You See But Do Not Observe

ANDREW POTTER

CHAPTER FOUR : ANDREW POTTER

The crime scene wasn't far from Baker's street, Serena noticed. A couple dozen officers swarmed around the crime scene. A couple bystanders watched curiously from outside the yellow crime scene tape. It was a strange sensation, being on the other side, part of the chaos. Serena's eyes flicked from one spot to the next, the man holding back the civilians, the woman speaking in a walkie-talkie.

Then she realized she was looking at it from the wrong perspective. She was seeing each person as an individual, but each individual worked as a smoothly functioning team. Each cog and gear had its place to make the whole thing run like clockwork. The question now was whether or not she would jam the clock.

She followed John inside the apartment, up two flights of stairs. Sherlock's back filled the entire stairway above her.

They enter the room and Serena stops cold. There he is, lying flat on the ground, the gun clenched in his white hand, the blood running in a lake from his head. His brown eyes were unclosed, sightless. She had chills running up and down her spine.

Sherlock noticed from one glance at her face. "If you can't handle this, leave." He said, snapping gloves on.

"Sherlock!" John said, but Serena waved him off.

"I'm fine. I knew this man well. We were friends. His name is Andrew Potter." Serena said, and Sherlock glanced up at her from where he kneeled next to the victim. There was something like regret in his eyes, but Serena brushed it off as wishful thinking on her part.

"I'm sorry." John said, and Serena smiled weakly.

"He was a good man. He was getting better." She said. He wouldn't get any better anymore.

"His phobia. What was it?"

"Severe astraphobia. He used to freeze up uncontrollably at the sight of lightning, and if there were any chance of rain, he'd stay inside. But he had fixed a lot of those problems." Serena said.

Sherlock walks over to the window. "He never showed up for his last appointment. But he called in sick, I didn't think anything of it."

"He called in sick?"

"Yes, it was definitely him." Serena said, and Sherlock looked around the room before meeting Lestrade's eyes.

"What did you find?" Lestrade asked.

"Hmm. The door has obviously been pounded on, the gun is the exact same model as the other two, the man has wood under his fingernails from those scratches on the floor. But the most intriguing thing is the faint outline of dust on the window. Square, small, easily hidden, but what was it? There's no evidence of a power cord, so either it was battery-powered or non-electronic. There are small traces of black paint around the edges of the single window, which isn't odd, except that I checked the paint under this one. It isn't black, but rather orange." Sherlock said in a matter of seconds.

"So..." Lestrade prompted.

"The man was clearly trying to escape. What suicide victim tries to escape his chosen room? And the dust, very slight. He's only been dead for seven or eight hours, and there is no dust on the shape. So it was there for a few days, and was removed less than eight hours ago. Same with the black paint. The paint as been scraped off skillfully, but whoever did it was in a hurry. They left miniscule traces. If they were a truly proficient killer, they would have done a thorough job."

"What are you thinking?" Lestrade asked.

"Something like that cabbie. Remember, John? Our first case together?" Sherlock said, and John nodded.

"Of course. He forced people to choose between the two pills, correct?"

"An overly-simplified version, but yes." Sherlock said. "This is a suicide."

"I thought you just said..." Serena said.

"Andrew shot the gun, but the true killer forced him to do it. I'm not sure how, why, or who, but that is certain." Sherlock said to Serena, who nodded.

"We need to go back to Baker Street. I need to think." He said, walking out of the room.

"Looks like you were right." Lestrade said to Serena, who glanced at Andrew's still body.

"Now that I'm proved right, I have wished I wasn't. Does three people count as a serial killer?" She asked.

"I should probably go, or Sherlock will leave without me." John said.

"I should go to." Serena said. "Thank you." She nodded to Lestrade and followed John out.

"John? John! Are you there?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." John said, leaning over the stairwell.

"Bring her with you!" Sherlock said.

"Me?" Serena asked.

"Yes, you." Sherlock said. "I'm giving you two minutes to get down here before I leave.

"Come on." John said.

"Why does he need me?" Serena asked.

"I don't know. But I apologize in advance if he bothers you." John said.

"He doesn't bother me. He's just really, really honest."

Someone grabbed Serena's arms lightly, and Serena's spine instantly stiffened.

"Serena Gambles, is it?" The annoying woman from earlier said.

"Yes." Serena said.

"Look, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot." The woman said as they kept walking downstairs.

"I'm Sergeant Sally Donovan." The woman said.

"I just wanted to warn you. You shouldn't be trusting Sherlock for help."

"Why?" Serena asked. She hid her growing irritation behind questioning calm.

"He's a psychopath. He doesn't accept money for cases. He does it because he enjoys it. He doesn't do it out of the good of his heart, but because he gets bored. One day, being a detective won't be enough. He'll want more. Just a friendly warning." Sergeant Donovan said.

Serena was painfully aware of John's eyes on her as they reached the first floor and stopped.

"I understand. It must be hard to find someone who you can't figure out." Serena said calmly.

"Excuse me?" Sergeant Donovan sounded outraged.

"Look, it's alright." Serena said with a simpering smile. "There will be a lot of people you don't understand. I suggest you don't give up on them so quickly." The sergeant opened her mouth, but Serena plowed on. "He's solved dozens of cases for Scotland Yard, ones that you couldn't figure out. I don't think he's a psychopath, just...misunderstood. You should take a second to look a bit closer."

"You...you don't know what you're getting yourself into. You are blinded by...admiration and hope." Sergeant Donovan said.

"I think you're the one who's blinded," Serena said, "because you can't comprehend just how brilliant he is. Thanks for the advice."

She turned around to see John gaping at her and Sherlock looking at her, reading her like a book. She brushed past them quickly to the outside street. The sunlight filtering through the clouds blinded her for a moment.

"Did you really mean that?" A deep voice said behind her, and she turned to see Sherlock looking at her. Blue eyes met blue eyes and Serena found herself wondering if they changed with his mood.

"Of course." She said simply, and Sherlock looked slightly dumbfounded for the briefest of seconds.

"Thank you."