Detectives Lelouch vi Britannia and Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Johnson was a tough old man, with a constant scowl on his face. He had retired from the military several years ago, and his lived alone with just his German Sheppard, who had passed away a couple months ago. Still, he kept fighting on, and kept his trusty shotgun Matilda within an arm's reach at all times. Many of the neighbourhood kids were frightened by him, and for good reason. One time his neighbour had been having a loud party so late that he went over personally to complain. After shouting at all the startled kids, he pulled his gun and told them he would to call the cops on a noise complaint, and worse if they tried it again. To really teach them a lesson, he even took a fancy watch from the person who lived there. He would give it back after he learned his lesson, maybe if his neighbour could go a month without being unreasonably loud. Well, they had it coming, since they were blasting such awful music into the night sky.

Suddenly a scampering noise was heard from the floors below. Fearing the worst, Mr. Johnson grabbed Matilda and quietly crept downstairs, his former training kicking in. There had been a string of break-ins in the area recently and his house had already been broken into several times. Well mister sneak thief here was in for a surprise, thought the grizzled geezer. He had set several traps around the entrance, including scattering marbles around the floor to slip up whoever dared enter his layer.

Slowly cocking his weapon, he crept towards where the sound was coming from. Just around the corner, he could hear whoever had foolishly tried to take advantage of him. Slowly stalking forwards in complete silence, cloaked in darkness but for a faint moonbeam leaking through the window, he turned the corner to uncover the intruder. With a gasp of surprise, he fell to the floor, and a loud gunshot rang through the night. Mr. Johnson's body hit the floor as he breathed his last, and a quick shadow darted out of the door and into the night.

Life just didn't get any better than this. I was sprawled out across a nice warm tropical beach, the water lapping at my heels, an ice cold beverage in one hand, the other in a bowl of peeled grapes. The sun was perfect, laughter was in the air, and for once my roommate Sherlock would leave me alone for five freaking minutes. Yes, life just didn't get any better than this. Well it might if that stupid buzzing sound would stop, the scene would be perfect. And yet it dragged on and on, getting louder and louder. Wait a minute, loud annoying buzzing sound...

For the first time in probably ever, I sat up dead straight with a cold sweat like in the movies. However, my fear wasn't from the amazing dream, it was what would happen if I didn't pick up my phone. Scrambling across my bedside table, half of my brain still trying to sleep while the other half screamed to wake up, I somehow managed to find and pick up my cell phone.

"What the hell do you want?" I groggily asked whoever was on the other line. I was pretty sure I knew who it was, but there was still hope that someone else had called. If I was lucky, maybe it was a family emergency.

"Great news, Lulu chan" came the voice at the other end, and I knew my worst fears had come true. "I've discovered why the vending machines are giving five cents less than it should when returning change."

I was stunned. An expression of disbelief crossed my face as my jaw dropped. After gathering myself for a moment, even though dozens of words sprang to mind, I spoke calmly to him. "First of all, don't call me that. My name is Lelouch, and as I've said before I'm two months older than you. Secondly the vending machine has been doing what now? And most importantly, why did you have to call me at five o clock in the freaking morning?"

I suppose a quick explanation is in order. My name is Lelouch vi Britannia, and I attend the Brittanian University of Crime and Justice. Of course, we were assigned roommates and "partners in crime" randomly, so naturally I was forced to work with one of the most unique people I have ever met, a quirky man by the name of Sherlock Holmes. Many staff and students jokingly use the ironic term partners in crime, or PIC, for the person you must work with for at least one semester. Also, when I call him unique there are many more colourful words that spring to mind, but regardless of Sherlock's less than charming behaviour, he is incredibly good at what he does.

"I noticed over the past several weeks several people using the vending machine have been annoyed at it or frowning, although most just shrug off and resume their daily routine, but it was enough to prove something was wrong. After several test runs, it was confirmed that the return change is constantly five cents less than what it should be." I wished I could've scoffed at the idea, but the truth is he was right. I had lost almost a quarter to that machine, but didn't care enough to take action. All machines glitch from time to time. I was starting to wonder what was wrong with it now.

"After examining the change slot, slight traces of thread were found around the edges. By carefully entering a fishhook, I discovered a slightly larger piece of string was constantly jamming one of the receptors, causing the machine reading to glitch. Somebody must've been using one of those trick coins, the ones that you can pull back out."

Well I was impressed. As usual, the nutcase had managed to find a solution before most people even knew there was a problem. Still, I had some choice words to tell him. "Okay, I get that you're excited by this, and very proud of your detective skills, but that doesn't explain why you had to call me at such an unholy hour!" I was scream whispering at him, doing my best to emphasize anger while not waking up the rest of the floor.

"I thought you would be happy to know what scammed you out of at least twenty cents. More importantly, getting up early is a wonderful habit to get into. You always complain about how you need more time in the day, so this is a win win for everyone."

"All this did was put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day."

"Oh yeah, there was also this murder we were supposed to investigate. Call Professor Yagami for details. Better get moving Lulu chan."

"Yeah yeah whatever. Wait murder? And don't call me—"

I was interrupted by the beep and dial tone of a hung up phone. At our school, all students are on call to work as sort of Interns at the police station, getting hands on experience on working on actual crimes. For someone as young as me, just turning twenty two, it was very exciting. My Professor was in charge of taking these calls and directing whoever he thought was most adept or could best use the experience to the crime scene. Naturally, being chosen with your partner was a huge honour.

