KENNY PRINCE'S HOUSE.
In a beautifully and elegantly decorated house, a hairless cat meows as it wanders about on a sofa in the living room. Kenny Prince, a man in his late fifties who is wearing a very fancy purple shirt (which will never match Sherlock's PSOS), comes into the room. Behind him, the houseboy, Raoul stops at the doorway and gestures for us to go in.
"We're devastated. Of course we are."
As John and I walk into the living room, Kenny reaches the other side of the room and turns back, propping his arm on the mantelpiece. Looking a little uncomfortable, John sits down on the far left of the sofa. I sat next to him and the cat is on my right.
"Can I get you anything, sir? Ma'am?"
"Er, no. No, thanks." John replied politely, whilst I shook my head and quietly watched. Raoul looks across the room to Kenny, who smiles at him. Raoul returns the smile, then turns and leaves the room.
"Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed..." He looks down sadly. "We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."
The cat climbed onto John's lap and meows loudly in protest when he picks it up and puts it down beside him.
"And- and to the public, Mr. Prince?"
"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses. Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this vale of tears."
John is nervously holding the cat while it purrs contentedly on his lap, after climbing back onto him. I tried not to giggle. Kenny moves his fingers together and leans back onto the mantelpiece.
"Absolutely..." John says awkwardly, I cover my mouth as I giggled loudly this time, and John shoots me a look.
***
~John's P.O.V~
Kenny is still standing by the fireplace, looking thoughtfully at a framed photograph of Connie holding her tele award. (Y/n) has been quietly watching Kenny and looking at the house. She reminds me of Sherlock, but nicer. In a way, she's more human than he is...
"It's more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un..." I look down at my notebook as I speak and look up in surprise when Kenny, who has walked across the room unnoticed, now plops himself heavily down onto the sofa beside (Y/n) and stares at us intensely. "...treated..."
"I don't know what I'm going to do now."
"Right." (Y/n) responds.
"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely..." (Y/n) looks around the living room with her eyes narrowed, apparently not agreeing how 'lovely' the place might be. "...but it's not the same without her."
(Y/n) fidgets as she tries to move further away from Kenny, but unable to do so.
"Th-that's why our paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from... you. You sure it's not too soon?" She asks.
"No... You fire away."
The cat meows and trots across the carpet. Watching it, I reach up to rub the side of my nose. As I pull my hand away again I suddenly realize something and quickly raise my hand to my nose, pretending to rub it while quietly sniffing at my fingers and looking towards the cat again. I smile round nervously at Kenny. "Will you excuse me for a minute? I've got to make a call to our um... Cameraman."
"Yes, yes of course. I'll just have small talk with your lovely friend here."
"Right... I won't be long." I make my way outside and call Sherlock.
"John."
"Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something. You'll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?" Sherlock replies.
"I'll remember." Of course he would that coc-
Sometime later, Kenny is primping in front of the mirror near the fireplace. The entrance door shuts and I place down my teacup. "That'll be him."
"What?" Kenny asks.
Raoul shows Sherlock into the room. Sherlock has a large bag over his shoulder and is carrying a large case. He walks over to Kenny.
"Ah, Mr.Prince, isn't it? Very good to meet you."
"Yes, thank you."
"So sorry to hear about..." Sherlock forgot her name already.
"Yes, yes, very kind."
"Shall we, er..." Sherlock walks over to the sofa, puts down the case and starts rummaging in his bag. Kenny turns back to the mirror and fiddles with his hair again. "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way." I whispered to Sherlock.
"Oh yes?" He says smirking.
Kenny turns towards us. "Right. We all set?"
"Um, yes." I look at Sherlock, who has taken a camera and flashgun from his bag, and jerks my head towards Kenny. "Can you...?"
As Kenny leans one arm on the mantelpiece and poses, Sherlock walks closer and starts taking photographs of him. "Not too close. I'm raw from crying." The cat meows at Sherlock's feet. He looks down. "Oh, who's this?"
"Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess." Kenny replies.
"How nice. Was she Connie's?"
"Yes." (Y/n) reaches down towards the cat but Kenny beats her to it, bending down and picking it up. "Little present from yours truly." Frustrated, (Y/n) straightens up, then looks at the commotion.
