S3E1 - The Silver Blaze Revival - Part Four: The Frame Job, A Lesson in Safe Tea
Title: The Silver Blaze Revival
Subtitle: The Frame Job, A Lesson in Safe Tea
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,521
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
"Lestrade?" Sherlock answered his phone. "Yes. The plumber, right? We'll be there. Text us the address, will you?"
He hung up as John came down from his bedroom.
"Get dressed," Sherlock said. "We've got to get there as soon as possible."
"Get there? Where? We just finished - "
"The Fulmer case!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Lestrade is going to search the plumber's residence now. We need to be there."
John was in his robe and hadn't planned to change until after breakfast, but apparently he no longer had days off, even when their cases were dry.
"Hold on, you're telling me you answered your phone?" John asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Sherlock, you never answer you phone."
"Don't be ridiculous, of course I do," Sherlock bristled. "Especially when we've got a case."
John bit his own lip to prevent himself from yelling. Sherlock hadn't answered his phone once for the duration of their last case, which involved chasing down a particularly clever artisan thief. The lack of communication caused more than one close call, yet here he was at an ungodly hour of the morning answering his damn mobile like it was natural.
Mrs. Hudson was right. They'd never really know what was going on inside his funny head.
Sherlock noticed that John hadn't moved. "Come on, John, either get some clothes on or grab a bed sheet, I'm not partial."
"Right, give me five minutes," John replied as he tottered up the stairs.
"This is the watermelon case?" John asked in the taxi. "Isn't it?"
"What?" Sherlock looked genuinely confused for a moment. Then he cottoned on. "Oh, right. Yes, I suppose. But as I said before, that was because human heads were in short supply."
"What exactly are we doing?" John asked. "I mean, you cleared the wife, found this guy. Isn't the rest of this stuff up to Lestrade?"
"I want to know, John."
"Know?"
"He nearly framed an innocent woman in the death of her husband," Sherlock said. "I want to meet him."
"That's why we're going?"
"This man is cunning, John," Sherlock said. "I can't be certain he will be undone by the likes of the police. He'll have taken precautions."
"So basically you're curious if he's some kind of mastermind," John said, mostly to himself.
"Aren't you?"
By the time they arrived at Clyde's flat, Anderson and the forensics team had already had the run of the place.
"Sherlock, they've found nothing," Lestrade said. "And I've got people breathing down - "
"Have you checked the contents of his safe?" Sherlock asked.
"His safe?"
"Yes."
"He doesn't have a safe."
"I assure you, he does," Sherlock said as he walked into the flat.
"Sorry," John said to Lestrade. "I'll just..."
He didn't finish his sentence; instead, he followed Sherlock inside. The building itself was decent, but the owner let all the furniture fall into disuse and the overall feeling of the place was shabby.
The living room was particularly odd because the windows were covered with tin foil, preventing any sunlight from coming through. The center of the room sported a large coffee table that was covered with unusual blotches, and the adjacent couch had nothing but piles of towels on it. There was also an odd, chemical smell to the place, like a mix between sulfur and vinegar, or maybe it was ammonia. John couldn't tell, but he found it entirely unnerving, since he could see nothing in the room that should emit such an odor.
"Wow," John commented to himself.
Sherlock had already made short work of the room, of course, and he seemed annoyed at John's lengthy consideration of the room.
"We need to find his safe," Sherlock insisted.
"You think this guy has a safe?" John said, indicating the state of the flat.
"This building isn't cheap, John, so clearly the condition of his residence is a reflection of his state of mind and not his wallet," Sherlock said. "He'll have a small safe, just big enough for standard files and a gun. Where should it be?"
John cast his eyes around the room, trying to spot any indication that a safe might be there. All he saw was threadbare decorations and dust.
"Can't be in here," John said. "All the dust would give him away."
Sherlock gave a short laugh. "John, you're a genius!" Then he swept off into the bathroom. John wasn't sure what Sherlock meant by that - honestly, half the time he wasn't sure what Sherlock meant at all - but there was no way he was following another man into the loo.
"No," Sherlock said a few moments later. "Nowhere for a proper safe."
Then he waved John into the kitchen. "It's got to be in here, John."
"The safe?" John asked. "Why not the bedroom - "
"No, no, no!" Sherlock said. "Just as you said, the dust would give him away. He put his safe somewhere that is used constantly. His living room isn't ever used, his bedroom is the same. Bathroom is too small, so that leaves the kitchen."
