Selfless | Sherlock

Arrival

Echo and I were at the park for hours before finally the canine was out of energy. The sky was already beginning to darken by the time I sat down on a bench to check my phone. I rolled my eyes at the rather repetitive message from Mycroft who was once again inquiring about the case of Andrew West. Then, my gaze fell upon the multiple texts from the younger Holmes brother and my heart clenched. Some of the messages were about yet another case given by the bomber. One in particular informed that one of the victims had been an astronomer: a seemingly pointless piece of information but if Sherlock found it important enough to tell me it could not me as meaningless as one would think.

Maybe I should not have ignored him for so long, after all who knows how long I will have the opportunity to talk to him at all. As I scanned the messages, yet another came through.

Meet us at the gallery.

SH

I was on my feet immediately which caught Echo's attention. The traffic was too busy for me to catch a cab and make it there in any decent amount of time, so I collected myself in an attempt to prepare for the run but the sound of my phone vibrating once again caught my attention. Sherlock had added to his previous message.

Please

With that, I sent a quick reply and took off at a run. Echo panted heavily but stayed beside me as we wove our way through the streets of London, nearly knocking down several tourists in the process. My breathing was labored by the time I burst through the doors of the museum and shoved my way into the room the Vermeer was being held in. Inside were Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and an unknown woman who presumably worked here.

"Hello," I greeted tiredly, walking up to stand beside the detective and the doctor just as the pink phone went off.

"Would you mind showing yourself and your... friends, out?" the worker asked distastefully.

"Right on time," I sighed and stroked Echo's head as the woman glared at me, annoyed that I had brought a dog inside.

"The painting is a fake," Sherlock stated.

Despite the accuracy of his claim, there was no response.

"It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairnes were killed," he added, glancing up at me with a masked look of hopelessness that could only be discerned from his bright eyes.

"Oh come on," he groaned, "Proving it is just a detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out."

I quietly observed the Vermeer, but having less of the facts than Sherlock made it difficult for me to find any problems.

"It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed."

John and Lestrade began to look worried as Sherlock took in a sharp breath before he spoke again.

"Ok. I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

"Ten."

The temperature seemed to drop a good few degrees when a child's voice called out the number in a shaky voice.

Sherlock began scanning the Vermeer intently, attempting to glean any new information from it while simultaneously reviewing what he already knew.


"Sherlock it has to be something with the location or arrangement of the objects. Likely the stars or planets since one of the men was an astronomer."

The detective's gaze snapped towards me before returning to the painting. He stared at it and mumbled for only a moment before turning back to me with a maniacal grin on his face. I froze for a moment as he placed his hands on my shoulders excitedly.