A Study in Reason

Thursday, November 6th, 2014

Sherlock texted me this time. I woke up from a dream at seven in the morning and decided there wasn't any point in trying to get more sleep. Yawning, I turned on my phone and within a minute it was vibrating.

Baker Street. Now.
SH

When I got there, John and Sherlock were waiting for me.
"What is it?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee. "You wanted me here?"
"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you this early," said Sherlock. He was sitting in his chair, fully dressed and looking more alert than was decent at half past seven in the morning.
"Did you actually sleep at all last night?" I asked, realising he hadn't changed his clothes from yesterday.
"I was busy," he replied. "Were you followed?"
"I- what?" He was so calm it was unnerving.
"I said, 'Were. You. Followed?'"
"I... Don't think so," I replied, settling myself on the sofa. "Was I?" I asked thinking he'd probably know.
"You were followed to your hotel yesterday from the library. What were you looking up that grabbed someone's attention?" I frowned, wondering how much I could say without him noticing I was holding back and concentrating on acting normally.
"I didn't get any books out," I answered.
"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, studying me closely.
"Clara Lane," I replied. "You know that already."
"Ah, but a person is so much more than a name," he countered. Sensing a philosophical-like debate brewing, I changed the subject. I wasn't going to embarrass myself by taking on Sherlock Holmes.
"What have you got on the case?" I asked.
"We had a chat with Chapman's brother Sven," replied John.
"And?" I asked, feeling rather annoyed they didn't invite me.
"And he said pretty much the same as the other one," John admitted.
"So we need to focus on the three victims properly, now," I mused. "What connected them? Why were they where they were when they were murdered? Why would someone want to kill all three?"
"Did the murderer want to kill all three?" John asked. "I mean," he clarified. "What if one got caught in the crossfire?"
"And just happened to get shot between the eyes or fall on the barrel of a gun with their mouth open just as someone pulls the trigger?" Sherlock asked, unimpressed with John's logic. "I need to see the actual crime scene," Sherlock muttered, standing and pulling on his coat. "Come on, John! We're going to Guillory Tower."
I followed the boys into the cab before either could protest - not that they would. It didn't take too long until we arrived. Guillory Tower was fairly small compared to some of the other towers in London but it was still tall enough to draw your eyes all the way to the top of the glass box, some forty stories above the streets. Workers were entering through the double doors at the entrance, drinking coffees or pulling their coats closer to themselves trying to stave off the early morning chill.
"How are we going to do this then," I asked, watching as every person who walked into the building was checked by security. Sherlock looked around, I could see him analyse every person, work out every probability. After a minute, Sherlock snapped to attention.
"Here's the plan. Clara, you talk to the security guard closest to the right side if the building. It's his first day here so you should be able to convince him you're the PA of the man in the foyer who's snarling at his coffee. You are also new so if things escalate and the guard calls his supervisor you should be able to bluff your way out long enough for John and I to get inside and downstairs. John and I will slip through while you distract the guard."
"Uh, why?" I asked. Sherlock turned his considered gaze on me but he looked confused.
"Why what?" He asked mildly.
"Why can't we just walk in and ask to see the basement?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"So promising," he muttered sarcastically under his breath. Louder, he said, "one, because they have no reason to, two, because of my... Reputation I won't be welcome somewhere like here - these sorts of people are very picky about who they're seen being civil and as... Companions of mine you won't be welcomed either. Finally, that would be no fun." I laughed out loud. "We better hurry. We've been stationary for too long as it is."
"Okay, fine. Let's do this." As per Sherlock's plan, I went first, talking to the guard. "Hello," I said. "You're new here aren't you? Me too. Listen, I've... Kinda forgotten which floor my boss works on. Could you tell me so I don't cause a scene?" I winced in pretend embarrassment. The guard looked me over disapprovingly.
"Sorry, miss. Ask at reception. They may be able to help you but you'll have to show ID." I could see Sherlock and John in the corner of my eye dissapearing around a corner and out of sight.
