Fate Without Time

Chapter 37

Later, me, Sherlock, and Miss Wenceslas were sitting side by side in front of Lestrade's desk at New Scotland Yard. The inspector was sitting in a chair to the side of the desk. Sherlock had his hands in the prayer position under his chin. "You know, it's interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?" asked Sherlock. Miss Wenceslas looked down and didn't answer. "What are we looking at, Inspector?" I asked. "Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats ..." "I didn't know anything about that! All those things! Please believe me," said Miss Wenceslas in a panicked voice. As she continued to stare at Lestrade, Sherlock gave him a tiny nod to confirm that she was telling the truth. "I just wanted my share – the thirty million," Miss Wenceslas paused as she looked across to Sherlock, and then proceeded to lower her head again. "I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone," she said. "Hm!" Sherlock said sarcastically. "Well, nearly anyone," she paused as she turned back to Lestrade. "But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame," she said. "Who?" I asked. "I don't know," she said. Lestrade gave a disbelieving laugh. "It's true! I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people...his people," she said. Sherlock and I slowly began to sit up in our chairs, our expressions becoming more concentrated. "Well, there was never any real contact; just messages... whispers," she said. "And did those whispers have a name?" I asked. "Moriarty," she said. Of course. Who else?

The next place we ended up was at Battersea, the exact location where Andrew West's body was found. Sherlock and I were investigating the tracks when John walked towards us. "Right: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he? There's no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?" asked John. "Points," I said, gesturing to the tracks. Beside John, the points changed and a set of the tracks slid sideways into a new layout. "Yes!" said John as he sprung up to his feet and turned around to see us standing behind him. "Knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood," said Sherlock. "How long have you two been following me?" asked John. "Since the start," I said. "You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?" asked Sherlock as we turned and walked away. "Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do," I said.

"The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service," said Sherlock as we were walking the street to our next location. "Yeah, I know. I've met them," said John. "Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it," I said. "My money's on the latter. We're here," said Sherlock. "Where?" asked John. Sherlock and I turned into the drive of a maisonette and trotted up the steps at the side of the building which led to the front door of flat 21A on the first floor. As he rummaged in his pocket, John whispered to us urgently. "Hey! What if there's someone in?" he asked. "There isn't," I said as I picked the lock and we went inside. "Jesus!" John said softly as he hurried inside and shut the door. Sherlock and I trotted up the short flight of stairs ahead of us and walked into the living room. "Where are we?" asked John. "Oh, sorry, didn't we say? Joe Harrison's flat," said Sherlock. "Joe...?" John repeated, obviously confused. "Brother of West's fiancée," I said as Sherlock was looking out the window. "He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law," said Sherlock, beginning to examine the edge of the window. "Then why'd he do it?" asked John. We were interrupted by the sound of someone unlocking the front door. "Let's ask him," I said. Reaching round to the back of his jeans, John walked quietly to the door of the living room as the front door slammed. He stepped out onto the landing just as Joe, wearing his courier gear, was leaning his bicycle against the wall. When he sees John he picked up the bike as if he intended to use it as a weapon or simply to throw it at him. John instantly raised his right hand and pointed his pistol at him. "Don't," John said sternly. For a moment Joe kept coming but John shook his head. "Don't," he repeated. Joe stopped and lowered the bike, sighing in a mixture of frustration and fear.

Shortly afterwards, Joe was sitting on the sofa while the three of us stood nearby. He clearly looked very distressed. "It wasn't meant to ..." Joe trailed off. Sherlock and I looked away, both of us feeling very exasperated. "God. What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus," said Joe as he sunk back on the sofa. "Why did you kill him?" asked John. "It was an accident," said Joe. Sherlock let out a snort. "I swear it was," said Joe. "But stealing the plans for the missile defense program wasn't an accident, was it?" I asked sternly. "I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew," said Joe. "What happened?" asked John. "I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late. I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking," said Joe. "When a neat little idea popped into your head," I said as I pushed the net curtain side and looked out the window. "Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved," said Sherlock. "And points," John added. "Exactly," said Sherlock and I. "D'you still have it, then? The memory stick?" asked John. Joe nodded. "Fetch it for us – if you wouldn't mind," said Sherlock. Sighing unhappily, Joe stood up and walked into another room. Sherlock and I walked closer to John. "Distraction over, the game continues," Sherlock said quietly. "Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber," said John. "Five pips, remember, John? It's a countdown. We've only had four," I said. Suddenly, I got a sharp pain in my neck. God, I was way too tense. Sherlock obviously noticed. "You seem tense," he said. "I'm way too stressed," I said. "Go take a walk. John and I will take care of this," he said. I turned to John, who nodded. "Thanks, you two," I said as I left and went to take my walk.