A quick phone call to my Prof and a cold shower to get my head in the game, I was heading out. If Sherlock needed a ride, he probably would've showed up in my bedroom personally to wake me up, rather than wasting time on a phone call. During the short drive there, I was contemplating the various problems that had been robbing me of sleep over the past week. My partner may be efficient, but tended to be cockier than a rooster in a henhouse. What if he said something offensive to the police commissioner and got us both in trouble? Sherlock had little to no respect for his elders, and almost didn't make it into the university because of it.

Finally I arrived at the scene. The media wasn't swarming the place yet, this early in the morning. Not that anyone would give them any attention. None of the news reporters were any good. Well there was this one girl I knew, Shirley, who was an inspiring reporter, but of course she wouldn't be at an actual crime scene. The man who ruined my morning, however, was at the place eagerly awaiting me, no doubt to explain his finding to somebody who would listen. Reluctantly, I stepped out of my old car and went to the mini crowd of officers plus the devil himself, my partner Sherlock.

A raccoon darted away from the crowd behind the scenes. The chief of police himself glared at me as I walked towards him. He was a broad and intimidating man, but I knew that underneath his tough exterior he was a soft and kind man. My father used to work under him, after all, and had always been there for my family when times were tough. Next to the chief was, unfortunately, a man named Rivals. In high school he was a looser who had no friends, but whenever somebody tried to strike up a conversation he relentlessly mocked them so it was hard to feel bad for him. Some claim he had a bad childhood, but I just think he's a prick. Regardless of the past, he was having a heated debate with the chief.

"I'm telling you I had nothing to do with it" came Rivals high pitched nasally voice.

"Look, all we're trying to do is follow the evidence and paint a clear picture of what happened." The chiefs voice was calm and sturdy, but with an undertone of annoyance, like one might have when dealing with a six year old throwing a temper tantrum.

"What evidence could you possibly have that points to me?"

"You showed up here shortly after the man was killed, demanded information from my associates and jumped in the air in celebration when you heard the grim news."

"That doesn't mean you can put me under arrest."

I decided it was time for me to come in before one of them did something Rivals would regret. "Excuse me chief, apologies for being late. Could you please bring me up to date?"

The chief sighed in exasperation. "Wonderful, now the rookie decides to finally show up. This day just couldn't get any better. First there's a homicide, the academy students who shouldn't even be on this kind of case shows up late, a suspect arrives on a silver platter and starts whining, and best of all there's a crazy-"

"Lulu chan, you finally made it!"

Everything I had feared was coming true. "Sorry about him, he's with me, part of the school." The morning sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon and with it the beads of sweat on my forehead. I had to do my best to fix the situation, both to keep the chief from expelling us and to get Sherlock to stop using such a patronizing nickname. "Now, could somebody please bring me up to date on the details of the homicide?"

Now that the unfortunate introductions were over, the chief was all business. "Mr. Johnson was an old man, in his mid eighties, retired army veteran. A few hours ago the police were called to investigate a gunshot noise. When nobody answered the door, the officer broke the door down and discovered his body in a pool of blood, with a gunshot in the chest. There are no signs of forced entry." The chief took a casually lit his cigar, and blew a puff of smoke in the air. "Next thing I know not even five minutes after I show up some kid starts asking about him and begins rejoicing at the grim news, and starts whining the second I call him a suspect."

Rivals nasally voice spoke up. "Just because I'm happy he's dead doesn't mean you can treat me like this! I always hate you detective type people, thinking you're so much smarter than everybody else. I'll show you. Mark my words, I can prove all of you wrong. And I'm not a kid; I'm twenty three years old."

"Well it was tough to tell judging by how you've been acting," said Sherlock, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now. "I arrived ten minutes ago, and you've been doing nothing but get in the way of anybody who was trying to actually investigate, as if there was evidence of you in the house you didn't want anybody to see."

"Are you calling me a suspect as well?"

"Of course not, this was done by a professional, somebody smart and talented. You appear to have neither."

Rivals face went beet as beet red as his unkempt hair. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but just closed it again reputedly, looking like a fish gasping for breath. After a moment, I asked the question that had been bugging me for a while. "Haven't there been a series of break ins in this area?"

"Yes there have been," replied the chief, for once sounding impressed. "We were discussing the possibility of the thief breaking into this man's house, expecting him to be asleep. The victim comes down, mid robbery, and the culprit panicked and shot him in the chest, making a rushed escape."

"Here, let me examine the lock, I can tell if someone picked it," Interrupted Sherlock, already walking across the "DO NOT CROSS" yellow tape. Evidently he didn't see the need to get permission from the chief or any of the half dozen police scattered across the area.

"Wait, you can't just enter a crime scene." The chief was starting to get frustrated with the lack of professionalism in the area. "At least put on a visitors badge, and try not to break anything." He was getting tired, with an exasperated tone of voice. He clearly was not enjoying the turn of events. With Sherlock leading on ahead, and Rivals still whining to a group of unfortunate police that had to cuff him behind, I decided to go towards the scene. Fortunately I had brought my guest badge, the one the university had supplied us with. Sherlock should have his, but wasn't usually one to bother with silly things like rules.

I approached my partner casually, hoping he had found something by now, although he was conducting his investigation in a very unprofessional manor. Without using the proper tools or wearing gloves, he was prodding about the lock with a bobby pin and the lens of a magnifying glass. "When I first met you," I said to the detective in training, "I never would've put you down as one of those 'rules are meant to be broken' type people."

"Of course I'm not, that would defeat the whole purpose of rules," came his usual arrogant response. "Rules are simply meant to be bent and twisted, or simply ignored if convenient."

"Isn't that just the same thing as breaking them?"

"Of course not, Lulu chan. I still acknowledge the authority they have, but replace them with my own superior rules."

