Contact High → Sherlock Holmes (BBC) [on hold]

{ three }

Sherlock opened a crate of books and handed a few to John. Sherlock ruffled his hair and sighed as he bent down and sorted through the crates of books. "So the numbers of the code, they're references?" John asked.

"To books," Sherlock explained, "Specific pages and specific words on the pages."

"Right," John said, catching on quickly, "So fifteen and one..."

"Turn to page fifteen and its the first word you read," Sherlock said simply.

John nodded, "Mm. So what's the message?"

Sherlock gave a half smile, "Depends on the book. That's the cunning of the book code." He turned his attention back to the stacks upon stacks of books in front of him, "It has to be one they both own."

John huffed a sigh and opened the lid to one of the crates, "Okay, well, this shouldn't take too long, should it?"

Inspector Dimmock walked into the flat and watched as they sorted books. "We found this at the museum. Is it your writing?" he held out the picture of the cipher that Sherlock had given Soo Lin the night before.

"Oh. We had hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us, before... Well, you know," John explained. He took the picture from the Inspector and laid it on the desk, where it was promptly covered with books. Inspector Dimmock shifted uncertainly in the middle of the room, "Is there anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean."

Sherlock threw a book to the floor and picked up another one, reading the spine. He barely glanced up at Dimmock, "Some silence right now would be marvelous."

John shook his head no as Dimmock swallowed his pride and left the flat. Sherlock grabbed a pair of books that both owned and looked on the fifteenth page and the first word. "Cigarette," he said, obviously disappointed. The odds were that that wasn't the book they needed.

Sherlock sat the books down next to John, who moved them to the other side of the table. They continued to run through the books. Sherlock looked in another pair of books, "Imagine." That wasn't likely either.

They continued through the night, until the sunlight streamed through the curtains. Sherlock ruffled his hair and groaned, even this much lack of sleep was bothering him. John's watch beeped; he looked at it and groaned. He should be waking up right now...

Sherlock watched bemusedly as John left for work.

<>

Carmen woke in a hospital, which is never a good sign. She didn't hurt, but that was probably thanks to the morphine drip currently being pumped into her arm. Her leg was suspended in the air in front of her, encased in a thick white cast.

"Oh, no," she whispered. Her stomach sank as she realized what had happened. She had stepped out onto the street... The blaring horn, and then darkness. A nurse walked in the room and smiled at Carmen.

"You alright, dear?" she asked kindly.

Carmen gave her a tight smile, "Please, just tell me what my injuries are."

The woman patted her hand reassuringly, "Fractured leg and ankle. You've got three metal pins now. You're one lucky girl! That car got you good!"

"Th-three pins?" Carmen was shocked. How could the woman be so calm about this? It was the end of her career! There was no way she could dance again with three metal pins. She had known people who had quit after even a small screw in the knee.

"If you're lucky, you won't limp," the lady said cheerfully.

Carmen's temper flared as she ripped the IV out of her arm. She swung her leg out of the brace it was in and sat up in bed. The cast was itchy. The nurse was shocked as she watched Carmen throw her IV to the ground. "You can't do that!" the nurse exclaimed.