrated interest in the matter. Yet her house was dark when I reached
the Doyles'. Could she have been sitting in the dark, just waiting for a chance
to spy upon her neighbor? Highly unlikely. Yet, that the author should be
someone unrelated to myself or the Doyles is more unlikely still. The lights
were on in the house adjoining the Doyles' on the opposite side; we know
nothing of the residents, or what possible interest they might have in spying
upon the Doyles or me. Perhaps there's a local feud, and they enjoyed
implicating Miss Doyle in their scheme. But, if so, why did the young lady not
say so? If relations between them were not friendly, she would have no motive
in hiding her suspicions. In short, I can think of no readily apparent resolution
to the problem." He turned those keen eyes on John. "Have you any
thoughts on the matter?"
John started. "Me? No!"
"Yet there must be a
connection." Sherlock smacked a fist into a palm in frustration. He
stopped abruptly. "I'm going to the Yard."
John blinked. "You think they
might know something about it?"
"Most unlikely. But I would
appreciate a distraction. Lestrade at least will want to hear only about the
burglary. I'd find that a relief at the moment, actually."
"Do you want me to go with
you?"
Sherlock smiled. "Always,
John." He headed briskly toward his room to dress. "You can keep an
eye out for this mysterious 'first-time poster' whilst my back is turned. But,
if you do spot her, whatever you do, don't jump her."
John was pleased to be recruited as
backup. "Why not? So you can follow her?"
"No." Sherlock paused in
the doorway and gave him one of his tightlipped smiles. "She'd like it too
much." He then slipped away, leaving John in sole possession of 197 blog
comments and 87,942 page hits… and climbing.
#
The taxi dropped them at the front
door of Scotland Yard. John was vigilant in his observations as he and Sherlock
approached the building. To his disappointment, most of the passersby didn't
seem to take any particular notice of them, although it was hard to be sure;
quite a few people, men and women alike, marked Sherlock's progress in his
great billowing coat, but their interest didn't seem to be anything out of the
ordinary way. John sighed. With Sherlock's addiction to the dramatic and his
sartorial flair, picking out a potential stalker from amongst the many who were
innocently drawn to his flamboyant style would not be an easy task.
As soon as they entered the offices,
it became obvious that most of the staff were aware of the Seduce A Sleuth
development. Snickers, curious looks, and speculative interest marked
Sherlock's progress through the offices. Sherlock affected to ignore the
excessive attention, being very much on his dignity, but he could hardly have
failed to notice the general sentiment, even had he not been gifted with
extraordinary powers of observation. Although it may have been an improvement
over the resentment he usually attracted, it was clear that Sherlock found
their amusement equally rankling. He stood taller and his back grew stiffer the
further into the building they went.
Unfortunately, the first one to
greet them outside of Lestrade's office was Anderson. The forensics chief met
them with a sneer. "Well, look who's here. Good morning... Silky."
"I am not silky!"
Sherlock snapped.
Lestrade came to the door, an
excessively smug smile on his face. "I see you've made the paper again.
Congratulations."
Sherlock's retort, which no doubt
had been building with every step he'd taken beyond the front door, issued
forth. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Lestrade. How anyone in this
country can publish a report of such a dubious article without taking the least
effort to inquire into its veracity-"
"Hello, Freak!" Donovan
greeted him cheerfully, coming up. "So, you managed to get some friends at
last. Internet ones, but still..."
"They are not
friends!" Sherlock growled. "They are stalkers, slanderers,
empty-minded-"
"Admirers?" Donovan
studied his face. "I see you had some trouble fighting them off."
"Yes, what's this?" Frowning,
Lestrade pointed at Sherlock's chin.
Sherlock glowered under the
scrutiny. "Calling card from the young lady's brother."
Donovan looked intrigued. "Oh,
you found the brother, did you?"
John muttered, "The brother
found him."
"Well, out with it." Donovan
leaned against the open door frame, smiling. "I could use a good
story."
"The story is," John said,
when Sherlock looked sullenly away, refusing to elaborate, "that Sherlock
was able to trace the likely-well, fellow victim, since she didn't write it.
But that only led to another story about their meeting last night being
published in a fictional rendition this morning."
"I saw that," Donovan
said. "It did strain credulity. Try as I might, I can't imagine the Freak
as a homeless person."