"That still sounds like breaking them, and if you don't stop calling me by that stupid nickname, I'll have to start calling you, I don't know, Philly son." I was having difficulty thinking of an equally patronizing nickname for him, but knowing him he wouldn't even care and I would tire of calling him that before he did. "Anyway, have you found anything about if there was a break in yet?"

"Of course I have, there was clear evidence of the lock being tempered with. You see those lines and scratches around the hole?"

"No."

"Good, because they don't exist. Did you know that most people just agree with whatever you say if you have enough confidence?"

"That's all wonderful, but did you find out anything or not?"

"Come now, you really think I would lie about finding something?"

"You literally just said that you could make people believe anything."

"Fair enough. But I can assure you, the inside of the lock feels very different from how it should. There are jagged bumps inside, as if something had been forced inside and gently twisted into the correct position, via method such as lock picking."

Before I could ask how he could tell it was a lock pick and not just a key, the chiefs voice called out to us. "Hey could you boys come in here? And watch out, there were several traps scattered about. We've cleared most of them away, but there could still be some lying around."

A cold chill ran down my back. Not so much because we were in danger, but because of what the possible implications of this were. "What kind of traps do you mean?" I asked. Were they super dangerous or childish tricks?

"Most of them were meant to hinder the criminal or to alert the owner," came the chief's response. "There were a few trip wires around, but they were only connected to bells and chimes. Some were rather juvenile, like marbles scattered around the floor, but in one place there was a pitfall covered by a rug."

"How did he have a pitfall trap in a house?"

"It was over the ladder going down to the basement, but he took out all the bottom rungs, so that you would be trapped if you fell in there. There was a fancy watch on top of it, presumably used as bait. The watch itself was actually a cheap Rolex knockoff, but it looked expensive."

As we carefully crossed through the booby trapped house, Sherlock kept looking in various odd places, such as under a couch pillow or the inside shade of a lamp. I was tempted to ask, but figured he would give me some long winded explanation about how it could tell him what the victim had for breakfast. I noted a strange powder on the ground, possibly meant to capture footprints. Speaking of which there were no actual footprints, but there were some strange paw prints on the ground. Since the door had a dog flap, it was probably his pet.

"You kids may want to take a look at this" said the chief, looking at something on the kitchen table. There was a piece of paper on it, with a message on it. Getting closer, I could finally read the note:

To whoever's in charge of tracking me down
I regret to inform you that in spite of your confidence,
you will not be finding me. You haven't been able to get
any leads on the mysterious break ins, so I would like to
give you a hand. Firstly, instead of being called the
"Mysterious robber," please call me Mr. Egleis I do wish to
one of you, since if you do talk to me it means I was sloppy
and allowed you to catch me. Feel free to contact me at 15th;
Mr. Johnson here should be able to tell you what it means.

-Mr. Egleis

PS your snacks were delicious. I must try this brand myself.
PPS the traps were clever, but you would need something like
a Malay man catcher to catch a man like me

We all stared at the note for a moment, wondering what it could mean. Why had this man given himself such a strange nickname? And did was he so overconfident he felt the need to give us hints about how to find him? Sherlock was staring at it intently, as if unraveling the invisible strings of clues and evidence. The chief as well was doing his best to make sense of it, but wasn't having any success.

"Well now that that's out of the way, why don't you rookies take a look at the body itself?" The way the chief said it was somewhat ominous, and with good reason. This was my first time seeing an actual dead body, and I was somewhat nervous. Even though the University had plenty of dummies, none of us had actually seen a real one yet. Walking into the living room, I where most of the police were, I saw something that would be forever planted in my brain.

Mr. Johnson was laying spread eagle on the floor, a crimson pool of blood all around him. There was a spread of bullet holes in his chest, oddly enough spread out slightly more at the top and condensed at the bottom, instead of the relatively even pattern a shotgun blast would usually leave. A nasty bruise on the side of his head, presumably from when he fell. A shotgun was on the ground next to him, about a meter away.

My stomach started feeling queasy, like after you eat a huge snack at the fair and go on one of the spiny rides. However, this was anything but an amusement park. I had to sit down, as the mixed emotions ran through me. Part of me wanted to logically do what we had been trained to do, while the other half wanted to run away screaming from the horrors.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was just as devoid of human emotion as usual and walked straight up to him to investigate. He was leaning right up to the body, and stood motionless for about thirty seconds. Suddenly he looked up and started questioning the chief.

"I presume this gun is the murder weapon?"

"Ballistics confirm that it was this model of shotgun that killed him, and this one is registered to the victim."

"And none of your men have touched the crime scene yet?"

"You're looking at it exactly as it was found."

"Was anything stolen?"

"Just like the other break ins, nothing of major value was taken, in spite of being easily able to take items worth several hundred dollars."

I was starting to get embarrassed. Sherlock, the one who usually needed a babysitter, was acting just like in training, unfazed by the grim scene. I, on the other hand, was in a corner trying not to puke my guts out. After taking a deep breath and gathering my thoughts, I stepped forwards to the body.
"Are you sure you're okay Lelouch?" The chief's voice had a genuine tone of concern, no longer playing the condescending tough guy. "I know it can be rough your first time."

"Thanks, but I'm alright. The smell just got to me for a minute." In reality I was anything but fine, but I couldn't afford to be sick at a time like this.

Sherlock seemed to notice my condition, and quickly acted. "Lulu chan come with me, I think I have an idea." Too sick and ashamed to even correct him, I nodded and walked out of the room with him.

"Where do you guys think you're going? And what's this idea of yours?" The chief evidently didn't know that once Sherlock got an idea nothing on the planet could get in his way until he investigated.

