Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

"Good Morning" ((Final) Part 6)

As funny as Greg's expression was, it didn't change the fact that Sherlock wanted to go home. He needed to go home, because Lestrade's comment about them spending the past sixty minutes in the surveillance room had reminded him of what they'd been doing in the surveillance room. Of what they'd almost done. It made the back of his neck heat up so much he had to fight off the urge to scratch it. He wanted to neatly tie off this conversation. Irritation creeping into his tone because he was basically being held captive:

"I'm not accusing her, I know she did it."

"My name isn't 'She'---"

She was once again ignored.

Sherlock explained the tapes, how they'd been edited, a significant chunk of time having suddenly disappeared. He explained the door, and the 'Do Not Disturb' sign (which he wished he could hang on his person and hope people got the message, because somehow his general demeanor never seemed to be enough on it's own). He explained, as promised, how only Ms Levine and the security guy had keys to the rooms and the surveillance tapes. He'd pumped out the words like his mouth was a machine designed to mass-produce them, and took a few breaths before adding:

"Plus, as manager, Levine can flick through the guest books, find out who's doing what---like who was in the restaurants, and not in their room---without anyone getting suspicious. She's thorough, a control freak, that's her thing, so no one thought this behaviour was odd. All she had to do was wait until the guests went down for evening drinks, hit the rooms, wipe the tapes and go about her usual business."

Ms Levine was a pale person in general---her being cold-blooded, and all---but as Sherlock's words piled in front of her like a hand of cards she stood no chance of beating, she turned the same sort of colour as milk. When he'd finished, Lestrade and Y/N nodding as everything started to make sense, Levine sputtered, somewhat more desperately than she'd intended:

"But you said it yourself! It's not just me who has access to the footage and room keys, there's also Mr Arnold---"

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at Levine, who seemed suddenly very small, despite being eye-level with him and wearing high heels. "The man you said is at home right now so couldn't show us around? The man who was also conveniently absent when my guys interviewed the rest of the staff a few days ago? "

She bristled. "He works the night shift, if you wanted to talk to him you should have come back at night. If you people did your job properly you'd have people stationed here twenty-four-seven in case the thief comes back---"

"We all know that's not going to happen," Sherlock muttered, getting a glare that he didn't even notice.

"Anyway, what I was saying is: Mr Arnold is our head of security. Well, the only person working on security; we're a small hotel, prestigious; things like this don't usually happen so we've never felt a need for more than one person to keep an eye on the security cameras." She huffed a little laugh but it came out as more of a chest cough. "I mean, how many people does it take to sit in a room and stare at TV screens?"

"Evidentally more than one," Lestrade sighed rather than said.

"But we didn't used to need more than one. We never had these sorts of incidents back when Mr Baker---"

Sherlock clarified: "Who left around the time the robberies started, right?"

"Yes." Two patches of colour had returned to Levine's cheekbones, maybe at being interrupted, but they didn't make her look more like her usual porcelain-doll self. Instead, they had the effect of somehow highlighting how ghostly white the rest of her actually was, the red splotches like makeup put on too thickly by a child. "So we hired Mr Arnold. He also had access to the keys. He could have given them to someone, or someone stole them from him and then---"