The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Twelve

John's comment about Vivian looking unwell had startled him. Of course, Sherlock hadn't had much of a chance to get a close look at her lately, not with the way she'd been acting. In a bizarre move, she'd taken to sitting in the back row of the viewing room as far from the window as possible. She had to be hiding something from him, but what? He finished the last bite of stew, then swallowed the pain pill laid out on the table for him.

His mobile chimed.

I found a jumper like the dead woman's. - Leah

A smile slowly spread across Sherlock's face. Finally. A lead from his homeless network. A photograph followed. Lopsided Christmas trees and disjointed snowflakes littered the front of the maroon jumper. There was no mistaking the knitter's poor hand.

Where? -SH

Another photo followed. Above a dingy window, faded black letters spelled out, "Army Veteran's Thrift Shop." Sherlock's elation disappeared. There was no way to trace the purchase as shops like this only dealt in coin. Even if the old woman had made the jumper herself and donated it, it was unlikely anyone who worked there would recall her name, especially considering the amount of foot traffic the place got. Another dead end.

Sherlock sighed. Useful or not, Leah had still found something. Opening an app, he transferred a sum to a bank card he'd given her.

Ask if anyone recalls the old woman purchasing or donating a jumper like that. Show them the photograph from the crime scene. -SH

It was a long shot, but perhaps the outright ugliness of the jumper would help the clerk recall some tiny tidbit of information about the dead woman. Sherlock shoved his mobile into his pocket and wandered into the living room. Gaze glued to the telly, John chuckled as a man in a bowler hat did a series of exaggerated spastic leg movements down a corridor.

"What is this drivel?"

John gaped at Sherlock like he'd just cursed his firstborn. "This is Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks. It's a bloody classic. A national treasure."

"It looks like drivel to me."

"You heretic." John jabbed a finger at the exit. "Go and boil your bottoms."

"That doesn't even make sense." Sherlock eyed him. "Have you been using Mrs. Hudson's herbal soothers?"

John only grinned as if he found himself enormously amusing and propped his feet up on the coffee table. A grey scarf peeked out from behind the teapot.

"I thought you were going to return Vivian's scarf," Sherlock said.

"I tried, but the women at the front desk were completely incompetent. One could barely type and neither of them knew who Vivian was. When I described her, they had the nerve to tell me I had the wrong name. Can you believe that?" He shook his head in disgust, then resumed watching the show.

Icy unease crept up Sherlock's spine. He picked up the remote control and turned off the telly.

"Hey, I was watching that," John protested, making a grab for it.

Sherlock threw the remote over his shoulder, and it clattered into the kitchen. "What name did they give you?"

"What?"

"When they said you had the wrong name, they must have given you another. What was it?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because one incompetent staff person at the front desk is believable, two is not, especially with an expanding company like Cubic Systems. Also, Vivian is new. While one of the women may have porridge for brains, the other couldn't have possibly forgotten her already, nor associate her description with someone else. Nothing about Vivian is common." Sherlock had noticed Vivian the second she'd entered the conference room at Stryder & Chapel. And it hadn't been because she'd been late or that she'd sat beside him or even her striking features. He'd never put any stock into metaphysical energy or auras, but in that moment a tiny part of him had understood why some people deluded themselves into believing in it. Vivian's sheer presence had captured his attention like a crimson flare shot across a desolate sky. It was all he could do to stare at her phone and not at her profile. Disconcerted, he'd had to forcibly shove her out of his mind so he could focus on the Rebecca Frost case, but Vivian's subsequent involvement had made that impossible. At any rate, a person would have to be either blind and dumb, or a corpse to fail to notice Vivian Walker.