"Don't worry, when we come back we'll know who the thief is and if he's our killer." Ignoring the chief's protests, Sherlock rushed me to my car. Before I could protest, he got in the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Thanks for getting me out of there, but you didn't have to make such a bold statement to the chief. Even you couldn't possibly know all that."

"My dear boy, you've known me for quite a while now. I would never make a claim that I can't uphold."

"Fine, I can tell you're dying to tell me how you managed to figure out who the thief is."

"Oh I have no idea who he is, or if it's even a 'he'. But I am eager to get to the arranged meeting place."

I was more than a little confused at this point. "So you've managed to set up a meeting with him, despite having no clue as to who it might be?"

"I didn't set up a meeting, but he certainly did in his note. Look at it again for a moment." He handed the same note that we had read in the kitchen earlier.

"Why do you have this? Shouldn't it been in the one of the police's evidence bags?"

"Just read it. Note the strange name; doesn't it look like an anagram?"

Looking carefully at the name, it did seem a bit strange. Mentally rearranging the letters, it suddenly hit me. "Egleis, couldn't it spell Sliege? As in Sliege's sweet shop?" Sliege's sweet shop was the name of a candy store in the downtown area. I used to go there all the time as a kid, but hadn't been back in years. It was owned by a nice man, Mr. Sliege, and was always quite a popular hangout place for younger kids.

"I see you've figured out our meeting place, Lulu chan, something that evidently none of the police managed to notice."

"So what if we found a place. How will we know when to find him?"

"That's obvious. He said we could contact him at fifteenth. Most people would automatically presume that meant Fifteenth Street, or the fifteenth house on a street, but the answer is quite simple."

"The note said that Mr. Johnson would understand, but obviously we can't ask him for help. What would Mr. Johnson know about numbers that we wouldn't?"

"Well he was a retired army veteran, right? Maybe it's some kind of military code."

"It doesn't have to be a code. If you say fifteen to a soldier, he would likely think of fifteen hundred hours."

"Right, if you put it that way, fifteen hundred hours... that would mean three o'clock."

"Exactly. The note was simply telling us we should meet him at Sliege's sweet shop at three o'clock. But that's six hours from now." I was impressed that Sherlock had figured all that out, but we still had quite a wait until the meeting time.

"I was thinking we could maybe do a bit of extra investigation until then. That Rivals person likely isn't the thief, but he's still a suspect. We should go to his workplace and try to figure out if he has an alibi." Everything was starting to look up again. We were doing some legitimate investigation, and although Sherlocks theory on the note and meeting place might be a stretch, it was a very good lead.

"Shouldn't we tell the chief about the meeting place?" I asked. "We could potentially be dealing with a murderer, we aren't even official cops."

"Waste of manpower" was Sherlocks quick response. "It's a public place, and the note said he wanted to talk to whoever was able to find him. Whoever it is might be quicker to talk to just the two of us instead of the whole force. Besides, I might be completely wrong with this, and it would be a terrible embarrassment if the chief found out we lead them all on a wild goose chase." It was true, the chief certainly wouldn't let me forget being wrong about such a farfetched claim any time soon.

"How do you know Rivals workplace? You said we could investigate there, but we have no Idea where to go." Actually I knew from going to high school with him that he was going into real estate, but Sherlock shouldn't have any knowledge about that. Besides, we still didn't know what company he was part of.

"Good question Lulu chan. I noticed an ID card, only half sticking out of his pocket, but it had his name on it and the logo of a real estate company." Sherlock was positively beaming at this point, incredibly proud of his discovery. "We could go investigate there. In fact, here it is now."

I hadn't noticed how long we'd been driving, but now we were at a huge factory like building. Just as I was about to walk into the door, my phone rang. Looking at it, it was the chief. A cold chill ran down my spine; getting a call from the chief of police is never a good sign, even more so when you deliberately ignore him and begin conducting a private investigation without his knowledge.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively. Hopefully he was in a good mood. Well he was never in a good mood, but maybe he was in a not horrible mood.
"Lelouch, you need to get down here immediately." His voice was stern, but not as upset as I would've imagined.

"Chief I can explain. Sherlock and I have been—"

"You two are still part of the academy; I can't control what you do. This is supposed to be a learning experience for you boys, to learn how an investigation works."

"Then why do we have to come down to the station?"

"For that exact reason. We've found another suspect, and are going to begin interrogating him soon." The chief's voice was snide and superior. "Come and join us if you want, if you aren't too busy with whatever is more important than the official crime investigation."

"Yes sir" I responded apologetically. He certainly wasn't pleased with how we had left the scene, and were doing our own vigilante style operation. "We'll be there shortly sir." I hung up, looking up to Sherlock, who was examining the details of the building's door handle. "Sherlock, we have to get back to the station. There's another suspect."

Sherlock looked up from the exquisite metal handle. "Well we don't both need to go do we? I'm not sure we have time to go to the station, interrogate him, come back here, question people about Rivals and make it in time for the meeting."

"We do have six hours" I reminded him.

"Five and a half now, and don't underestimate how long it can take to thoroughly question someone." He was right about that, neither of us wanted to be rushed in this situation.

"Alright then, you check out this place and I'll listen in to the questioning back at the station. We can meet here in four hours."

"Sounds good Lulu chan, make sure you get all the details from this guy."

"Is it really that hard to call me Lelouch?" I tried to get Sherlock to use my actual name, but he was already inside the building. With an exasperated sigh, I got in the car again and began driving to the police station.

After a good twenty minute drive, I arrived at the headquarters. Once I had shown student identification and received a guest badge, I proceeded to where the interrogation room was. Since my dad used to work here, it was pretty familiar, and I quickly found where the new suspect was being held. The chief was still questioning him, looking quite frustrated.

"So, let me get this straight" said the chief. "You've lived next to Mr. Johnson for several years, and have never gotten along well with him."

"Yo that's right man" was the obnoxious reply from the new suspect. He looked to be a few years younger than me, maybe in his late teens. He had clothes baggy clothes that were several sizes too big for him, and plenty of chains and rings on him. A pair of expensive sunglasses were on the table he was sitting at; likely he tried to wear them during the interrogation. "That old geezer next door was always getting mad at me for playing my tunes at night, and for having some friends over."

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" The chief was glaring at him, trying his best to determine if he was the killer or not.

"You know man, I, like, got a whole bunch of my bro's over a couple weeks ago, and we were like having this awesome party. It was totally off the hook man, so many hot chicks were there and we had these, like, booming speakers. It went so late into the night, man."

"So you were disrupting the whole neighbourhood with your party. What does this have to do with Mr. Johnson?"

"Dude, he like burst into the room with his shotgun, and threatened to call the cops on us. It was so not cool, dude. Man, he even took one of my gold chained watches, one of my favourite pieces of bling. He didn't have any swag, bro."

Hearing this man speak in such an undignified manor made me gag a little, but I had to focus. I could see why he was a suspect though; he was having a big party, and the old man next door came to crash it. A few weeks later said old man winds up dead. It certainly looks pretty suspicious for the neighbour.

"Where exactly were you between the hours of three and five this morning?"

"Yo dog I was still out partying with my brothers, you know what I'm saying man? It was like pretty intense man."

"We'll be sure to ask them. Could you tell us their names and contact information?" After the suspect wrote out some names in a childish scrawl, I began to pace back and forth. If the alibi was from close friends or family, you couldn't trust that it was real. However, that being said his handwriting was nothing like the note we found, but he could be deliberately writing messily. If this was the case, how far was he pretending? Was he really such a stereotypical person, or was he really the mysterious Mr. Egleis, putting on an expert persona? No, that couldn't be the case; things like that only happened in fictitious novels and TV shows.

"Glad you decided to show up," said the chief from behind, startling me out of my mental soliloquy. Is that crazy partner of yours around?"

"No chief, we decided to split up and investigate different places." I didn't want to tell him about our lead on the thief.

"You know you two aren't technically supposed to do any investigating. The academy program is for students to observe and to learn. As far as any investigating goes, you might as well be a regular civilian." It was true, but I couldn't just stand and watch. After what an amazing cop my father was, many people had high expectations of me, even if they didn't say it. I couldn't just be the best; I had to be better than the best.

Regardless of the unreasonable expectations I had for myself, I needed a way to change the subject. "You know it's technically not a police academy. It's the Gotenhiem University of Crime and Justice. People go there to become policemen, lawyers, private investigators..."

"Bah, our city has some kind of weird system to combine the police academy with a regular university. I'll always call it the academy." After chatting with the chief some more, and of course walking around the station and talking to various people about their jobs, I figured it was about time to start heading back to Sherlock. Hopefully he had found some sort of lead, and we could find out why Rivals was so happy that Mr. Johnson had died.

Driving up to where we had left, I could see Sherlock was waiting for me by the curb. "Hello there Lulu chan," he said with a wide grin on his face. "I've certainly had a successful excursion. How about you?"

"Well the new suspect certainly could be our killer, but I doubt he's the one who broke in and left the note." I quickly brought him up to speed on everything that had happened since we split up, from describing the neighbour to explaining all my thoughts and observations. "So what exactly did you find out about our man Rivals?"

"Well he isn't exactly liked very much around the office", said Sherlock, "but he has good qualifications so they decided to make him an intern. As it turns out Mr. Johnson's property has incredibly high retail potential, and Rivals was put in charge of getting the property from him, but the old man refused to move into an old folk's home."

"That must be why Rivals was so ecstatic when Mr. Johnson died," I concluded. Things were starting to make more sense now. "The property becomes up for grabs, and the company only cares about how they got the great property Rivals was assigned to get."

"Precisely, Lulu chan. Now it's getting late in the afternoon, and we have a date with a potential psychopathic murderer."

"You know, what if we've been looking at this the wrong way," I told Sherlock. A thought had come to me a while back. "What if this 'Mr. Egleis' person isn't our killer after all?"

"Well we know that somebody broke into Mr. Johnson's house shortly before he was killed. What if somebody else did it and used the recent trespassings as a cover?"

"Well if that happened, who exactly are we going to meet now?"

"I'm not sure. However, out of curiosity, I did check Rivals's schedule. He has no known alibi at the time of the murder, but couldn't have been doing the other robberies."

Sherlock and I sat in silence for the rest of the car ride, both mentally running the possibilities of the connection between our thief and our killer. Were they one and the same? The evidence suggested it, but the one who had done the other break ins wasn't the one we were dealing with in this case? And how did we know that the other ones were by a single person? Maybe a new gang was in town, or it was all just a huge coincidence? I was over thinking things again. All I had to deal with at the moment was the meeting, and whether or not he would show up.

It wasn't long before we arrived, ten minutes before three. We began our stake out in front of the shop, although I was worried how we would know when he would show up. It wasn't long before I saw him though. He stuck out like a sore thumb; everyone going in and out of the store was a young child or a parent, except for one man. He was much older than any of the kids, but wasn't with a younger person. Sherlock and I looked at each other, and after a silent nod went out.

After he had entered the sweet store, we both followed him in a short moment after. This place brought back a wave of nostalgia. The wonderful smell of sweets reminded me of whenever my mom used to take me here. Of course, that was back before the incident happened, but I couldn't think of that right now. Our suspect was sneakily looking around, like a typical shoplifter. This was almost certainly our guy.

