Thanks to her little trip with the Doctor, Clara finally remembers everything that happened between her and Sherlock. After Sherlock gets a visit from a seemingly too friendly woman named Faith, Clara gets suspicious. Who is Faith? And, with Missy's...
"Good afternoon, Sherlock. Clara," Lestrade greets the duo as they approached the crime scene.
"Hello, Lestrade," Sherlock greets him.
"Greg," Clara smiles. Lestrade nods to her.
"So, Sherlock," Lestrade begins as Sherlock approaches the crime scene. The car is a 2004 Chevy, surrounded by yellow police tape. The body is still in the car. Sherlock opens the car door and leans in. "Him name was Howard Stewart, a farmer outside of Manchester. Came to London for an unknown reason, and the doctors say he died of an overdose." Lestrade continued.
"An overdose?" Sherlock paused from his deductions and turned to Lestrade. "An overdose of what?"
"Heroin," Lestrade says, and Sherlock turns back to examining the body.
The sound of heels on the pavement make Clara turn around. Irene Adler walks up to the crime scene, dressed in all black again, hair up, heels clicking on the wet, post-rain cement. Clara glared at her as she approached, loathe in her stare. Sherlock had gotten her to leave last night, but apparently, she was back again today. Clara feels herself shudder in annoyance.
Irene smiles on approach at the three of them Lestrade's face registers shock and confusion for a minute, but he quickly tries to hide it, not asking any questions about the woman. Clara diverts her eyes to Sherlock who is in the car in the seat next to the victim now, examining the body. He doesn't give Irene so much as a nod, Clara is relieved to notice.
"Hello, Sherlock," Irene grins. "I thought we were going to meet for tea this morning?" A flirt. Clara shoots a fierce glance at her, unable to still ignore her. Irene raises her eyebrows.
Sherlock continues as if Irene isn't even there. "Stewart's left arm has the puncture wound of a needle. One would think he committed suicide, but there are bruises around his wrist, like fingerprints, which leads to the assumption that someone forcefully injected the needle, giving him an overdose." Sherlock pauses, leaving everyone hanging on his words. He turns to Lestrade. "Lestrade, any record on how Stewart's crops have been doing?" he asks.
"The records say he's been losing crops for years now. The problem seems to be in the pesticides he'd been using."
Sherlock snaps. "Jacob Lawrence, a drug dealer. Specializes in pesticides as a side job. That's your man."
Irene's expression looks unsurprised and a little bored. Clara's look is concentrated and attentive; she's figuring out the case along with Sherlock.
"How?" Lestrade asks.
Clara cuts in. "Howard must've used Jacob's pesticides the previous year on his crops. Obviously, the crops died. Howard came to London to visit Jacob, to see if he had any other pesticides to use. He probably had been trying different pesticides for years, but to no avail, so he was desperate. But Jacob, being an addict himself, was anxious and paranoid, and he thought Howard was coming into town to harm him. So, naturally, Jacob got to him first. When he was least expecting it, with an overdose--making it look like a suicide."
"...Alright," Lestrade nods. "Jacob Lawrence. But how did you how him?" he turns to Sherlock. Irene and Clara looked his way as well.
"Well, an addict's got to know his dealer, naturally." An ache hit Clara's heart that showed in her eyes. She did her best to cover it up. Irene smirked at Clara's disposition from the corner of her eye. Seeing the hurt look in Clara's eyes, Sherlock adds, "He's also the only one who specializes in pesticides."
Clara's breath hitches and she turns away from Irene and Sherlock and to Lestrade to hide her face. "How've you been, Greg?" she asks, striking up a conversation to avoid Irene and Sherlock.
In Clara's absence, Irene turns to Sherlock, who tightens his scarf, leaving a lingering glance on Clara. "So, I was wondering," Irene asks, "If you'd like to get a drink after this."
Sherlock's full attention settles on Irene, his face and voice stern. "No, I wouldn't like to, Irene. And I don't appreciate you showing up now. I'm happy with Clara. I'm not interested."
The dominatrix sighs. "Alright, then. I'll stop by in a week to see if you've changed your mind. See you then," she turns on her heel and begins to walk away.
"No." Irene stops. "Don't stop by in a week. Don't stop by ever. Leave Clara and I alone, or I swear..."
The two exchange an intense stare. Finally, Irene says, "Alright then," and she turns and walks away, her heels clicking until she turns the corner and goes out of sight.
×××
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