SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Art of Deduction

John piped up, “Yes, about that. We can’t read it at all.” When the two arrived at St. Thomas’s, they were greeted by Lestrade who appeared to have waited very long for them, for his body was drawn up and his teeth were chattering. In a shaky tone, Lestrade said through the cold air, “Hello, Sherlock. So glad you could make it.”

“As you always are,” Sherlock replied, following Lestrade into the hospital. They were on the ground level and had to go two floors up to visit Sonia. Sherlock loosened his scarf and snuffled from the cold. “Will it ever get warmer here?”

Lestrade scoffed. “Tell me about it. Anyway, we found her lying like a dead fish in the alley way, from a distance, we thought she was dead. Oh, a resident in an apartment beside the Yard’s gave us a ring. Anyway, her heart was slow, but still beating. I announced her to be dead because I figured it’d be safer for you.”

“Oh, look at you? You’re finally figuring out which cases I fancy most. Clever of you, Lestrade, very clever. Also, John told me about a message on her arm.”

“Don’t worry, wait till it scabs over. We can read it then.” Sherlock went before Lestrade and struck the elevator “up” key. He turned to his two partners and said, “So, the killer obviously didn’t want to kill her. Her being alive makes the case more fun.”

“How so?” Lestrade asked as the three of them boarded the elevator.

“Well, Sonia Griffin won’t tell us a word. She’s just as good as dead. That’s why the killer didn’t kill her—he knows she won’t tell us anything. She’s just there to annoy us.”

“How do you know Sonia knows anything?” John said, clicking the second floor. “The killer could’ve not told her anything. He could’ve threatened her into playing this “game”, which you assume this case is.”

Sherlock glared at John. “Every case is a game, John. Every murder is strategically planned, no matter how crazy the conjurer is. They’re still smart enough to devise a proper murder.”

“And you seem to be their first playmate, how lovely.” John pursed his lips and folded his hands behind his back.

“Is there anything important I should know?” Sherlock asked, turning to Lestrade as the silver doors slid open. They tromped out and made their way down the fluorescent-lit hallway. Nurses and nurses’ assistants passed by them with their clipboards and carts.

“Nothing that you wouldn’t figure out, Sherlock,” Lestrade answered. “This is a fresh case. We know nothing about Sonia except her school records. Her family life is vague and she hasn’t said a word to us.”

Sherlock broke into a wide smile. “How delicious! A silent victim is more fun than a talkative one.” He spun around to face his comrades, and, while continuing to walk backwards, Sherlock pressed his palms together and held them in front of his mouth in excitement. “All the secrets she must be holding! She’s an intelligent girl; you can see it in her eyes in the photograph. Killers want smart victims. They’re easier to manipulate and connive with.  The stupid ones are useless and squeal too much. The smart victims, like Sonia, know when to keep their mouth shut when threatened with an intelligent threat; do you know where I’m going?”

“I think I can,” John replied hesitantly before bumping into Sherlock, who had stopped in front of their patient’s door.

“And it begins!” Sherlock opened the door and the three strode in, one after the other.

The girl sat in the bed with her back propped up and her neck steadied securely in the brace. The nurse beside her was sent out by Lestrade and the door closed behind her. Sonia Griffin had lengthy brown hair, a severe under-bite that didn’t affect her facial structure enough to be distracting, but Sherlock noticed it. Her eyes were shut in a doze and her pouty lips parted to breathe. She had a well-built frame for a girl her age, but she wasn’t bursting with muscles either.