The Ballad of Mona Lisa

Chapter 2- It's On

Sherlock arrived at the scene in 8 minutes, as he was a bit anxious. Lestrade showed up just as Sherlock was surveying the display before him.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Lestrade asked, walking up to where Sherlock stood. It was obvious that Lestrade was bewildered at Sherlock beating him back to the crime scene... Well, obvious to Sherlock.

"Anxious," was all Sherlock said, already focused on the case before him.

They were in the bedroom of someone's house in the rich side of town, with all the big houses. Art theft. Maid knocked out from behind. Doors and windows locked from the inside; never unlocked or opened. This was the part that baffled Scotland Yard and intrigued Sherlock. This had happened several times before, and each time it upgraded to something more serious. Lestrade was worried that they'd never catch the culprit. Who knows where they'd strike next?

So far, no one had been killed during these heists, but who knows how long that would last? Police were anxious to catch the mastermind behind this, and Sherlock couldn't wait to play along. He scanned the room quickly with his eyes, seeing things no one else could see... Well, things other people overlooked is more accurate.

A vase that had been moved, missing earrings and necklace from the dresser, tear in the rug by the closet door, things like that. Nothing new to Sherlock, he always saw those kinds of things.

"Anything?" Lestrade asked him as he continued to scan the room, noticing slight imprints in the carpet by the bed and that the curtains over the window had been tampered with recently.

"Not in the slightest," Sherlock lied.

Lestrade was merely a distraction at this point and Sherlock had to be rid of him. He would wait to tell Lestrade of anything when he was more sure. He had about 7 ideas of how it was done, but he wanted to narrow it down further.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, someone to yell at, or whatever it is you do when I'm not around?" Sherlock said rudely, turning stiffly to the man beside him. Lestrade merely cleared his throat and walked away. He had learned it was best not to argue with Sherlock. He saw everyone's secrets.

When he was completely alone, Sherlock walked quickly to the closet and opened the door. He peered inside.

Nothing.

He looked closer at the tear in the rug.

Useless.

He skimmed over the missing jewelry and checked out the vase that had been moved.

Boring.

He moved on to the curtains that had been tampered with. He studied them closely, sniffed them, and looked all around them.

Woman's perfume:
Secret Wonderland
Very expensive and classy.

He walked over to the bed and got down on his knees to examine the imprinted carpet closer.

Woman's dress shoes.
Size 9 1/2.
3 inch heels.
Approximately 109 pounds, judging by the depth of the imprint, no... 112.

Sherlock glanced beneath the bed, already knowing there would be nothing there. He turned his attention to the fabric hanging above the bed. He stood up and sniffed the fabric that hung low near the imprints in the carpet. He sniffed again to be sure.

Shampoo:
Everlasting Sunshine

He then aligned his feet with the imprints in the carpet. When he looked up he caught a glimpse of something through the window opposite.

Weird. The curtains on the other window were shut. What's so significant about this window?

Sherlock stooped until he got a good look through the window.

The woman was 5' 5".
5' 8" with her shoes on.

A large tree was just across the lawn outside. That was unimportant and boring. What caught Sherlock's attention was a glint of something shiny, probably metal, that seemed to be situated in the middle of the tree. He peered closer at the tree and saw movement, barely noticeable. His eyes widened when he realized what it was and he dropped to the floor just as the windowpane was shattered by a bullet, causing glass to fly everywhere.

"Always the window," he hissed to himself.

As soon as the glass settled Sherlock was up. He jumped over the bed with the skill of a hurdler and peered out of the broken window, unaware of the potential danger. He watched as the shooter got into a black SUV and sped away.

Why is it always a black SUV? Don't they have any other kind of car at their disposal?

He quickly ruffled his hair with his hands, brushing the glass out. Shards of glass fell to the floor with little tinkling sounds as they crashed together.

Oh, it's on.