Indeed, the kitchen showed signs of usage that the other rooms did not. The counter was wiped clean, and several dishes were scattered throughout. As soon as they entered the kitchen, a tall, weedy man accosted them.
"Who are you?" Clyde Burkhart asked. He had a pinched face and oddly large eyes, and his dark clothing made him look sickly thin.
"We're with the police," John said.
Sherlock ignored him entirely. His eyes wandered around the room, scanning for hiding places. His search stopped when he noticed an electric teapot on the counter opposite the microwave, which was clearly the most-used appliance.
Without a word, Sherlock walked over to the microwave and pushed it away, uncovering a small wall safe.
"What do you think you're doing?" Clyde demanded.
"Aha," Sherlock said, continuing to ignore the third man. "Never use a pun to conceal the truth, John."
"Hey, that's private, and there's nothing there!" Clyde retorted.
"Those two facts are in complete opposition, you do understand," Sherlock replied.
Donovan suddenly joined them, causing Clyde to jump back slightly. The man locked his eyes on his own shoes and became very still.
"Hello, Freak," she said to Sherlock. "And John."
"Sally," John replied quietly.
"Can you move it along? Some of us have real jobs," she said harshly. John swore he heard Clyde whimper.
"Donovan!" Lestrade yelled from the living room.
"Right then," she said as she bowed out.
Lestrade joined them with a quick, "Sherlock, what's going on?"
Clyde relaxed again, as if Lestrade had come to rescue him from the evil man in the long coat. "They're poking around my home, that's what!" Clyde replied.
"You have a look in here yet?" Sherlock asked.
"He's got a safe?" Lestrade said dumbly. "No, we didn't - "
"There's nothing in there!" Clyde interrupted.
"Then give us the code," John said evenly. "We peek in, see there's nothing, then put the microwave back. No harm done."
Clyde's expression was smoldering rage, but he made no additional protests. He also refused to give them the passcode.
"Can't think of it right now," he said. "I wrote it down, but I never use the thing, so - "
"Many items in your possession suffer from disuse, Mr. Burkhart, but this safe isn't one of them," Sherlock replied. He considered the man's clothing, his watch, and his posture for a moment. "I'm sorry, I know this is an odd question," Sherlock said, his body language spinning on a dime, "but is your birthday the thirtieth of the month?"
Clyde's face contorted, but he answered anyway, "No, it's the sixth of September."
Sherlock whirled around and typed in three, zero, zero, seven, one, two. The safe opened.
"How did you know my passcode?" Clyde asked.
"Everything about you just screams it," Sherlock replied.
Lestrade strode over, and Sherlock graciously stepped aside.
"Really? You're going to let him open it?" John asked.
"No reason not to," Sherlock replied.
"I told you," Clyde said. "There's nothing in there."
The safe opened with a little pop. Lestrade let out a low whistle.
"I wouldn't call this nothing," Lestrade said as he stepped aside to reveal a large-caliber handgun.
Both Sherlock and Clyde were absolutely shocked.
"That's not right," Sherlock said once they were out of an earshot of the police. He paced the sidewalk irritably with his coat flapping behind him.
"You mean the gun?" John asked. "Wait, if you weren't expecting a gun, why did we go looking for a safe?"
"I expected the safe to be empty but with gun residue inside," Sherlock replied.
To calm him down, John asked, "What was the code you entered?"
"What? Oh, it was 30/07/12, obviously."
"The date of the murder?" John asked. "I thought - "
"He changed it afterward," Sherlock said. "He changes the date on his safe each time he uses it. That's why all ten buttons are well worn, even though that type of safe only requires six digits. I could tell the first number was three, so if it wasn't his birthday..."
"So the last day he used the safe was the day of the murder to put his gun back?" John asked.
"No," Sherlock replied. "He didn't put the gun in there, he's too clever for that. After the murder, he planted those gloves, which means he also planted the weapon somewhere. Somewhere the police would find it - "
John realized where this was going, so he said, "So the framing of the wife would be complete, of course."
"Exactly, but he also needed to be sure that any suspicion that fell on him, if it did, found no fodder. So he came back here after he was done and got rid of all the other evidence."
"Other evidence? That he kept in his safe?" John interrupted.
"Remember he had to wait to make his move, so he must've had notes about the Fulmer's schedules. Copies of the complaints Mrs. Fulmer filed against him, of course - "
"Why would he have those?"