"Thank you. I will," I said, racing to catch up with the boys.
The rest was a piece of cake. We headed down to the basement floor in the lift and it didn't take us long to find the right room. It was locked, but that was no obstacle to Sherlock. John looked a little uncomfortable with picking the lock but it made me laugh. Once inside, we wasted no time.
"We have approximately," Sherlock checked his watch. "Twelve minutes until security arrives to evict us from the premises."
"Better be quick, then," I said cheerfully. Sherlock gave me a rueful smile.
"You underestimate me, Miss Lane," he said.
"I really don't," I replied, turning and walking towards the wall behind me. It was piled high with cardboard boxes so I began to remove them, running my hands along the rough concrete as I did so.
"Clara," said John. "Come here." I turned back to face the middle of the room again to see Sherlock walking around with his eyes tightly closed, waving his hands about and muttering to himself. Then he started talking to us properly.
"John," he said, eyes still closed. "Stand right... Here." He grabbed John's shoulders and manoeuvred him until he shuffled sideways slightly. "You are now Daniel Argyris," he told John. "Stay right there." He moved towards me, eyes still screwed shut. "Clara, take a few steps to your right." I did as I was told, having figured out what this exercise was for. "Now one step forward." I stepped forward. "Ah... A bit more," he instructed. I obeyed. He shifted me slightly and then moved to the corner of the room opposite me. "You are now Andrew Chapman," he told me.
"So we're standing exactly where the victims were standing when they were killed?" I queried. Sherlock nodded.
"How did you figure that out?" John asked. I wondered how he could still be surprised when it came to Sherlock's methods and accuracy, having known him for years. Then I realised he was actually surprised I understood what Sherlock was doing before he did.
"Think about it," I explained when Sherlock closed his eyes again and stayed silent. "He just put our feet where the victim's feet were when they were found. In the photos they were all on their fronts which means that a couple of centimetres behind where they were lying was where they were standing before they fell with a bullet in their brain. If they were lying on their backs we'd be a few centimetres in front of where they were found. He's trying to work out angles."
"Shh!" Sherlock hissed. After another second, his eyebrows rose and a smile graced his lips. "Over there," he pointed towards the wall to my left. It too was covered in boxes. John walked towards it and started shifting boxes.
"How much time have we got?" I asked Sherlock.
"Four and a half minutes," he answered in voice that was lower than usual.
"Okay, so we need to get out of here," I said. I didn't fancy getting arrested. I glanced up at what John was doing and Sherlock and I shouted at the same time, "There!"
The three of us took a closer look at the wall. At the very top, inches before the wall met the ceiling, was a small rectangular ventilation hole. I got up close and had a look to see what was on the other side. I could see a stretch of asphalt and the bottom of the tires of a few cars. A car park. It had bars running vertically along it, but Sherlock and I were already thinking the same thing: the gaps between them were the perfect size for the barrel of a gun. "Sherlock, are we done here?" I asked urgently, aware of time running out.
"What? Yes, let's go."
Without another word, the three of us left the room and closed the door, heading for the lift. Once on the ground floor, we walked purposefully towards the glass doors of Guillory Tower and out onto the paved area in front of the building and out into the street.

Walking down the road, Clara started to giggle which earned an alarmed look from Sherlock and John.
"What?" She asked, grinning. "We're so close! It's only a matter of time before we catch the real culprit."
"Yeah," said John. "But why are you laughing?" He asked, looking her over for anything medically wrong that could have caused her unusually exuberant mood.
"I just realised how sad my life is," she replied, trying to keep a straight face. Realising this needed more explanation, she added, "I just realised that these past few days have been the most fun I've had in months."
"I know," Sherlock agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Wait- why does that make your life sad?" he asked. John and Clara just sent him identical looks that plainly stated, 'Really, Sherlock?' Sherlock's brows furrowed and he hailed a taxi to take them back to Baker Street.