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

{ fourteen }

Sherlock was curled in his chair with Carmen half on the arm, half beside him. He had his coat on, pink phone in hand, watching the television. Carmen turned to Sherlock, "I'll bet you this last biscuit it's the blonde."

"No, no, no! Of course he's not the boys father, look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" Sherlock shouted, half at Carmen and half at the telly. She shrugged, "I guess we'll see, then." She waved the last biscuit in front of Sherlock and he glared at her.

John looked back at the two, "I knew it was dangerous."

"Hm?" Sherlock asked.

"Getting you two into crap telly," John said.

Carmen smacked Sherlock's arm, "I told you! I told you it was the blonde!" Sherlock groaned dramatically and watched as Carmen triumphantly munched on the biscuit. "I bet they botched the DNA test," Sherlock muttered. Carmen offered him half the biscuit. He shook his head. She waved it closer to his face. He sighed and took it, "Just to stop you from being annoying."

Carmen smiled and rolled her eyes. "Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, "Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood, again."

"You know I'm still waiting," John mumbled.

"Hm?" Sherlock asked.

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker," John said. Carmen bit her lip to keep from smiling, but a tiny laugh escaped her. Sherlock elbowed her in the ribs and she gasped.

"Didn't do either of you much good," Sherlock said stiffly.

"No," Carmen said sweetly, "But we aren't the world's only consulting detective."

Sherlock smiled at that, "True."

"I won't be in for tea," John said, standing and heading for the door, "I'm headed to Sarah's. Uh, milk, we need some milk."

"I'll get some," Sherlock mumbled.

John chuckled, "Really?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Why not?"

Carmen and Sherlock were quiet a moment in their shared seat. Carmen stretched and sighed, "Getting a bit late, Sherl, I'm headed home." Sherlock nodded without taking his eyes off the telly. "You aren't upset I was right were you?" Carmen asked worriedly. Sherlock shook his head, "Of course I knew it was the blonde... Just wanted you to win one for once."

Carmen chuckled, "You didn't know, you prick." She ruffled his hair and received a glare in turn. "Goodnight, consulting detective."

"Goodnight, ballerina," Sherlock mumbled.

Not anymore, her brain whispered. She pushed the thought out of her head and left the flat, headed home. Sherlock waited a moment until she was out on the street before grabbing his laptop from beside him. He opened it and typed a message to the bomber.

Found: The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The pool. Midnight.

He hit send, and he waited.

<>

Sherlock walked by the pool with the missile plans in his hand. It was midnight exactly. He looked around the large room, searching for movement. "Brought you a little getting to know you present," Sherlock said to the empty room. He held up the plans temptingly. "That's what it's all been for, isn't it?" Sherlock said deeply, "All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this."