The Art Of Deduction (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

29. Think

Irene turns to Sherlock who is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted.

"I'm not sure about you." She says.

"If I wanted to look at naked women I'd borrow John's laptop." Says Sherlock.

"You do borrow my laptop." Protests John.

"He confiscates it." Corrects Elisabeth.

Sherlock walks over to the fireplace, Elisabeth stands up and joins him.

"Well, never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know." Says Irene, putting on Sherlock's coat and wrapping it around herself.

"How was it done?" Asks Irene as she sits down on the sofa.

"What?" Asks Sherlock.

"The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?"

The trio look confused.

"Thats not why we're here." Says Sherlock.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's never gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway ..."

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" Asks John.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes." She says.

"And you like policemen?" Asks John.

"I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy's the new sexy." Answers Irene, looking at Sherlock and Elisabeth.

"Positionofthecar." Says Sherlock incoherently.

The other three stare at him as he quickly pulls himself together.

"Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know." He explains.

"Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?" Asks Irene.

"He wasn't." Corrects Elisabeth.

"You don't think it was murder?" Asks Irene.

"I know it wasn't." Answers Elisabeth.

"How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?"

"So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in." Says Elisabeth.

She turns and looks at Sherlock, the two of them planning silently. John gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. In the hallway he looks around, then picks up a magazine from a nearby table and rolls it up. Back in the sitting room, Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door.

"Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car." Says Sherlock.

"Oh. I – I thought you were looking for the photos now." Says Irene.

"No, no. Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so let's pass the time."

He stops and turns to her.

"Two men, a car, and nobody else." He says again.

He squats down and suddenly it's as if he and Elisabeth are at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver's door of Phil's car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil's face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.

"The driver's trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere." Says Elisabeth.

Straightening up, Sherlock turns and looks into the field.

"And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky." Says Sherlock.

Now they're down in the field, walking around the hiker who is also frozen in time.

"Watching the birds?" Says Elisabeth, doubtfully.

"Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?" Asks Sherlock

Nearby, Irene is sitting on her sofa.

"The hiker's going to die." Says Irene.

"No, that's the result. What's going to happen?" Corrects Elisabeth.

"I don't understand." Says Irene.

"Oh, well ,try to."

"Why?" Asks Irene.

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It's the new sexy." Elisabeth says, looking annoyed.

"The car's going to backfire." Irene corrects herself.

"There's going to be a loud noise." Says Sherlock.

"So, what?" Asks Irene.

"Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance ..." Says Sherlock.

Back in the sitting room – which they obviously never really left – She pauses dramatically and a moment later a smoke alarm starts to beep insistently from the hall. Out in the hall, John had set light to the end of the rolled-up magazine, blown it mostly out again and allowed the smoke to drift upwards. Now he waves his hand over the magazine and blows on it to try to put it out completely. In the sitting room, Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock and Elisabeth turn their heads and follow her gaze.

"Thank you." Says Sherlock.

"On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities."

He walks over to the fireplace and begins running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. Finding a switch under there, he presses it and the mirror slides upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. Elisabeth turns and looks at Irene as she stands up.

"Really hope you don't have a baby in here." Says Elisabeth, sarcastically.

Sherlock calls out.

"Alright, John, you can turn it off now." He says.

In the hall, John is still trying to put out the smouldering magazine.

"I said you can turn it off now!" Sherlock repeats.

"Give me a minute." Replies John.

He starts thwacking the end of the magazine on the table, grimacing when sparks fly up from the paper, but then looks round as three men run down the stairs. The first one raises an enormous pistol and fires it up at the smoke alarm, shattering it. The beeping stops. One of the other men hurries towards John, aiming his pistol at him and John instantly raises his hands, looking at the first man as he walks over and stops in front of him.

"Thank you." Says John.

In the sitting room Sherlock is looking closely at the number pad on the front of the safe.

"Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used – that's quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six digit code. Can't be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight's barely used, so ..." Sherlock trails off.

"I'd tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have. I told both of you." Says Irene.

Sherlock frowns. Irene turns to look at him.

"Think." She says, mocking him.