You Are My Mystery {Sherlock Holmes}

Chapter 10*

"Sherlock," I whisper into the earpiece in an attempt to get his attention. I look through the vent at the ground below me.

"What?"

"The place closes in two. I'm in the east side air vents."

"Great, now wait until the officers leave," Sherlock responds with an attitude. I look down below at the security guards who are checking for remaining people. I wait there for some time before the lights go out, and I hear the doors being locked. The sound of many thumps and bangs in the vents catch my attention, making me look across the room. I watch as Sherlock pulls back a panel, and hops down onto the top of a case. I struggle to pull off a panel, but manage to get it off. I look down to see Sherlock sneaking his way below me. It's a fifteen foot drop at least. Hanging onto the ledge, I glance down at Sherlock.

"I'm going to catch you," he reassures me in a deep but quiet voice. I take a deep breath in to calm my nerves.

"I know," I respond and let go of the vent. Just a moment after letting go, I land in his arms. He lets out a groan at the impact before carefully dropping my feet onto the ground. While fixing my posture, I dust myself off and adjust my hair.

"You look ridiculous using that scarf as a bandana," Sherlock announces, his voice a little too loud considering we're supposed to be sneaky.

"Well, you just look ridiculous," I plainly snap, a smirk playing on my lips. He goes to take a step forward, dismissing my comment, but I grab his forearm to pull him back. "Lasers."

Sherlock just nods in acknowledgement before following close behind me. I try to spot as many traps as I can but I must not do a well enough job. As I take a step forward, my leg hits one of the invisible beams, burning right through my pant leg. I hiss in pain, looking down to see a fresh gash. There's not much I can do other than to keep trucking forward. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air, and my lungs, and I wonder if Sherlock can smell it too. I manage to get through the rest with ease-- maybe that's because I'm being a bit more conscience. I duck under the last one as I reach the control panel. I look at the number keypad, it wants a password.

1 2 3
4 5 6
7 8 9
* 0 #

The 1, 5, 9, and 0 are warn the most. Those are the digits to the passcode.

"You get three tries," Sherlock says from a few feet behind me. He's busy inspecting the area, looking for other clues.

"I figured," I mutter in response before thinking. With the amount of numbers, there are twenty-four possible ways to unlock the panel. Seeing as the one, five, nine, and zero are warn the most, I can assume those numbers are the code. Could it be a birth year? I type in 1950 before hitting enter. A buzz sounds out, letting me know that code was incorrect.

"Think!" I yell at myself. "Aha, chemistry," I beam in realization. I look at the keys themselves. I find the one with the most erosion. The zero. That must mean 0 is the first number in the passcode... A person would have more natural oils on their skin meaning the first button they touch would erode the most. 

0591

I type that in. I get another incorrect buzz.

"Last try," Sherlock tells me, his voice showing a hint of impatience.

"People will always choose a number they can remember, stupid!" I say to myself. "0591 is not password-worthy!" I scold myself.

Then it hits me.

0519- A birthday. May 19th.

I type it in. It buzzes again, but this time correct. I smile to myself as the lasers disappear and the alarm system turns off. A triumphant smile plays on my face.

"Time to grab the painting," I say running away from the control panel, following Sherlock to the painting. He quickly unscrews the base of the glass case around the art piece and lifts it off. Using my nimble hands, I slowly grab the painting from the display, wedging it under my arm. Sherlock puts the case back down on the podium, and follows me. We make our way to a hidden spot, ready to catch the thieves. Just as predicted, the two snatchers walk in  They look right at the podium before looking around. I duck father behind the wall, so my back is against it.

"You're breathing loud," Sherlock states. "It's obnoxious."

"Yes, I know." I roll my eyes at his side comment. He moves his hand to where my heart is.

"Why is your heart beating so fast? This isn't even that exciting," he scoffs. He's right-- this isn't anything special. All we're doing is stopping a bunch of assholes steal a painting. Why are we even here?

And why was the password my birthday?

Sherlock glances down at my stiff leg, noticing the open wound. He subtly inspects it, not wanting to draw attention to my leg. I notice his stare though, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins keeps me from feeling the burning pain.

"It's been so long since I've done something like this," I whisper back, changing the unspoken subject. "We need to do this more often," I conclude causing him to let out a soft chuckle. I look behind the wall again, towards where the painting should be if it weren't in my hands. The two men through where they came in. I walk over to the podium and put the painting back on. Sherlock screws the glass back on over it. I quickly hit a button to turn the alarm system back on. Quickly, we speed out of the building to hail a cab.

"They're driving a dark blue sedan," Sherlock mumbles before pulling out his phone to text Lestrade. "I'll let them know the license plate and the direction they were heading."

We sit next to each other in the taxi, hardly speaking a word. The car ride is uneventful, just as I assumed it would be. I notice Sherlock glancing back and forth from my leg to the window.

"You're being obvious," I grumble under my breath. "You seem to forget that I notice the little things too-- like you constantly inspecting my leg."