The Genius (A Sherlock FanFic) [COMPLETED]

Chapter Seventeen

Heather flipped through another page of the large amount of flies that she had on her table. It had been a few days since she had redundantly snuck into Scotland Yard to get the security footage from outside of the shop. She had not left the flat since then. Instead, she was focusing intently on the case that seemed to somehow revolve around her.

She had reviewed the extensive footage of the street and found two people matching the description that the shop clerk gave to her. She had tried to follow them through the footage to see where they were going, but they evaded the sight of the municipal cameras. Heather couldn't find out where they were going. Though, she could capture a clearer picture of their faces, which was all that she needed to get started.

She began by putting their pictures into the Google Image reverse-search engine to see if they had any internet presence. She found that they each had their own lively Facebook accounts filled with travel photos and personal musings, standard things for supposed tourists to post. Their most recent post was even of them smiling in front of Big Ben and doing that thing where they used the perspective to make it look like they were pinching the whole tower between their fingers. Heather hated that thing. Despite her hatred however, she zoomed in closer to the tower. The time on it was exactly the same time that the coroner discerned the cause of death was for the body. It was even posted on the same day.

Since then she was trying to figure out more about this suspicious timing and more about these suspected killers. Despite the non-private nature of social media, Heather could not find anymore information about them, like where they were staying, where else they have been, or where they were going. It was like their posts were meticulously planned to only look like they were on vacation, but to not reveal anything else. The case files that she had Lestrade send over were not any help either.

The body. The bullet. The crown. Her past. These people. What did it all mean? Someone obviously knows about her and her past. But how could they have known she would tag along with Sherlock? And why make her stroll down memory lane? Why kill people to do it?

All of the pent up frustration from the past few days about the case, reliving her past, and the feeling of being stuck, got to her. Heather viciously swiped all of the files off of her table. She then began kicking the multiple boxes around her, both filled with case files and her belongings that she had yet to unpack.

I.

KICK

Just.

KICK

Want.

KICK

To.

KICK

Fix.

KICK

This.

KICK

KICK

KICK

KICK

KICK

She stopped kicking and realized that the last one wasn't her doing.

Still breathing heavily from her fit of rage, Heather made her way upstairs to the second floor of the flat complex. She continued to hear loud thumping noises, and they only got louder the closer she got to Sherlock and John's door, which was slightly ajar. She slowly pushed it open to reveal Sherlock throwing books off of his shelf. The rest of the flat was already a mess of thrown about possessions.

"Help me find it."

"It?"

"The camera, the one that he planted."

"Moriarty," Heather stated.

"It's here somewhere," Sherlock was still tearing his flat apart.

"He was here?"

"You didn't hear?"

"I was busy."

"With your tantrum."

"With the case."

Sherlock threw a few books behind him with great force.

Heather smirked, "He was acquitted, then." She knew about the trial, but not about the results.

"Just help me find the camera."

"I already have."

Sherlock suddenly stopped his frantic search, "Where?"

"It's over there." Heather pointed to the other corner of the room. Sherlock walked over to the bookshelf and analyzed it for a second, before plucking the tiny camera off of the shelf.

Sherlock look at Heather and opened his mouth to say something, but Heather interjected, "It was one of the only places that wasn't touched and it made for a good place to both be hidden and to see all."

Sherlock only stared at her for a moment more before going over to his laptop on his desk.

"Why does he need to surveil you?" Heather asked, moving closer to Sherlock to see what he was doing.

"I'm not sure specifically, but I know that he wants to destroy me. Inch by inch. He's playing a game, and not one i'm willing to play." Sherlock finished typing on his computer and the feed from the camera popped up, showing Sherlock's face, which was where he was pointing the device. He sat back, silent and staring at the screen.

"I feel like someone's playing a game with me too," Heather said distractedly, thinking about her recent frustration with the bodies case.

"I guess you haven't found the people that commissioned the bullet, then."

"I found them, but only online. There's no indication of where they could be though, if they're even still in London. They could be back in their supposed home town of Russia for all I know!" Heather exclaimed, her anger rising again. She took a deep breath and turned around.

"Russia?" Sherlock asked.

Heather turned back around to face Sherlock, who was looking at her, "The clerk said they had Russian accents and looked like tourists."

"I have a contact at the Russian embassy. She could help you with finding them. And seeing if they're legitimate citizens or not."

"Will she talk to me?"

"She owes me a favour. Just go there, ask for Nadya Antonova, and tell them that I sent you."

Heather lit up. This could be the lead that gets her all of the answers that she needs. "I'll go now," Reinvigorated, she quickly started towards the door.

"Heather," Sherlock called.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.

"Don't let Moriarty get into your head."

"Why would he?"

"I have a feeling that it's part of his plan. His game to make me.... That you'll...." he paused, "Never mind."

Heather started at him, wondering by he walked back on his words.

"Go, solve your case." Sherlock said dismissively.

"My case?"

"I did tell Lestrade that you were a consulting detective. And you do seem to have more insight and connection with it. Wouldn't you consider it yours, then?"

Heather paused, "I guess that i've never really considered myself to be the detective type, but if it means figuring out who's behind all of this, then I guess I am." She turned to go off and follow the lead, but stopped short and started at Sherlock for a moment, who had returned to typing on his laptop.

"Thanks," Heather said.

"What for?" Sherlock asked.

"For thinking that Moriarty wouldn't get into my head, for thinking that i'm smarter than him."

"That's not what I-"

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to tell you to not let him get in your head, either," Heather gave a small smirk before heading out the door to continue her case.