The white walled lab in the basement of New Scotland Yard was quiet. Anderson was away "at lunch" for several hours, taking his incessant yammering with him.
Eve hummed an old love song to herself as she placed several blood samples into the centrifuge. She carefully closed the lid and turned on the machine. She sang a few lyrics aloud and slid into her rolling desk chair, her momentum making the chair spin a few times, earning a few smiles from Dana, who worked at the station next to her. The other forensic scientists were used to the occasional absent-minded musical outburst by Evelyn and found it rather endearing.
Luckily for London, but unluckily for Eve's brain, there had been very few big cases in the past several weeks. She was left in the middle of the pack once more, solving robbery, arson, assault, and even some murders at a steady pace, only slowed down by her thorough nature when writing reports and the petty meddling of Anderson in an attempt to keep her from taking his job.
Evelyn sighed, stretching out her legs and leaned backward, letting the tension out of her back and shoulders for a moment as she looked up at the ceiling. Her mobile buzzed on the desk next to her.
The text read: 405 Black Prince Road.
Hello, Sherlock. I'm doing great, thanks for asking. How are you? She typed in return.
Significantly less bored than you.
And less employed. I do have a job you know.
See you soon. He replied . She smiled.
Eve traded her lab coat for her deep red peacoat. She swooped out the door, calling something about a lunch break over her shoulder.
As the double doors of the lab swung back and forth and Eve walked farther down the hallway, a forgotten centrifuge beeped in the corner to signify the end of its test.
After a quick taxi ride across Westminster Bridge into Lambeth, Evelyn joined John and Sherlock outside of an apartment building.
"Hello Eve," John greeted flatly. "You've come just in time to sit here and wait."
"Wait for what exactly?" She asked, looking between her two friends.
"Van Coon." Sherlock said distractedly, looking over the name cards next to the apartment buzzers.
"Van who now?"
"There was a break in at the bank." Sherlock snapped the 'k.' "Whomever it was got in without opening any doors and left a message for Edward Van Coon in under a minute. Any idea what this means?" He shoved his phone towards her, photos of yellow spray paint on a wall and a portrait.
"I think it's Chinese, but I'm sorry to say I can't tell you more than that." Evelyn offered.
"Sherlock, should we just come back later?" John inquired, rocking backward on his heel impatiently.
"Just moved in." Sherlock said.
"What?"
"The floor above― new label."
Eve noted the shine on the name tag labeled "Wintle."
"Could've just replaced it." John suggested.
"No one does that." Evelyn pointed out.
Sherlock pressed the buzzer with his gloved finger.
"Hello?" The slightly tinny voice of a woman answered.
Sherlock plastered on a smile and leaned forward, as if the woman could see him. "Hi!" He said cheerfully. "Erm, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."
"No, well I've just moved in."
"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." He pinched his eyebrows together, bit his lip, and bounced a bit as if feeling anxious.
"Do you want me to buzz you in?"
"Yeah." He dropped the character. "And can I use your balcony?"
Eve suppressed a giggle at the utterly un-Sherlock manner in which he had been speaking. She thought to herself how odd it was that she liked this personable persona of his much less than the usual keen and serious Sherlock she was coming to know.
Evelyn went with Sherlock to help convince Ms. Wintle into letting them use her balcony while John waited outside Van Coon's apartment. Eve was all in favor until she actually stood on the balcony looking down four stories at the hard pavement below.
Sherlock wordlessly heaved himself over the railing and jumped down one level to the next balcony.
"Sherlock, what is it about you and leaping across tall buildings?" She said, humor unable to mask the fear in her voice.
Sherlock looked up at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly.
"Oh come on Evelyn, hurry up and jump." He said, peering into the apartment. "I'll catch you." He added as an afterthought, looking back up.
"Fine." Eve grumbled, tentatively perching on the railing and picking her legs up over the side. With a deep breath, she pushed herself off and fell.
She landed on the balcony, a pair of gloved hands grasping her shoulders securely. Her toe caught and she stumbled forward, face planting into Sherlock's coat. It was warm and surprisingly soft for the sharp nature of its owner. Evelyn fought the urge to snuggle and stood upright, getting her bearings.
They found the balcony door unlocked and proceeded into Van Coon's home. Eve felt a heavy unease at the stillness of the apartment. It occurred to her that she, an employee of the police department, was helping Sherlock commit a crime.
