Play the Game - Sherlock fanfic (Sequel to Painting Murders)

Tech Three Programming

I wriggled in the plush, leather chair; holding the glossy magazine on my lap so I didn't interrupt my reading of the article about an online security scandal.

"What a moron." I mumbled to myself in disbelief, lacking any form of sympathy for the gentleman who had had his banking detail stolen while applying for something online.

I folded over the page and consulted John who was sat in an identical white leather chair across from me; a low, polished glass coffee table between us that sparkled majestically in the crisp light.

"If you went online to apply for a free magazine and they asked for your banking details - all of them - would you just type them in and send the application?" I asked him, tapping the article I was holding up.

John frowned, "It would depend, I guess."

"What if you'd never heard of the company?"

"The magazine company? I probably wouldn't apply for their free magazine." He said, as if guessing the response I wanted him to say.

I shook my head and tutted, "You would have thought he'd at least Google the magazine to see if the site was reliable. I mean, why are people so quick to give out personal details? Don't they think?" I paused then pulled a face while exclaiming, "And it was a free magazine! What was he thinking?"

Sherlock grunted from next to John, steepled fingers under his chin.

APS's head offices looked like something from a futuristic film; everywhere was glass and light and white.

Granted the office building was only small, maybe big enough for seven or eight ample sized rooms and it only spanned two floors; but it was so grand that it gave the impression of being like a palace.

Glass double doors sparked around us, walls made of glass paneling made it easy to watch the staff buzz around carrying folders and mugs and phones. The floor in the waiting room was white marble, as was the front desk. A small water fountain bubbled soothingly in one corner. The ceiling was high, boasting an open balcony above us that circled around the outer interior of the building where the second floor was situated.

When we'd first entered the building, I'd felt very conscience all of a sudden: the feeling where I knew that if I touched anything I'd probably either break it or be arrested.

The woman behind the front desk had a white ear piece in and clicked on a white Apple Mac keyboard, watching the screen carefully before pressing the ear piece and saying something to the person on the other end.

"Good morning, Sir. Welcome to APS Security, how can I help you today?" She had chirped when John approached the desk leaving Sherlock to stand taking in his surroundings; memorising every detail, every person, every noise.

John had carefully laid his hands on the marble surface as he began talking, "We have an appointment with Mr Simons at eleven O'clock."

She had tapped the keyboard and read a few things, stopping to mutter, "Stupid computer," before tapping the mouse a few times as if it wasn't working. She still did that while we were sat waiting for Mr Simons to become available.

I guessed it was probably the glitch in the system that was causing her trouble.

I shuffled in my seat again and grinned, "Do you want to know something?" I said, bored of the silence.

Sherlock groaned, tipping his head back.

John indulged me though, "Go on."

"Right," I began, leaning forwards and feeling a hot rush through my body that happened whenever I talked about something I was passionate about, "Did you know Tech Three Programming was first developed by an RAF pilot who used it to reprogram the systems on his aircraft? It meant that when his plane was given back to the chief engineer after each training exercise, the pilot could see what they were doing to the controls in his plane. He used what he found to program his own, self-made plane. He improved the faults so that the plane couldn't be hacked into by an external force." I explained aware of the fact Sherlock had tipped his head forwards to look at me with an eyebrow raised.