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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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.

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Case Solved! (Partially)

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