Too late now, she thought, remembering the terrifying view from the balcony.
Resigned to the situation, Evelyn focussed on observing and assessing the apartment. She could tell that Van Coon was left-handed, the placement of an end-table and the electrical sockets were clear enough. There were a few books stacked by the telly that revealed an interest in mystery adventures and antiques. His fridge was full of champagne, which made Eve cringe.
There was a buzz at the front door. "Sherlock?" John called.
Evelyn stepped ahead of the tall detective to inspect the double doors which presumably led to the bedroom.
"Sherlock, Eve? You okay?"
Sherlock followed at her heels, ignoring John's calls.
"Yeah, anytime you feel like letting me in?" The doctor tried again.
They looked at each other for a moment before driving their shoulders into the door, opening them inward with a crunch. Sherlock went round the bend before her, longer legs propelling him faster to the big reveal. He stopped barely two steps inside the room, and Evelyn nearly hit his shoulder with her own.
She drew in a sharp breath at the sight before her.
Edward Van Coon lay dead, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling above him. Eve let out her breath slowly. In her line of work, she saw a lot of death, but she had yet to be rid of the throat tightening, stomach churning sadness of seeing another life gone.
"Eve! Sherlock! What the bloody hell is going on in there?!" John's yell through the door startled her.
Evelyn placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, stopping him as he stepped closer to the body. He turned his head and met her gaze with his clinical blue stare.
"Don't touch anything yet." She ordered. "Go let John in while I phone the Yard."
Within five minutes, several of her colleagues were assembled in the apartment, following Eve's orders to collect evidence and photographs of the crime scene. Whilst waiting for a detective to arrive, Evelyn and Sherlock donned plastic gloves and took at look at the body.
Van Coon's three piece suit and red paisley tie were relatively untouched, and there was little blood splatter on the bed or wall next to it. He had been shot in the right side of his head recently, based on skin pallor and lack of odor in the room.
"Do you think he lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among city boys." John suggested, standing next to Sherlock.
"We don't know that it was suicide." Sherlock pointed out, moving to look at an open suitcase by the bed.
"Come on, the door was locked from the inside! You'd have to climb down the balcony." John argued.
"Not impossible." Eve pointed out, examining the handgun left on the bed. There was one bullet missing.
Sherlock spoke from his spot on the floor. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry." At the lack of response, he stood and looked indignantly at John. "Look at the case! There was something tightly packed inside it."
John replied archly: "No thanks, I'll take your word for it."
"Problem?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Yeah I'm not really interested in rooting through some bloke's dirty underwear." John explained. Evelyn huffed amusedly.
Sherlock looked at her for a moment before walking over, thinking aloud. "Those symbols at the bank: the graffiti, why were they put there?"
"It's a code." Eve offered.
"But why were they painted? Want to communicate, why not use email?" Sherlock mused. He rummaged through the pockets of Van Coon's jacket, looking for something.
"Well maybe he wasn't answering." John said flatly.
"Oh good, you follow." Sherlock exclaimed sarcastically. Evelyn hit him lightly on the arm.
"Be patient." She ordered. "What kind of message would everyone try to avoid?" Eve suggested. John only looked more perplexed.
Sherlock kept searching the body as he spoke. "What about this morning. Those letters you were looking at."
"Bills." John supplied, not following.
Catching on to what Sherlock was searching for, Evelyn pushed him gently out of her way and opened Van Coon's mouth, pulling out a small black origami flower.
"He was being threatened." She concluded.
Her mind was filled with stray puzzle pieces. As Sherlock met her gaze she could see that they were both trying to connect the dots. He started to speak when a man walked in, loudly giving orders. Sherlock moved the fastest to the door, reaching out to shake hands with the newcomer.
"Sergeant, we haven't met." He stated by way of greeting.
The man didn't accept the handshake, instead placing both hands on his hips in an attempt to project superiority. "Yeah, I know who you are and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."
Evelyn moved in front of Sherlock, donning a gentle charming smile. "Good to see you again Detective Inspector Dimmock." She sent a look to Sherlock before handing him the evidence bags.
"I didn't know you were working this case, Eve." He crossed his arms and frowned.
