Royalty

Chapter 3: Play The Game ...

"You like the funny cases, don't you?" Lestrade asked, leading us through the police station.

"Obviously."

"You'll love this. That explosion --"

"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock said, taking a moment to glare at Sergeant Donovan.

"No."

"No?"

"Told you," I said. Lestrade's eyes flickered to me for a moment, smirking.

"No. Made to look like a gas leak. But," he took a breath, leading us into his office, "even though there was almost nothing left of the place, there was a strongbox. A very strong box, and inside it was this." He pointed to a white envelope sitting on his desk.

"You didn't open it?"

"Addressed to you, isn't it? We've x-rayed it, it's not booby-trapped."

"That's reassuring," both Sherlock and I noted. He carefully picked up the bright white envelope and lifted it to a nearby lamp. "Bohemian stationery ... no fingerprints?"

"No."

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold -- Iridium nib."

"She?" I asked.
"Obviously." Sherlock carefully slit open the envelope and pulled out -- the pink phone?

"That's -- that's the pink phone --" John said, shocked.

"What, from 'A Study In Pink'?" Lestrade asked from behind us.

"It's not the same phone, but someone's gone to a lot of trouble to -- A Study In Pink? You read his blog?" Sherlock asked incredulously, turning to look at Lestrade.

"Course I do, we all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the Sun?"

I rolled my eyes and Sherlock returned his attention to the phone. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means your blog," he said, shooting John an accusatory glance, "has a far wider readership."

"Here, can I see?" I asked. Sherlock handed me the phone and I switched it on.

"You have one new message." There were four short pips and one long tone, and then a photo popped up on the screen, which I immediately showed to Sherlock. His eyes widened slightly with recognition.

I showed John and Lestrade the run-down photo of someone's flat-for-sale.

"That's it? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips?" Lestrade asked.

"It's a warning," Sherlock said.

"What?" both John and Lestrade asked.

"Some societies in America used to send orange pips, five pips," I explained. I looked at Sherlock. "They're telling us it's gonna happen again, aren't they?"

He nodded seriously. "And I've seen this place before." He took the phone back from me and made to leave the office.

"What's gonna happen again?" Lestrade asked, utterly bewildered.

Boom.

"Boom!"

Twenty minutes later, we were back at Baker Street. "Sherlock --"

"Mrs. Hudson!" he cut me off. He'd stopped in front of the door to 221c. Mrs. Hudson quickly appeared to unlock the door for us, and Sherlock carefully opened the inner door, which swung aside with an ominous creak.

The inside of the flat matched the photo perfectly, except for the pair of shoes sitting in the middle of the floor.

Sherlock took a step towards the shoes, and I pushed around Lestrade and John to do the same, until John's voice rang out. "He's a bomber, remember."

Neither Sherlock or I stopped, but we both proceeded with more caution. There was a silence in the room that made me suddenly very wary.

And then the pink phone rang. Sherlock twitched, and I flinched, too.

Sherlock picked up the phone and answered the call, putting it on speaker for us.

"Hello?"

I could hear a shaky intake of breath and a female's voice, obviously crying. "H-hello ... sexy ..."

"Who's this?" Sherlock asked.

"I've ... sent you a little ... puzzle ... just to say ... hi."

"Who is this? Why are you crying?" I asked.

"I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing and ... this ... stupid bitch is reading it out ..." I heard the woman sob on the other end as my eyes widened.

"The curtain rises ..." Sherlock muttered.

"What?" John asked sharply.

"Nothing."

"No, what did you mean?" I asked.

"I've been expecting this for some time."

The woman spoke again. "Twelve hours ... to solve my puzzle ... Sherlock ... or I'm ... going to be ... so ... naughty ..."

The phone went dead.

I exchanged a look with Sherlock. He nodded. "Bart's, now," I said, my voice coming out a good deal shakier than I intended.