Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Bloody Holmes

One hour to go...

Clara and John trailed into Scotland Yard after Sherlock, fresh from the crisp evening air outside. This part of the building was getting quite familiar with Clara, and the people. There was Sally Donovan, yelling at one of her colleagues, Petunia was typing in the corner as usual, and there was the weird guy who always wore a bow tie. Sherlock welcomed himself into the main office by brandishing a folder at the inspector. 'Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows that it wasn't tetanus that killed Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin.' Sherlock leaned forwards and slid the folder onto a desk. 'We've been here before. Carl Powers. Tut tut. Our bomber has repeated himself' Sherlock sang. Lestrade turned and walked towards his office with Sherlock following. John and Clara narrowed their eyes and shared a confused glance, before following.

'So how'd 'e do it?' Lestrade asked, after picking up the folder. The inspector looked really wound up. He had dark circles under his eyes like he had spent every moment trying to figure out this case.

'Botox injection.'

'Botox?'

'Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,' Sherlock explained. 'Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections.' Clara thought back to the time in the morgue when the boys had been investigating the deceased's forehead. 'My contact at the Home Office gave me complete records of Raoul's internet history. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.' Clara watched John with her brows knitted together. The man's face was getting angrier and angrier by the second. 'Bided his time, then used the strength to a fatal dose.'

'You sure about this?' Lestrade asked, like he needed to.

'I'm sure.'

'Alright - my office' he directed and took the lead.

Sherlock began to follow but John stopped him. 'Hey Sherlock, ah, how long?'

'What?'

'How long have you known?'

'A simple one really, actually. And like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was the mistake,' Sherlock rattled off. Clara stepped forward, flanking John. She crossed her arms and glared open mouthed at the detective.

'No but Sherloc...the hostage, the old woman, she's been there all this time?'

'I knew I could save her. I also knew the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly, that left me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!' With that Sherlock walked into Lestrade's office.

'Other things?! Other things are more important than an innocent lady waiting to be saved,' Clara bristled with anger. 'Sherlock bloody Holmes you better come here...' Clara threatened murderously with a mad glint in her eye.

She stalked towards the office but John grabbed her arm. 'Clara, Clara, stop...'

'He knew, he knew and he just left her there, she's still there...'

'Clara we are in Scotland Yard. I agree, okay? That dickhead will get what he deserves by tonight but you can't murder someone in the middle of the bloody police station!' He whispered to her in a curt voice.

'As if they'd mind...' She muttered and tried to get past him again.

'Clara, just, c'mon Clara...oh Jesus...'

Clara side stepped John and barged her way into the office. Sherlock was talking on the phone and Clara was getting ready to rip it out of his hands when... 'No, no, no, tell me nothing about him. Nothing,' Sherlock said urgently into the receiver. All was quiet. 'Hello?' Sherlock asked. He put the phone down then and bit his lip.