"Excuse me, I'm with the Gotenhiem police," Sherlock said to him quietly. He had snuck up on him from behind, causing our suspect to jump half a meter in the air. "Now could we please have your name or would you rather just have us call you 'Mr. Egleis.'"

"Don't bother running," I added. "We have half a dozen cops outside dressed as civilians, covering all escape routes." It was a total bluff, but he didn't need to know that. All we could hope now was that this actually was our man. In fact if it wasn't and he called the cops on us, things would end very badly for Sherlock and I.

"Ha ha, I guess the jig is up then," said the man. "I can't believe you actually managed to find me. The name's Gaius, how about you guys? Were you the ones who tracked me down?"I was quite surprised at his reaction. He was completely calm, as if this was all one big game to him.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and my partner here is—"

"Lelouch vi Britannia, and we're here to question you about Mr. Johnson." I didn't want Sherlock to introduce me to others using his stupid nickname. "So Gaius, were you the one broke into the house of Mr. Johnson?"

"Him and many others," was the reply of the newly caught thief. "Pretty much if it's one of the cases where nothing of value was taken, it was me."

"Why exactly didn't you take anything?" I asked. "You were in their house undetected; you could've easily taken several hundred dollars worth of goods."

"Well I didn't want to become a real criminal. I don't really need the money, I just love the thrill of picking locks and sneaking around. In fact, most places I break into they don't even know anyone was there." I wasn't sure whether or not his story was true, but it would explain quite a bit.

"Okay, but what's with the weird note?" asked Sherlock. "Did you want to get caught?"

"Well it was getting too easy for me," was Gaius's unexpected response. "I figured I should give you guys something to work with, however minimal. Besides, it was fun to write the note and act like a criminal mastermind."

This guy was surprisingly optimistic considering what crime we were suspecting him of. "What about Mr. Johnson," I added. "Did he come in on you while you were playing your little game? Is that why you had to take his shotgun and kill him with it?"

"W-w-wait a minute, what's this about murder?" For the first time, Gaius looked serious. His face went pale as a ghost, or like the temperature had just dropped fifteen degrees. "Okay, I admit that I broke in there, but I didn't kill nobody."

"Double negative; so you admit that you did kill him" said Sherlock, evidently trying to put more pressure on the suspect. Well it was definitely working.

"No, I swear I didn't kill him. You have to believe me!" Gaius's cry for help fell upon our nearly deaf ears. Neither of us wanted to believe him, but he did sound pretty genuine. I had seen plenty of people claim innocence, but few of them sounded like this guy. There was a certain panic in his voice that almost made me believe him. Almost.

"Do you have any kind of proof as to where you were during the time of death?" Sherlock was asking him now, although I doubted there would be a proper answer.

"You know of course that I have no alibi. I was trespassing in his house just before his death. Look, I know how bad this looks, but I'll do anything to prove my innocence." Gaius was pleading with us now. It was an interesting strategy for a criminal, confessing to a lesser crime in order to escape conviction of a bigger one.

"Very well then, we'll let you go for now, but stay in town and give us some way to contact you." I couldn't believe what Sherlock was saying. We had him here in our grasp, but weren't even going to take him into the station for official questioning? I had no Idea what my partner was thinking, but he'd better have a very good reason.

After hastily writing a number on a piece of paper for Sherlock and he called it to make sure it was the real number, I asked Gaius one more thing. "I get that you were confident that you could elude the cops, but why were you so surprised that somebody managed to crack the code you left in your note?"

"Gaius looked confused for a second. "What code? I didn't leave any kind of hidden message in that note, it was just meant to confuse you, and maybe mess with your mind a bit." Sherlock looked confused at his response, and a puzzled expression came across his face.

"Wait, so what about the name 'Egleis' being an anagram for Sliege?" Was this guy telling us that we had found him through pure coincidence?

"Really, Egleis could be rearranged to spell Sliege?" Gaius looked confused for a second, and then gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose it does. I had never thought of that. The name just sounded cool. I've been coming to this store frequently for as long as I can remember, so it's no surprise that my secret name would be similar."

Sherlock looked desperate now. "What about fifteenth, and Mr. Johnson understanding it? He was in the military, and in military terms 1500 means three o'clock, which is when we found you."

"Well how about that. I had just tossed in random numbers, made that comment about Mr. Johnson to frustrate him. I never would've guessed that it would get me caught." Gaius was doing his best not to burst into laughter, and I could feel my cheeks going slightly crimson. We had been played for fools. "As for meeting me here at this time, well it's hardly a surprise," Gaius continued. "I come down here several times a day, even though most people my age have abandoned the childish sweetness of a candy shop."

Feeling downcast and disheartened, Sherlock and I left the "meeting place." It wasn't until we got back to the car that I remembered that I was wondering why we hadn't taken Gaius in to the station. Even if he wasn't our killer, he had still been trespassing and committed petty theft. "Why did you let him go?" I asked my partner.

"I highly doubt he's our killer" was Sherlocks response. "If he had taken the time to write that note simply because he wanted to make it easier for us to catch him if he had committed a more serious crime such as murder." He was right, it didn't make much sense. "No, the only scenario in which Gaius is the killer would be if he was to write the note, get interrupted while leaving, kill the victim and somehow forget about the arrogant and potentially incriminating note."

"Still, however unlikely there is still a chance that that happened. No matter how low the chance, we should take in a suspect." I had always been more of a by the book person. Practically everything we had done today went against all of my natural instincts.

"The positives of letting him go outweigh the negatives" was Sherlocks response. "Evidently he's incredibly talented at what he does, and now he owes us a huge debt. After this latest incident, I doubt that he'll go back to breaking random people's homes anytime soon, and if he does we know how to contact him. Besides, we couldn't actually legally take him in, except by citizen's arrest, and then we would have plenty of explaining to do for the chief." He was right, of course, but I still didn't like it. Although it was nice to know that if we needed to we could get a master thief to do a favour.

