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

Chapter Eleven - The Bruce-Partington Programme Part III

I don't mention to John that we've already covered everything of importance as we head over to Andrew West's house, believing it's better to let him believe he has the lead on this case rather than prove him otherwise.

Lucy opens the door as we arrive, her eyes raw from crying again. She hasn't put any makeup on, and her hair looks as though it's missed a few washes. The news is obviously beginning to sink in now.

"Oh, hello," she says, supporting herself on the door. Her eyes pass over me, so I assume with all the other visitors she's received recently that she has forgotten me.

"Hi, Miss Harrison?" John asks, and she nods. "I'm John Watson, and this is Sophia Holmes. Yeah, it's about your fiance. We've come to ask you a few questions about him, is that alright?"

"Yeah, sure," she says, directing us in. She wipes her nose on a tissue before slipping it back into her pocket. "Um, do you want tea?"

"Yes, please," John replies.

"Coffee for me, white, two sugars." John looks at me in disapproval, but I brush it off and take a seat in the living room.

"So, what do you think?" John asks me as Lucy busies herself in the kitchen.

"Believes strongly that he's been murdered, and hasn't been able to get to sleep since that fateful night. Worried sick that the murderer will come back. Not associated with the murder." I quickfire softly.

John nods in understanding and smiles gratefully as Salmons comes back in with two mugs which she places on the coffee table opposite. She doesn't go back out into the kitchen for her own mug, leading me to believe she's fallen into some kind of depression-based starvation period.

Lucy Harrison sits down at the other end of the sofa and lets her hair dangle limply at either side of her face.

"I'm sorry," John begins softly, "about the death of your fiance."

Lucy nods in response but doesn't say anything more. "Do you know why Andrew may have taken his life the other night?"

"Could it be, perhaps, related to his job?" I ask, butting in. "He worked at MI6, didn't he? Perhaps he took something, sold it, and then jumped in front of a train before he could get caught." I'm covering old ground again by going over the same things we talked about on my last visit. She's had time to think on it since, so maybe she's remembered something.

John frowns at me again for my insensitivity. "We think he may have taken this ...." he hesitates for a moment and looks over to me for an unspoken permission slip to continue, which I grant, "memory stick. He was supposed to be working on it around the time of his death. We have reason to believe he may have taken it." Harrison looks up at us, disgusted.

"He wouldn't," she protests, beginning to sob again. "He just wouldn't."

"Well, stranger things have happened," John consoles gently.

"Westie wasn't a traitor," she continues, looking at me. "It's a horrible thing to say!"

"I'm sorry, but you must understand that's ..." John tries before I can say anything.

"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?"

"He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts ..." I reel off, counting on my fingers the problems, and trying the tactic dad did with Mrs Monkford - the contradiction.

"Everyone's got debts; and Westie wouldn't wanna clear them by selling out his country," she continues to protest.

"Can you, um, can you tell me exactly what happened that night?" John asks tentatively, trying to diffuse the growing tension.

"We were having a night in, just watching a DVD," she recalls, and her frown softens as she smiles. "He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet." She becomes tearful again, and I struggle not to look away in irritation. "Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone."

"And you've no idea who?" I question.

Lucy shakes her head and begins to cry again.

John reaches out and puts a comforting hand on her back whilst I look around at the pictures. There are photos of the couple together in the mountains and in various places around Asia, but nothing much of significance.

John seems to feel like it's time to go, and he takes his hand off of her back to stand up, looking over to me to ensure I've collected everything I need.

I nod in return, and Lucy gets up, beginning to direct us towards the door, past the untouched mugs.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of much more help," she apologises, wiping her tears away as we get to the door. "I don't know much about his job, but I know Westie. He wouldn't do anything like that." She opens the door and shows us out, but a cyclist comes over and blocks our exit.

"Oh, hi, Luce," he says, and I recognise him from one of the photos. Probably her brother. "You okay, love?"

"Yeah," she lies.

"Who's this?" he asks, jerking his head towards us, without looking at us.

He's wearing a large black messenger bag, which, although he's been careful to hide it, has left behind traces of white powder - recognisably cocaine.

Looking at him, I can't see the bloodshot red eyes or the shaking which signifies either taking the drugs or suffering from withdrawals, which points to him being a dealer.

My eyes narrow. If West found out about what his future brother-in-law does for a living, that could be motivation for his murder. Or Lucy's brother has debts of his own that he thought he could settle by selling the memory stick through his contacts.

"John Watson and Sophia Holmes," John says uncomfortably, picking up on the brother's hostility towards us. "Hi."

"This is my brother, Joe," Lucy introduces and I allow myself to smile at my accuracy as she turns back to Joe. "They're trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."

"You with the police?" Joe asks gruffly, looking us up and down. His confidence masks his wariness.

"Uh, sort of, yeah," John agrees, at the same time as I shake my head.

He looks at us in disbelief. "Well, tell 'em to get off their arses, will you?" he exclaims. "It's bloody ridiculous."

"We'll do our best," I promise, looking at him sternly.

He doesn't take much notice of me, but nods and places a consoling hand on Harrison's shoulder before wheeling his bike inside the house.

John clears his throat, announcing our final departure.

"Well, er, thanks very much for your help; and again, I'm very, very sorry," he apologises, and turns to leave, but Lucy calls after us.

"He didn't steal those things, Mr Watson." We turn back to her, not saying anything as she begins to cry. "I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man."

She turns and goes back indoors, and we start to walk towards the main road for a taxi whilst I think the brother over.