"I have to admit, I glanced at
the Web site myself this morning." Lestrade's eyes twinkled. "How
does it feel to be Seduce A Sleuth's main draw?"
Sherlock glared, but Donovan
laughed. "I can't understand it. No one would write such stories if they
actually knew him."
"I heartily agree with you,
Sally." Sherlock angrily loosened his gloves. "In person, I'd have no
difficulty in putting them off."
Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Oh,
go on. You aren't that bad looking."
"By my manner,"
Sherlock snapped. "Besides, I don't know what you're so cheerful
about."
Lestrade grinned. "You've got
to be joking."
"You're a sleuth."
"Well... a detective,
anyway."
"The site is called Seduce A
Sleuth." Sherlock held his gaze. "You're in the paper far oftener
than I am. The next case down the road, someone might decide to take an
interest in you."
Lestrade stiffened. "No one
would want to write about me."
"That's what Sherlock
thought," John countered.
"Yes," Sherlock continued,
to Lestrade's growing horror. "A week or two from now, we could find your
fictional exploits publicly posted for the benefit of the author's numerous
beta readers." Sherlock frowned. "What are beta readers,
anyway?"
Donovan answered. "They're
people who read over a story before it's published and check it for grammar,
plot, punctuation-that sort of thing."
"Well, this author could
certainly use a beta reader-or a better one, I should say, as the
mistakes in the published piece were appalling.”
“Quite right,” John said brightly.
“We can’t have typographical errors interfering with the pornographic
content."
“It’s erotica,” corrected
Donovan. “And honestly, I’m not as bothered over the mechanics of it as much as
some people.”
Lestrade looked intrigued. "Are
you telling me that you actually read this stuff?”
Donovan shrugged. "Doesn't
everyone?"
"I don't," Anderson said
instantly. John chose to remain silent.
"Besides," Sherlock said,
turning toward Donovan, "I don't know why you're so complacent. You're a
sleuth as well. You could be drawn into their fictional folds at any
moment."
"I'm a woman," she retorted.
"It doesn't mean they wouldn't
use you as a supporting character. They could pair you up with Anderson-sorry,
we're after fictional liaisons. I meant, they could partner you with Lestrade
over there, with John-even me."
Donovan's eyes grew huge. To John's
amusement, she and Lestrade shrank slightly farther away from each other.
"I'm not a sleuth,"
Anderson announced.
"That much is obvious," said
Sherlock. "However, as everyone is interested only in sleuths at the
moment, including myself-" He turned toward Lestrade. "I wondered if
you wouldn't mind giving me another look at those surveillance videos from the
break-in."
Lestrade started. "Certainly.
Be happy to."
Donovan smirked at Sherlock.
"Afraid to go back into the area near the shop, are you?"
"He should be." Anderson
gestured at Sherlock's jaw. "Look at what happened to him the last
time."
"Come inside," Lestrade
said to Sherlock. "The rest of you: back to work."
"That Internet post isn't all
bad, if it gets that kind of result," Donovan said to Anderson, as
Lestrade ushered John and Sherlock into his office.
"Still, it's not much of
a bruise, is it?" Anderson replied. "And did you know the page count
has now passed 90,000 hits?"
"Unbelievable. 90,000 people,
keen to see the Freak."
The door mercifully shut out the
rest of their conversation.
Lestrade ignored his guests for the
moment, heading for his desk. He pulled a plastic tube from his second drawer
and handed it to Sherlock. "Try this."
Sherlock turned the tube round to
look at the labeling. "Acne medicine?"
"It's tinted." Lestrade
nodded at Sherlock's chin. "It will help to cover that up."
John smiled. "It sounds as if
you have some experience with this sort of thing."
"Yes, it doesn't do to go on
telly sporting bruises. Sends the wrong message." Lestrade thrust his
hands into his pockets, looked at Sherlock, and sighed. "I'm sorry about
the trouble. No, really. I feel responsible somehow, calling you in..."
Sherlock waved him away. "It's
nothing to do with you."
"Still, if there's anything I
can do to help..."
"Just... help me get my mind
off it."
"As I said last night, I would
prefer having your attention channeled in this direction anyway." Lestrade
watched Sherlock contemplate the tube in his hand. "Do you need a
mirror?"
"I'll stop in the gents on the
way over."
"Fair enough. I'll have the
video waiting for you."
Continued in Part 8