Sophia Holmes and the Sign of Three (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Three - The Bloody Guardsman Part III

We sneak around the outside of the barracks and into the dressing room, very aware that if we're seen, we'll be shot on sight.

Fortunately, because it's still twenty five minutes before the next changeover, the room is empty but for six uniforms laid out ready for the next set of guards.

Dad peers outside to the parade ground where there are a few men marching about before grabbing one of the bearskin hats and going to the door. Realising what he's trying to do, I grab one of the other hats and follow him as he opens the door and swiftly drops into line behind six other guards marching back inside.

Fortunately, as we pass through the barracks, nobody notices our highly non-regulation Belstaff coats, and dad and I drop off as we reach the main entrance, taking off the hats and leaving them by the door as dad ruffles his hair back into position.

There's few off-duty soldiers walking around inside, so we move quickly but confidently across the entrance hall towards a flight of stairs. Two Guards wearing standard khaki army attire walk down the stairs opposite, and we pause, looking away so as not to draw attention to ourselves as they walk past. We start up the stairs, but duck back momentarily as two more soldiers walk across the landing, before continuing up to the top.

I can hear voices and laughter coming from one of the rooms opposite, and dad walks cautiously towards the door and opens it to look inside. It appears to be some kind of recreational room, but fortunately the soldiers inside are too engrossed in a game of table tennis to notice us peering inside, so dad quietly closes the door and we continue down the corridor towards the dormitories. Out of an elite guard of forty, most of them appear to be either on duty or in the recreation room, giving us at least fifteen minutes before someone finds us.

The next issue we have is that we don't know which particular dormitory is Bainbridge's, and with time quickly diminishing, we need to find his room as soon as possible.

"Bainbridge said his stalker was taking photos every day," I recall. "That would suggest he even takes photos on his days off."

"Unless he was exaggerating when he said 'every'," dad replies, peering into another dormitory.

"I don't think he would go to the trouble of emphasising the word if it wasn't every day," I point out. "Even so, it's all we've got to go on."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if Bainbridge's stalker is taking photos every day, the Grenadier must be in a place where he can be seen. If he's worried about his safety, he wouldn't leave the barracks which means he's likely in a dormitory which looks out onto the road."

"How do you know he'd be worried?" dad asks.

I raise my eyebrows. "Because it's a pretty standard reaction to have if you're being stalked." His furrowed brow makes it clear he still doesn't understand, but he sets off in the direction of the road-facing rooms.

I realise after a moment why he was confused. I made a deduction based purely on human psychology - something dad has never mastered, which gets me thinking about when I did.

There's only one room on this side of the barracks which face the road, so we head inside, checking their bedside tables for personal information - anything which may give us a clue as to who the bed belongs to. As we reach the beds closest to the window, I find a letter addressed to Stephen Bainbridge inside one of the drawers.

"Found him," I say, and dad comes across. He spins around, and looks out of the window.

"Every day Bainbridge would get dressed on this side of the bed," he starts. "There's no curtains, so one could easily see in from the street - but only if he stood up close to the window. His stalker must have known exactly where to look."

"Is it possible that Bainbridge was just a random choice then?" I ask. "I can't see what would distinguish him from anyone else in this room - let alone the rest of the barracks. Couldn't it just be his stalker chose him because he was someone he could watch 24/7 without stepping inside?"

Before dad can answer, I hear footsteps at the door.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing up here?" We turn to look and see a sergeant watching us from the door. Dad's mouth moves, but no words come out as he fails to think of an excuse. The Sergeant narrows his eyes. "We'll see what the Major has to say about this."