The cab ride was fairly silent. I stared out the window, admiring the London view which I wasn't quite familiar with yet. We arrived at the address that Sherlock gave the cabbie.
Sherlock rang the apartment bell for Van Coon and received no answer. He stared at it for a moment before pressing the button again.
"Just moved in, floor above it, new label." I told Sherlock, as he pressed the button.
"Hello?" a woman's voice replied.
"Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met." Sherlock lied, using a voice that was more friendly and higher than his usual husky one.
"No. Well, er, I've just moved in." she replied again.
"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." Sherlock acted.
"Do you want me to buzz you in?" She asked.
"Yeah. And can we use your balcony?" Sherlock added, but the woman had already buzzed us in. I knew exactly what Sherlock was planning, and I didn't like it one bit. Heights were not my thing.
The two of us got to the woman's balcony and I made the mistake of looking down. I gulped nervously and my grip on the railing tightened. Sherlock looked at me and squinted.
"I never pegged you as someone afraid of heights." Sherlock commented.
"There's a lot you don't know about me." I retorted.
"I doubt that." Sherlock said as he jumped down from the woman's balcony to the Van Coons. Sherlock waved me down, instructing me to do the same.
"Christ, the things I do for you." I muttered as I climbed over the railing. I jumped and before I hit the floor I felt two large hands engulf my waist, easing my fall.
"See that wasn't so bad." Sherlock teased.
"Shut up." I said, breaking free of his grip. He smirked as I tried the door, discovering that it was left unlocked. I entered the flat with Sherlock by my side. He immediately began scanning the place, I did the same.
The flat was modern and sleek. Everything was white, black, or grey. There wasn't much clutter except for a few books on the coffee table.
We made our way around the flat, it looked pretty normal. Except for the fact that the refrigerator was only full of champagne, bachelor pad. We both stood in front of the double doors leading to the bedroom. They seemed to be locked from the inside. Sherlock busted through the door with his shoulder, catching me off guard.
"Jesus." I muttered a my eyes scanned the room. It looked like the rest of the flat, except for one small detail. The dead body lying on the bed with a bullet in his head. The gun laid carelessly across the bed.
I immediately called the police. A team was there within minutes. To Sherlock's and my dissatisfaction Lestrade appeared to be on vacation as well. We both put on gloves and began combing the flat. Even though the crime scene looked cut and dry, we were both sure it wasn't a suicide.
"Been away three days judging by the laundry. Look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it." Sherlock said.
"Thanks I'll take your word for it." I retorted.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked, slightly surprised at my response.
"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some guy's dirty underwear." I answered.
"Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti, why were they put there?" Sherlock said to himself.
"Well, it's some sort of code." I added.
"Obviously," Sherlock retorted as he examined the body, "Why were they painted? Want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"
"Because it wasn't just a friendly message. It was some kind of warning. They had to make a statement, something he couldn't ignore." I offered.
"Yes, he was being threatened." Sherlock said as he pulled something out of Edward Van Coon's throat. Just as he was bagging the object a fellow detective walked into the bedroom.
"Ah, Sergeant we haven't met." Sherlock said, offering up his hand for a shake.
"Yeah, I know who you are and I would prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence." the detective said rudely. Sherlock put his hand down and handed him the bag of what was found shoved down the man's throat.
"I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?" Sherlock asked, not a fan of this detective.
"He's on vacation. I'm in charge. Not all of us get a week paid vacation even though we've been working here for years." He said rudely, obviously about me.
"Yeah, well not all of you do your job as well as I do." I retorted casually, making sure that Dimmock knew his comment didn't effect me in any way.
"And it's not Sergeant, it's Detective Inspector Dimmock." He said to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he turned to me when Dimmock left the room. His eyes were saying 'how can this idiot be a DI and you're not".
"Don't worry. I plan on taking his job within the next six months." I winked. Sherlock smirked, proud I could read him that well.
"That a' girl." He held his smirk.
The two of us followed Dimmock out into the living room of the flat.
"We're obviously looking at a suicide." Dimmock said, and I lost what little respect for him that I might have had.
"That does seem the only possible explanation of all of the facts." I said sarcastically.
Dimmock looked at the two of us confused.
"Suicide is one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like but you are choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it." Sherlock scolded Dimmock as I smirked at him.
"Like?" Dimmock asked, not believing the two of us.
"The wound's on the right side of his head." I offered.
"And?" Dimmock asked, still not understanding.
"Van Coon was left-handed. Requires quite a bit of contortion." Sherlock mimed. Trying to find a way to shoot himself in the right side of his head with his left hand.
