SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Art of Deduction

Sherlock walked up to the bedside and looked down on her with knitting brows. In his deep, baritone voice, he declared loudly, “Wake up!”

Sonia’s eyes flew open, revealing her deep sea green eyes. Her chest tightened for a moment, but then descended when she saw that the strangers were no threat to her. In a croaky voice, she said harshly, “What do you want?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

The girl’s lips moved to make a remark, but she caught herself and made a sigh instead. “Why are you here?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Turning to John beside him, he whispered, “She seems awfully calm for having almost been killed. I would expect her to be a bit more…you know, afraid.”

“Perhaps she was told about you,” John answered through the corner of his mouth before stepping back beside Lestrade.

“What do you—,”

“Tell me, Sonia, why was he chasing you?” Sherlock interrupted as he pulled a chair underneath him. He folded his hands on the bed and leaned forward.

“Who?” The girl said.

“She’s in shock, Sherlock,” Lestrade broke in. “Don’t terrorize her yet.”

“Oh no, Lestrade, I won’t. Just wanted to ask her some questions.”

Sonia faked a cough and pushed herself up higher in the bed to get a better look at her interrogator. “What’s there to say? He was a bleeding pervert. And what makes you interested in me?”

“I’m a consulting detective. I like puzzles.  Like you.”

John came up behind Sherlock and crossed his arms. He shifted his mouth to the side like he always did when he was thinking.

“A puzzle? And what could you possibly know about me?”

“Oh God, don’t ask him that,” John muttered, his eyes flying to the ceilings in escape to the deduction he knew would come spilling out of his partner’s lips.

Sherlock smiled and began in a flawless tone, “You articulate very well. You’re from a private school, Queen’s Gate School, to be exact. You’ve graduated young. Your hair has been cleaned yesterday morning (and you must wash it every day because of your hairline condition) which means you have a place to wash it. Though, your teeth haven’t been brushed in two days, which means you’ve been in a hurry. Your lips are parched, but not by the cold, from dehydration, which means you’ve been worrying about something that has distracted you from eating and drinking. You ran away from home because of family issues—why else would you be willing to do what you do and obey anyone who gives you orders—regardless of your pathetic, rebellious front.”

Sherlock continued in a stronger voice, “Your neck has strangulation marks, they’re faint, but there are marks. Judging by the size, it was by a man—a large man. Probably six feet. Your clothes thrown over that chair over there, however, don’t belong to you. But that also tells me, again, that you have a place to change. A place where a man lives.”

Sonia let out an astonished gasp. “How would you know it’s a man and not a woman?”

“Well, you haven’t shaved your armpits, judging by their hair length, for a month, maybe more. A man doesn’t keep lady razors in his house. And he doesn’t seem to care enough about you to buy you a set. So, “man” it is. Also, judging by the clothes, he owns two German shepherds.”

“Two?” John echoed.

“Of course. There’s thicker hair on the shirt, meaning it’s a male. Male dogs have thicker coats than females. The male dog jumped a lot on Sonia, which also tells us that he was the leader of the two dogs, for the female dog rubbed her fur onto Sonia’s jeans. Now, this also tells us that the dog’s owner was close to Sonia because the male dog greeted Sonia just like he would greet his master. That tells us the dog constantly saw his master fondle Sonia in a loving manner. Now, moving on!

“She cuts herself, look at her wrists. Though, not with a knife, but a blunt instrument like a mechanical pencil (regular pencil would have shown lead mark streaks), this means she’s not clinically depressed, but regrets something that she’s done. She’s also a dancer. Her thighs and calf muscles are tight. But she’s not a theatre performer because her toes aren’t bloody and boxy. I noticed pole burns on her forearm and I’m sure there’s one on her stomach. She dances at a club. Which club? Why, one in Liverpool. How do I know it’s Liverpool? She holds her hands in an elegant manner, meaning, she dances more with hand motions and less hips. The only club I’ve seen that’s more on the ballet side is The Shady Woman. And that starts with an “S” and a “W”, does it not? And those are the exact initials carved in her arm. ”

Sherlock took in a deep breath and turned to John, waiting for his accolade.

“Yes, Sherlock, we’re all quite impressed. But, what’s so important about the club she dances at?”

“How did you do that?” the girl asked breathlessly.

“Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock said.

Sonia shook her head. “No. It was spot on. I do live with a man. I do dance at the club.”

“Who’s the man?”  Sherlock asked, hovering over Sonia with pleading eyes. He about grabbed the poor girl to shake her before she replied quickly.

“The man who tried to kill me is someone I don’t know. The man I live with is someone I can’t tell you about. But I can tell you that he has warned me about you and Dr. Watson.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “If he told you about me, why were you so surprised about what I could do?”

Stuttering, Sonia replied, “I don’t know. I wasn’t impressed when I heard all about you could do. But, you know, in person—, anyway, I can’t tell you anything, so you’re wasting your breath.

“Ah! It’s this kind of case! I always love ones that are deep and personal, don’t you, John?”

John remained silent and went to pace in front of the door. “Are you sure the killer would write “S” and “W” on her arm if he knew you could deduct it so quickly? What if they mean something else, and not the club?”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked in annoyance.

“I don’t know,” John said. “But something’s not right. I don’t think the killer would play that easily.”