𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊, sherlock holmes

A THREE-PATCH PROBLEM

Elizabeth and Sherlock burst out of the doors, the crisp cold air brushing against her face harshly.

"If I were the killer, where would I hide a suitcase?" Sherlock mused aloud.

"He's clever. He'd have quickly deduced it was in his boot, maybe within a 5-minute window. Knowing the urgency, he'd need to dispose of it swiftly and quietly," Elizabeth explained.

"Given a moderately sized suitcase, the most logical move would be to ditch it in a secluded alleyway," Sherlock reasoned.

"Searching every alleyway within a 5-minute radius? That's time-consuming." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What if the killer strikes again?"

"Unlikely for back-to-back strikes. Besides, if we split up, one covering each side, it'll expedite the process," Sherlock suggested, gesturing in both directions.

"Hmm," Elizabeth muttered.

"What?" Sherlock inquired.

"It's nothing... I'll take the left side," Elizabeth swiftly departed before he could respond.

Sherlock hesitated momentarily before regaining focus and darting off in the opposite direction, coinciding with John's exit from the building.

Elizabeth found herself perplexed. Despite her years of studying human behavior, Sherlock was someone who she could not understand. A solitary sociopath, solving crimes to stave off boredom and substance dependency—an echo of herself. His invitation for her help was unexpected and incomprehensible. His dynamic with John, though peculiar, appeared oddly effective, much to her bewilderment. Her self-isolation had lasted for far too long, causing emotion to become an enigma to her.

~~

For Elizabeth, it had felt like hours of searching, though that was an exaggeration. She had checked every alleyway, skip and corner she could find. Nothing. Which could only mean one thing.

He drove right.

Damn it! She thought. She imagined Sherlock's smug face when she returned to Bakers' Street. Although this wasn't officially a competition, it sure felt like it. Elizabeth jumped out of a skip and dusted off her trousers before running out towards the main road and hailing a cab.

Finally, Elizabeth ended up at the steps of Bakers' street, opening the door and running up the stairs without greeting her mother.

The door of 221B swings open, revealing Sherlock Holmes in all his glory, lying stretched out on the sofa with his head towards the window and resting on a cushion. With his jacket off and his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up his arms, he has his eyes closed and he is pressing the palm of his right hand firmly onto the underside of his left arm, just below the elbow.

"Took you long enough."

She scoffed at his tone. "I'm safe to assume that you found the case?" She walks further into the room before plopping herself onto one of the lounge chairs.

"That's correct." Sherlock says without opening his eyes.

"Where is it then?" Elizabeth rubs her hands and crosses her legs on the chair. He ignored her question.

"I need you to send a text." Sherlock opened his eyes and raised his head slightly to hand her his phone.

Elizabeth glances over at his hand. "Ooh, want me to tuck you into bed too?" She grabs the phone before returning to her position.

"Whose number is this?" Elizabeth looks down at the unsaved number.

"It's John's."

Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. She completely forgot the short man was with Sherlock.