It was getting late so the two of us decided to head back to Baker Street. After Sherlock paid the cabbie, I followed him upstairs to where John was sitting reading the paper. I pulled the check Sebastian had given me out of my pocket and handed it to John.
"Christ, what the hell is this?" He asked, eyes wide.
"From our case today. It's made out to Sherlock but I think it would be safer in your hands for now." I smiled.
"Right, thanks." He said slipping it into his wallet.
Sherlock sat down in his chair and began to think, I could tell he was away in his mind palace. After chatting with John for a little bit and bringing him up to date on the case, he decided to turn in for the night. I sat down in John's chair and watched Sherlock think. It was the strangest thing, he barely moved, barely blinked. His eyes were open but it was like he couldn't see what was straight in front of him. I don't know how long I had been staring at him before I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I woke up on the couch with a blanket draped over me. I slowly raised myself up and turned my head. I saw Sherlock back in his chair in his mind palace. I hoped he hadn't been there all night and that he got some sleep. I also didn't know how I got to the couch, but one question at a time.
Just as I was waking up I saw John walk in the door.
"I said could you pass me a pen?" Sherlock spoke suddenly.
"What? When?" John asked confused, he turned to see if Sherlock was even talking to him.
"About an hour ago." Sherlock answered, I hadn't realized that it was nearly 10 am.
"Didn't notice I'd gone out then?" John said, tossing Sherlock a Sharpie. He caught it without even turning his head or eyes. I was surprised, and a little bit amazed.
"I went to see about a job at the hospital." John explained.
"How was it?" Sherlock asked, I wondered if he actually cared or he was just asking because it was social convention to do so.
"Great. She's great." John answered.
"She?" I asked, my voice husky and sultry from just waking up.
"It." John corrected himself, but he wasn't surprised by my presence.
"Look who's finally awake," Sherlock said, "Have a look at this." He said while tossing his phone at me. I caught it with one hand, flipped it around and read the news page that it was on.
"The intruder who can walk through walls." I read, sitting up.
"It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon." Sherlock explained.
"He's killed another one?" John asked. I knew where the three of us had to go. Even on my vacation I had to work, great.
Since Lestrade was out most likely trying to salvage what was left of his marriage I had the delight to have to meet with Dimmock again.
"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist, murdered in his flat. Doors locked from the inside." Sherlock explained to an unhappy Dimmock.
"You've got to admit it's similar. Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls." John observed.
"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" Sherlock asked, rhetorically.
"You have seen the ballistics' reports, right?" I asked Dimmock, making sure he felt like he was being ganged up on. He only nodded.
"And the shot that killed him wasn't fired from his own gun?" I asked again.
"No." He stated.
"No," I repeated, "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take our word as gospel." Dimmock only rolled his eyes. I leaned down and put my hands on his desk. "We've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat." Dimmock rolled his eyes again and nodded.
When the three of us arrived at the crime scene, I noticed a lot of differences in the two. For one Van Coon was in a completely different tax bracket than Lukis. The flats were polar opposites. Van Coons was sleek and well kept, while Lukis' was disheveled and cluttered.
Sherlock walked over to the window, looked out, and began muttering to himself. "Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, think your impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."
"I don't understand." Dimmock said.
"Dealing with a killer who can climb." Sherlock said, off handedly.
"What are you doing?" Dimmock asked again as Sherlock was inspecting the hallway with a skylight.
"Clings to the walls like an insect," Sherlock continued as if Dimmock wasn't even there. He pushed the window open, "That's how he got in."
"What?" Dimmock asked, dumbfounded.
"He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight." Sherlock explained.
"You're not serious? Like Spider-Man?" Dimmock said, showing his stupidity.
"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony and killed Van Coon." Sherlock explained, much to Dimmock's disbelief.
"Oh, hold on!" Dimmock scoffed.
"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He'd run along the window ledge and on to the terrace. I have to find out what connects these two men." Sherlock said. He walked down the carpet stairs of the flat and picked up one of the many books the cluttered the edge next to the wall. He shoved it in his coat jacket and left to hail a taxi, John and I in toe.
