Welcome to Baker Street

85. In the limelight

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LET'S PLAY A GAME: let's play murder.

I have a little game for you, dear readers. The next chapters will be focused on interviewing some suspects in the murder of Vincent Storing. Pay attention and try to find out who killed the tenor. Will you be quicker and smarter than Sherlock?

The Game is on.

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John breaks the silence that followed Sherlock's confession of helplessness.

"Let's start with what we know or believe to be true. Do you think this is his work again? Another murder arranged by Moriarty?"

Sherlock nods distractedly, lost in thought.

"Judging by the explosions Moriarty planned the first time he engaged in a mad competition with you, we can all agree that bloke is a megalomaniac. But this is too weird even for him: why would he be killing like this, in an impossible way?" Lestrade comments, scratching the back of his neck. If Sherlock Holmes can't crack the mystery, what chance does he have to solve the murder?

At that question, Sherlock's head snaps up.

"Correction: he isn't the killer. He simply concocted the murder for someone else, providing means and opportunity, just as he did with Mr Perth and the nun. The motive is the only aspect that truly belongs to the perpetrator. Moriarty exploits any kind of grievance people might have against the victim, which makes it even more difficult to trace the murderer. Anybody who had even the smallest issue with the tenor is a suspect. It is necessary to question the victim's closed ones," he states, walking away. "I suggest we get a head start, Detective Inspector. You go ahead with your squad. We will follow suit in a cab."

"Wait, Sherlock, where are we even going?" Lestrade yells back at him. He hates when he does that: fleeing a scene in which he suddenly lost interest.

Holmes doesn't even bother to turn around, he simply shouts in reply, "To the lyric theatre in the neighbourhood, of course. The main star has just died, but you know the saying: the show must go on."

"Why did we leave the crime scene in such a rush?" Giulia asks while sitting in a cab. She knows Sherlock isn't in the best of moods; he doesn't get stuck often, but when it happens, the whole world seems to stop around him. Her only purpose now is to force him to break down his reasoning process and make it accessible for mere mortals. She hopes a little trick will help him keep the gears turning in his head. And she needs answers, as well.

"There wasn't anything else of importance there," he replies briskly.

"Objection, your honour. There was a dead body with an unidentified cause of death," she underlines.

"Precisely. We wouldn't gather any new information by standing there. I am fairly sure our victim wasn't killed in the swimming pool, which makes that place utterly inconsequential for the investigation. It was just a message for both John and me, and not even that subtle. Moriarty and I had unfinished business in a swimming pool; I can only imagine that he wants to settle the score," he says in an emotionless tone.

"I suppose you are accepting his challenge, then," she murmurs gloomily. She can't help but be scared to death. She doesn't fear for her life, though, nor is she terrified of the dangers waiting for them. She is mainly concerned about the monstrous consequences of that mad game. Her greatest fear is that Sherlock might lose himself in a maze from which there is no exit. No going back to normal, no going back to her. Because the price for playing with the devil is damnation, for all eternity.