The Laws of Attraction - The Blind Banker

The Blind Banker

     Water sloshed up Leanna's arms as she stood at the sink in the flat above hers, washing the dishes of Sherlock and John. Sherlock stood at the fireplace- above which was pinned all his clues- as Leanna vigorously scrubbed the congealed grime from the plates in the other room. Neither of them spoke, just the splashing of soapy water to fill the silence.

     Suddenly, the front door slammed shut downstairs. The thudding on the stairs grew louder until John finally entered the flat. Leanna couldn't help but notice how miffed he looked.

     "Where've you been?" She asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

     "Well, you know, custody sergeants don't like to be rushed, do they?" He was obviously annoyed, staring at Sherlock as if he wished to slap him- this was nothing new.

     "Custody?" Leanna asked, ceasing her aggressive scrubbing as her interest peaked.

     "Fingerprints, charge sheets, and I've got to be in magistrate's court on Tuesday. Me, Sherlock. In court, on Tuesday- they're giving me as ASBO!"

     "Good. Fine." Sherlock replied absently.

     "Fine?" Leanna repeated frustratedly. She dried her hands on a dish towel and joined them.

     "You can tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up anytime."

     "Who are we talking about? What happened?" She asked, her arms folded and her brows raised. She, as usual, was ignored.

     "The symbol- I still can't place it." Sherlock gave a frustrated huff as he slammed the book in his hands shut. John walked into the flat, taking off his jacket, but Sherlock stopped him.

     "No, I need you to go to the police station to ask about the journalist. Get hold of his diary, or something that would tell us of his movements."

     "I'll go with you." Leanna suggested, grabbing her coat. She trailed after the two of them as they went out to the streets.

     "If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide." Sherlock continued, starting down the street.

     "I guess that means we'll see you later," she muttered as John hailed them a taxi. The cabbie flashed his blinker and pulled over to the curb, John directing him to Scotland Yard before climbing in.

     "So," Leanna began, now that things had quieted, "what happened today?" John sighed heavily, as if he'd rather not remember.

     "Sherlock met some kid to ask about paint, the paint on the picture at the bank. Police showed up and they both ran, leaving me holding the spray paint."

     Leanna shook her head as John recounted, marveling at the thickness of such an intelligent man. Then, she started to laugh.

     "What?" John asked, confusedly and offended. "It's not funny."

     "No, it isn't." Leanna replied, still chuckling. Slowly, a smile spread across John's lips, and he began to laugh as well. Suddenly, her mobile dinged, and she stopped laughing.

     "Who's that?" John asked.

     "Sherlock," she told him, her brow furrowing as she read the message.

-Van Coon delivered a package to

Piccadilly the day he died S.H 5:23 P.M

5:24 P.M I'm not texting you, Sherlock. -