Fate Without Time

Chapter 20

Once we were sure that Mycroft couldn't hear us, John turned to Sherlock. "Why did you lie? You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" he asked. Sherlock shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?" asked Sherlock. "Oh! Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere," said John. "And it's a very bad sibling rivalry at that," I said. Before Sherlock could deny anything, the phone rang. He quickly put his bow down and answered it. "Sherlock Holmes," he paused as he let the person on the other line speak. Judging by the amount of time, it must have been Lestrade with a case. "Of course. How could I refuse?" he asked. Then, Sherlock ended the call and stood up. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" he asked us. "Of course I am. But I'm going to need to change out the ice in my pack and get something to hold it in place on my neck," I said. "I know. I've got it taken care of," he said as he took the ice pack off my neck, refilled the bag, put the pack back on my neck, and covered it with two layers of bandages, handing me a spare roll to carry with me for my hand. "Thanks," I said. "No problem. What about you, John? Are you coming?" asked Sherlock. "If you want me to," said John. "Of course," said Sherlock as he picked up his coat. "We'd be lost without our blogger," I said as we left the flat.

Once the taxi arrived at Scotland Yard, we followed Inspector Lestrade across the general office towards his office. "What happened to your neck, Alis?" asked Lestrade. "The accident back at the flat gave me a minor case of whiplash. I also sprained my left hand," I said. "Oh. Well, you and Sherlock look fine," he said. "Thank you," I said. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones," said Lestrade as we walked. "Obviously," said Sherlock. "You'll love this. That explosion ..." "Gas leak, yes?" asked Sherlock, briefly exchanging glances with Sergeant Donovan as we walked past her desk. "No," said Lestrade. "No?" I repeated. "No. Made to look like one," said Lestrade. "What?" asked John as we walked into Lestrade's office. "Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box – and inside it was this," said Lestrade, pointing to the envelope that Sherlock and I were looking at. "You haven't opened it?" asked Sherlock. "It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped," said Lestrade as I hesitantly reached for the envelope. "How reassuring!" I said as I handed the envelope to Sherlock. "Nice stationery. Bohemian," he said. "What?" asked Lestrade. "From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" asked Sherlock. "No," said Lestrade. I looked at the writing on the envelope very closely before I made my deductions. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib," I said. ""She"?" John repeated. "Obviously," said Sherlock. "Obviously!" John said sarcastically. Then, Sherlock got a letter opener and opened the envelope, taking out a pink iPhone. Even I was shocked. "But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone," I said. "What, from the Study in Pink?" asked Lestrade. "Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ..." Sherlock stopped as we turned to Lestrade. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?" I asked. "Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" asked Lestrade. Sally snickered very loudly, and Sherlock glared at her. "It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new," I deduced. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership," Sherlock added as he switched on the phone. "You have one new message," said the voice alert. But when the message played, there was no voice. Just the unmistakable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal. Even I knew it, and I was from America. "Is that it?" asked John. "No. That's not it," said Sherlock. A photograph had also been uploaded to the phone. Sherlock opened the file and Lestrade and I came across to look over his shoulder. The picture was of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper was peeling and there was a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror – the type which is usually hung up above a fireplace – was standing on the mantelpiece. "What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade exclaimed. "It's a warning," said Sherlock. "A warning?" John repeated. "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again," I said. After Sherlock briefly brandished the phone at everyone else, we started to leave the office. "And I've seen this place before," said Sherlock. "H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" asked John as he followed us. "Boom!" I said, holding my hands up dramatically. Then, the three of us and Lestrade left Scotland Yard and called a taxi.

Once the taxi pulled up in front of 221, we got out and waited for Sherlock to unlock the door. He led the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs. Hudson's front door. But just as he reached it, he stopped and turned to the left where there was another door that led to a basement flat. It is labeled "221c". Sherlock turned his head and called out loudly at our landlady's front door. "Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled. Shortly after that, Mrs. Hudson emerged from 221A and handed Sherlock a set of keys. Then, he began to unlock the door. "You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat," said Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock was looking closely at the door's keyhole. "The door's been opened recently," he said. "No, can't be. That's the only key," said Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock removed the padlock and put a different key into the keyhole. "I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements," she said. "Probably so," I said. Once Sherlock got the door open, the four of us immediately went inside while Mrs. Hudson was still rambling on.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I slowly pushed the door to the living room and we walked inside. The room looked exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there was a pair of trainers placed neatly side by side in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. "Shoes," I said, a little confused. Sherlock started to walk towards the shoes but John stopped him. "He's a bomber, remember," said John. Keeping that in mind, Sherlock and I approached the shoes more carefully and crouched down beside them. But just as we were about to start examining them, a phone rang. Sherlock took out the pink iPhone from his pocket and the two of us looked at the caller I.D. It was a blocked number. Intrigued, Sherlock answered the call, putting it on speaker and held the phone a few inches in front of his mouth. "Hello?" he asked. "H-hello ... sexy," said a woman. She was sobbing. "Who is this?" he asked. "I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi," said the woman. "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" I asked. "I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out," said the woman as she sobbed again. "The curtain rises," Sherlock said softly. "What?" asked John. "Nothing," said Sherlock. "No, what did you mean?" asked John. "I've been expecting this for some time," said Sherlock. "Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock and Alissandra ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty," she said. Then, the phone went dead, leaving me in shock. Alissandra was my real name. "Who is Alissandra?" asked Sherlock. "I am. That's my real name. Alis is a nickname," I said. "How could she know your real name?" asked John. "That woman was reading off of something, just like she said. So whoever was typing must know about Alis," said Sherlock. "How in the world is that possible?" I asked. "I have no idea. And that scares me. Alis, from now on, I am not leaving you out of my sight," said Sherlock. "Understood," I said. Then, we left 221c and got a taxi.