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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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Lucky Cat
Inside 221B Baker Street, Ivy Liu stood with her arms crossed, leaning slightly against the fireplace. Her sharp eyes scanned the photos now plastered all over the mirror—Eddie Van Coon's apartment, the library, the cipher painted in strange, archaic symbols. Sherlock, deep in thought, spoke with his signature cool detachment.
"The killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in." Sherlock's voice was factual, as if he were merely recounting a chess game rather than the final moments of a man's life.
Ivy glanced at the photographs as Sherlock's words triggered a flashback in her mind. She imagined Eddie Van Coon, shaking in fear, hurriedly turning the key in the inside lock of his door, fastening the safety chain as if that could protect him. But it hadn't.
"Hours later," Sherlock continued, "he dies."
John Watson, standing next to Ivy, looked at Sherlock with concern. "The killer finds Lukis at the library. He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen. Lukis goes home."
"Late that night, he dies too," Ivy added, her voice laced with a slight edge of cynicism. Despite their banter, she and Sherlock shared the same sharp instinct. Her gaze flicked over to Sherlock, waiting for his next leap of logic.
John's voice softened. "Why did they die?"
Sherlock, running his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face in the photographs, seemed to reach a conclusion. "Only the cipher can tell us," he declared, his face sharpening with sudden realization. Ivy's brow furrowed slightly, knowing that the moment Sherlock got that look in his eyes, something was brewing in his head.
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Later, Trafalgar Square bustled with the usual crowd. Ivy, Sherlock, and John weaved through the heart of the square, heading toward the National Gallery. Sherlock, as always, couldn't resist lecturing.
"The world's run on codes and ciphers, John, Ivy. From the million-pound security system at the bank to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."
John, struggling to keep up with the leaps in Sherlock's thought process, interrupted, "Yes, okay, but..."
"But it's all computer-generated," Sherlock cut him off, eyes gleaming with intellect. "Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."
Ivy, slightly annoyed at their detour, shot Sherlock a sideways glance. "Where exactly are you dragging us now, Holmes?"
"I need to ask some advice," Sherlock replied, his tone dismissive, as though it should be obvious.
John stared at him incredulously. "What?! Sorry?!"
Ivy couldn't help but chuckle, her laughter dripping with sarcasm. "Sherlock Holmes, the great genius, asking for advice? Never thought I'd live to see the day."
