maskormenacelogs | Case Solved! (Partially)

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Case Solved! (Partially)

WHO: Gemini, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson.
WHERE: A Maurtia Falls Hotel
WHEN: May 16th
WHAT: Certain people have been asking too many questions about the death of Sally Cunliffe. Gemini goes right to the source to try and nip it in the bud.
WARNINGS: Graphic murder description, some violence, possible bad language and some very unpleasant kissing.

Why did people always insist on making a fuss over a dead body? People died every day of every week, yet when Gemini sped up the process for her own ends (and entertainment) then the ants did like to kick up a fuss. This time she'd even been careful to disguise the murder of the human meatsack she'd killed for her money, making it look like an entirely natural death. The police hadn't cared to look deeper, the media had reported it as an un-suspicious death, yet some meddling fool named John Watson and his buddy Sherlock had decided to make it their business publicly on the network. One simple cash grab had turned into a big headache, one which if Gemini could help it would not get any bigger.

Having discovered that the two sources of her annoyances had arrived in Maurtia Falls to investigate the crime scene, Gemini had tracked the two to their hotel, waited until they left for the day, and then got to work. Slipping into the hotel room of John Watson had been simple, accessing his computer a little more difficult, but once she'd managed to break through the encryption she'd found a veritable goldmine. Poring over the files within over several hours, Gemini had found various blog entries, case files and most interestingly of all some saved network posts from awhile back featuring a blonde woman with a potentially useful skill set...

Taking care to put the computer back exactly where she found it, leaving everything undisturbed, Gemini slipped into the building's air vents, heading towards her other target's room to investigate the detective Sherlock Holmes himself. Slithering amorphously through the hotel's airducts, Gemini paused as she heard voices from her target room and after a moment's debate began to shrink, compressing down into a smaller form which should let her go unnoticed. A moment later she buzzed out of the airvent, zipped upwards to land on top of a cupboard and settled down to observe.

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It was a case.

And actual, real case, and Sherlock was ecstatic. He didn't bother eating, he had hardly slept, and it was just like old times. A veritable celebration.

The game was on.

Coming back from the crime scene, Sherlock had quite a bit to sort through in his mind. The clues needed filing, and he had hardly said a word to John on the way back, besides muttering under his breath occasionally. The scene was infuriatingly clean, there had been no DNA nor fingerprints found, and despite scouring the place, Sherlock could find no footprints. Suspicious death, indeed. The police were idiots, but this case was starting to become even more baffling.

He liked baffling, but he needed to think. This world had ImPorts, and therefore a lot of the rules he was used to could be bent. Didn't necessarily mean that an ImPort had done this, but it was enough of a possibility he had to seriously consider it.

Back at his hotel room, he took off his coat, and left it on the chair. He flopped back on the bed, rolling up the sleeves of his white, button-up shirt, and slapped three nicotine patches on his forearm. Then, he lay back, fingertips steepled under his chin, as he began to think.

John had accompanied Sherlock to the crime scene and back to the hotel. He pitched in with a few comments when it sounded like the detective was asking for his input, but he quickly accepted that most of his observations about the crime scene had probably fallen on deaf ears.

Sherlock had that manic gleam in his eyes which meant the game was on and he could substitute himself with a balloon and his friend probably wouldn't notice for a couple of hours. Except on this occasion, Sherlock was too engrossed in his own thoughts to hold the elevator for him and he left John stranded in the lobby.

It was a bit rude, really. But about ten minutes later, John knocks on Sherlock’s door and lets himself into his room, communicator clutched in his hand.

"I just heard from Sabriel. She says Sally Cunliffe was immobilized, and then suffocated. She wasn't able to see who did it and claims she didn't transfer any money either." He crosses the floor and sits down in one of the chairs in the room.

"And thanks for holding the elevator, by the way."

Sherlock immediately jolted up, his eyes wide and manic.

"What!?"

So apparently she really could do that thing. Huh.

Well, as useful as that ability was, his natural skepticism was somewhat muddled by the fact he was more willing to accept the impossibility of the powers and abilities here. In any case, that just confirmed the fact she was murdered, and suffocated.

"No struggle, yet she was suffocated. The unfortunate thing about this place is that there are any number of imports with the ability to somehow immobilize a person, and suffocate them."

A slightly uncomfortable pause. Himself, included. An unwelcome memory of the shared dream. Then, a frown.

"What elevator?"

Yes, Sherlock did not even realize he'd been in an elevator.

Once seated, John takes out his notepad and starts recording the information Sabriel sent him. He only pauses when Sherlock asks about the elevator and looks up at him. He tilts his head to the side, a cynical smile tugging on his lips. He can't decide whether Sherlock is purposely being dumb to wind him up or he really was lost within the details of this case. For now, John's happy to go with the latter. This isn't the first time the detective has abandoned him to his thoughts and it certainly isn't going to be the last time either.