"Because, John!" Sherlock said loudly. "That's how this started. He liked her, probably obsessed over her. Not only did she reject him, she reported him. This isn't about her husband, this is about her. Don't you see?"
John bit his lip. "Sherlock, plenty of people try to cover up murders by pinning it on someone else. How could you possibly know that this is about her and not about her husband?"
"Donovan," Sherlock replied. "You were right there, John! You saw how he reacted to her!"
"She has that effect on a lot of people," John pointed out. "Intimidating."
"So intimidating that a man stares at his shoes and won't move a muscle?" Sherlock inquired. "No, no. That man is terrified of women in authority. Not just Sergeant Donovan. He was fine around you, me, and Lestrade. She was the only one who pushed him. Add that to the fact that this man waited, meticulously, until the couple had a bad row before making his move, and to the fact that Mrs. Fulmer filed all the complains against him, not Mr. Fulmer, and it becomes fairly clear."
'Damn it,' John thought to himself. 'I hate it when it's that obvious...'
"Okay, so he framed the wife, down to planting the gun somewhere," John said. "And he came back here to destroy all his papers - "
"And photographs of her," Sherlock added.
"Okay, even you can't tell that a photograph was in a safe because of... whatever," John said. "Not apart from normal paper anyway."
Sherlock presented a twisted, one-sided smile. "It's nothing to do with the safe, actually. The living room."
"There weren't photos in the living room."
"Of course not, as I said, he destroyed them all that night, but he clearly used his living room as a darkroom for weeks, going by the smell of it."
John laughed. "Of course, you would know what photographs smell like."
"Don't be foolish," Sherlock cut in. "Not the photos themselves, but the chemicals to develop them. He's far too careful to use digital because digital always leaves a trace and then there's wifi and all that. No, that's not secure enough. He used an analog camera, a truly analog camera, because he processed all the pictures himself."
"Because if he developed them at a pharmacy or camera shop, then someone else would know about his obsession, of course," John filled in. It was always better for him to show Sherlock he understood; at the very least, it prevented the consulting detective from getting so wound up that he shouted.
"Exactly. So, he murders the husband, frames the wife. Comes back here to clear out his safe, and as a creature of habit, he changes the code to the last date accessed. Then he gets rid of his makeshift darkroom, just in case, but he hasn't properly ventilated the room, so the scent lingers. But he's acclimated to it, he does live here after all, so he doesn't know to clean it up."
"Tin foil on the windows?" John asked.
"He probably just likes it."
John laughed.
"What?" Sherlock asked sharply.
Deciding to change tactics, John asked, "If you're right, and he planted the gun, then what gun did we just find in safe?"
"Oh, it's definitely the murder weapon," Sherlock said. "Definitely. Ballistics will match."
John's confusion prevented him from articulating his next question, so he waited for Sherlock to continue. When he didn't, John spoke up, "Okay, then... how?"
It took almost a whole minute of Sherlock's distant staring before his face lit up. "It's it obvious?"
"No. Unless you're wrong - "
"I'm not wrong. He did plant the gun. Then someone else moved it back to his safe."
"So, he's the one being framed?" John speculated.
"No, he's definitely the murderer," Sherlock dismissed, as if John's question was the stupidest inquiry in the world. "After he framed Mrs. Fulmer, somebody else took the murder weapon and put it back in Burkhart's flat."
"Sherlock, that's..." John struggled for the right word. "Preposterous, even for you."
"Did you see his surprise when we found it? He didn't know it was there. The only possible solution is that someone else put it there!" Sherlock continue to spitball. "Whoever it was knew about the murder and his intent to frame Mrs. Fulmer. Must've figured out the passcode on his safe as well, to get the weapon back in there..."
Calmness passed over Sherlock as he drifted off into pensive thought. John waved to a passing taxi and managed to catch the driver's attention.
"Come on, then," John said. "I'm sure you've got something at the lab to put under your microscope."
Sherlock remained absent as John pushed him into the car. Sooner or later, he would surface, his blue eyes bright and wide with some revelation or another, but for now, it was best to head over to Bart's. He always demanded to go to his lab after waking up from his Mind Palace or Thought Corridor or whatever the hell Sherlock called it these days.
