Sophia Holmes and the Great Game (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Two - Carl Powers Part II

"We can't do any more here," dad says, beginning to pack the science equipment away. "We can finish up at Baker Street."

I nod in agreement and begin to tidy my things up before we make our way downstairs, carefully avoiding the morgue so we don't have to encounter the wrath of Molly Hooper again.

"So, Carl Powers - who is he?" John questions as we step into the back of the taxi.

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident," dad explains and shows him the cut-out he's kept on his phone, reporting the case. "You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But you remember," John states.

"Yes."

"Something fishy about it?"

"Nobody thought so – nobody except me," dad continues. "I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

John glances at me with disbelief. "Started young, didn't you?"

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late," dad remembers, and I recall the story he's told me many times about his first case - one he dredged up three years after the event during work experience at his local police station. "But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes," I answer quietly.

"What about them?" John questions.

"They weren't there," dad replies. "I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes." He leans down and picks up the bag containing the trainers. "Until now."

"What does that mean?" John asks.

"I presume it means his killer has decided to step into the limelight," I suggest. "Take his credit where it's due. That's what happened with the taxi driver - and Christan LaBelle."

"Possible, very possible," dad praises, then drifts into his mind palace as he begins to think.

"Christan the who?" John mutters quietly from beside me, and I roll my eyes at his ignorance.

"Christan LaBelle, one of the world's best thieves. Just last year she broke into the Louvre in Paris and went on a bit of a spree. I'm surprised you don't remember," I add, sarcastically.

"Why were you there?" John asks.

"What do you mean?" I say, acting innocent.

"Well you wouldn't be there if there wasn't a murder, it would be too 'dull'."

I smile proudly at him, then back down to my phone. "Correct," I answer. "Christan LaBelle was also a professional hacker and serial murderer. Was able to complete the burglary single-handedly by hacking into the system data on her phone and murdering a few security guards on her way. She was an extraordinary woman ... if you discount all her crimes."

John nods in understanding, but obviously wondering how I could admire a criminal. "How long have we got?" he asks, looking out of the window as we pull into Baker Street.

"Six hours," I reply without looking up, but I feel John stiffen beside me.

Dad and John open the door beside them and file out, but dad ducks back in before I can get out.

"Go to the library, find as many articles on Carl Powers that you can find. We'll be here when you're finished." I nod and rebuckle my seatbelt.

"Marylebone Library, please," I request, and the driver nods, setting off again. I know it's just around the corner, but speed is essential.