"Left-handed?" Dimmock asked, he was really getting on my nerves.
"I'm amazed you didn't notice, all you have to do is look around this flat." Sherlock said, looking to me. He obviously wanted me to explain to Dimmock because he was tired of his stupidity.
"Coffee table on the left-hand side," I pointed around the room as I explained, "Coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets, habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?" I asked Dimmock rudely.
"No, I think you've covered it." Dimmock said, a hint of shame in his voice.
"I might as well, I'm almost at the bottom of the list. There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head." I added, honing in on your best impression of Sherlock, minus the accent.
"Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him, only explanation of all the facts." Sherlock added, pride in his eyes.
"But the gun?" Dimmock asked.
"He was waiting for the killer. He had been threatened." Sherlock explained.
"What?" Dimmock asked again, I rolled my eyes. I was too annoyed and tired to have to explain something else to him.
"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock said, putting back on his scarf and coat.
"And the bullet?"
"Went through the open window." Sherlock explained.
"Oh come on, what are the chances of that?" He said, dumbfounded.
"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it." I answered.
"If his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock asked.
"Good, you're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock scoffed, leaving the flat, I was in toe.
"Not bad." Sherlock said once we were alone.
"What?" I asked, not sure what he was referring to.
"Your impression of me." He smirked.
"Ah, I've gotten pretty good at it." I chuckled. "So, where to now?"
Sherlock glanced at his watch, it was nearly 6 o'clock. "You need to go put on a dress. We're going out to dinner." Sherlock stated, and I didn't even ask. I assumed it was something for the case. It was just ignorant of me to think Sherlock meant some kind of date.
I brought Sherlock to my flat so I could change into a nice, black, professional dress. Mrs. Astor, my landlady, gave me a smirk as Sherlock and I walked passed her. I smiled and shook my head, knowing what she was thinking. I showed Sherlock up to my flat, which was surprising clean. Mrs. Astor was a saint, she cleaned, did my laundry, and sometimes cooked when I had a late night at work.
"This is nice, you live here alone?" Sherlock asked.
"Yup, I got a great deal too. Apparently there's mold downstairs and the last owner died here so his loss was my gain." I smiled.
"You're still not unpacked, how long have you been here?" Sherlock criticized.
"Not long enough. You can wait out here, I'll be back in a moment." I said pointing back to my bedroom.
I slipped on a form fitting black dress, some nude pumps, and a small golden necklace before walking back into the living room. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me. I grabbed my coat on the way out and slipped it on as I walked down the stairs.
"Have fun dear!" Mrs. Astor called out as Sherlock and I stepped outside. I smiled and waved as Sherlock flagged down a taxi.
"You look very nice Adelaide." Sherlock said as we hopped in the back of the taxi on the way to a high class restaurant by the bank. I understood the moment we walked in the door.
Sebastian was sitting with five of his work friends at a table, sipping on fine wine.
"It was a threat, that's what the graffiti meant." Sherlock interrupted, approaching their table.
"I'm kind of in a meeting." Sebastian said, slightly embarrassed. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"
I stepped out from behind Sherlock, surprising Sebastian and his fellow sharks. He smirked as he looked me up and down, I was sure the rest of his buddies were doing the same.
"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders, someone who worked in your office, was killed." I said in a more sultry voice than usual.
"What?" He asked surprised.
"Edward Van Coon." I repeated.
"Killed?" He asked, shock setting in.
"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still want to make an appointment?" Sherlock said, as if he was revealing his dominance over the group.
"Would maybe 9:00 at Scotland Yard work?" I asked, pulling out my badge, causing the rest of the men at the table to drop their chins in shock.
Sebastian joined us outside for a quick chat.
"Harrow, Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so..." Sebastian began to explain about Van Coon.
"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts?" I asked.
"Lost five million in a single morning, made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had." Sebastian explained. If that wasn't a motive, I didn't know what was.
"Who'd want to kill him?" I asked again.
"We all make enemies." Sebastian brushed it off.
"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple." I added, as Sebastian's phone began to buzz.
"Not usually. Excuse me." He said, reading the text.
"It's my chairman. Police have been on to him. Apparently they're telling him it was a suicide." Sebastian said, doubting the two of us.
"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered." Sherlock said, urging him to believe.
"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that. Neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get sidetracked." Sebastian said, walking back into the restaurant, leaving Sherlock and I out in the cold.
"Dick." I said as the door closed. Sherlock only sighed, but I could tell he was thinking the same thing. "I thought bankers weren't supposed to be heartless bastards."