S3E1 - The Silver Blaze Revival - Part Six: The Frame Job, A Lesson in the Human Factor
Title: The Silver Blaze Revival
Subtitle: The Frame Job, A Lesson in the Human Factor
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 1,428
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
Sherlock had been quiet for over twenty-four hours, a feat that John Watson had never witnessed before. It wasn't that he wasn't talking so much as he wasn't making any kind of noise at all.
"Did he lose a bet?" Mrs. Hudson quietly asked John later that evening.
"No, it's this case," John said. "He thinks a third party is involved. Thwarted the killer's attempt to frame someone else. But we dunno who."
"He's very quiet," she said. "It's very off for him, dear. Are you sure he's not ill?"
"Don't worry about it," John said. "I'll remove the clip from the gun just in case he thinks shooting the wall will help him think."
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I'll be up with tea in a couple."
John smiled and went upstairs to find Sherlock leering out the window.
"I'm guessing you're still trying to identify the third party," John said casually. "I thought I'd take a stab at it."
John opened up his notebook and started on the list of names. "There's John Samuels, the building manager," he began. "Rachel Fulmer herself, of course. Elena Wilhelm-Glass, Thomas Fulmer's PA. Emily Jacobs, neighbor on the left. Fredrick McCone, neighbor on the right. Here's one we should add to the suspect list: the ghost of Thomas Fulmer. I mean, he doesn't want his wife framed, and he wants justice for his death. So he comes back from the grave and makes sure his killer is taken down."
Sherlock did not respond to any of this. He continued to stare out the window, his silhouette like a master's painting in front of the sunset window.
"Gotcher tea, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she brought in a tray. "Sherlock, will you be joining us?"
He didn't respond.
After the tea was cleared, Sherlock finally plunked himself onto the couch and stared at John.
"What?" John prompted.
"He had a partner," Sherlock said.
"Sorry?"
"The killer must've had a partner," Sherlock repeated.
"Clyde Burkhart?"
"Yes, except there wasn't anything in his flat to suggest a friend, frequent visitor, or partner," Sherlock said. "But it's the only thing that makes sense."
"A partner who got cold feet?" John asked.
"Or who double-crossed him," Sherlock replied. "Why'd you say cold feet?"
"Well, the murder was done with, but the frame went bad," he replied. "Makes me think someone got cold feet before they tied in."
"Huh, interesting," Sherlock said. "Right, we need to speak to Rachel Fulmer. Right now."
Rachel Fulmer was cleaning out her husband's office with the help of his PA, Elena Wilhelm-Glass. Sherlock insisted on the visit, though, and Rachel agreed.
"Mrs. Fulmer?" John asked.
"No, I'm his PA, Elena. Mrs. Fulmer is in the office," she said. "You're John Watson?"
"Yes, Sherlock is - there he is," he replied as Sherlock came around the corner.
"Go on, then," Elena said as she waved them into the office.
"Mrs. Fulmer?" Sherlock said quickly. "Did Clyde Burkhart, your plumber, have any assistants or partners?"
"What?" she asked.
"Did you see him working with anybody?" Sherlock asked.
"No, not at all," she replied. "That was part of the problem, actually. If he had an assistant or something, maybe someone would've taken my reports seriously."
"You don't think your complaints were handled?" John asked.
"I filed a report the first day I met him, and the next, and the next, and they told me he was the only plumber they had on hand," she said. "And we needed him to finish the job, so I had to put up with him. If someone else had been around, I'd've been better off."
"Very well, take us through that day," Sherlock said.
"Sorry?" she said.
John started, "We know this is difficult. Would you please walk us through that day? Anything you can tell us can be helpful."
"Well, you'd have to ask Elena about work," she said, "I'm not too keen on that. But he came home later than he said. It was after eight. Said he'd been at the office all day."
"Before he came home, you were there? In the flat?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes, of course," she replied. "What're you implying?"
"What are you inferring?" Sherlock asked.
