Royalty

Chapter 6: It Must Be So Relaxing

Sherlock could tell something was off.

The room was almost dim, and the flickering TV screen was not helping matters.

The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main --

Sherlock muted the volume. " -- solve the case," he finished irritably. I hadn't heard what he'd said before.

"What?" I asked.

"Astra, are you quite alright? Your hands haven't stopped shaking since we got back, and your eyes have hardly left the phone."

"Hm? I'm fine. I'm fine, yes. It's nothing." I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "It's just the, uh, explosion. Rattled me."

He had been here. The bomber. The case was empty when I opened it. I fell asleep. I woke up, there's a note in the case. He had been here. Or at least an associate of his. Why hadn't he done something to me? His clear main target with this was Sherlock. It could not be clearer. And another 'clear' way to get to Sherlock was to hurt John or I.

So why was the idiot toying with me?

And the note.

So you want to burn too.

He'd been listening to the conversation. There was some sort of device in the phone, a listening device, but how could I tell Sherlock and John without telling them about the notes? And why wasn't I telling them about the notes anyway?

Another thing we have in common.

Another thing? What was he on about? I didn't understand, and I could read nothing from the simple type and cardstock. I had nothing to go on. Another thing ... What could I possibly have in common with him? And why was he likening us anyway?

Astra.

More evidence of a listening device. But, as anyone skilled knows, personalizing a threat makes it stick harder.

JM

Why was he telling me his initials? That was dangerous. If I cross-referenced enough ... Sherlock could probably figure out exactly who he was. Why hadn't I told him sooner? Now I was too scared to. He'd probably just get mad for not telling him sooner.

But this man, the bomber ... He scared me. He scared me badly.

"U-um, what did you say the old woman said? To make him blow her up? Her exact words?" I asked, forcing myself not to look back at the phone.

Sherlock sighed. "'His voice sounded so soft.' That was all. That was it. And this is the fifth time I've told you that." He was using the tone he used with Molly, or with Donovan and Anderson. I shrunk back slightly.

"Right," I mumbled. The pink phone lit up. Sherlock snatched at it, doubtless hoping for the next puzzle. His face fell in disappointment and disgust when he looked at the screen.

"Just that text again. 'Don't rely on them'. I've gotten that five times already this morning."

I swallowed. The bomber was telling me not to rely on Sherlock and John, obviously. The texts came at the same time as those brief moments.

Those brief moments when John or Sherlock shut me out, or ignored me.

John asked a question Lestrade had. "Why is he doing this? Why is he toying with you, playing this 'game'?"

Sherlock glanced at the screen, seeing the arrest of Raoul De Santos, the uncovered killer of Connie Prince.

That had been the puzzle that got the old woman killed.