"Alright, but we should go back to the station for now. If we lay out everything we know, I'm sure that we can find something on one of our three suspects." Between Rivals, the neighbour, and Gaius, I was pretty sure that we had at least seen our killer.

"Good idea Lulu chan, I believe I know who our murderer is. We should go back and tell the chief and everyone else what happened."

"Don't call me that. Wait, you found out what?" It had taken my brain a moment to register what exactly he had said, but I couldn't believe that he knew who the killer was already. "Whatever, wait until we get back to the station to explain in full. I'm sure that plenty of people there, including the chief want to hear. No point in saying it all twice." It wasn't really a full lie, but the real reason I wanted him to wait was because I was trying to figure it out.

During the remaining car ride to the station, I began to mentally review the suspects. First of all there was Rivals. When I went to high school with him he never had any kind of violent tendencies, but that didn't mean anything in an investigation. He had a good motive to kill him, and had no alibi for the night of the murder. Or rather, he hadn't given us one, but implied that he had one. I remember he claimed that he could prove us wrong, but so far it was just an empty threat. Sherlock had been saying something earlier about how stupid the real estate system worked, about how much paperwork was involved in order to do anything. The only other thing I could remember about him was his scrawny arms and annoying attitude.

The next suspect was Mr. Johnson's neighbour. He was your typical douchebag, but it was possible that was all just an act to look less like a murderer. However, I couldn't start thinking like that or the investigation wouldn't get anywhere. The same could be said about any suspect. Besides, he was almost certainly just an ordinary spoiled brat. His watch had been "confiscated" by Mr. Johnson and his party was crashed by the old man, so he certainly had a good motive. Plus he had a very weak alibi.

Finally, we had Gaius. I still wasn't sure what to think of Gaius, who had treated trespassing like some kind of game. A part of me didn't want him to be the killer, but the worst thing a detective could do was get their personal emotions mixed into the equation. Obviously he didn't have an alibi, since he was inside the victim's house, but it was possible that the robbery and the murder were completely unrelated. In spite of how much junk food he seemed to eat, his body was very lean, so he was in good enough shape to wrestle the gun away from Mr. Johnson, if the situation called for it. Surprisingly he had greeted us with open arms when we found him, but it could've just been a ploy. Again, I couldn't think of every suspect like that.

Mr. Johnson himself was an interesting piece of work. His house was filled with booby traps, some of them curiously placed. Thinking back I could remember that many of the marbles surrounding his body were strewn across the floor, as if they had been randomly thrust askew. The chief had also mentioned something about a wire on his leg during our conversation at the station.

With everything said and done, by the time we pulled up to the station, I was pretty sure I knew who it was that had killed Mr. Johnson. "Sherlock," I asked, "could you tell me if my theory is the same as yours? It might sound a bit crazy, but hear me out." I explained my thoughts to him, and he grinned more and more as I went on. My expectations of him was that he would scoff at the ridiculous idea I had, but surprisingly he heard my whole story out. After I was finished telling him, he looked at me and gave a cheesy smile.

"My dear Lulu chan, you're much brighter than most people give you credit for. What you just said were my thoughts exactly, which works out much better. The chief respects you more than me, and it'll sound less crazy coming from the both of us." I was so happy he had agreed with me that I didn't even get mad when he called me "Lulu chan."

At long last we were at the police station. This long case was finally drawing to a close. We had to wait a minute while Sherlock got his visitors badge, while I still had mine from earlier, but after that we were on our way to have a conversation with the chief and the rest of the force. It wasn't long before we were able to track him down. "Excuse me, chief, could we please have a word with you?" He looked over his shoulder and was clearly surprised when he saw us.

"Well look who it is," said the chief in his usual condescending tone. "You two found the murderer for the Johnson case yet?"

"As a matter of fact we have," replied Sherlock. The chief had asked it sarcastically as a rhetorical question, but we were too excited to notice. The expression that crossed the chiefs usually stern face was one I could never forget, a look of bewilderment, doubt and maybe a little bit of pride.

"You two had better come into my office for a bit and explain things." He gestured for us to follow as he walked into a small room. "And this had better be good" he added for good measure.

After he closed the door, he took a seat at his desk and looked at me sternly. "Alright, I'm sure you both know our prime suspects are a man by the name of Rivals and Mr. Johnsons neighbour, an annoying teen with no respect for his elders. One of them may be the thief, who broke into his house and killed him." He leaned forwards on his desk and took turns staring at both Sherlock and I. "Care to tell me which one of those gentlemen is our killer?"

Can you figure out who it was? Stop here and try to figure it out before proceeding.

"It was none of them," said Sherlock. "Mr. Johnson's death was an accident. The chief stared at us for a second.

"I'm sorry, what?" He was evidently doubtful, and possibly wondering if we were thinking straight.

"After careful examination of the evidence, we've come to the conclusion that none of our suspects could've done it, and that Mr. Johnson was killed in an unfortunate accident." I hoped the chief would listen to us, if not to Sherlock then at least to me. If we could get our case across, he would have to realize that we knew what we were talking about.

The chief reached into his desk and pulled out a tape recorder and pressed a button on the side. "You two better start talking now. And if this is a waste of my time, you can forget about coming back here for a long time." He was obviously skeptical, but at least he was giving us a chance.