"Never mind." He shakes his head with a sigh, twirling his pen in his fingers. After their conversation the network, he wasn't prepared for Sherlock to readily accept Sabriel's information. But from the sound it, Sherlock is starting to accept that anything is possible in this world. Even conversing with the dead.

"It's not just imPorts. There are super powered natives too. Some can fly, others have super speed..." John trails off, pursing his lips together. He spins his pen once more before seemingly abandoning his theory. "I really can't see them attacking one of their own though. Not someone like her. I spoke to her neighbours. They really liked her."

"Good to know. She didn't seem like the person to attract enemies," Sherlock was furiously typing on his communicator. "Doesn't hurt to ask. There."

He leans over, showing John what he just posted. He was used to fishing on the internet for clues, as he did in the Connie Prince case and with the women from the ghost chat room with the Mayfly Man case.

"It's entirely possible this will obtain absolutely nothing, but it has good potential for finding a lead. At the very least, we could cross-reference this list with a list of known ImPort powers, and eliminate those who do not have the ability to kill in the manner that this woman was murdered in."

And by 'we' that probably meant John, because that would be a tedious task.

John peers at the screen and watches Sherlock's frenzied broadcast. He leans back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with a growing sense of dread. He can already imagine the kind of responses this post will generate and none of them are likely to be very helpful. Especially since Sherlock didn't exactly ask the network very nicely either.

"I know you think killers are desperate to get caught and everything, but they're hardly going to respond to your post and tell you about every crime they've ever committed." He points out, sarcasm coating his voice. "Oh yes, I did rob that bank the other day actually. Made sure to empty out the biscuit tin before I left, too."

Sarcasm aside, John must admit there is usually a method to Sherlock's madness and this might just work. He aimlessly flips through the pages of his notebook, lingering on the observations they made while they were at the crime scene. Nothing they found in Sally's house suggested there was another person there but now, thanks to Sabriel, they know someone was. He hums a note of agreement with Sherlock's plan.

"We should start by talking to a few of the probational officers here. They might know something. What do you think?"

"Every piece of information stated or unstated counts, John," Sherlock said in an exasperated tone. "There's just as much to be had and learned from what amounts to simple gossip. People like to talk, and what may seem like an irrelevant scrap of information could be the key to this entire investigation."

Not that he'd actually found said key, yet, but oddly enough, he ended up with a couple of confessions for unrelated things. Huh. Well, he'd have to save that for later.

A slight grin, as he looked at John.

"And besides. They know we're looking for them now."

He glanced up as John flipped through pages of his notebook. The fact that there were no traces of anyone else there only made Sherlock more excited.

"Good idea. But while you're doing that, I'm going to make another announcement, pretending that we're hot on the trail and are nearly about to find them. That will draw them out and possibly make them attack us, or conversely, make them skip town. I bet it will be the former, however, as I will mention something about a made-up case that sounds similar, where we followed our hypothetical murderer all the way to Australia over a period of two months, to make us sound like we'll doggedly pursue them across the world if we need to."

The fly perched on the top of the cupboard fluttered it's wings slightly, partially in amusement and partially in annoyance, compound eyes studying the two closely as Sherlock so helpfully unveiled his plan.

John looks less than enthused at the prospect of spending an entire afternoon looking through paperwork while Sherlock antagonizes everyone on the network about their criminal record. He opens his mouth to object, but closes it when he realises arguing with Sherlock about this is futile. He'll end up doing this either way and at least this saves time.

"And what if they don't do either of these things?" John wonders out loud, "We should try and see if we can find the money. Maybe visit the banks in Maurtia Falls, check the CCTV?"

Sherlock, always wanting things to be clever and convoluted, looks slightly put out at John's practical offer. Of course, following the money might possibly lead them to their murderer faster.

"They could be anywhere by now," he said, musing. "And if they're clever enough to pull off a murder this subtle, I doubt they'd make the simple mistake of making large purchases right away, or using anything but an alias and an alternate bank account in which to put the money in. Though, there could be something..."

He pressed his fingertips under his chin again.

"This case," a twitch of his lips into a smile. "A worthy foe. Oh, how I should love to see the look on their face when we find them. Though admittedly, I am impressed. It's been a long time since I've been impressed by a criminal. Most of them don't have half a brain."

"Yeah, well, make sure you say that to them after they're apprehended." John reminds him in a soft, reproachful voice. Not that he's worried too much; Sherlock might still think he's the best thing since sliced bread, but he has shown a great deal of humility since that dreadful night at the aquarium. More so than that Christmas where he offended all their guests.

"Just how long have they been doing this?" He murmurs, looking back down at his notebook. "Sally Cunliffe can't be the only victim."

"You're right, she can't have been," Sherlock murmurs, still staring past John, clearly lost in a string of thought.