"We're just trying to make a time line," John cut in. "Like I said, anything you can tell us can be helpful. Someone dropped off an old dish, or stopped by to borrow a cup of sugar... anything at all."
"No, I came home around six and waited for my husband," she said. "When he wasn't home by eight, I put in an order for some Chinese food. Figured I shouldn't be hungry just because he was late."
She swallowed hard, bracing herself.
"Then, after he came home?" John prompted.
"We had a row," she said plainly. "He'd just been moved up, got this office, a new PA, about three months ago. He promised it'd level off, you know? That he'd get the hang of it, but it wasn't getting any better. So I stormed out."
"Why that night?" Sherlock asked shrewdly.
"What?" she asked.
"You said it'd been going on for three months. But you didn't have a fight until last night," Sherlock said. "There must be some reason."
"It's an anniversary for us," she said. "We met on the thirtieth of September twelve years ago, and even though our proper anniversary - you know, for our wedding - is in February, we always celebrated the day we met, even if it was just a diner."
"Was anyone else at all in your flat that day?" Sherlock asked again. "Electrician? Did you have your windows washed?"
"No," she said. "Why do you think someone else was in my flat?"
"We're just being thorough," John said. "Sorry. Thank you for your time."
John guided Sherlock out of the office, nearly crashing into Elena in so doing.
"Oh, gosh, sorry," she said.
"Mrs. Fulmer tells us that you knew Mr. Fulmer's schedule?" John asked.
"Yeah, kinda my job I guess," she replied.
"Tell us about his day on the thirtieth, would you?" Sherlock asked.
Elena pulled open a computer calendar. "Okay, well, he had meetings throughout the morning. Then he had a lunch meeting, and he spent the afternoon working on projects," she said, fingering the screen. "He had a phone conference at five, and he stayed here late trying to finish up."
"When did he leave?" Sherlock asked.
"Around seven thirty," she said. "He walked me out. He was like that, you know?"
"Like what?" John asked.
"You know, he wouldn't let someone like me walk to my car in the parking garage when it was dark out," she said. "Never willing to leave someone behind."
"Did he seem agitated at all?" John asked. "The day he died. Worried? Anxious? Anything like that?"
"No, not at all," she replied. "He seemed a little tired, maybe. New job and all."
Sherlock sniffed her dramatically. "You're wearing men's deodorant."
"Yes," Elena replied. "Old Spice Swagger, specifically."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because women's deodorants smell like flowers or powder," Elena replied simply. "Why anyone would want their armpit to stink of a forest or a makeup drawer is beyond me."
Sherlock sized Elena up, trying to detect a lie, but he couldn't find one. "You've been very helpful," Sherlock said as he stalked off.
"Thanks, Elena," John said as he ducked after the surly detective.
"Sherlock, you know, this isn't your strong suit," John said. "The human factor, I mean."
"Don't be foolish," Sherlock mumbled. "I can unwind the human factor without so much as blinking."
"Okay, then, who is our third party?"
"I don't know," Sherlock repeated.
"Did you ever think that, maybe, it was a guilty conscience?" John offered. "A man, obsessed with a tenant, plots a murder, but after all is said and done, he didn't anticipate feeling so guilty, so - "
"He puts the gun back in his own safe?" Sherlock completed. "If he was feeling that guilty, John, he could've just turned himself in. No, there was a third party, an actual third person."
"You asked Elena about her deodorant," John pointed out.
"Stupid, really," Sherlock replied. "The husband used an orange tang aerosol, nothing like Old Spice."
"You've conclusively ruled out the wife?" John asked.
"She took a cab to her mother's that night, which was across London," Sherlock said. "And Lestrade took her in the next morning, so barring some kind of teleportation, yes, John, we can rule her out."
"I thought you liked puzzles, but now you're just snippy."
