Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Connie Prince

Sherlock and John sat in a cafe enjoying the first break since this whole case had started. John was wolfing down a large plate of scrambled eggs before his flatmate. Sherlock's long fingers were tapping impatiently on the fake wooden tables. He kept on glancing at the pink phone waiting for it to ring. Last night he had uploaded the answer to the car case on his website but the phone remained silent. 'Feeling better?' The detective asked. Less out of interest, more to pass the time.

'Mmm. You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this has started' the doctor informed his friend. John ate another forkful of of breakfast before continuing. 'Has it occurred to you...?'

'Probably.'

'No, has it occurred to you that the bomber is playing a game with you?'

'Yes, I know,' Sherlock replied while smiling slightly. What a wonderful game it was too.

'Is it him then? Moriarty?'

'Perhaps,' Sherlock hummed. His fingers stopped drumming as a phone beeped. Both the men looked expectantly at the pink cover but nothing happened. Sherlock sighed and reached inside his pocket. 'Clara' He drawled in a sort of greeting. 'The USB?' He asked curiously after a few seconds. 'Look Clara, I'm sort of, okay, fine. Have you clicked on the settings button?' While he was explaining to his neighbour how to disconnect her USB the pink phone buzzed. He snapped it up off the table before John could lower his cutlery and looked at the image after two beeps had passed. 'That could be anybody!' He exclaimed, irritated looking at a picture of a middle aged woman. 'Clara we have another clue form the phone, you better come down here.'

Sherlock hung up and inspected the photo once more. John had a peek and swallowed a mouthful of eggs. 'Well yeah, it could be. But lucky for you I've been more than a little unemployed.'

'How d'you mean?'

'Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly' John told Sherlock and stood up from the table. He walked over to the little TV playing above the counter and grabbed the remote. He flicked through a few channels before landing on a specific one. The same woman in the photo is gesturing wildly on screen, part way through her makeover show. Sherlock looked intently at the small pixilated screen until the pink phone rang. He picked it up, looking extremely relieved. 'Hello?'

The detective listened quietly, contemplating the information. He shared a look with John as the man sat down again. 'Why are you doing this?' Sherlock asked. A few seconds later he shook his head at John and lowered the phone back onto the table. Sherlock looked at the telly again as the show continued. A news presenters voice talked over the images explaining that this woman, Connie Prince, was found dead two days by her brother, in the house they shared together in Hampstead. Sherlock gave his flatmate a knowing look and rose up form the table. John shook his head and wiped his mouth on a napkin. Just another hour was all he wanted, just to slow down this whole game. Too bad the word "relax" wasn't in Sherlock's vocabulary.

.

Lestrade led the boys and Clara into St Barts morgue, filling them in as they walked. 'Connie Prince, fifty four. Had one of those make over shoes on the telly. Did you see it?'

'No,' Sherlock replied blankly.

'Very popular. She was going places' Lestrade informed them. He had a large file filled up with information about the deceased, which he was reading from.

'Not any more.' Sherlock strode over, closer to the body which lay on a cool metal table. 'So, dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand in a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound.'