<<< Previous Part:
Part Three: Rogue Agent
Next Part: >>>
Part Five: Black Box
The Silver Blaze Revival - Series 3, Episode 1 - Primary Post
Subtitle: The Frame Job, A Lesson in Safe Tea
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,521
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
"Lestrade?" Sherlock answered his phone. "Yes. The plumber, right? We'll be there. Text us the address, will you?"
He hung up as John came down from his bedroom.
"Get dressed," Sherlock said. "We've got to get there as soon as possible."
"Get there? Where? We just finished - "
"The Fulmer case!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Lestrade is going to search the plumber's residence now. We need to be there."
John was in his robe and hadn't planned to change until after breakfast, but apparently he no longer had days off, even when their cases were dry.
"Hold on, you're telling me you answered your phone?" John asked.
"Yes, of course."
"Sherlock, you never answer you phone."
"Don't be ridiculous, of course I do," Sherlock bristled. "Especially when we've got a case."
John bit his own lip to prevent himself from yelling. Sherlock hadn't answered his phone once for the duration of their last case, which involved chasing down a particularly clever artisan thief. The lack of communication caused more than one close call, yet here he was at an ungodly hour of the morning answering his damn mobile like it was natural.
Mrs. Hudson was right. They'd never really know what was going on inside his funny head.
Sherlock noticed that John hadn't moved. "Come on, John, either get some clothes on or grab a bed sheet, I'm not partial."
"Right, give me five minutes," John replied as he tottered up the stairs.
"This is the watermelon case?" John asked in the taxi. "Isn't it?"
"What?" Sherlock looked genuinely confused for a moment. Then he cottoned on. "Oh, right. Yes, I suppose. But as I said before, that was because human heads were in short supply."
"What exactly are we doing?" John asked. "I mean, you cleared the wife, found this guy. Isn't the rest of this stuff up to Lestrade?"
"I want to know, John."
"Know?"
"He nearly framed an innocent woman in the death of her husband," Sherlock said. "I want to meet him."
"That's why we're going?"
"This man is cunning, John," Sherlock said. "I can't be certain he will be undone by the likes of the police. He'll have taken precautions."
"So basically you're curious if he's some kind of mastermind," John said, mostly to himself.
"Aren't you?"
By the time they arrived at Clyde's flat, Anderson and the forensics team had already had the run of the place.
"Sherlock, they've found nothing," Lestrade said. "And I've got people breathing down - "
"Have you checked the contents of his safe?" Sherlock asked.
"His safe?"
"Yes."
"He doesn't have a safe."
"I assure you, he does," Sherlock said as he walked into the flat.
"Sorry," John said to Lestrade. "I'll just..."
He didn't finish his sentence; instead, he followed Sherlock inside. The building itself was decent, but the owner let all the furniture fall into disuse and the overall feeling of the place was shabby.
The living room was particularly odd because the windows were covered with tin foil, preventing any sunlight from coming through. The center of the room sported a large coffee table that was covered with unusual blotches, and the adjacent couch had nothing but piles of towels on it. There was also an odd, chemical smell to the place, like a mix between sulfur and vinegar, or maybe it was ammonia. John couldn't tell, but he found it entirely unnerving, since he could see nothing in the room that should emit such an odor.
"Wow," John commented to himself.
Sherlock had already made short work of the room, of course, and he seemed annoyed at John's lengthy consideration of the room.
"We need to find his safe," Sherlock insisted.
"You think this guy has a safe?" John said, indicating the state of the flat.
"This building isn't cheap, John, so clearly the condition of his residence is a reflection of his state of mind and not his wallet," Sherlock said. "He'll have a small safe, just big enough for standard files and a gun. Where should it be?"
John cast his eyes around the room, trying to spot any indication that a safe might be there. All he saw was threadbare decorations and dust.
"Can't be in here," John said. "All the dust would give him away."
Sherlock gave a short laugh. "John, you're a genius!" Then he swept off into the bathroom. John wasn't sure what Sherlock meant by that - honestly, half the time he wasn't sure what Sherlock meant at all - but there was no way he was following another man into the loo.
"No," Sherlock said a few moments later. "Nowhere for a proper safe."
Then he waved John into the kitchen. "It's got to be in here, John."
"The safe?" John asked. "Why not the bedroom - "
"No, no, no!" Sherlock said. "Just as you said, the dust would give him away. He put his safe somewhere that is used constantly. His living room isn't ever used, his bedroom is the same. Bathroom is too small, so that leaves the kitchen."
