From desk worker detective to Sergeant at Scotland Yard, Adelaide Gregson has come a long way from her days in Manhattan. When one consulting detective catches her eye, things get complicated. When a case now means life or death, will sentiment prov...
I had run into both of them after the plane crash in Dusseldorf. An abandoned car was found with the body of a man who was checked on board the flight. The man should have died in a plane crash in Germany the day before, but here he was in a trunk in Southwark.
A couple more cases had come in, attracting quite a lot of press. Not due to the crime, but because Sherlock was there. The press specifically wanted photographs of Sherlock, he was an internet phenomenon. To that Sherlock complainted that he was a private detective, and the last thing he needs is a public image. In the papers the next day was a picture of Sherlock next to me, leaving the crime scene.
The next time I saw Sherlock I was facetiming him from a crime scene. A man had come to his apartment thinking he'd killed a man when his car backfired. Technically this was DI Carter's case, but Lestrade sent me so Sherlock would be there. Sherlock of course didn't think the case was important enough for him to leave the flat.
"You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?" I asked Sherlock through the camera. He was literally only wearing a sheet. A sheet. He had crawled out of bed and taken the sheet with him.
"It's okay, I'm fine. Now, show me to the stream." He said, yawning and grabbing a cup of tea.
"I didn't really mean for you." I retorted. He carried his laptop out of the kitchen and to his desk, where he sat down.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
"Look, this is a six. There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven." Sherlock explained and I rolled my eyes.
Sherlock continued to have me point the camera in different directions so he could examine the scene. Suddenly I could hear the doorbell ringing through the phone.
"Shut up!" Sherlock yelled. Sherlock then instructed me to show him where the car was that backfired.
"If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared along with the killer." I told him.
"You've got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver." DI Carter told you.
"Oh, forget him, he's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?" Sherlock asked.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
