How Sage Became a Holmes//book the first (A Sherlock BBC Fanfiction)

The Last Two Puzzles

Sitting in a cafe the next morning, the boys were discussing who might be behind the puzzles. Their best guess was the unknown Moriarty, that was Sherlock's theory at least. A text alert noise broke the silence, but Sherlock was disappointed to see it was me texting him on his own phone, and not some psycho bomber sending him beeps on the duplicate of a dead lady's mobile.
Typical Sherlock Holmes.
Help me. He's driving me up the wall
-Sage
It read. He started to text back, when the pink phone beeped. Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and switched to the pink one. It then played two pips followed by a longer tone, and a photograph of a middle aged woman appeared on the screen. Fortunately for Sherlock, John knew who it was. Connie Prince, a tv star who had recently died at age fifty four. The pink phone rang, and Sherlock answered it. It was another stolen voice; but despicably, it was a blind old woman. Through her, the bomber said they had twelve hours to finish this next puzzle.
The boys went to the mourgue with Lestrade to inspect Connie Prince's body. He informed them she cut her hand on a rusty nail and tied of tetanus, but after noting that the cut on her hand was made after she died, John concluded that the tetanus entered her body some other way.

With just over three hours left, Sherlock and Lestrade where back at the flat; and elsewhere, (aka Connie and Kenny Prince's house) John was posing as someone from the papers and interviewing Kenny Prince.
The wall behind the sofa in 221b was covered with paperwork: maps, photographs of Connie Prince - both when she was alive and pictures taken in the morgue - photos of Carl Powers, press cuttings and various sheets of paper with notes scribbled on them. Pieces of string were pinned between some of the exhibits, linking them together. Sherlock paced back and forth in front of the sofa while Lestrade stood nearby. While muttering to both himself and Lestrade, Sherlock tried to find a connection. The pink phone on the table lit up and rang.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Said the old woman. "Connecting the dots..." And she warned Sherlock that he had three hours left.
After some digging, Sherlock discovered that the Prince siblings supposedly didn't have good relationship, but nothing trustworthy was to be found; as it was mostly gossip sites.
It the home of Kenny Prince, John was getting acquainted with the Prince's cat and gathering information of just the opposite from Kenny himself, who claimed to have a very tight relationship with the late Connie. It was then John phoned Sherlock, letting him know he thought he was on to something.
Said Holmes arrived on the scene not minutes later, "disguised" as a camera man. It was a quick in and out interview so to speak, as Sherlock came waltzing in with his camera equipment, did his deducing, and the two left; leaving behind a baffled Kenny Prince. Once out on the road, John declared that Kenny must have murdered Connie by tetanus on the cat's claws. Connie Prince's body had cat scratches on it, so frankly it wasn't a bad deduction. But it wasn't right. In the mind-blowing-ly- (stop laughing at my made up word, Sherlock Holmes.) -brief minutes at the Prince house and the research he did at the flat, Sherlock determined that it was Raoul the houseboy who murdered Connie, because "Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so he did away with her." (Sherlock insisted I put in that direct quote. Really, who's book is this?!) Anyway, the murder was simple as that.
With nothing but an hour to go, the boys back tracked to Scotland Yard with the proof needed to pin Raoul de Santos. Apparently, it was via the Botox injections that, among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie. Sherlock's contact at the Home Office gave him the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases. He'd been bulk ordering Botox for months, bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock was sitting at Lestrade's desk with a laptop opened to The Science of Deduction. John and Lestrade stood on either side of him while Sherlock typed into the message box: