The Baker's Detective

| The Realization and the Nap |

They had dinner at Lily's house and decided to leave the next day. Sherlock made a call to Mycroft, who was smug but agreed to look for information. Lestrade also said he was going to look for Robert with more vigor, though why he wasn't doing that before, Sherlock couldn't guess. His head is spinning, his heart is pounding. How could he miss this? He put Robert by the wayside, thought about him from time to time, but ultimately started focusing on other things. How could he be so stupid?

He could barely eat at dinner, though Lily tried to get him to. There was too much on his mind. He barely slept, and he couldn't really eat breakfast. Liam said something about staying for another day, so Lily and Sherlock were going home alone. They packed, and it was all generally a blur until they got on the train — where they are now.

His mind is still racing. Lily's sitting across from him, reading a book. How can she focus on anything else? Maybe he should talk this out with her. Maybe she can help him sort this out.

"I should go back to the Holders, shouldn't I?" he said.

She looked up. "It's not a bad idea. I know they already gave a description of Robert to Lestrade-" Sherlock has mentioned it, once "-but maybe they'll remember something else. Or maybe Arthur remembers where he met him. I don't know, Sherlock. It's a lot of maybes."

"That's partly what bothers me."

Lily shifts in her seat. "How do we know that this Samuel Roberts is the same person as Robert, anyway? It could be a coincidence."

"There are rarely true coincidences."

"I don't know. I'm a baker and I live on Baker Street."

"Yes, but that was meant to be."

Her brows furrow. "How do you mean?"

He shrugs. "It was supposed to happen. It was always going to."

"I didn't think you the type to believe in that sort of thing."

"I didn't, before I met you." He sighs. "This Robert fellow, if that's even his real name, he came to Boscombe for a reason. Like you said, this sort of thing doesn't happen here. He came here on purpose."

"Why?"

"It's where you live. He knew I'd know about it."

"But I never..." She thinks a moment. "I mean, neither of us ever met Robert. Do you think he was watching from afar or something?"

"Yes, but for how long? He could've known a case of that caliber, that societal importance, would be given to me. I've done it before."

"Right, you're a celebrity."

He waves this off. "How far back does the planning go? Where is it leading?" A realization hits him. "Susan Cushing's ex-boyfriend's name was Ray, and we never saw him. What if he's Ray, too?"

"Why, because his name starts with an R?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'm overthinking it." He rubs his temples, trying to get rid of his oncoming tension headache. "He's escaped detection thus far. He's smart, he's experienced. He gives just enough information to lead me down this trail. It sounds like Moriarty."

"But he's dead."

"He had plans in place." Sherlock remembers how little John said about the Eurus situation on the blog, as sensitive as some of that situation was. "Before he died, he went to my sister. Like he knew I would fake my death. Or maybe that was just plan B."

"You have a sister?"

"It's a bit of sore subject."

She frowns. "I'm sorry I asked."