<<< Previous Part:
Part Five: Black Box
Next Part: >>>
Part Seven: Revelations
The Silver Blaze Revival - Series 3, Episode 1 - Primary Post
Subtitle: The Frame Job, A Lesson in the Human Factor
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 1,428
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
Sherlock had been quiet for over twenty-four hours, a feat that John Watson had never witnessed before. It wasn't that he wasn't talking so much as he wasn't making any kind of noise at all.
"Did he lose a bet?" Mrs. Hudson quietly asked John later that evening.
"No, it's this case," John said. "He thinks a third party is involved. Thwarted the killer's attempt to frame someone else. But we dunno who."
"He's very quiet," she said. "It's very off for him, dear. Are you sure he's not ill?"
"Don't worry about it," John said. "I'll remove the clip from the gun just in case he thinks shooting the wall will help him think."
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I'll be up with tea in a couple."
John smiled and went upstairs to find Sherlock leering out the window.
"I'm guessing you're still trying to identify the third party," John said casually. "I thought I'd take a stab at it."
John opened up his notebook and started on the list of names. "There's John Samuels, the building manager," he began. "Rachel Fulmer herself, of course. Elena Wilhelm-Glass, Thomas Fulmer's PA. Emily Jacobs, neighbor on the left. Fredrick McCone, neighbor on the right. Here's one we should add to the suspect list: the ghost of Thomas Fulmer. I mean, he doesn't want his wife framed, and he wants justice for his death. So he comes back from the grave and makes sure his killer is taken down."
Sherlock did not respond to any of this. He continued to stare out the window, his silhouette like a master's painting in front of the sunset window.
"Gotcher tea, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she brought in a tray. "Sherlock, will you be joining us?"
He didn't respond.
After the tea was cleared, Sherlock finally plunked himself onto the couch and stared at John.
"What?" John prompted.
"He had a partner," Sherlock said.
"Sorry?"
"The killer must've had a partner," Sherlock repeated.
"Clyde Burkhart?"
"Yes, except there wasn't anything in his flat to suggest a friend, frequent visitor, or partner," Sherlock said. "But it's the only thing that makes sense."
"A partner who got cold feet?" John asked.
"Or who double-crossed him," Sherlock replied. "Why'd you say cold feet?"
"Well, the murder was done with, but the frame went bad," he replied. "Makes me think someone got cold feet before they tied in."
"Huh, interesting," Sherlock said. "Right, we need to speak to Rachel Fulmer. Right now."
Rachel Fulmer was cleaning out her husband's office with the help of his PA, Elena Wilhelm-Glass. Sherlock insisted on the visit, though, and Rachel agreed.
"Mrs. Fulmer?" John asked.
"No, I'm his PA, Elena. Mrs. Fulmer is in the office," she said. "You're John Watson?"
"Yes, Sherlock is - there he is," he replied as Sherlock came around the corner.
"Go on, then," Elena said as she waved them into the office.
"Mrs. Fulmer?" Sherlock said quickly. "Did Clyde Burkhart, your plumber, have any assistants or partners?"
"What?" she asked.
"Did you see him working with anybody?" Sherlock asked.
"No, not at all," she replied. "That was part of the problem, actually. If he had an assistant or something, maybe someone would've taken my reports seriously."
"You don't think your complaints were handled?" John asked.
"I filed a report the first day I met him, and the next, and the next, and they told me he was the only plumber they had on hand," she said. "And we needed him to finish the job, so I had to put up with him. If someone else had been around, I'd've been better off."
"Very well, take us through that day," Sherlock said.
"Sorry?" she said.
John started, "We know this is difficult. Would you please walk us through that day? Anything you can tell us can be helpful."
"Well, you'd have to ask Elena about work," she said, "I'm not too keen on that. But he came home later than he said. It was after eight. Said he'd been at the office all day."
"Before he came home, you were there? In the flat?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes, of course," she replied. "What're you implying?"
"What are you inferring?" Sherlock asked.
