Clique of 221B

Chapter 20: Culverton is a Creep

Culverton leads you, Sherlock and John down a corridor.
"Where are we going now?" You ask.
"I want to show you my favourite room." Culverton tells you. You all walk past a door. Sherlock glances towards it, then does a double-take,
"No, let's go in here." He opens the door and goes inside. You all follow him. There's a white rectangular table in the middle of the room with three chairs on each side and one at each end. There's drug stands beside each of the chairs. Sherlock walks around the table, gesturing towards it. "So you've had another one of your little meetings."
"Oh, it's just a monthly top-up. Confession is good for the soul... providing you can delete it." You and John study one of the bags.
"What's TD12?" John asks.
"It's a memory inhibitor." Sherlock tells you.
"Bliss." Culverton says.
"Bliss?" John asks.
"Opt-in ignorance. Makes the world go round." Culverton explains. Sherlock crosses his arms,
"Anyone ever 'opt' to remember?"
"Some people take the drip out, yeah. Some people have the same... urges. Huh, come on. Wasting time."
"Indeed," Sherlock looks at his watch. "You have, I estimate, twenty minutes left." Smiling, he walks towards the door. Culverton turns back towards him.
"Sorry?"
"I sent a text from your phone, remember? It was read almost immediately. Factoring in a degree of shock, an emotional decision and a journey time based on the associated address, I'd say that your life as you know it has twenty minutes left to run." He checks his watch again. "Well, no, seventeen and a half, to be precise but I rounded up for dramatic effect, so please do show us your favourite room. It'll give you a chance to say... goodbye." What on earth is he on about? Culverton chuckles unpleasantly,
"Come along." You all walk out and follow him to a lift. When you're all inside Culverton asks us,
"Speaking of serial killers, you know who's my favourite?" We weren't speaking of serial killers? You were. And to be perfectly honest I don't really care who your favourite one is? The lift bings as to comes to a stop.
"Other than yourself?" Sherlock says. Culverton chuckles at that, the door opens and he leads you all out.
"H. H. Holmes." You follow him along a corridor. "Relative of yours?" He asks Sherlock.
"Not as far as I know."
"You should check. What an idiot." Definitely not related to the Holmes' I know. He pushes open a set of double doors and looks around the room. "Everyone out." You, Sherlock, and John stop just inside the room. It's a morgue. His favourite room is the morgue. Inside there's three men and a woman stood around a table in the centre of the room. One of the men look towards Culverton,
"Mr Smith, we're actually in the middle of something." Clearly. Culverton stops and stares at him,
"Saheed, isn't it?" Near the door, Sherlock leans against the side of a cupboard, watching with interest.
"Saheed, yes."
"How long have you been working here now?" He's using the same tactic. Boring.
"Four years." Saheed answers nervously.
"Four years. Well, that's a long time, isn't it?" He smiles briefly before quickly dropping the smile. "Four years." Saheed swallows nervously, then looks round at the other staff in the room.
"Okay, everyone." Saheed clicks his pen and pulls the sheet over the face of the person on the examination table. At the door, Sherlock turns his head away and shakes it slightly. John looks at the people, frowning. "Five minutes?" Saheed asks Culverton.
"Come back in ten." He orders. Saheed turns away and his colleagues start towards the door. You and John step aside to get out of their way. Saheed follows his co-workers. "Saheed." He stops and turns back to Culverton. "This time, knock." What happened last time? I don't really want to think about that. Saheed turns and leaves the room. Once the staff have left, you, Sherlock, and John walk closer to the examination table, and Culverton wanders round to the other side of the table.
"How can you do that? I mean, how are you even allowed in here?" John asks him.
"Oh, I can go anywhere I like." He takes a collection of keys from his pocket and shakes them. He smiles, "Anywhere at all." Including the morgue? Not top of the my list of 'places I want to see'. In hospitals I tend to prefer the exits. John stares at him,
"They gave you keys?"
"They presented 'em to me. There was a ceremony. You can watch that on YouTube." You glance at Sherlock who walks over to one of the nearby cabinets and pulls open the door. "The Home Secretary was there." Culverton continues. Sherlock looks inside the cabinet,
"So, your favourite room: the mortuary."
"What d'you think?" Oh I love what you've done with the place! Colour scheme's a bit dreary for a room full of dead people. Sherlock bends down to look at the lower shelves.
"Tough crowd." See? He closes the door and turns around.
"Oh, I don't know." Culverton replies, pulling back the sheet on the examination table to reveal the head and shoulders of the corpse. It's an elderly woman.
"No, I've always found them quite pliable." He reaches out to the body and pulls her jaw down with his fingers. That is creepy.
"Don't do that." John says, clearly disturbed. Culverton stares intently down at the woman,
"She's fine. She's dead." He smirks, still holding her jaw down and staring at her misty eyes and stained, misshapen teeth. He finally releases her jaw.
"H. H. Holmes loved the dead. He mass-produced them."
"Serial killer, active during the Chicago Fair." Sherlock tells you. He starts to wander around the mortuary. Culverton raises his head to look at you and John.
"D'you know what he did? He built a hotel, a special hotel, just to kill people. You know, with a hanging room, gas chamber, specially adapted furnace. You know, like Sweeney Todd-" He reaches out to the dead woman's jaw and moves her mouth up and down with his fingers like some ventriloquist with a disgusting puppet. "-without the pies!" He chuckles, letting go of her chin and turning away. "Stupid. So stupid." John grabs the sheet and pulls it over the woman's face quite angrily.
"Why stupid?" He asks, tensely.
"Well, all that effort. You don't build a beach if you want to hide a pebble, you just find a beach!" Sherlock has stopped at the far end of the room and is leaning against the wall. "And if you wanna hide a murder, or wanna hide lots and lots of murders, just find a-" He pauses for a moment then meets John's eyes. "...hospital." Woah. That is creepy. Perfect time for- *Psycho theme tune*. Everyone in the room turns to look at you. Did I say that out loud? Why is the theme tune still playing? Oh! It's my phone!
"I'm sorry." You say, pulling the phone out of your pocket. Mycroft. "I'll be outside, I've got to take this." John nods. You walk out through the door and answer the call.
"Hey Myc, what's wrong?"
"You tell me [Y/N]." You start to wander away from the doorway and up and down the corridor. "What was this morning all about?" What? Oh. Mycroft doesn't know about what happened with Sherlock. The phone call to the police had just been because I asked him for a favour and he trusted me. What am I supposed to say?
"Ummmm..."
"[Y/N]. Tell me, now."
"There may or may not of been a small Sherlock incident."
"What happened?"
"But it's all sorted out now!"
"That is hardly the point!"
"And I'm keeping an eye on him so you don't need to worry. Just focus on getting all that American stuff sorted out."
"I'm on the plane home now. I expect everything to be fine when I arrive."
"Yep. It's all in tip top shape here, rightyo boss!"
"Are you on drugs?" He jokes slightly, I laugh nervously. If I wasn't so stressed so suddenly I would have made a joke about Mycroft making jokes and how the world must be ending.
"Drugs? What drugs? No drugs here Myc. It's all fine. Everything is fine. I've gotta go now byyyyyyeeee!" You hang up. Mycroft is going to kill me. Even more so if anything else happens. But nothing else will happen. As long as I keep my eye on Sherlock. Speaking of which, I'd better get my eye back on Sherlock.