Indeed, the kitchen showed signs of usage that the other rooms did not. The counter was wiped clean, and several dishes were scattered throughout. As soon as they entered the kitchen, a tall, weedy man accosted them.
"Who are you?" Clyde Burkhart asked. He had a pinched face and oddly large eyes, and his dark clothing made him look sickly thin.
"We're with the police," John said.
Sherlock ignored him entirely. His eyes wandered around the room, scanning for hiding places. His search stopped when he noticed an electric teapot on the counter opposite the microwave, which was clearly the most-used appliance.
Without a word, Sherlock walked over to the microwave and pushed it away, uncovering a small wall safe.
"What do you think you're doing?" Clyde demanded.
"Aha," Sherlock said, continuing to ignore the third man. "Never use a pun to conceal the truth, John."
"Hey, that's private, and there's nothing there!" Clyde retorted.
"Those two facts are in complete opposition, you do understand," Sherlock replied.
Donovan suddenly joined them, causing Clyde to jump back slightly. The man locked his eyes on his own shoes and became very still.
"Hello, Freak," she said to Sherlock. "And John."
"Sally," John replied quietly.
"Can you move it along? Some of us have real jobs," she said harshly. John swore he heard Clyde whimper.
"Donovan!" Lestrade yelled from the living room.
"Right then," she said as she bowed out.
Lestrade joined them with a quick, "Sherlock, what's going on?"
Clyde relaxed again, as if Lestrade had come to rescue him from the evil man in the long coat. "They're poking around my home, that's what!" Clyde replied.
"You have a look in here yet?" Sherlock asked.
"He's got a safe?" Lestrade said dumbly. "No, we didn't - "
"There's nothing in there!" Clyde interrupted.
"Then give us the code," John said evenly. "We peek in, see there's nothing, then put the microwave back. No harm done."
Clyde's expression was smoldering rage, but he made no additional protests. He also refused to give them the passcode.
"Can't think of it right now," he said. "I wrote it down, but I never use the thing, so - "
"Many items in your possession suffer from disuse, Mr. Burkhart, but this safe isn't one of them," Sherlock replied. He considered the man's clothing, his watch, and his posture for a moment. "I'm sorry, I know this is an odd question," Sherlock said, his body language spinning on a dime, "but is your birthday the thirtieth of the month?"
Clyde's face contorted, but he answered anyway, "No, it's the sixth of September."
Sherlock whirled around and typed in three, zero, zero, seven, one, two. The safe opened.
"How did you know my passcode?" Clyde asked.
"Everything about you just screams it," Sherlock replied.
Lestrade strode over, and Sherlock graciously stepped aside.
"Really? You're going to let him open it?" John asked.
"No reason not to," Sherlock replied.
"I told you," Clyde said. "There's nothing in there."
The safe opened with a little pop. Lestrade let out a low whistle.
"I wouldn't call this nothing," Lestrade said as he stepped aside to reveal a large-caliber handgun.
Both Sherlock and Clyde were absolutely shocked.
"That's not right," Sherlock said once they were out of an earshot of the police. He paced the sidewalk irritably with his coat flapping behind him.
"You mean the gun?" John asked. "Wait, if you weren't expecting a gun, why did we go looking for a safe?"
"I expected the safe to be empty but with gun residue inside," Sherlock replied.
To calm him down, John asked, "What was the code you entered?"
"What? Oh, it was 30/07/12, obviously."
"The date of the murder?" John asked. "I thought - "
"He changed it afterward," Sherlock said. "He changes the date on his safe each time he uses it. That's why all ten buttons are well worn, even though that type of safe only requires six digits. I could tell the first number was three, so if it wasn't his birthday..."
"So the last day he used the safe was the day of the murder to put his gun back?" John asked.
"No," Sherlock replied. "He didn't put the gun in there, he's too clever for that. After the murder, he planted those gloves, which means he also planted the weapon somewhere. Somewhere the police would find it - "
John realized where this was going, so he said, "So the framing of the wife would be complete, of course."
"Exactly, but he also needed to be sure that any suspicion that fell on him, if it did, found no fodder. So he came back here after he was done and got rid of all the other evidence."
"Other evidence? That he kept in his safe?" John interrupted.
"Remember he had to wait to make his move, so he must've had notes about the Fulmer's schedules. Copies of the complaints Mrs. Fulmer filed against him, of course - "
"Why would he have those?"
