221B

Chapter 10 - The Great Game

It's morning at 221B, Sherlock and John sits across the each other in the armchairs, I lean against the wall by the fireplace. We watch the news on the TV, Sherlock has the pink phone rested on the left arm of his chair. The windows are still broken and boarded up, and the traffic is loud outside. The TV shows a high-rise block of flats. At the bottom of the screen reads, "12 dead in gas explosion". The picture moves to a close-up of the building, showing a corner of it many floors up which has been torn open and is exposed to the outside air.

"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..." The news reader says.

"Old block of flats." John says, briefly glancing over his shoulder to Sherlock and I.

"Is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company..." The news reader continues.

"He certainly gets about." John says.

"Well, obviously I lost that round-although technically I did solve the case." Sherlock says, then picks up the remote control and mutes the volume on the TV. He lowers his hand again and looks thoughtfully into the distance.

"He killed the old woman because she had started to describe him..." I say. "Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What do you mean?" John asks, looking at me.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no one ever has direct contact." Sherlock answers for me.

"What...like the Connie Prince murder - he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John asks.

"Novel." Sherlock says softly, his face full of admiration.

I attempt to ignore it, while John looks at Sherlock in disbelief, then turns to look at the TV again. The news has moved on to another story.

"Huh." John says, and jerks a finger towards the screen. Sherlock looks up to see Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny Prince's house by police officers. The press is there, shoving each other as they attempt to take photographs of the scene in front of them, they shout questions over one another, hurling them at him as quick as a bullet fires from a gun. The headline on the screen reads, "Connie Prince: man arrested". Raoul is being shoved into the back of a police car, and John looks at Sherlock, who looks down at the pink phone.

"Taking his time this time." Sherlock says.

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John asks a few moments later.

"Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" John suggests.

"The thought had occurred."

"So why's he doing this then-playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?"

Sherlock presses his fingertips together in front of his mouth, smiling slightly.

"I think he wants to be distracted." He answers.

John laughs humorlessly, then gets out of the chair and heads towards the kitchen.

"I hope you'll be very happy together."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock looks at him.

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock-actual human lives. Just-just so I know, do you care about that atl all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock asks irritably.

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"Wow..." I mutter, and look down.

"What?" Sherlock turns to me, having heard me.

"Hm?" I look at him.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing, I just wonder how easy it is for you to not care about somebody's life being in danger, that's all."

"I do care."

"Oh, do you? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't seem like it, Sherlock."

"I do and I don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I care about solving the case which could save their lives which are at stake."

"So you don't care about the people in danger with a bomb strapped to their chest, you just care about solving the damn case."

"Is that news to you?"

"Not really." John and I answer at the same time.

"I suppose I should have suspected it from the world's only consulting detective who just happens to be a bloody high-functioning sociopath." I say.

John and Sherlock lock eyes for a moment.

"I've disappointed you."

"That's good-that's a good deduction, yeah." John says, smiling rather angrily and pointing at Sherlock sarcastically.

"Don't make people into heroes, John, Kate. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

The pink phone sounds a message alert a second later.

"Excellent!" Sherlock cries out, then picks up the phone. One short pip, and one long tone. "View of Thames. South Bank-somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." Sherlock reaches into his jacket for his phone.

"You check the papers; I'll look online..." He looks up and sees John standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair with his head lowered. Sherlock looks at me next, we lock eyes for a moment, he looks back at John. "Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help."

John raises his head and shrugs. "Not much cop, this caring lark." Sherlock comments.

"I'm not angry, he is." I answer. John looks up at me.

"How are you not angry with him?!"

"John, I've dealt with all sorts of people in the past, I think I can handle him."

"You think you can deal with Sherlock Holmes?" John says in disbelief.

"I can try."

I look over at Sherlock, who has begun a search on his phone.

John stares at Sherlock for a moment, then straightens up and walks across the room to the sofa. I follow and sit down beside him, then begin looking through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table.

"Archway suicide." John reads from a newspaper.

"Ten a penny." Sherlock snaps irritably, and John throws him a look.

"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington." I read from a newspaper.

"Ah. Man found on the train line-Andrew West." John reads from another paper.

Sherlock looks exasperated, obviously not finding what he wants on his online search.

"Nothing!" He presses something on his phone, which I can only assume to be a speed dial because as soon as he presses that one button, he holds the phone to his ear. "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"