"I'm doing a little unofficial investigating today, offering my forensic expertise to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." She said nonchalantly, waving a hand like she was waving away any doubt of their presence at the crime scene.
Dimmock didn't reply, but swept out of the room and got on with the investigation.
"We're obviously looking at a suicide." He began.
Evelyn rolled her eyes, amazed at his lack of observation and intuition. Sherlock gave her look as if to say "this guy is a DCI?"
"It does seem the only explanation of the facts." John agreed.
Eve noticed the tell-tale gleam in Sherlock's eye that meant he knew better and was just waiting to prove the others wrong. Surprisingly, he looked to her first, checking to see if she wanted to be the smug genius this time. She was touched by the consideration, but gestured for him to go ahead with a bright smile.
"Wrong," He began. "It's one possible explanation for some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like but you're ignoring everything you see that doesn't comply with it."
Evelyn stepped back and enjoyed the show as Sherlock schooled Dimmock. He laid out every tiny evidence of Van Coon's left-handedness with a smidgen of sass mixed in with all of his intelligence. In accordance with her own deductions, Sherlock announced that Van Coon had been murdered by someone who broke into the apartment. Dimmock tried to protest, but was shut down once more as Sherlock explained the threat to Van Coon and how he waited for his demise inside the room, firing the bullet through the open window. Eve knew that her ballistics report would confirm that the bullet in Van Coon's head was not from his gun.
"If the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock asked as Sherlock and John prepared to leave.
"Good," Sherlock sent a smile to Evelyn before addressing Dimmock. "You're finally asking the right questions."
With that, he swooped dramatically out of the apartment, coat flowing behind him. John made a more awkward exit, pausing to hug Eve and give a little wave to Dimmock.
Evelyn clapped her hands. "My lunch break ended about five minutes ago. Shall we get to work?"
----------------
Sherlock sat in his chair, staring at the wall in front of him with his fingers steepled under his chin. He'd been there for several hours. John had left and Mrs. Hudson had come and dropped off some tea and biscuits, carrying on a one-sided conversation without any clue that he was in his mind palace.
He sat. He thought.
Then his phone buzzed, emitting a soft piano chord. Evelyn had texted him.
Sherlock turned his head to look at the device where it lay on John's desk. The text was nothing more than a link to an online news outlet. The headline read, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police."
A second text followed with the same gentle chime.
Talk to Dimmock.
----------------
Eve spun around in her desk chair, focussing on one point on the ceiling as she went around and around. The world around her faded as she dove into the depths of her mind. The details of her daily cases were stored away in the recesses of her brain with their boring cut and dry simplicity.
At the forefront of Evelyn's thoughts was the name "Moriarty."
With the help of case files, and conversations with Sherlock, Eve was familiar with the story of Jeff Hope, the taxi driving serial killer. His last word was the name of his "sponsor," Moriarty.
Was Moriarty a single person? An organization of criminals? How did they choose whom they were going to sponsor? Did this Moriarty tell Hope how to kill his victims or just let him do as he would with the promise of money?
Evelyn stopped the motion of her chair and snatched the case file from her desk. Hope's children, in the custody of his estranged wife might provide some much needed answers. Eve committed the address in the file to memory before grabbing her red coat and sweeping out of the lab.
Dana turned to a lab technician called Matt. "What do you think? Two months before she leaves to be a detective?"
Matt chuckled. "Less, if Mr. Holmes has any say in the matter."
------------------
A twenty minute tube ride and four bus stops later, Evelyn walked up the front walk of the Hope Family's home. It was a two story brick building, snug enough with its neighbors that it was only distinguished as a separate structure by the difference in color from the white houses on either side. A trash bin and a recycling bin sat just behind the front gate like broad shouldered guards.
Eve knocked on the white front door, avoiding the parts where the paint was peeling. After a moment or two, a teenage girl opened the door. Evelyn could see that she was about seventeen or eighteen and itching to leave home. She wore a short Manchester United shirt and ripped jeans. Her hair was cut choppy and fell into her eyes in such a way that she was constantly twitching her head to the side in an attempt to flick her fringe out of her eyes.
"Samantha Hope?" Eve asked.
"Yeah, what do you want?" She replied, as though painfully bored.
