Chapter Three:
Some hours later John, Lestrade and Sherlock were sitting in a small room, having questioned all of the people Sherlock thought might know something about the murder, or the victim, however so far they hadn't found out anything except that the victim was "a nice guy", which so far had been stated by everyone, so despite his best efforts, Sherlock had sighed and rolled his eyes the last five times.
"So, are we done now?" John asked as he started stretching in his seat.
"I think so.." Lestrade began, as he stood up from his chair, but was cut off by Sherlock:
"No, we need to talk to one more."
"Really? ...I'm starving!" John complained. "Who do we need to talk to, then?"
"That would be me, would it not?" A female voice asked, and all three men looked towards the door, where Ellie Nightingale, the actress, stood. "I was told by one of the officers that you wanted to speak to me as well?"
"Yes." Sherlock simply answered. John looked at the consulting detective, gaping slightly with surprise. Non of the other actors had been questioned, and to John it seemed odd that this young woman would know anything about the murder.
Lestrade looked questionably at Sherlock, however the Detective Inspector had learned that Sherlock always had a reason to question the people he did, even if Lestrade himself had his doubts, so he shook it off, and went to the door asking the actress to take a seat, and led her to the chair at the opposite side of the table Sherlock was sitting at, before taking his own seat, next to Sherlock.
"Would you like a glass of something?" John asked. "Water? Juice? Anything?" He had already risen from his chair, which was on Sherlock's other side, but placed by the wall, in stead of at the table like the others.
"No, thank you, I'm fine.." She answered with a small smile, "but I heard you say you were hungry, when I entered.. I think there's still some pizza left out there, if you want some?"
"Oh, well.." John was slightly surprised – even more so when Sherlock chose to interrupt him, before he could answer the young woman.
"If you're all finished with the pleasantries, could we move on to the reason miss Nightingale is actually here? Or would you three rather have a cup of tea and some biscuits first?"
"No, Sherlock, I'm sure we're all eager to get out of here." Lestrade answered, rolling his eyes.
"Good. Let's start then." Sherlock said and looked at the actress. "At what time did you leave the theatre last night?"
"I think it was around.. eleven?" She hesitated, before continuing: "Yeah.. eleven, half past, maybe."
"Why did you stay so late?" Sherlock asked. "It's my understanding that everyone else – apart from the victim, obviously – left hours before."
"Ehm, yeah.. they did." She answered, again hesitantly as she started fiddling with her fingers.
"You didn't answer my question." Sherlock stated, when it was clear to him, that she wasn't going to continue.
"Oh, no, sorry.." She blushed slightly. "Well, you see.. we open tomorrow night, and I was a bit nervous about the show, so I stayed to practice a bit – the songs especially. Musicals have never really been my preferred genre."
"No. Your vocal cords would have a problem reaching the high notes." Sherlock stated.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed.
"I'm merely stating a fact." Sherlock said, looking at the detective inspector, not the slightest bit remorseful.
At the other side of the table, the young actress's cheeks had gone completely red. She knew perfectly well that singing wasn't her strong suite, but having someone – especially a stranger – telling her that, made her feel patronized, even if that hadn't been the intention.
"Did you have a sexual relationship with the victim?" Sherlock asked next.
"What?" She asked, as if the question had caught her off guard. "No!"
"Are you sure?" Sherlock checked. Normally he wouldn't bother checking, but this woman acted for a living, she may be a person who could trick him, if he wasn't careful.
"Am I sure?" She asked disbelievingly. "Of course I'm bloody sure! I'm not some cheap tart, who just sleeps around with everyone."
"But you were the last person to see him alive, weren't you?" Sherlock asked.
"I suppose I must have been, yes.." She answered, still a hint of annoyance in her voice. Then she thought about the question she had just answered. "Hang on.. you're not insinuating that I had something to do with this, are you?"
"That is what I'm implying, yes." Sherlock answered simply.
"But that's, that's... absurd!" She exclaimed. "I didn't even know the guy's name, and you think I killed him?" She could feel tears of anger starting to press on, in her tear ducts.
"I didn't say that I think you killed him." Sherlock started out, "I'm asking you to see your response, so I can work out if you murdered Mr. Jones, had any sort of relationship with him, or just happened to be the last person to see him alive."
"This is just ridiculous!" She yelled a little louder than intended. "First you patronize me, for not having a good singing voice, then you accuse me of sleeping with a guy, who was what – 20 years older than me, and probably married, and then you go and insinuate that I killed him!" By now she was standing up and the angry tears had begun falling down her face. "You're not even a proper police detective are you? No, you're like this.. this.. consulting detective! You're just someone they bring in to break people. Someone who doesn't care about anyone's feelings or if what you say to them, will linger with them forever... But you know what the worst part is?" She asked calmly while glaring at Sherlock, who didn't reply. "I bet you enjoy it. You like having the power to break people. Like you're some kind of god; above everyone else, because you're more intelligent. But you know what? I've got news for you: You're not. You don't know how to empathize with anyone, and that makes you a lesser person."
And with that the young woman turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room. Lestrade stood up instantly to stop her, but was stopped by Sherlock's voice:
"Let her go, she knows nothing."
"For God's sake, Sherlock, if you knew she didn't know anything, why did you keep going at her like that!" John asked – clearly disapproving of Sherlock's method – before leaving the room too.
Lestrade and Sherlock was quiet for a minute or two, before Lestrade looked bemused and slightly shocked at Sherlock:
"Bloody hell, did she.. she did.. she deduced you!"
