Sherlock: His Enigma Called A

The Museum Scheme

"They're planning to break into the Museum!?" Adelaide blurted out.

"Think, Adelaide. The poacher is a collector- it is quite plausible that they are simply branching out. It is also possible that they plan to break into a different museum."

"But... but we're the only museum hosting such a large event this month."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Mmm," Sherlock turned to face her, "When is the Gala?"

"It's in another week."

He tapped his fingers together, "Who will be attending?"

"Oh, scientists and experts from the museum and around the world. As well as sponsors and others who want to show their support."

"A perfect cover."

"What?"

"Our poacher could easily get in as a guest. They might even be one of the scientists since we can't figure out exactly who they are."

"And by the time we might, they could have already robbed the museum." She said lowly.

"No need to worry. I'll make sure nothing leaves the museum," Sherlock reassured, "I'll need to be there to catch them. And I'll need John's help, of course."

Adelaide thought for a moment, "I was given two tickets for guests. I was going to give them to my brother and a friend, but they're busy that night."

"Excellent. John and I will come to the Gala as your guests. I'll have the Yard put on alert," Sherlock hummed, "In the meantime, we need a roster of everyone who will be there that night- guest, museum staff or otherwise."

"I can try to get it but they don't give it out very easily."

"No need. I'll have Mycroft get it."

"Mycroft..?"

"My brother Mycroft Holmes- practically the British Government. He'll have no trouble getting the lists we need. Once we have those then we can background check everyone to determine who might be the poacher."

"That makes sense now." Adelaide commented. Missus Hudson popped back in with tea and biscuits, as Sherlock had promised.

"Case moving along then, dearies?" She asked as she poured two cuppas for them.

"Indeed. Adelaide's visit is proving most productive," Sherlock replied, accepting his cuppa from Missus Hudson. He looked back at the wall, "It's coming together now."

"Have you figured out who that poacher is?"

"No, but we're very close. Adelaide provided critical information that will help bring down the poacher at the Museum Gala."

Adelaide accepted her cuppa from the kindly landlady, "Thank you, Missus Hudson."

"So exactly how did you two meet? It's not often Sherlock befriends someone." She inquired, grinning to herself. Both nearly choked on the hot tea, though Sherlock quickly recovered.

"We met over text." He answered after regaining his composure.

"Text?!"

"Yes. It was a wrong number text and she was so intriguing that we continued conversing." Sherlock explained. He gave the landlady a look and she got the hint, picking up the tray again to return downstairs.

"Good luck with your case then. Enjoy your tea."

"Thank you, Missus Hudson." Adelaide replied and the elder lady vanished. Sherlock waited for her to finish the cuppa before speaking again.

"So, tell me. Exactly who is Jacob Powell?"

She jolted, "W-Well, why would you want to know?"

Despite himself he replied, "We've got to background check him as well. What do you know about him?"

"He's a Security Guard at the museum, and many times he works nights as well. Um,.. he's a nice guy and has a good sense of humor. Fun to be around- knows a lot about the museum from patrolling it every day."

Sherlock tsked, "He isn't the poacher, but he'll be useful. No one knows the museum like a security guard."

"I don't see why he wouldn't help us," Adelaide commented, "I could... call him and ask, if you'd like?"

"Yes, that would be good. Call him then." She nodded and walked back to her bad, retrieving her mobile and stepping out to contact Jacob. Sherlock's ghost of a smile faded immediately when she did.

If he was wrong, then perhaps the poacher was in fact Jacob Powell and Adelaide could be in deep trouble. The case would also be compromised. It is severely unlikely that he is the poacher. Don't let yourself get carried away.

Sherlock grunted to himself and turned back to the wall, dialing Mycroft. And don't let Mycroft figure out what's going on either.

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