The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 34- Performance

 Emily's POV

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"The route planner definitely led to this place?" asks John, sceptical, looking up at the building in front of us.

It's all glass; sleek, dark panels curving upwards to a point, the windows lit internally. There's no-one milling outside, with the exception of the numerous security guards, clad in identically severe attire.

I didn't think a building could be this intimidating.

"This is it," I say, looking down at my phone. "It has to be."

"Right. Well, let's get this over with."

I nod, and pocket my phone. As we near the entrance, I see the security members begin to tense, speaking hurriedly into their mouthpieces. As a trio, we certainly don't look like the typical clientele; we're all bedraggled from lack of sleep, Sherlock in his long coat, me in my creased jeans, and John in his frayed jumper. We're attracting a lot of unwanted attention.

"Sherlock," says John, looking nervously at the guards as they watch us walk. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

Sherlock takes off his glove, and reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a card holder. He holds it up to John, wordlessly. John sighs:

"Again? Are you sure this is going to work?"

"Again? Yes. Am I sure it will work? Not at all."

"Reassuring."

I have no idea what they're talking about, and the confusion must register on my face, because John beckons me over-

"Just watch. I'll explain later."

As we approach the desk, Sherlock straightens his stature. The receptionist raises an eyebrow, glancing briefly over the top of her glasses at the security guards, who've diligently followed us into the building.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm looking for Millie Shon."

"I can't disclose that information, sir," she says, her tone curtly suspicious.

Sherlock drums his fingers impatiently on the glass desk:

"Have you or have you not checked her into your system?"

"Who are you?"

I can sense the guards begin to advance behind us.

I'm preparing to bolt, and, judging by John's expression, I think he is too. But Sherlock looks unaffected, and he passes over the card. The woman takes it gingerly between manicured nails, and examines it dubiously, before scanning it into her computer.

"Sherlock-" hisses John, but he's cut off by a sharp elbow in the ribs.

"Oh," says the receptionist, looking at the screen and then back at Sherlock. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes, I didn't mean any disrespect. It's a security measure, that's all. Who was it you wanted information on? Shon?"

Sherlock nods tersely, and the woman begins tapping away at the keyboard, a dull flush in her cheeks. John breathes out, relieved, but I'm still hopelessly lost as to what's going on. Surely Sherlock doesn't hold enough power to access private information that easily?

"I don't have any recent records detailing a Shon, I'm afraid."

"But you have security footage, I presume?"

The woman falters, then nods her head, slowly:

"Yes... of course. Come this way, Mr. Holmes-"

"Mycroft, please," says Sherlock. He's audacious enough to smirk.