Networks

Chapter 6- Sherlock

The taxi ride to Mycroft's was... strange. It was usually just John and I, together on the back seat of the car, debating the possible motives for a serial-killer or what weapon is most likely to be used by a librarian. But, at the moment, there was the buzz of voices from the radio, and the heavy breathing of the overweight taxi driver, who was taking all the time in the world because he didn't want to have to wait around and be forced to think about what he was going to do about his alcoholic brother living at his home.

John was in the front seat, and I could see the back of his head in the gap between the seat and the headrest. On the other side of the back seat, was the girl, Cora, who seemed to be leaning away from me slightly. I had already established that she was haphephobic; she had the fear of human contact, of being touched. She had recoiled when John had touched the back of her coat as he helped her into the car. I was assuming it was as a result of some type of assault, probably sexual, that had occurred during childhood. But, one thing that surprised me, that made me suspicious, was the fact that she hadn't looked for a drink yet. Maybe she wasn't an alcoholic, just had taken the coat from someone who was...

If I had met her a few months ago, I would no doubt had voiced these observations out loud to see how accurate they were but, for two reasons, I had restrained.

The first was that she seemed to be almost a bit like me. A sociopath, perhaps, and a high-functioning one too. Telling her my observations would perhaps not impress her, especially as they were all fairly obvious.

The second reason was John. Over the few months we had been living together in 221B, Baker Street and working together as partners-in-crime, John had been teaching me. He was becoming better at deductions, and I was becoming better at... god forbid, social etiquette, perhaps? I could read his expressions now. I knew his "warning face", the god,-please-shut-up-now one. Well, I thought I recognised it... it could just be a neutral expression.

'Sherlock?' John asked, turning his head slightly towards me.

'Hmm?' I responded, staring out the window at the blur of traffic.

'Will Mycroft want your help?'

'Probably not. But, anyway, it is not him I want to help. I just want to find the creator of the list. Find their motives...'

'So it isn't anything about brotherly about- hang on! Lestrade just texted. Number 5, Robert Westcott, just left London a few hours ago and the police got sent a new list. His name is gone, and a man called Wilfred Friar replaced him!'

'So as soon as you leave London you're not at risk?' Cora asked, her head snapping up. She almost smiled. 'So it could end up being some middle-class people on the list, if all the rich people packed up and left.'

'How could anyone have access to that information, though?' I asked, pondering.

'There are lists on the internet of the richest people in London. That part wouldn't be hard.' John said. 'But I have no idea how they could find out-' There was another buzz and John fumbled for his phone. '-that he had left Lon...don... What? Number 6- the new number 6- is dead! The police didn't get to him quick enough!'

'Where?'

'Hang on, I'm asking now.' John sighed, stabbing the keys on his phone with his thumbs.

'Hurry up!' I snapped impatiently.

'Just a sec!' He sighed in frustration. 'Greg says they can handle it and he'll lose his job if he tells you.'

'So? His job doesn't matter.' I said, reaching for my own phone to call Lestrade.

John turned around in his seat, looking at me expectantly. I paused in the act of finding Lestrade's contact in my phone. 'What?' I demanded exasperatedly.

'Remember we've discussed, more than once, the sociopath thing...'

'Yes, what about it?' I asked, resuming looking for his number.

'Well, Lestrade's family relies on his job, so it does matter.' John said, his tone almost patronising. 'If Lestrade's job is at stake then don't you think maybe you could-'

I shot a cold look at him. 'Oh, good idea, I'll just give up on finding a serial killer who plans on murdering another four people?' I asked, clicking on Lestrade's number. 'Hang on.' I held up a hand to John who opened his mouth to speak. He glared at me when I cut him off.

'Hello, this is Inspector Detective Lestrade-'

'Where is it, Lestrade?'

'-I can't take your call right now-' I snapped the phone shut.

'Can I use your phone?' I asked John.

'Sherlock, you can't bully him into-'

'Can I use your phone?' I turned to Cora.

She snorted without humor. 'I'm homeless.  Do you really expect me to own a phone?'

'You're a teenager, aren't you?'

'Do you even know how old I am, Sherlock Holmes?'

I strongly disliked admitting to the fact that I didn't know something, especially when she used my full detective name. 'Not younger than 13, not older than 18. Ah, but you are a child, aren't you? Came here from Australia with your... mum? Not both your parents, surely. You've run away from home. You're misunderstood-' My tone turned mocking.

'I am 15.' She said, turning to look back out the window. She didn't look angry, or sad. In fact, she was so blank of emotion that I felt a twinge of almost-pity. I was surprised, and then even more surprised at the fact that I was surprised in the first place. I didn't usually feel these emotions. And for some reason it took someone who was more of a sociopath than me to make me feel them. 'John, your phone.'

With a sigh, he handed it over. I dialed the number but only got his message bank again. I growled in frustration. 'They'll destroy the evidence!' I tossed John phone back to him.

No one said anything for a while, until John's phone buzzed in his pocket. John searched for it yet again, muttering, 'What does he want now? Hello, what is it now, Greg?'

'Who is Greg?' I demanded.

'Mycroft?' John sounded surprised.

I, however, had been expecting a call from him. 'Why do you call Mycroft "Greg"?'

'It's Greg Lestrade.' Cora said exasperatedly. 'Mycroft doesn't have caller ID.'

'How do you know?' I asked her.

She gave a shrug. 'I just do. Now shut up and listen.' She tilted her head to the side, her whole body stilling as she strained to listen to Mycroft's voice. I could only hear a faint buzz.

'Yes... You're not going to stop him, Mycroft.' John said. There was a pause. 'Yep. Mm-hmm. No, he's still denying any brotherly connections.' I glared at him in the rear-vision mirror, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile. 'Come on, it won't take long. No, there's a girl called Cora, too. Yes, the homeless one- are you still watching 221B? That's really creepy, you know- oh, he's hung up on me!'

'Don't take it personally. Where did he say he'd meet us? I assume he suggested a meeting place.'

'Yep. Just up here.' John leaned over to tell the driver. 'Can you please take us to Green Park instead?'

'Sure.' The driver grunted. He glanced at us in the mirror, looking panicked as he switched lanes. There was no delaying sorting out his brother's situation now. He pulled up to the curb in front of Green Park. John paid him and we got out. I strolled off, knowing exactly where I would find my brother.