𝕱𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 {𝕾𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖒𝖊𝖘}

The Blind Banker III

Spiderman

Inspector Dimmock sat at his desk in New Scotland Yard, his face clouded with frustration. Sherlock stood opposite him, confidently tapping away on a laptop. The hum of activity in the background was a stark contrast to the intensity that seemed to linger in the small space between them. Ivy leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, observing the exchange, her sharp eyes scanning every detail of the room.

Sherlock, not bothering with pleasantries, spun the laptop around and slid it across the desk toward Dimmock, his expression taut with purpose. "Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat," he stated, tapping the screen where the headline was displayed.

Dimmock leaned forward to squint at the screen while John stepped closer, his tone uncertain but supportive. "You've gotta admit, it's similar," John said, pointing at the article. His hesitation was clear, but he powered through, knowing there was something to Sherlock's theory. "Both men killed by someone who can... walk through solid walls."

Ivy, always quick to pick up on the subtleties, added in smoothly, "Or someone skilled enough to scale buildings and break in without leaving any trace."

Dimmock's eyes shot to her, clearly annoyed. "You're not here to play along with them, Ivy," he scolded sharply. His tone carried a mix of disbelief and impatience. "I didn't send you out to join their little fairy tale."

Sherlock ignored Dimmock's jab and pressed on, his voice calm but sharp. "Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?"

Dimmock squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, averting Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly irritated by Dimmock's reluctance to listen.

"You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?" Sherlock continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Dimmock hesitated before giving a small nod. "Mmm."

"And the shot that killed him," Sherlock pressed, leaning forward slightly, his presence commanding the room. "Was it fired from his own gun?"

Dimmock shifted again, his reluctance more palpable now. "No."

"No." Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." His eyes flicked toward Ivy briefly, a subtle acknowledgment of her involvement. "After all, she's here to work with us, not against us."

Dimmock didn't respond, but the irritation in his eyes said enough. Sherlock wasn't letting up. He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a more intense tone. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry," he said coldly, his voice firm as he gestured to the laptop screen, where the face of Brian Lukis stared back. "Five minutes in his flat."

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They arrived at Lukis' flat shortly after, the heavy atmosphere of the crime scene still lingering in the air. Sherlock ducked under the police tape at the entrance, followed closely by John, Ivy, and Dimmock, who seemed less than enthusiastic about being there.

The living room was a mess—books scattered everywhere, newspapers tossed haphazardly on the floor. An empty suitcase lay open near the center of the room, its contents already removed. Ivy's eyes flicked across the scene, absorbing every detail, her mind already working through the possibilities.

Sherlock moved through the space like a whirlwind, his mind racing ahead of everyone else. He glanced at the nearby rooftops through the kitchen window, his lips curling into a smirk as he pushed back the net curtain. "Four floors up," he murmured to himself. "That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut; they think they're impregnable."

He strode back into the center of the room, his eyes scanning the ceiling. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."

Following his gaze, Ivy spotted the skylight above the landing. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "You think that's how they got in?"

Sherlock gave a small nod, already moving toward the landing to inspect it more closely. He hopped onto a nearby step stool, reaching up to examine the skylight's latch.

Dimmock stared at him, confused. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock was already unhooking the latch, pushing the window upwards as he spoke softly, almost to himself. "The killer clings to the walls like an insect."

Ivy raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with dry humor. "Great. So apparently our killer is straight out of a comic book."

Sherlock paused, glancing over his shoulder at her with a small, amused smile. "I believe the term you're looking for is 'comic villain.'"

Ivy smirked, shaking her head. "Right. That's so much better."

Sherlock turned back to the skylight, his voice growing softer as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. "That's how he got in."

Dimmock blinked in disbelief. "What?!"

"He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight," Sherlock explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

Dimmock laughed, though the sound was filled with disbelief. "You're not serious! Like Spiderman?!"

Sherlock ignored the jibe and stepped down from the stool. "He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon."

Dimmock let out another disbelieving laugh. "Oh, hold on!"

Ivy interjected, her voice thoughtful as she pondered aloud. "Could he be skilled in acrobatics or rock climbing? It would explain the precision."

Sherlock gave her a brief glance, his mind churning through possibilities. "Very possible," he admitted. "It would take that level of skill to move so efficiently between rooftops without leaving a trace."

Dimmock looked between them, flabbergasted. "I can't believe you're entertaining this!" He seemed even more bewildered by Ivy's participation in what he considered madness.

Sherlock, unfazed, continued piecing together the mystery. "That's also how he got into the bank," he explained. "He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace."

As Sherlock scanned the room, his eyes caught on the pile of books scattered along the staircase. Something clicked. Without warning, he jumped down a few steps and picked up a particular book. Opening it to the front page, he revealed it had been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Sherlock's eyes flashed with triumph as he slammed the book shut.

"We need to find what connects these two men," he muttered, already heading for the door.

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After a brief taxi ride, the trio—Sherlock, Ivy, and John—found themselves in West Kensington Library. The air was thick with the scent of old books and dust, the atmosphere quiet and unassuming compared to the tension of the previous scenes. Sherlock wasted no time, navigating through the aisles with the precision of someone who already knew exactly what he was looking for.

"The date stamped on this book is the same day Lukis died," Sherlock pointed out, holding up the book from Lukis' flat.

He scanned the shelves, checking the reference numbers, pulling out various books as he went. Ivy and John, standing nearby, exchanged glances. With nothing better to do, John reached out and started pulling books off a nearby shelf, Ivy following his lead on the opposite side of the aisle.

Suddenly, John called out, "Sherlock, Ivy."

Sherlock turned instantly, striding over as Ivy joined John at his side. John had found a gap in the books, revealing something spray-painted on the back of the shelf. The same two symbols from Sir William's office stared back at them, the graffiti unmistakable.

Sherlock's eyes gleamed with triumph as he looked over the symbols. "And there's our connection."