Chapter Five:

After Sherlock was satisfied that he had learned everything he could from the building we departed without a word said towards Sebastian. John and I followed the detective obediently, waiting for him to divulge the reason for his smugness. He'd obviously found something of importance and we were expectant of him.

"Kadyn was right," he finally said and John shot me a surprised look. "That message was intended for someone who worked at the bank- who worked on that particular floor. We find the intended recipient and…"

"He'll lead us to the person who sent it," finished John.

"Obvious," said Sherlock.

"I'm going to go ahead and guess you already know who that message was intended for," I said, looking at him questioningly. "Care to share?"

"Pillars," he said with a smirk. "Pillars and screens. Very few places where you could see the graffiti. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night, that tells us a lot."

"Does it?" asked John, still looking confused.

"It's because of the markets isn't it?" I guessed, trying to remember what had been said in the episode. "They're set in different time zones and so there would be different markets open at all hours which means it was meant for someone who was working in a particular market."

"Hong Kong," confirmed Sherlock with a nod. "That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a narrow slip with the words 'Van Coon' written on it.

"Not many Van Coon's in the phone book," he said. He turned to the road and set about hailing down a cab. We waited patiently until one pulled up and I soon found myself acting as a buffer between John and Sherlock.

"You said back in the bank about it being too much for a prank and two impersonal for a grudge," Sherlock said tome, turning to study me. "So what do you think the message is in then?"

"A threat or a warning," I replied with a shrug.

"Something pretty severe," agreed John. "Hopefully not a death threat."

"That would be a bit troublesome," Sherlock said. John shot him a look. That wasn't what he had meant by that, even if he did share similar thoughts.

"Nothing you can't deal with I'm sure," I said, a bit sarcastic. Sherlock didn't seem to care about that though and merely chuckled under his breath. "Should keep you occupied enough to stop banging on my door in the middle of the night."

"He did what?" John asked, trying not to look amused and failing. I pinched the bridge of my nose as both of them giggled.

"We were out of milk," Sherlock offered as an explanation. "You were quite rude about it."

"You woke me up at 2am," I said sternly. "In what part of your mind do you think it's reasonable to wake someone up at that time?"

"I wouldn't try to figure it out," John said quietly to me. "You won't get anything from it."

"I needed milk," Sherlock muttered under his breath, and I imagined him pouting. "There weren't any stores open."

"And you couldn't wait?" I held up a hand. "On second thought don't answer that."

We followed Sherlock as he led us to an apartment block, a set of buzzers next to the door and one with a label that was immediately discernible from the others. He pressed the buzzer and we waited patiently for someone to answer it. No-one did. He pressed the buzzer again and again there was no reply.

"Ominous," I said casually.

"What are we going to do now, then?" John asked, as the detective frowned in thought. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

"How do we know he is coming back?" I pointed out.

"Just moved in," Sherlock said, indicating to the label above the one he'd pressed. The one that stood out from the others. "Floor above. New label."

"Could have just replaced it," John suggested.

"I wouldn't bother," I said with a shrug.

"No-one does," agreed Sherlock, pressing the buzzer. We waited a few seconds before we heard a woman answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi," said Sherlock, speaking in a more… cheerful voice that actually made him sound human. "I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've met."

"No. Well- I just moved in."

Sherlock shot a victorious look at John before becoming human again.

"I've actually locked my keys in my flat," he said in embarrassment with an awkward look on his face, chewing on his lips.

"You want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah," he agreed, tilting his head. "And can I use your balcony?"

"What?"

I tried to laugh as Sherlock pulled a face that made it clear he thought it was a perfectly ordinary request. Clearly the woman wasn't too willing with that request, but he put the charm back on and he had soon convinced her to let him 'use her balcony'. The door buzzed and we entered, Sherlock to go jump off a balcony and John and me to wait patiently for him to let us in.

Waiting outside, I leant up against the wall and was on my phone again. I sent Mycroft a message to let him know that his brother was playing acrobat and checked my inbox to make sure there were no messages on my phone about milk.

"Sherlock?" John said after knocking on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Sherlock? You okay?"

"I think he's ignoring us," I offered, listening carefully for any sounds from within the flat. There wasn't really anything to hear though and I gave up interest and knocked on the door as well.

"Any time you feel like letting us in," I said.

It took a few more minutes before Sherlock came over to answer the door, a mixture of disappointment and excitement flaring in his eyes. "It seems like it was a death threat after all."

Sherlock watched Kadyn carefully as she saw the dead body for the first time, her face paling slightly and a look of anxiety appearing in her eyes. She made no attempt to approach the body and loitered in the doorway. Instead she watched the police who had arrived only seconds ago, her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she followed their progress in collecting forensic evidence- he used the term lightly.

"You think maybe he'd lost a lot of money?" John walked over to stand beside them both. "Suicide rate is pretty high among these city types."

"We don't know that it was suicide," disagreed Sherlock, walking back into bedroom and studying all the items again. When the so-called police came in they were going to ruin every bit evidence there was.

"If it was really that bad a threat then he'd try to run away rather than kill himself." Kadyn was forcing herself to look solely at either him or John.

"Or lock himself in it would seem." Walking across the room he came to look at the suitcase again, stuffed full of pants and socks. Not important, but the impression left in it was. Something long and cylindrical had been imbedded in the suitcase- stolen perhaps? "Been away three days judging from the laundry."

"Hong Kong perhaps?" Kadyn guessed, folding her arms across her chest and turning her gaze to the ground.

John placed his hand on her shoulder, giving Sherlock a pointed look as if it were his own fault there was a dead body in the room.

