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Ivy Liu takes a slow drag of her cigarette, watching Sherlock with those sharp, unblinking eyes that seem to s...
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The Intruder Who Can Walk Through Walls
The restaurant was bustling with the sound of clinking cutlery and soft chatter, the low hum of voices filling the air as Sebastian laughed with his colleagues over lunch. His laugh was booming, almost forced, a man trying too hard to stay lighthearted amid the seriousness of corporate life.
"... and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!" Sebastian exclaimed, eliciting amused chuckles from those around the table. It was a fleeting moment of mirth that quickly dissipated as Sherlock, John, and Ivy strode purposefully toward him.
Sherlock's voice cut through the air with urgency, his tone dismissing any notion of small talk. "It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant."
Sebastian barely looked up, still caught in the remnants of his joke, but there was an immediate stiffness in his posture. "I'm kind of in a meeting," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed."
Ivy, who had been standing slightly behind Sherlock, stepped forward, her lips curled into a sardonic smirk. "But hey, we can still make an appointment. I hear shrapnel in the brain works wonders for scheduling between lunch and a funeral. Maybe five business days, if that disturbs your peace."
Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown by her comment. "What?" he muttered in disbelief, his gaze shifting between Sherlock and Ivy.
John, ever the pragmatist, stepped in to clarify. "Van Coon. The police are at his flat."
The color drained from Sebastian's face as the weight of the situation settled in. "Killed?" His voice was barely a whisper.
Sherlock, as sharp and biting as ever, didn't miss a beat. "Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"
Sebastian's hand faltered as he reached for his glass of water, his fingers trembling slightly. His shirt collar suddenly felt too tight, and he ran a finger nervously along the inside, loosening it as if trying to alleviate some invisible pressure.
On the way to the bathroom, he glanced at Sherlock before his eyes darted to Ivy, who had remained stoic but observant the entire time. "Who is she, anyway?" he asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
Sherlock didn't look at Ivy but smirked as he responded, "Oh, Ivy Liu. Spooky cop. Spends her days profiling criminals and her nights analyzing people she can't stand. Keeps a scalpel-sharp tongue. Thinks she's smarter than everyone else. Maybe she is. Or maybe she's just irritating enough to fool you into thinking so."