"Because, John!" Sherlock said loudly. "That's how this started. He liked her, probably obsessed over her. Not only did she reject him, she reported him. This isn't about her husband, this is about her. Don't you see?"
John bit his lip. "Sherlock, plenty of people try to cover up murders by pinning it on someone else. How could you possibly know that this is about her and not about her husband?"
"Donovan," Sherlock replied. "You were right there, John! You saw how he reacted to her!"
"She has that effect on a lot of people," John pointed out. "Intimidating."
"So intimidating that a man stares at his shoes and won't move a muscle?" Sherlock inquired. "No, no. That man is terrified of women in authority. Not just Sergeant Donovan. He was fine around you, me, and Lestrade. She was the only one who pushed him. Add that to the fact that this man waited, meticulously, until the couple had a bad row before making his move, and to the fact that Mrs. Fulmer filed all the complains against him, not Mr. Fulmer, and it becomes fairly clear."
'Damn it,' John thought to himself. 'I hate it when it's that obvious...'
"Okay, so he framed the wife, down to planting the gun somewhere," John said. "And he came back here to destroy all his papers - "
"And photographs of her," Sherlock added.
"Okay, even you can't tell that a photograph was in a safe because of... whatever," John said. "Not apart from normal paper anyway."
Sherlock presented a twisted, one-sided smile. "It's nothing to do with the safe, actually. The living room."
"There weren't photos in the living room."
"Of course not, as I said, he destroyed them all that night, but he clearly used his living room as a darkroom for weeks, going by the smell of it."
John laughed. "Of course, you would know what photographs smell like."
"Don't be foolish," Sherlock cut in. "Not the photos themselves, but the chemicals to develop them. He's far too careful to use digital because digital always leaves a trace and then there's wifi and all that. No, that's not secure enough. He used an analog camera, a truly analog camera, because he processed all the pictures himself."
"Because if he developed them at a pharmacy or camera shop, then someone else would know about his obsession, of course," John filled in. It was always better for him to show Sherlock he understood; at the very least, it prevented the consulting detective from getting so wound up that he shouted.
"Exactly. So, he murders the husband, frames the wife. Comes back here to clear out his safe, and as a creature of habit, he changes the code to the last date accessed. Then he gets rid of his makeshift darkroom, just in case, but he hasn't properly ventilated the room, so the scent lingers. But he's acclimated to it, he does live here after all, so he doesn't know to clean it up."
"Tin foil on the windows?" John asked.
"He probably just likes it."
John laughed.
"What?" Sherlock asked sharply.
Deciding to change tactics, John asked, "If you're right, and he planted the gun, then what gun did we just find in safe?"
"Oh, it's definitely the murder weapon," Sherlock said. "Definitely. Ballistics will match."
John's confusion prevented him from articulating his next question, so he waited for Sherlock to continue. When he didn't, John spoke up, "Okay, then... how?"
It took almost a whole minute of Sherlock's distant staring before his face lit up. "It's it obvious?"
"No. Unless you're wrong - "
"I'm not wrong. He did plant the gun. Then someone else moved it back to his safe."
"So, he's the one being framed?" John speculated.
"No, he's definitely the murderer," Sherlock dismissed, as if John's question was the stupidest inquiry in the world. "After he framed Mrs. Fulmer, somebody else took the murder weapon and put it back in Burkhart's flat."
"Sherlock, that's..." John struggled for the right word. "Preposterous, even for you."
"Did you see his surprise when we found it? He didn't know it was there. The only possible solution is that someone else put it there!" Sherlock continue to spitball. "Whoever it was knew about the murder and his intent to frame Mrs. Fulmer. Must've figured out the passcode on his safe as well, to get the weapon back in there..."
Calmness passed over Sherlock as he drifted off into pensive thought. John waved to a passing taxi and managed to catch the driver's attention.
"Come on, then," John said. "I'm sure you've got something at the lab to put under your microscope."
Sherlock remained absent as John pushed him into the car. Sooner or later, he would surface, his blue eyes bright and wide with some revelation or another, but for now, it was best to head over to Bart's. He always demanded to go to his lab after waking up from his Mind Palace or Thought Corridor or whatever the hell Sherlock called it these days.
<<< Previous Part:
Part Three: Rogue Agent
Next Part: >>>
Part Five: Black Box
The Silver Blaze Revival - Series 3, Episode 1 - Primary Post