Welcome to Baker Street

66. Cold cases and new mysteries

Sherlock takes Anderson aside and murmurs, "You mean she is the wife of the jewel thief?"

The forensic officer simply nods, and John joins them, commenting quietly, "I bet she is quite the talked-about woman down here."

"She was talked-about even before the heist. Her husband is an ex-soldier who fought in Iraq. When he came back home, it is thought he smuggled some weapons into the country, even though no one has ever investigated the matter. Anyhow, I suppose it wasn't profitable enough for him if he turned into a jewel thief." A note of malice envelops Anderson's voice.

"Is there a rumour you don't know about?" John glares at him. That man looks like a walking encyclopaedia of scandals.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault if that man has always been in a shady business."

"This gossip is trivial. We are missing the point: why is she in those conditions?" Sherlock cuts them short, keeping out of the woman's hearing range.

"She told you: she is in shock. She has just lost a close friend. I can see now why you are a sociopath," Philip spits out, earning a death stare from Sherlock.

"Anderson, if I hear one more idiotic syllable coming out of your mouth, my synapses will commit suicide."

John pulls him by his arm, dragging him a few feet away from both the policeman and the woman.

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

The detective turns to face him is about to snap back a comment on how rude and insufferable Anderson can be, but he stops dead. No words leave his mouth as he meets John's eyes. There is something in his friend's gaze that he wasn't expecting: concern. He thought John would reprimand him for being disrespectful, but that is not the reason behind his question. John knows him: he can see that something's wrong with him, that his scathing insult was a facade, a mask to hide his insecurities. Now that he is staring into the doctor's eyes, he feels naked under his inquisitive look: John is waiting for an honest answer, so Sherlock himself is faced with that question: what's going on, for real?

He averts his gaze. "I'm vexed, that's all. I have the impression that I'm missing something." His voice is barely more than a whisper.

John frowns at his words. Is this creepy little town getting under his skin? But Sherlock is not like that. He always declares himself as the stone-cold sociopath detached from the rest of the world.

"What's there to miss? You must admit that every piece of evidence seems to point against Isaac," he tries to reason with him. Even the Great Detective needs a reality check from time to time.

"Alright, but what is his motive? He had no reason to kill his mother," Sherlock objects.

"Neither did anyone else. Our victim had no known enemies: no one had a motive for this murder."

"Exactly. This murder. We are only focusing on it, but what if we are looking at it the wrong way? What if it was connected to the other mysteries, somehow?" Holmes conjectures, and a glimmer of excitement sparkles in his eyes.

The doctor raises a brow incredulously.

"You think the victim had something to do with the robbery?"

"I was more inclined to believe that Elisa Therton's killer might be the same as her husband, but on second thought, yours is a rather interesting theory." Sherlock folds his hands under his chin, contemplating that idea.

"No, that is usually called a conspiracy." John rolls up his eyes. "You of all people should know better than to speculate arbitrarily. Why are you acting like this? Did this case seriously hit too close to home?" He tilts his head, scrutinising his friend.