"Sherlock? What's the um, light reading?"
Sherlock lifts a second flashgun which he is holding in his other hand and holds it towards Kenny, firing it straight into his face. "Two point eight."
Kenny squinches his eyes shut against the light. "Bloody hell. What do you think you're playing at?!"
I immediately reach out and rub my fingers over one of the cat's front paws. Sherlock keeps firing the flashgun to keep Kenny's eyes closed. Sherlock mutters an apology. I lift my fingers away and sniff them while Sherlock continues to fire the flashgun.
"What's going on?" Kenny cries out in frustration.
"Actually, I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." (Y/n) butts in, grabbing the case from the sofa and heads for the door. "Sherlock, John. We've got deadlines." Sherlock and I follow her out quickly.
"But you've not taken anything!" Kenny shouts.
Ignoring him, we hurry out of the living room and let ourselves out of the house. I chuckled delightedly as we walk down the drive and head toward the main road. "Yes! Ooh, yes!"
"You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat." Sherlock smiles.
"What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."
"Lovely idea." Sherlock says, still smiling.
"No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet - bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have-"
"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother." Sherlock interrupts.
"Murdered his sister for her money." I chuckled, knowingly.
"No. It was revenge." Sherlock says, walking forwards.
"Who wanted revenge?" (Y/n) asks.
"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough; fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so..."
I stop and turn to him. "No, wait, wait. Wait a second." Sherlock and (Y/n) stop as well. "What about the disinfectant then, on the cat's claws?"
"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You both came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it." (Y/n) pulls her jacket up to sniff at it as Sherlock looks towards the main road. "Raoul's internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here." He walks off. I sigh in exasperation and disappointment that I hadn't solved the case this time. Glaring toward his back, I follow him.
*ONE HOUR TO GO.*
*EVENING/NIGHT TIME.*
*NEW SCOTLAND YARD.*
(It's called third person P.O.V right?)
Sherlock walks into the main office brandishing a folder at Lestrade.
"Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince - it was botulinum toxin." He puts the folder on the desk. As Lestrade reaches for it, Sherlock leans closer to him. "We've been here before. Carl Powers? Our bomber's repeated himself."
Lestrade walks towards his office, Sherlock following. John stares at them in surprise. "So how'd he do it?" "Botox injection." Lestrade turns back to him. "Botox?"
"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases." He points to the folder. "He's been bulk ordering Botox for months." Nearby, John and (Y/n) continued to stare at Sherlock, and John's expression is becoming angry.
Sherlock was completely oblivious to this. "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."
"You sure about this?" Lestrade asks.
"I'm sure." Sherlock replies.
"Alright, my office." Lestrade turns and walks towards his office. Sherlock starts to follow but John stops him.
"Hey, Sherlock. How long? How long have you known?"
"Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and as I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake." Sherlock tries to walk towards Lestrade's office again but John stops him. "No, Sherl- The hostage... the old woman. She's been there all this time."
Sherlock leans closer, looking at him intensely. "I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see?" We're one up on him!" He heads into Lestrade's office. John purses his lips in frustration then follows. (Y/n) follows the boys.
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is sitting at Lestrade's desk where a laptop has been opened to The Science of Deduction website. John, Lestrade, and (Y/n) are standing either side of him. Sherlock types into the message box:
Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.
He sends the message and the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rings almost instantly. He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
An old woman from the other side of the phone cried in an anguished voice. "Help me."
"Tell us where you are. Address." Sherlock says clearly into the phone.
"He was so... His voice..."
"No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing." He says urgently.
"He sounded so... soft."
The laser point from the sniper's rifle moves onto the bomb. A single shot fires and the phone instantly goes dead.
"Hello?" Sherlock says into the phone, his expression becomes dull.
Lestrade sees his expression. "Sherlock?"
"What happened? What happened to the old lady?" (Y/n) asks.
Slowly, staring ahead of himself, Sherlock lowers the phone from his ear. He bites his lip as Lestrade realises that something bad must have happened and he straightens up sighing. John braces a hand on the back of Sherlock's chair.
.
.
.