As promised, Lestrade explained the situation of the hostage woman to Sherlock and John with Cora close by, filing away all the reports. While Sherlock asked questions, John got a chance to sneak a look at the cabinet and found hers, reserved later for her blog.
Filing Report-
Skye, Petrichor
11/8/10
A civilian woman by the name of Margery Thatchwood, 46, was taken hostage, forced to drive to a parking lot and rigged with enough explosives to set off a house. The victim was given a pager and told if she deviated from one word an invisible sniper would shoot. She is currently recovering in the Coronal hospital, suffering from shock and severe stress. It was quite fun, er, informative to hear her tell all of it once she was a bit better…it’s ever so much more useful when the victim has just gotten off first hand. Investigation of antagonist still ongoing…it sounds like some sort of fairy story. Or course Anderson and the rest don’t see it the same way, but I think Sherlock does, a little, though he’d hate the drama. Seriously, though, since when have I cared about the general public’s opinions, but I digress. Her husband James Thatchwood picked her up and she appears to be in good health, simply in need of a long rest and possible later questioning.
John grinned when he had finished reading the last bit…it was certainly accurate if not strictly to the point. But in all fairness, Petrichor’s best skills were not useful in a cubicle filing papers, but outside running around with them. A third wheel though he might suppose himself, John knew that at least she cared about him…him and Sherlock both. That was more than his own family could say, and probably Sherlock's too.
He turned around, hearing Sherlock commenting on the facts Cora had previously put down. “If she deviated from one word, they’d set her off,” he murmured.
“Or if you didn’t solve the case,” John added.
“Mm,” Sherlock nodded, pacing. “Elegant.”
John looked a bit put off “Elegant?”
“What was the point?” Lestrade wondered, holding up the papers through which he had been glancing. “I mean, why would anyone want to do this?”
“I suppose,” Petrichor’s voice made John jump; standing right behind him from where she had quietly come into the room. “Sherlock isn’t the only person who gets bored.”
“Yes, we noticed that particular emotion coming from you as well,” John noted, looking tired.
Suddenly Sherlock’s new phone beeped; pulling it out the electronic voice said, “You have-one-new voice message: beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeep.”
“Four pips,” John sat up straighter.
“First test passed, it would seem,” Cora smiled brightly.
“Yes, and here’s the second.” Sherlock showed a picture firstly to John, then Petrichor and Lestrade of a nice looking car with a rental tag on it.
“I’ll see if it’s been reported,” Lestrade nodded, picking up the phone on his desk.
The door opened, and Sally came through. “Freak,” she said pointedly, looking with distaste at Sherlock. “It’s for you.”
Sherlock took the proffered cellphone and went out into the hallway with it, Cora following close behind.
“Hello?” Sherlock asked in a low voice.
“It’s…okay that you’ve-gone to the police,” a young man’s crying voice answered, “but-don’t rely on them.”
Petrichor stood right next to him trying to listen; Sherlock moved away and she wrinkled her nose childishly and stepped closer again.
