The Art Of Deduction (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

13. Connie Prince

REVISED & EDITED

MORNING.
*********************

The trio are sitting opposite each other at a table in a café. John is tucking into a cooked breakfast and has a mug of tea in front of him while Elisabeth is sipping her tea. Sherlock is drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone – which is lying on the table – to ring.

"Feeling better?" Asks Sherlock.

"Mmm. You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" Answers John.

He eats another forkful of food.

"Has it occurred to you--" Asks Elisabeth, but Sherlock cuts her off.

"Probably." He cuts her off.

"No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

"Yes, I know."

"Is it him then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps. Or, someone that works for him."

The pink phone beeps a message alert. Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.

"That could be anybody." Says Sherlock.

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed." Says John.

"What'd you mean?" Asks Elisabeth.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly."

John stands up and walks over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. He changes channels a couple of times until he finds what he wants. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show. She is gesturing to someone just offscreen.

"Thank you, Tyra. Doesn't she look beautiful everybody now?" The woman on the TV says.

The pink phone rings. Sherlock picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.

"Hello?" He answers.

"This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry." An old woman speaks In a Yorkshire accent.

"She's blind. This is ... a funny one." She says.

The old woman too is strapped to a bomb. Wearing a warm dressing gown and sitting up in bed she is holding a phone to the ear which doesn't have the earpiece in and she is staring blankly ahead of herself as she narrates the words being spoken through the earpiece.

"I'll give you ... twelve hours."

Sherlock looks at John as he sits down. Elisabeth leans in, trying to listen to what's being said on the phone.

"Why are you doing this?" Asks Sherlock.

"I like to watch you ... dance." She says.

As she finishes speaking, she gasps and sobs in terror. Even though she cannot see it, there is still a laser point from a sniper's rifle running over her body. Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.

As the footage continues, a voiceover replaces her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48.

"... continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead ..." Says the news reader.

BART'S MORGUE.
*********************

Connie Prince's body has been laid out on a table in the morgue, with a sheet covering her leaving only her head, arms and upper chest bare. Lestrade leads the boys into the room, reading from a file as he goes.

"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No." Replies Sherlock.

"Very popular. She was going places."

"Not any more. So: dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound."

He Elisabeth and John look at the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger. Lestrade stands back giving the trio space to work.

"Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna." Says Elisabeth.

"I suppose." Says John.

"Something's wrong with this picture."

"Eh?" Questions Lestrade.

"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong."

Sherlock narrows his eyes as he looks down at the body, then bends closer to look along Connie's right arm as he takes his magnifier from his pocket. There are several scratches on her upper arm which look like claw marks. He moves up to her face and notices some tiny pinpricks on her forehead just above her nose. He looks at them through the magnifier.

"John?"

"Mmmm."

"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?"

"Yeah."

"But the wound's clean – very clean, and fresh."

He looks up, his eyes flickering while he thinks it through, then straightens up and clicks the magnifier closed.

"How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?"

"Eight-ten days."

Sherlock quirks a one-sided grin and turns to Elisabeth, waiting for her to put it all together. It doesn't take her long.

"The cut was made afterwards." She concludes.

"After she was dead?" Asks Lestrade.

"Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?"

Sherlock turns to John.

"You want to help right?" He says.

"Of course." Replies John.

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data."

"Right."

He turns and leaves the room. Sherlock looks down at Connie's body one more time, then turns and heads towards the door.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of." Says Lestrade.

"Why is he doing this, the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?" Asks lestrade.

"Good Samaritan." Answers Sherlock.

"Wait, no. You said 'she' didn't you? When you got the letter." Says Elisabeth.

"Oh, of course. Why is he using harry?"

"Listen, I'm serious, Sherlock. I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?" Asks Lestrade.

"Something new."