Eve pulled out her badge. "My name is Evelyn Hudson, I work at Scotland Yard. I was one of the...investigators on the case involving your father. Would it be alright if I asked you a few extra questions? It may help me with a current case." Eve said, shifting her weight to her left hip and hanging her head slightly so she mirrored Samantha's body language.
"Sure, whatever." Samantha agreed with artificial nonchalance.
Evelyn; however, could see clearly the sadness and exhaustion in the young girl's body and eyes. "Is your mother home?" Eve asked.
"No, my brother Nicky has a doctor's appointment."
"I see."
They sat in the small and shabby sitting room with Samantha on the couch and Evelyn on a chair next to it.
"Were you close with your dad, Samantha?" Eve began.
"I guess so. I mean, when I was little and stupid, he was like some kind of hero or something." Samantha was still guarded and tense.
"My dad was the same to me when I was little. Sometimes it's hard when parents suddenly become real people."
"Yeah."
"Did you ever see him after he left?" Evelyn asked.
"Mum didn't want him to come round anymore." The bitterness was clear in her tone.
"So there was no communication at all?"
"Well," Samantha complied, "he would come to see me at school. Said he was going to help me no matter what or something like that the first time. After that he'd drop by occasionally and give me money for me and my brother."
"Did that strike you as odd?" Eve inquired.
"Well, yeah, of course. But at the same time I have cash saved for college now and I could help feed my little brother."
"Did he ever tell you where the money came from?"
"No, but the-" Samantha took a breath, "the last time I, erm, the last time he came to see me he didn't have as much as before and said something about cheap customers or something. A little while later his mobile rang. There was an angry man on the other end. I could hear him yelling through the phone. He sounded young, and almost like he was singing everything when he wasn't yelling. The voice was kind of beautiful, actually. My dad kept calling him 'sir,' and seemed really bloody frightened. He made some excuse after hanging up and then left."
"Did he ever say what the man's name was, or how he knew him?" Evelyn asked.
"I never got the name, but when he hung up, Dad called the man 'boss.'" Samantha elaborated.
There was a silent pause as Eve thought through what had just been revealed.
"Well, thank you very much Samantha. You've been very helpful. I'm terribly sorry about dragging all of this up again for you. If you ever need anything, feel free to contact me." Evelyn said, handing the girl her her card and taking her leave.
The whole trip back to her flat, Eve stared at a single point on the tube map on the wall across from her and was consumed by her thoughts.
Evelyn knew that Moriarty was an angry, rich man with a melodic voice. He communicated by the phone and seemed to like efficiency in committing crimes.
Eve didn't know how to find him. She didn't know why he sponsored criminals. She didn't know if she should tell Sherlock what she'd found as he was in the midst of a new case.
She thought and considered all of her thoughts right up until falling into bed when those thoughts melted into dreams of balconies and brick houses and mysteries to be solved.
-------------
Sitting in the cafeteria at St. Barts, Evelyn wrapped her hands around a mug of rather weak tea, chatting amiably with Molly Hooper.
"How's work? Keeping you entertained?"
"Not as much as I'd like. Most days are fairly simple, and I prefer a challenge." Eve sighed.
"You are so much like Sherlock, and yet so different." Molly mused.
"I suppose so, yes. Are you still interested in him, Mol?" Evelyn asked teasingly.
"Oh no, not really. I've actually just met the cutest guy from IT. His name is Jim. I think he likes me!" Molly exclaimed.
"Well who wouldn't? Good for you, darling!" Eve praised with a smile.
"My very own office romance." Molly said with a grin.
The two friends laughed a talked for a good while longer before a chime of Evelyn's phone interrupted.
48 Gerrard St.
"Who is that?" Molly looked over Eve's shoulder curiously.
"Sherlock."
Connection between Lukis and Van Coon? She asked.
Both visited same shop on the days they were killed. Van Coon left something there.
See you in 20. She typed in reply.
"Sorry Molly, but I've got to go. I'll see you on Saturday."
Molly looked disappointed, but smiled anyway. "Yes, of course!"
"I expect to hear more about this Jim from IT, okay?"
Molly laughed sheepishly. "I hope I'll have more to tell."
"Good."
The two friends kissed each other on both cheeks in farewell. Evelyn walked briskly out of St. Bart's, the low heels of her boots tapping on the tile floor with each step.