Suddenly, he leaps up, his pensive state completely gone.

"Records. We need to check all the recent cold cases. And the probational officers, if you'd like. Not only here, but in the other cities as well. Anywhere with a decent ImPort population."

He sounds manic and overly excited, speaking at a pace so rapid that it's a wonder he's even breathing. John always managed to bring clever thoughts out of him--even though it really wasn't much more than what he'd already been suggesting anyway, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten this.

Edited 2017-07-02 15:20 (UTC)

John doesn't bat an eyelid when Sherlock suddenly springs to life. He only looks up from his notes when Sherlock starts talking about imPort probation officers and their records, looking slightly miffed with him. Well, at least he inspired his genius or whatever backhanded compliment Sherlock has used to placate him in the past. He soon finds something else to get exasperated with instead.

"What, you want to do it now?"

He might be eager to find their murderer, but they've also spent the day walking around the city and it's starting to get dark. He sighs wistfully and thinks about his own hotel room, grudgingly accepting the fact that it'll probably be a while until he can rest his feet for a bit. He's been out of the game for far too long.

"Of course!" Sherlock says this with the exasperation of someone who couldn't believe that waiting was even a possibility.

He runs over to the chair, grabbing his coat, a manic gleam in his eye that spoke of a night of running around and definitely no sleep. It was such a change, one moment Sherlock was subdued, the next, a burst of wild, excited energy.

"Hurry up, John! The game is on!"

Oh, how he lived for the game. Now he was truly alive, nothing else mattered, but him and John against the rest of the world.

Sherlock opens the door with a flourish and dashes out.

"Hang on, Sherlock. I need to charge my phone before we do anything aaaand you're not listening to me in the slightest, are you?" John notes in exasperation, watching Sherlock Holmes waltz through the hotel room, donning his coat and scarf like some superhero and leaving without giving him a second glance.

"And yep, you've left without me once again." He grumbles away to himself, reluctantly getting to his feet and walks over to the door. He suddenly stops mid-stride, his hand gripping the handle, and looks over his shoulder when he senses... well, something off about the room. After a moment, John dismisses the feeling and pulls the door shut behind him.

The fly flutters it's wings as the two prepare to leave, freezing when John looks back and only taking to the air again once the door was closed. Landing on the floor the fly waited a good two minutes just to be certain that the two were actually gone, and then expanded rapidly, going from housefly to woman in only the space of time it took to blink.

Glancing around at what had been left behind, Gemini made a beeline towards the laptop, obviously the best source of information providing she could hack in. Making a mental note of where the machine was exactly positioned so she could replace it later, Gemini sat down on one of the chairs and powered it up. Breaking in would probably not be easy, but the two had only just left and would probably be gone awhile judging by what they intended to do.

She had time.

Poor John.

Once they had split up, Sherlock was a lost cause. He ran from one idea to the next, one clue to the next, one police station to the next, scarcely registering anything else other than what pertained to the case. The work. He still idly spoke to John as he ran about, thinking out loud, as it helped him order his thoughts and the clues in his mind. He seemed to have forgotten they'd split up, or perhaps he assumed John would catch up to him eventually.

Soon he'd gathered every scrap of information he could that night, not even realizing the fatigue or hunger his body might be registering. He could be literally starving or dead on his feet, and he wouldn't have felt it. He was alive with the excitement of the case.

And the frustration. Their villain was a very subtle one, as many of the cold cases he'd dug into that night, could very well be from any number of things. Still, maybe he'd missed something. He needed to go over what he'd learned already, in his Mind Palace. He might have some kind of realization if he took the time to look through them again.

He absently opened his door, muttering to himself.

Gemini herself had become engrossed in the task of breaking into Sherlock's laptop, the level of encryption causing her considerable frustration as she tried and failed to hack in. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't notice the sound of someone walking along the corridor, her head snapping up when the door began to open.

Panic filled her for a split second before her training took over, one elongating arm slamming the laptop shut and depositing it back where it belonged, retracting even as the rest of her warped and changed, clothes and all, so that when Sherlock walked through the door she could greet him with a friendly, albeit grumpy looking face.

"Ah you're back, would you like some coffee?"

John Watson rose to his feet in the exact same way he had earlier, giving Sherlock the somewhat exasperated smile that seemed to come naturally to him when he talked with his friend.

Sherlock blinked, looking mildly surprised to see John already back, but then again, he would have the exact same reaction if it really had been John, either way. He took a glance behind him, he'd been talking to John absently for some time, but apparently he hadn't even been there.

But that was the normal order of things, sadly enough.

The detective didn't seem to notice anything wrong, as he tossed his coat and scarf on one of the chairs, and plopped down on his bed with a huff.

"Yes. Did you find anything of note?"

He sounds far more interested in that, than coffee.

