Sentiment || Sherlock Holmes

The Great Game Part 3

The watch on his wrist had its alarm set for a night shift and the buttons were hardly touched, indicating that he'd set the alarm a long time ago and hadn't changed it since. The sodden wad of ticket stubs found in the pocket of his pants ― almost unrecognizable from the man's time in the river ― showed Evelyn that he worked in some sort of gallery or museum. His badge had been torn off of the uniform, which suggested that his workplace was well-known. There were bruises on the man's face: around his mouth and on his temples as well. He'd been brutally strangled to death.

"That lost Vermeer painting is a fake." Sherlock announced.

"What painting?" Lestrade slowed him down. "What are you on about?"

"Haven't you seen the papers? Dutch old master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago. Now it's turned up. Worth £30 million." Sherlock explained impatiently.

"Okay, so what has that got to do with the stiff?"

"Everything." Sherlock smirked. "Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

"That's a Jewish folk story." Eve remembered. "It's a gigantic man made out of clay that follows the orders of the person who creates it."

"It's also the name of an assassin." Sherlock continued. "Real name Oscar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That-" Sherlock pointed to the body, "Is his trademark style."

"So this is a hit?" Lestrade questioned.

"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Sherlock illustrated.

"But what has this got to do with that painting? I don't see-"

"You do see, you just don't observe!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Alright!" John shouted. "Calm down." He shot Sherlock a glare before turning to Evelyn. "Want to take us through it?"

She smiled widely and voiced all of her deductions aloud, Lestrade and John listened intently. Sherlock, though annoyed he wasn't the one showing off, was pleased to see that at least she wasn't slowing him down.

"I just checked, and the Hickman Gallery is missing one of its attendants: Alex Woodbridge." She gestured to the body. "Tonight's the unveiling of the rediscovered Vermeer. The only reason someone would pay the Golem to murder this ordinary man is if he knew something that would get in the way of the owner getting their £30 million."

"The painting is a fake." Sherlock finished.

John looked at his friends with an awed smile. "Fantastic."

"Meretricious." Sherlock corrected.

"And a happy new year." Lestrade added ever so helpfully.

-------------------

Sherlock and John were off in a cab to learn more about Woodbridge and the Golem while Eve finally heeded Mycroft's texts and went to find the Bruce-Partington Plans. The first step was to speak with the last person who saw Andrew West alive: his fiancée Lucy.

The two women sat on Lucy's couch in the small white living room. Lucy was a pretty young woman, made to look smaller and older by her grief. Her hair was disheveled and the bland colors of her sweater seemed at odds with the red curtains and bright decor of the apartment. Evelyn could see the former liveliness of the room, but felt deeply the empty sadness that now hung over it.

"He wouldn't." Lucy said shakily. "He just wouldn't."

"He hadn't fallen in with a bad crowd? Badly in debt? Nothing like that?" Eve asked gently.

"Westie wasn't a traitor." Lucy insisted.

"You have you understand that-"

"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?" She said, angry tears welling up in her eyes. "Everyone's got debts and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country!" She scoffed.