westminster

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Like two figures born in the darkness, Sherlock and Simon emerged from the shadows, both dressed in black. Headpieces locked over their ears, a thin microphone extending from each for communication. Bullet proof vests were strapped around them, accompanied by links of ammunition for their submachine guns. They had two knives each and three handguns: two clipped in the back and one easily accessible on their waist.

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked in his deepest voice.

The two stopped in front of the lit entrance. No one was walking the streets, nor was inside the Westminster building except for the teller. Simon looked over at the detective and gripped the machine gun firmly in his hands.

“What makes you think they’ll all be in here?”

“It’s a party, Simon, they all know where we are now.” Sherlock took the first step and marched up the stairs.

Simon followed, watching the street in case they were ambushed. Sherlock stopped in front of the door and knocked. The teller looked up and, upon seeing the mysterious figures, reached for the alarm before Sherlock whipped out his wallet, revealing his identity card.

“Who are you?” the teller quaked, his finger ready to pull down the red lever.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Immediately, the teller ducked under the desk as four figures appeared on the other side of the glass. The moment their guns were visible, Sherlock fired first, taking down all four. By the time the smoke cleared, the glass had been shattered to the point where he could just knock the last panel of glass with his foot. He turned to Simon, giving him the cue to lead the way. Simon eagerly took the assignment and began scouting out all the side hallways, ceiling, and furniture where someone could hide “unnoticed.”

“It’s clear,” Simon reported, standing in front of the door that lead upstairs.

Sherlock went up to the door and took out a handheld device that was the size of a brick. He clamped it over the code reader and waited for it to scan. “Turn off the security cameras.”

Simon walked over to the teller, who was still crouched under the desk. “Sir, please turn off the security cameras.”

“I can’t.”

“Sherlock Holmes, he’s a member of Scotland Yard, and wants in.”

“I’m not a member!” Sherlock argued.

“Doesn’t matter at the moment, you know people. Now, please, sir, turn off the cameras. You are in danger, and by doing so, you’ll save our lives.”

“He told me not to,” the man quivered. His golden rimmed glasses even shook on the bridge of his tapered nose.

“Who? Andrew Brooklyn?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’re in charge here, now turn them off.”

“If I do—,”

“Forget it,” Sherlock hollered, “the door’s opened. If we’re caught, at least we’ll have the police here.”

“Stay down, all right?” Simon instructed the teller before joining Sherlock. He followed the detective up two flights of very steep stairs until they came upon another door. Stopping, Sherlock latched the code reader on the monitor. He stepped aside and let Simon watch the scanner as he loaded his handgun.

“We got three seconds.”

“It’s still in the red.”

“Replace it with yours.”

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