In the cab I noticed Sherlock looking at the seal inside of the book. West Kensington Library. I assumed that was where he was having the cab take us. Once we got there, Sherlock went to scan the book.
"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." Sherlock observed. We found where he had picked up the book from by following the Dewey Decimal System on the spine of the book. I started shifting some books around from where he must have picked it out. After pulling out a couple I noticed something strange on the metal selfing behind the books.
"Sherlock." I said, getting his attention, causing him to come and stand next to me. Behind the books in yellow paint were the same symbols we found at the bank.
The three of us went back to Baker Street to try and piece everything together. When I was asleep Sherlock had begun taping pictures from the crime scene up on the wall above the fireplace.
"So, the killer goes to the bank," Sherlock began as I stood in front of the fireplace with him as John was in the kitchen making tea, "leaves a threatening cipher at the bank. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies."
"The killer finds Lukis at the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen. Lukis goes home. Late that night, he dies too." I added.
"Why did they die, Sherlock?" I asked.
"Only the cipher can tell us." He sighed. "Come on, let's take a walk."
I grabbed my coat and followed Sherlock out of his flat. He took me down to what appeared to be the London equivalence of Times Square. There was a huge fountain with an obelisk adjacent.
"The world's run on codes and ciphers, Adelaide. From the million pound security system at the bank from the pin machine John took exception to. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment. But it's all computer generated, electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device." Sherlock explained as I followed him around the fountain and around a museum that much resembled the Met in Manhattan.
"So modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it." I followed, "So, where are we going?" I asked.
"I need to ask some advice." Sherlock answered.
"What? Sorry?" I said sarcastically.
"You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again." Sherlock sighed, seeing the smile on my face.
"What do you need advice on?" I asked, seriously.
"On painting. I need to talk to an expert." Sherlock said. I followed him around the building until I spotted a vandal spray painting a brick wall.
"Part of my new exhibition." the vandal said.
"Interesting." Sherlock said, reaching in his pocket to pull out his cell phone.
"I call it... Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." He chuckled.
"Catchy." I scoffed.
"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes around that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?" He asked. Sherlock handed him his phone so he could look at a picture of the graffiti from the crime scenes. He turned around slowly, and tossed one of his cans of spray paint at me, so he could hold the phone and look at the picture. I caught it easily, but was surprised by his actions.
"Know the author?" Sherlock asked.
"I recognise the paint. It's like Michigan hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc." He answered.
"And what about the symbols? Do you recognise them?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm not even sure it's a proper language." He said truthfully.
"Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them." Sherlock said. I wondered how he knew his name, or even knew this guy at all.
"And this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much now is it?" Raz said.
"Are you going to help us or not?" I asked. Sherlock seemed to trust this man enough, so I thought it was wise to do the same.
"I'll ask around. Who are you? Sherlock's girlfriend?" Raz asked me. I didn't answer, only rolled my eyes.
"Somebody must know something about it." Sherlock said, never even paying attention to his quip about me.
Suddenly someone yelled from around the corner. I turned around to see two guards running towards us.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the cop asked me. You looked down to see the can of spray paint Raz threw at me still in my hands. "This gallery is a listed public building."
"No, no. Wait. It's not me who painted that. I was just taking this from..." I turned around to see that both Sherlock and Raz were gone. Great. When I turned around the officer looked in the bag at my feet that was left by Raz.
"Bit of an enthusiast, are we? You're gonna have to come with us, ma'am." He said, as I turned back around to face him.
"Ok, you know what, I don't have time for this," I said, reaching into my pocket to pull out my badge, "There have been two murders and I was questioning the man who was painting this. I confiscated this from him and he ran when you guys started yelling."
He grabbed my badge and read it for a minute. "So sorry Sergeant." He said, letting me go and handing my badge back. I took out my phone and called Sherlock, who didn't answer. I decided the best thing to do was just go back to his flat.