He had not said Kadyn had to stay; it was her own will that kept her in place.

"Then there is the graffiti." Sherlock moved over to study the corpse now. "It was obviously some sort of code. But why paint? Why not phone or send an email?"

A pause as the two of them figured it out.

"Maybe he wasn't answering…" John said slowly.

"Good. You follow."

"No."

"If we stick with the original idea then he was being threatened." Kadyn finally looked at the body, keeping her gaze steady as she forced herself to look at it. "He did something on his trip that he shouldn't have…"

Leaning over the corpse, Sherlock spotted something in its mouth. Placing his gloves on he reached in and pulled out a ball of screwed up black paper. He opened it up but it was blank.

Kadyn and John were quick to move out of the way as a police officer finally saw fit to enter the room with the dead body- a police Inspector judging from his uniform.

"Ah, sergeant." Sherlock forced a smile onto his face. "We haven't met."

"I know who you are." The officer replied without any joy. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock stared at him pointedly before placing the soggy paper into an evidence bag and handing it over. Getting kicked out of the crime scene would be detrimental to his investigation.

"I phoned Lestrade." He didn't want to have to deal with this man. He wanted someone at least marginally competent. "Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge." He held himself up high. "And it's not sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Kadyn raised an eyebrow and her lips turned upwards slightly in some private joke.

Dimmock swept out of the room, and Sherlock shot her a questioning look as all three of them followed him out into the living room.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," said Dimmock, and Sherlock grit his teeth. It could be amazing how blind some people could be.

"It does seem the only explanation of the facts," John agreed.

"Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." Sherlock looked across to Kadyn in case she was going to hop on board the idiot express. She simply held up her hands and stepped out of the way of Dimmock's lackeys. "You've got a solution that you like… but you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock seemed more to be entertaining him than taking him seriously.

"The wound is on the right side of his head." He said with a smirk.

"And?"

"He was left-handed?" guessed Kadyn, catching on quicker than the other two.

"Exactly." Sherlock nodded and mimed trying to shoot himself in the right temple with his left arm. "Requires a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?" enquired Dimmock, looking at Kadyn for explanation.

She shrugged. "Well he said right side, so I assumed that's what his point was."

"So you didn't actually notice?" What a surprise." He did feel a little disappointed. "All you have to do is look around the flat; tea stains from the bottom of mugs, where he's been resting them on the arm of that chair- the left arm. Pad and paper on the left side of his phone, means he could hold it in is right hand and take messages with his left; all of his expensive, favourite suits on the left side of his wardrobe because he'd open the left hand-door. Want me to go on?"

I could see that Dimmock was extremely irritated by Sherlock and couldn't help but feel slightly satisfied- I'd never liked the man and now I'd actually met him I'd have to say he was worse than I imagined.

"Er, no." John had noticed it as well, and unlike me felt no need to irritate Dimmock further. "I think you've covered it."

"I might as well actually," Sherlock said with a shrug. "There's only one thing left on the list. The butter knife on the kitchen surface has butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. Unlikely that a left-handed person would shoot themselves in the right side of their head- I'd ask Kadyn to demonstrate but that would be a bit wasteful. Conclusion; someone broke in and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

I was struggling to understand if Sherlock had indeed just hinted at me committing suicide just to prove his theory. Hopefully a joke even though it did seem entirely possible he'd make me do it if he thought it was useful.

"But the gun…" faltered Dimmock, unwilling to believe the theories of someone like Sherlock.

"He'd been threatened," I pointed out. "He probably had the gun to defend himself in case locked doors failed to protect him."

"Which they did," Sherlock agreed, nodding. "He had fired a shot and the fact the bullet can't be located would suggest the killer came through the window whilst the bullet went out."

I caught a word from the other officers conversation and I knew they were talking about Sherlock as a smirk formed on Dimmock's face. Evidently it wasn't only Anderson and Donovan who weren't his fans.

"Oh, come on!" The Detective Inspector chuckled. "What are the chances of that?"

"It doesn't matter what the chance is as long as it's possible," I pointed out.

"Wait for the pathologist's report." Sherlock shot me a curious look as he spoke to Dimmock. "The bullet in his gun wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee."

"But if the door was looked from the inside then how did the killer get in?"

"Good." Sherlock offered a patronising smile. "You're finally asking the right questions."

I watched him as he sauntered off without a warning, John following almost immediately and myself remaining only to offer a quick 'Well what can you do' shrug and walked quickly to catch up with the other two. I had no intention of staying in that room any longer than necessary.

As soon as we were clear of the building I decided to voice my opinion. "I really don't like that guy."

"Not surprising, he's a bit of an imbecile- you can tell that from his name though." Sherlock smirked at me and I realised he'd figured out what I'd thought was so funny about the guys name.

"You can?" John looked confused, and I didn't blame him- back at home no-one ever seemed to understand what I meant that.

"Get two words meaning 'a stupid person', mash them together and you get Dimmock," I explained.

John still looked a little confused and I guessed was going to be running through his mental dictionary of insults to figure it out. I just hoped he wouldn't be mentioning it to Dimmock at all, his low IQ wrath was something to be avoided I'd wager.

"Well now we've got that out of the way I suggest we drop by the bank to tell Sebastian his worker's dead." Sherlock looked a little too gleeful as he wandered off to hail down a taxi, grinning like a loon and striding along with a swagger that was even more pronounced.

"I'm started to feel a little concerned for my wellbeing," I confided in John as we stared after him.

"Only a little?" he muttered back.