"We're just trying to make a time line," John cut in. "Like I said, anything you can tell us can be helpful. Someone dropped off an old dish, or stopped by to borrow a cup of sugar... anything at all."
"No, I came home around six and waited for my husband," she said. "When he wasn't home by eight, I put in an order for some Chinese food. Figured I shouldn't be hungry just because he was late."
She swallowed hard, bracing herself.
"Then, after he came home?" John prompted.
"We had a row," she said plainly. "He'd just been moved up, got this office, a new PA, about three months ago. He promised it'd level off, you know? That he'd get the hang of it, but it wasn't getting any better. So I stormed out."
"Why that night?" Sherlock asked shrewdly.
"What?" she asked.
"You said it'd been going on for three months. But you didn't have a fight until last night," Sherlock said. "There must be some reason."
"It's an anniversary for us," she said. "We met on the thirtieth of September twelve years ago, and even though our proper anniversary - you know, for our wedding - is in February, we always celebrated the day we met, even if it was just a diner."
"Was anyone else at all in your flat that day?" Sherlock asked again. "Electrician? Did you have your windows washed?"
"No," she said. "Why do you think someone else was in my flat?"
"We're just being thorough," John said. "Sorry. Thank you for your time."
John guided Sherlock out of the office, nearly crashing into Elena in so doing.
"Oh, gosh, sorry," she said.
"Mrs. Fulmer tells us that you knew Mr. Fulmer's schedule?" John asked.
"Yeah, kinda my job I guess," she replied.
"Tell us about his day on the thirtieth, would you?" Sherlock asked.
Elena pulled open a computer calendar. "Okay, well, he had meetings throughout the morning. Then he had a lunch meeting, and he spent the afternoon working on projects," she said, fingering the screen. "He had a phone conference at five, and he stayed here late trying to finish up."
"When did he leave?" Sherlock asked.
"Around seven thirty," she said. "He walked me out. He was like that, you know?"
"Like what?" John asked.
"You know, he wouldn't let someone like me walk to my car in the parking garage when it was dark out," she said. "Never willing to leave someone behind."
"Did he seem agitated at all?" John asked. "The day he died. Worried? Anxious? Anything like that?"
"No, not at all," she replied. "He seemed a little tired, maybe. New job and all."
Sherlock sniffed her dramatically. "You're wearing men's deodorant."
"Yes," Elena replied. "Old Spice Swagger, specifically."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Because women's deodorants smell like flowers or powder," Elena replied simply. "Why anyone would want their armpit to stink of a forest or a makeup drawer is beyond me."
Sherlock sized Elena up, trying to detect a lie, but he couldn't find one. "You've been very helpful," Sherlock said as he stalked off.
"Thanks, Elena," John said as he ducked after the surly detective.
"Sherlock, you know, this isn't your strong suit," John said. "The human factor, I mean."
"Don't be foolish," Sherlock mumbled. "I can unwind the human factor without so much as blinking."
"Okay, then, who is our third party?"
"I don't know," Sherlock repeated.
"Did you ever think that, maybe, it was a guilty conscience?" John offered. "A man, obsessed with a tenant, plots a murder, but after all is said and done, he didn't anticipate feeling so guilty, so - "
"He puts the gun back in his own safe?" Sherlock completed. "If he was feeling that guilty, John, he could've just turned himself in. No, there was a third party, an actual third person."
"You asked Elena about her deodorant," John pointed out.
"Stupid, really," Sherlock replied. "The husband used an orange tang aerosol, nothing like Old Spice."
"You've conclusively ruled out the wife?" John asked.
"She took a cab to her mother's that night, which was across London," Sherlock said. "And Lestrade took her in the next morning, so barring some kind of teleportation, yes, John, we can rule her out."
"I thought you liked puzzles, but now you're just snippy."
<<< Previous Part:
Part Five: Black Box
Next Part: >>>
Part Seven: Revelations
The Silver Blaze Revival - Series 3, Episode 1 - Primary Post