Welcome to Baker Street

11. To the rescue

Giulia takes the suicidal note and plunges it into her pocket before following her flatmates.

"Wait," she exclaims, stopping on the last flight of stairs. The two men come to a grinding halt at the bottom of the staircase and look up at her.

John raises a brow. "Is something wrong?"

"It doesn't make any sense. We're going to a newsroom during its rush hour just because he deduced she played the part of a journalist when she wasn't on duty as a spy?" She points at Sherlock, then shakes her head. "It could simply be an unfounded conjecture."

Sherlock exhales loudly and turns an icy glare at her.

"No, it's a logical consequence. She was working for the MI6 together with her sister. They used to play the same person in the presence of the terrorists but also acted alternatively the part of a journalist since they were both very keen on writing. For the record, you were the one to notice that by analysing the perfect use of grammar in her note. Congrats." He flashes the fakest smile at her. "Here's what we can infer from that: Cathy Baaral, apparently a promising reporter, must have been hired by an editorial office that never suspected that she wasn't just one person but was impersonated by both the real Cathy and her twin. The two of them presumably wrote several articles for the newspaper, and every time their feature stories went to print, the Secret Service could extract sensitive data from the text. It was their way of communicating with the intelligence without using any kind of technology that could be bugged by their fellow terrorists."

"So, you're saying that while one of them was staying with the group, the other used her break time from secret agent work to go to the newsroom and write about the information they had collected?" Giulia strives to piece it all together. She has lived with Sherlock long enough to know that his brain runs at full speed most of the time, and it is almost impossible to keep up with it. But she is determined to understand what is going on.

"Precisely. I thought I had been clear. That's why we're going to the nearest newsroom to the flat where the twins lived. They would never wander pointlessly around the city, especially considering the risk of being spotted and recognised as two different people. There's no reason they should have chosen a different place, far away."

"Alright, but why hide in an editorial office? It's always full of people; everyone goes everywhere," Giulia protests.

"Maybe she counts exactly on that: too much chaos, nobody pays attention," John suggests.

"Not to mention that the Secret Service knows they used the job at the newspaper as a covert. Now that she has nowhere to turn to, she might wait there for further instructions or a rescue mission," Sherlock clarifies, stealing a nervous look at his watch. Giulia is so stubborn. Why can't they just leave already? John never asks all those questions.

"But with a mole in the system, an operation by the MI6 is unlikely, for their hands are tied." Giulia's voice trails off as an idea slowly worms its way into her mind.

"We are her rescue mission, aren't we?"

"Yep. Can we go now?" Sherlock shows signs of impatience.

She doesn't move but places her hands on her hip, frowning at him.

"Why aren't we calling the police?"

"We don't need them," he replies curtly.

"But they were the ones who phoned you about the case in the first place," she objects. She stands by the impression that she had of the detective when they met for the first time: sometimes, he behaves like a child.

"She has a point." John nods approvingly, earning a stern look from Sherlock, who climbs up a few steps, nailing Giulia with a steely glare.

"Listen, I don't get on too well with the Scotland Yard staff, and if I can avoid collaborating with them, I'll do it willingly."

She comes down some steps to face him and raises a brow.

"I thought you worked for them as a consulting detective."

"I do not work for them," he spits out through gritted teeth. "I don't work for anyone. My job qualification means the police consult me: it doesn't work the other way round," he roars. He descends the stair and opens the front door just to find himself face-to-face with Greg Lestrade. The D.I.'s arm is mid-air: he was about to knock.

Giulia slips discreetly by Sherlock's side, stands on her tiptoes, and whispers in his ear, "I hope he didn't hear you."