Sherlock grabbed his pistol from my kitchen table. I realized that I had slept with that thing pointed at my head. He loaded it, and got it ready to fire, if necessary. He then, warily, opened the door.
The man who had rung the doorbell was short and round. His greasy black hair was neatly combed, but there really wasn't much to comb. He wore a plain gray tee shirt, and normal, faded jeans. He had a black jacket on over his gray tee shirt. Really didn't look like some one who I'd expect a murderer to send.
Sherlock had his pistol hidden behind his back. He didn't want to get the poor man alarmed let the man know about his surprise attack.
"Hello, sir." the man said, "I've come because of the ad you put in this morning's paper. About the-"
"Yes, come in." Sherlock said, a huge, friendly smile on his face. You don't see that every day.
"No, I'm in a huge hurry-" the man started.
"No, I insist!" Sherlock said. "Let me treat you to a cup of tea!"
"Well, alright." the man said, stepping into my flat.
Sherlock turned, so that the man wouldn't see his gun. And then, just as the man was complimenting on the color of wood the floor was, Sherlock hit him on the back of his head with the gun. Sherlock is a very considerate person, he is.
As the man was lying unconscious on the floor, Sherlock started thinking aloud.
"His hands have coffee stains on them, he probably works at a coffee shop, and look, here's a phone number in his pocket." he reached down and pulled the slip of paper from the man's jacket's pocket. "Obviously not a woman's handwriting, a woman would have been more careful to make her writing less sloppy. And also, what woman would give this man her number? No, this is a man's handwriting, and also the man who wrote this was obviously in a hurry. He probably bribed this man," Sherlock gestured to the unconscious man on the floor, "with money, or maybe even threatened him, to come here and pick up this." Sherlock pulled out a small, leather notebook, "for him. This number was probably supposed to be memorized and burned, but . . . well, you see him. No way he could memorize a 10 digit number. So, of course, he had to carry it with him so that he could call the man once he had collected the notebook."
"So we call this number, and find out who it is?" I asked.
"No, of course not." Sherlock replied, looking at me like I was an idiot. "I already know who it is. It's the actor. A banker wouldn't trust a coffee shop clerk - or whatever their title is - to go pick up an item that can prove that they are guilty of murder. Murders to be exact. But an actor who is low on money would trust whoever it takes to get it back, as long as he doesn't have to pay much. Coffee shop clerk? Wouldn't have to pay much at all." Sherlock was already typing out a text. "Do you have any duct tape? I'd like to have this man ready for questioning whenever Lestrade shows up, and he's starting to wake up."
"Um . . . yeah. It's pink, but yeah."
"The color doesn't matter." Sherlock replied, "As long as it will keep him from trying to escape, it'll work."
Ten minutes later, I had a coffee shop clerk who was covered in pink duct tape laying on my kitchen floor. I thought it was a bit weird, but Sherlock sort of just ignored the dude. I tried to do that, but I kept staring at him. Especially once he gained consciousness, and was squirming around.
A few moments after the man decided that there was no way that he was going to get out of the dict tape, and finally stopped squirming, the doorbell rang again.
"Oh, that's John." Sherlock called from my living room. He was sending out a lot of texts, telling everyone in Scotland Yard, 'connecting the dots for them', as he called it.
I opened the door for Sherlock's room mate. He said "Hi." and then walked past the pink duct tape mummy, into my living room. I think that I was the only person who thought that was weird.
"So you're sure it was the actor?" John asked Sherlock, who was texting away. He might have been writing a novel on that phone, because he'd been typing for several minutes now.
"Of course I'm sure." Sherlock said, "Why?"
"Nothing. I just thought that the banker seemed more . . . I don't know. Suspicious?"
"You can't sentence some one to jail just because they are suspicious, John. If that was the case, I'd be rotting in jail by now."
"Well, yeah. But how can you-"
"I texted you my answer. You know how I knew. Now we just wait for Lestrade to come and arrest this guy, and get the actor's location out of him." Sherlock slipped his keyboard in, so he had obviously finished his novel of a text. "He should be here in." he checked the time on his watch. "Seven minutes."
Seven minutes later, I heard police car sirens, and the doorbell rang. Sherlock hopped up out of the chair he was sitting in, and went to answer the door, stepping over the man covered in pink duct tape. A gray haired, nice looking man entered the room. He wore a blueish black coat on over a orange and brown plaid shirt. His pants were brown.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade, this is Bridget." Sherlock introduced me, "Bridget, Detective Inspector."
"Hello." DI Lestrade shook my hand. Then he turned to the man wrapped in duct tape. "So this is the man who you said will lead us to our killer?"
"Yes." Sherlock said, "The actor either paid or threatened him to come here. Here's the phone number I found in his pocket." he handed the Lestrade the slip of paper that he had found earlier. "If you can't get him to talk, this might be able to tell you where he is."
"Thanks." Lestrade said. I noticed several policemen trying to lift the man who I had covered with the pink duct tape. They were probably trying to get him into the police car. After a few moments they finally got him up, and out the door. Lestrade followed him out.
"Well," Sherlock said, "That's done. Thanks for letting me use your flat, Bridget."
"Oh, no problem." I said, "It's fine. Come over and slap henchmen any time you like."
Sherlock chuckled that deep chuckle of his. "Well, I need to get back to 221B, but again, thanks."
"See you later." I said.
"Um, bye!" John said, following Sherlock out. I waved back at him, wondering how long it would be before Sherlock got called up on another case.