The shape she had taken was a split moment decision, but it seemed to already be paying off. If Gemini couldn't access the computer to erase the case files, the least she could do was put it into Sherlock's head to abandon the investigation, and who better to convince him than his ~~only~~ friend?

Moving over to the hotel room's kettle, John filled it and set it going, busying himself with preparing two cups and glancing back over his shoulder at Sherlock.

"Not really, record keeping at the local precincts doesn't seem to be that good, and even with the records from what I heard from the cops there they haven't spotted any homicide patterns recently."

"Not surprised," Sherlock scoffed. "They're all idiots, the lot of them. Even the ones I've visited could scarcely be considered out of the Stone Age."

It's not exactly clear if that's true or Sherlock would say that about any police...

"Doesn't mean that they haven't happened. Poor record keeping also indicates poor reasoning which implies they probably couldn't figure out a murder if it happened right in front of them," he said irritably.

He clasped his fingertips together under his chin as he lay flat on his bed.

"Did you happen to see anything on recent missing people?"

Edited 2017-07-08 09:47 (UTC)

"They try Sherlock, obviously they don't have your brain but they do their best."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to put the momentary irritation behind him, something that was helped by the kettle clicking off. Glancing at it, then back at Sherlock at the question, John rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"There were a few posters at one of the stations, but I can always check online." Going over to the laptop John picked it up and offered it to Sherlock.

"If you log on for me I'll take a look."

"You forgot the guest password I gave you already?"

Typical.

"Type in guest for the user name, and then Ge32Se34Te52."

Or the periodic table elements of Germanium, Selenium, and Tellurium, respectively. GeSeTe, or Guest. He was a science nerd through and through.

Of course, a guest account would not reveal any of Sherlock's private information, it would only provide a default workspace.

"It's not as if it's easy to remember."

'John' grumbled not so quietly, hiding his irritation at getting a guest account behind the complexity of the password, nonetheless typing it in and keying up a search, looking at the blank search screen thoughtfully for long enough to make it look like he was searching, tapping away now and then before closing it down.

"There are disappearances, but it doesn't seem like there's any pattern or recent increase in activity. Maybe this whole thing isn't what you think it is? It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

"Isn't what I think it is?" Sherlock suddenly sat up on the bed, clearly offended. He scowled. "You were quite adamant about 'this whole thing' earlier."

A pause. "You know, if you're tired from tonight's work, you could just say so. I mean, it'd be a shame and a sign you're getting older, but it's inevitable, I suppose." Another pause. "This is murder, John, murder most foul, and a real, proper case, finally!"

He spoke with the air of obsession, of a man that probably would keep going even if it had all been something else.

"Perhaps, but after looking around several precincts without even an inkling of any evidence to support your theory, I'm starting to feel a little sceptical, and yes a little tired."

John rubbed his forehead, giving visible vent both to his frustration and also his tiredness, looking back at Sherlock after a moment with a long suffering sign.

"This wouldn't be the first time you've been wrong. Perhaps it would be for the best if we went back to De Chima and dropped all of this?"

There's a long pause.

Sherlock stares at John, frowning. "Dropped all of this!?"

He sounds utterly aghast and appalled. What has gotten into him? Skeptical, granted, but John seemed to be dead set on giving up, when he showed no signs of wanting to do any such thing earlier. In fact, he seemed quite happy that they had a decent case, after so long without one. If they'd gone through a slew of cases recently he could understand John's fatigue of it, but John was the kind of person that jumped at the chance of something dangerous happening.

If this had been back home, in London, he'd chalk it up to maybe the other man having one too many drinks recently. But he could read no sign of it on him at the moment.

But they weren't back home, and they were in a world full of people with abilities beyond ordinary imagination. Something very well might be affecting John. The clues...he had been acting a bit...like he desperately wanted him to stop the investigation.

Sherlock got up quietly under the premise of going over to fetch himself a cup of water.

Water that he could use as a weapon just in case...

"Yes, perhaps...well, perhaps you're right, I might be reading too much into it."

Edited 2017-07-30 13:59 (UTC)

"I'm just saying..."

The false John trailed off, letting the implication sink in that he no longer felt there was anything to find here without actually articulating it. The less said the better, so that when the real John and Sherlock next spoke it would make it harder to remember exactly what was said.

But it seemed that the argument was already won. Gemini hid her satisfaction well behind John's face, watching 'tiredly' as Sherlock got up and began to doubt himself as she'd hoped. Result.

"Well there we go then. Now I don't know about you but I'm ready for a good night's sleep. We could talk about it again in the morning?" She would have to leave soon to intercept Watson as Sherlock and make sure that both were on the same 'leaving things alone' page, but she anticipated no trouble in convincing the good doctor who from what she could tell usually bobbed along in his friend's wake.

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Case Solved! (Partially)

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Gemini & Sherlock

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