Elephant's Memory (Sherlock BBC)

3: Crest

"Tea, anyone?" Clara asked as they stepped through the front door of her home.

"No."

"Please." John said, remembering that he had accidentally left the water boiling back at Baker Street. He texted Mrs. Hudson, and then both men followed her as she moved her hand towards the staircase.

"Follow me." Sherlock looked around the hall, absorbing every detail of the house. It was open and airy, with classic Victorian features with the lofty ceilings and pillars. All the walls had been painted white, and Sherlock was shocked at the amount of carefully covered up scuffs in the wooden floor. Original flooring from the mid to late 19th century. The old house was filled with light, from curving panes of glass above them.

Her black high heels clicked across the floor as she led them upstairs, hand clutching an ornate railing.

"May I have a look around?" he asked incredulously.

"If you please, Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock; call me Sherlock."

"If you please, Sherlock." he grinned at her slyly and dashed around the corridor the stairs led up to. He found a small girl's room, filled with odd bottles of different herbs and reeked of burned sage and sweet grass, first; he supposed that this was the psychic's room. Or supposed psychic, anyway; Sherlock didn't believe in things like that. The room next to that featured two beds and bookcases, one filled with quantum physics books and the other with mathematical journals. The twin prodigies's room without a doubt. The next room was reasonably dry and barren, except for the fact that everything was black. The girl whose parents committed suicide, He thought. The next room he came to was a small room that was painted a light grey and had psychological posters plastered everywhere. Therapist's room, he mused, and then left in a hurry to the room at the end of the hall.

This one was a brilliant white, and had a set of french doors in the back, which Holmes deduced led to a small balcony. All of the furniture was black, even the vanity in the corner that appeared to be original to the house. A tumble of pale, transparent curtains hung in a neat rectangle around the bed, in a way that would hide the occupant from view. He thought this might be Clara's room, but he couldn't tell very easily; the room was so clean that it was almost frightening. He glanced at the vanity and his suspicions were confimed. On the table was a bottle of Imperial Magesty, the most expensive perfume in the world. The diamond in the bottle glittered in the light of the setting sun, and before he could help himself, he had pulled off the cap and taken an inhale of the contents to memorize it. There was very little of it used, but the bottle was about three years old. Only used for special occasions, then.

"Careful with that, Mr. Holmes. The bottle alone is worth around a hundred and thirty thousand quid." Clara said smoothly, heels clacking against the dark wood.

"Just trying to remember it." he replied, setting the bottle down on the table. "A gift, then?"

"Yes. There were only ten made for women, you know, and ten for men. It was my present for my thirtieth birthday, two years ago. The CEO of my parent's company had apparrently been saving it." she said, smirking at the huge, ridiculously expensive bottle of perfume.

"And you leave it out on your vanity?" She gave him a funny sort of smile.

"I assumed that my security system was impregnable, and I trust my staff."

"Clearly you should do neither." Sherlock replied.

"You're not wrong. You're not right either, but you're not wrong. I should probably have this put in my safe deposit box." she mused. patting the crystal top. "But I do love using it for special occasions." Sherlock smiled at her, before his mind returned to the case.