The only answer the Detective Inspector got was an angry glare.
John had followed the young woman out of the room, to see if she was OK. The good doctor never could stand seeing a woman cry, and if the tears had been summoned by his best friend, it just made him feel guilty. After all he was practically Sherlock's babysitter, when it came to dealing with emotions. John had often thought about referring to himself as Jiminy Cricket on his blog, though ever since the whole Irene Adler thing and the Baskerville case, the consulting detective had seemed to develop more of a conscience, John just hoped it was a progression that would continue.
After a bit of running through the halls, John found the woman he'd been looking for, in her dressing room, still sobbing. He gently knocked on the door frame, seeing as the door itself was wide open. The young woman turned around and upon seeing the doctor, she gave a kind smile.
"Hey.. I'm sorry about him, he can be a bit of a dick sometimes." John said and stepped into the room. "Thinking about it, he actually is a dick most of the time."
"Yeah.. can't say that surprises me." She said in a low voice.
"'Course not." John said and put a hand on her shoulder. "You OK, though?"
"Yeah, I'm fine.. just.. fine, ehm.." She looked up at the doctor, and realised that she didn't actually know his name.
"John." He quickly added.
"John.. I'm Ellie." She said and gave him another kind smile. "It's just.. all this; I admit I'm slightly stressed out about the opening tomorrow, cause I don't feel ready – at least not as ready as I would like to be, and then as if it weren't bad enough, we all come in this morning, to see one of the crew members dead on the floor in a pool of blood.." Her voice started to crack, "and he was just such a nice man; always offered coffee in the lounge, and cigarettes out back – I don't actually smoke, but still, the gesture was nice – and I.. I didn't even know his name, and it just.. it bothers me." She drew in a big breath and added; "and then your buddy comes in and makes me think I'm a suspect and all that, and it just.. I just.. couldn't cope."
"That is completely understandable." John said to her, and padded the back of her shoulder. "But to be honest, I'm kind of glad that you said those things to Sherlock. He gets away with the stuff he says to people, way to often; someone was bound to throw something back at him someday."
"Sherlock... that's ehm.. an interesting name." Ellie said, slightly bemused.
"Yeah, well.. he's an interesting man." John replied with a smile. "Anyway, if you're fine I should probably get back.."
"Of course." Ellie said with a sad smile. "You're probably even more hungry now, than you were before."
"Oh.. yeah, I'd forgotten about that." He said, slowly backing towards the door. "I suppose all the pizza's gone now."
"Yeah, I think it is.. sorry." Ellie said.
"No, no.. that's not your fault." John said quickly; he was at the door now. "Well, ehm.. good luck with the show tomorrow."
"Thanks." She said, after having released a light chuckle.
"Well.. see you around." John said, and lifted his hand in an awkward wave.
"Bye." She said, and saw John leave, before she had a thought: "Hey, John!"
"Yeah?" He said, as he popped his head back around the door frame.
"I was just thinking.. God, I hope this doesn't come off the wrong way, but.. would you – and, Sherlock too, I suppose – come to the opening tomorrow?" She asked nervously. "It's just, the entire cast gets some seats for family and friends, but I haven't invited any, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. Then you could come to the party afterwards as well, and see if anyone's acting suspiciously? It'll just be the production, a bit of family and friends, the press and a few VIPs.. Unless of course, wonderboy out there has already worked out who the murderer is?"
"Nah.. he's good, but he's not that good." John answered cheekily. "And that actually sounds like a great idea, so yes, I'd love to come.. well, we would."
"Great." She said with a genuine smile and then went to open the drawer on her dressing table; "I actually have the tickets here, so you can just take them with you." She handed over the tickets to John, and then smiled once more.
"Yeah, that's great.." He said, and then went for the door again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening then!"
As John walked back to the room, where he'd left Sherlock and Lestrade, he couldn't help but smile. He was really looking forward to, hopefully, get to talk more with this lovely woman, whom he greatly admired; not just for her acting talent, but also because she'd dared to stand up to Sherlock Holmes. Of course it wasn't exactly a date, but still – hopefully she'd have the time to chat for a bit at the party.
"Ah, John, finally, there you are!" Sherlock greeted him, as he returned to the room. "We're going to join the cast at the party after the première tomorrow, to see if anyone acts suspiciously!"
John just stood there gaping – sometimes he could swear this man was psychic. Then the consulting detective left the room, and John followed closely after; one thought appearing in his head:
Damn you, Sherlock bloody Holmes.
So.. I'm sorry for not updating again until now, and I feel like I'm starting to sound like a cliché but: This chapter was giving me a hard time. Anyway, I hope you're not too disappointed with this chapter... it's longer than the first two chapters combined, so hopefully that will be seen as a positive thing =) Oh yeah, and I just realised that I haven't written a disclaimer on the first two chapters, but need I say it: I do not own anything, except for miss Nightingale, I am not associated with the Reviews are greatly appreciated!
Please bare with me, cause this part of the story - the beginning, that is - is the part I hadn't worked out at all, when I started writing this story.
I'm not really sure how to feel about this chapter; I suppose I like parts of it, but then some parts make me cringe.. and it has so much dialogue, and sometimes I can't stand writing dialogue; I feel like everything is "he said, she said, he asked, she answered," you know?
And also, I'm expecting that the "wait" for the next chapter will be shorter, seeing as much of it is already written down.