Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Helga

The wall behind the sofa was covered in an amazing collage of information dedicated to the life and death of Connie Prince. The papers and maps on Clara had been shifted over to one side to make space for the new problem. Sherlock was looking at the elaborate patchwork of ideas thoughtfully while Lestrade paced across the other side of the room. Clara sat in the detective's chair, stroking her black kitten which was getting rather big. Maps, photographs and random scribbles on post it notes captivated Sherlocks attention entirely. He didn't even protest over the cat. 'Connection, connection, connection,' he muttered. 'There has to be a connection.' Sherlock stopped murmuring and looked closely at the papers again. He stopped even lower and started gesturing to items pinned in place. 'Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall, second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing? Working his way round the world? Showing off?'

'There's a great pun there if anyone wants to pick it up' Clara said softly.

A phone started ringing and it was no surprise when Sherlock fished the pink cased device out of his pocket. He didn't say anything but one could assume it was the old woman strapped in explosives. Sherlock shared a look with Lestrade before ending the call. Sherlock raised his hands to his mouth with his palms pressed together as if he was praying. His concentration on the wall could burn a hole through it. At least five minutes past till he finally moved. In a fluid motion Sherlock snatched John's laptop off the coffee table and started tapping away. Clara sighed heavily and jumped up from the chair. Oscar was shoved roughly to the floor and hissed in annoyance. He slunk over to Sherlock and sat right behind the laptop screen, seemingly staring into the man's soul.

Clara was clattering round in the kitchen looking for mugs. 'Anyone want some coffee?' She called with her head in the pantry.

'I'd kill for a cup of tea' Lestrade sighed. He stretched his arms over his head and grumbled when his back cracked.

'Sherlock?' Clara asked along with ceramic mugs clicking together loudly.

The detective flicked his hand as if swatting a fly, still focusing on his screen. The cat was still eyeing him off. Oscar and Sherlock actually looked quite similar really it was quite uncanny. 'He says no' Lestrade cried into the kitchen. A few minutes later Clara come out with two steaming mugs in her hand. She passed one to the inspector and sipped hers slowly. Clara yawned widely, this massive case had hardly given anyone a break since it started. It wasn't long after Sherlock had moved on to his phone when Mrs Hudson clattered up the stairs. She greeted everyone politely and joined Lestrade and Clara who were looking at the mess of papers on the wall. 'Great... Thank you very much' Sherlock said into the receiver. He walked over to the fireplace to finish the conversation while his landlady looked sadly at the picture of Connie Prince. 'It was a real shame. I liked her,' Mrs Hudson told Lestrade. 'She taught me how to do colours.'

'Colours?' The inspector asked, clearly confused.

'You know,' she gestured to her purple blouse, 'what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise apparently. Drains me.'

'Who was that?' Lestrade asked the detective when he hung up on the phone.

'Home Office', Sherlock replied, staring at the wall.

Lestrade was clearly surprised. 'Home Office?'

'Well, Home Secretary actually, owes me a favour.'

'She was a pretty girl,' Mrs Hudson interrupted looking at another image of Connie holding an award. 'But she messed around with her face too much. They all do these days.' Clara nodded in agreement and Lestrade smiled awkwardly. 'People can hardly move their faces!' Mrs Hudson gushed with a horrified expression. 'It's silly isn't it?' Mrs Hudson turned to Sherlock. 'Did you ever see her show?'