Sherlock decided to start. "First of all, Rivals couldn't have killed Mr. Jonson. The real estate agency he works for requires employees to do a tremendous amount of paperwork before meeting with a customer, and I personally viewed some of the papers. Rivals had them signed early in the morning, right when the building opened. The signatures from his superiors and himself overlap with the timeframe for the killer.

"Aside from his now given alibi, Mr. Johnson was a trained army veteran. We had thought the only way for our killer to get the gun was to wrestle it from him, but Rivals has very skinny arms. In spite of how old he was, our victim wouldn't have something as important as his shotgun taken from his grasp so easily."

"Okay, but if all this is true then why didn't Rivals give us his alibi himself?"

"Do you remember when Rivals first came to the scene?" I asked. "He told us that we would be proven wrong by the end of the investigation. It's our belief that Rivals purposefully withheld his alibi from us so that he could prove us wrong when we formally accused him. It may sound like a bit of a stretch, but it would explain why he's been so uncooperative with the force."

"Fine, so Rivals isn't our killer," said the chief. "How about the neighbour? He doesn't look quite so weak, and his motivation is even stronger."

I took the lead with this one. "When Mr. Johnson interrupted his neighbour's party, he took a fancy watch to teach him a lesson. One of the biggest reasons we thought it was him was because he had a good motive to break in and take it back. Now, when we were in the house one of his most advanced traps, the pitfall above the basement, had a watch very similar to what was described as bait. If this neighbour was the one who broke in, the first thing he would do was go for the watch, which was so shiny even if it was mostly dark it would reflect light all over the place. Since the trap was left untriggered and the watch was still there, We can safely assume that he wasn't the one who broke in.

"Besides, don't forget that he had an alibi for both the murder itself and all the other robberies, so he isn't our serial thief. It is possible that his friends were lying for him, but it's still more likely to be the truth."

The chief looked impressed. "Okay, so it wasn't either of them. What makes you think he was accidentally shot in the chest with his own shotgun?"

"Mr. Johnson's house was filled with ways to trip up anyone who broke into his house," said Sherlock. "We know he suspected he was being targeted by a thief, but that may just have been his undoing. I noticed paw prints on the floor, and the door had a dog flap on it. However, upon his mantle was a memorial for a dog, and since we didn't find one in the house we can safely assume that some other animal was in the house. Several raccoons have been spotted in the area, one of them could've easily snuck into his house through the flap. There's a good chance that this is why he thought he'd been targeted, the wildlife had entered his home before and this time he wanted to catch them.

"Imagine this scenario for a second. After waking up super early at four in the morning, he hears the sound of something downstairs. Fearing it's the thief again, he grabs his shotgun and goes downstairs. Unbeknownst to him it's just a raccoon, but in the dark he has no idea what it is, so he loads his shotgun. Unfortunately he forgets the placement of his own traps, and hits some of them himself. The surprise causes him to drop his shotgun, which in a show of extreme bad luck hits the ground and is triggered, effectively shooting himself in the chest."

We paused for a second to let all that sink in. The chief looked at us with an eyebrow raised. "Do you have any evidence to support this... unique theory?"

I spoke up again. "Yes indeed we do. First of all, the pattern of bullets in his chest were off. At the top end they were spaced out, while at the bottom they were close together. The only way this would be possible is if he was shot from an extreme low angle, such as from the floor. If somebody had killed him they would have to be lying prone, in wait for him, which is very difficult to do when you're using the shotgun you stole from him.

"Aside from that, there was one trap in the house that had been triggered; the wire around his leg. There were also marbles that had been sent flying around the room where his body lay, as if he had stumbled on them. Mr. Johnson was a careful, paranoid old man who served well in the army, but at that age in the dark he made one final and fatal slip up."

I paused for a moment to let all this information sink in. The chief, after a minute of staring at us, finally spoke up. "Well, I suppose I was wrong about you two. You both did an excellent job in finding out all this evidence, and even better in figuring out what it all meant. You two should assist us in our investigation more often." Sherlock and I jumped up and high fived each other, like a couple of giddy teenagers. Well, I think we deserved to act a little immature. "However," continued the chief, "Don't let this go to your heads. You're both still part of the university or academy or whatever, and you completely overstepped your boundaries this time. I'll let it go this once because you're new, and because you did a heck of a good job cracking the case, but next time I won't be so lenient. Got it?"

We both nodded eagerly and made promises for further greatness. After leaving the chiefs office, we could hear the intercom calling a meeting on anyone working on the Johnson case. "I think it's fair to say our first case went very well. Wouldn't you say so Lelouch?"

"I certainly would," I replied with a grin. This was the greatest thing I could've asked for. I knew that my dad would've been so proud. If only he was alive to see it. After a moment I noticed something weird. "Wait Sherlock, did you just call me by my actual name?"

"I think you've earned it. Just for the rest of the day, I'll call you that. Come tomorrow, all bets are off. Understand?"

"Indeed I do." I still wished that he would call me that permanently, but I'll take what I can get. "How exactly did you know that Gaius wasn't the killer?"

"It wouldn't have made sense. Based on how he greeted us, if Mr. Johnson had walked in on him, he likely would've acted proud of him for finding him." His response made sense as usual, and made me feel like an idiot for not realizing it.

"Want to go back to the apartment now?" I felt like we should just go back now, and catch up on the sleep that I had missed in the morning.

"Why not, it's safe to say we've earned the rest of the day off." Sherlock looked over and grinned. "Hey, this time if you get something from the vending machine, you won't get ripped off as much."

I thought back to this morning when he woke me up with such an unorthodox method. It felt like a whole lifetime ago, while in reality it was only twelve hours. So much can change in just half a day. Thinking of that reminded me of something from when he called me. "By the way, how exactly did you know how many times the vending machine had taken money from me?"

"Simple really," replied Sherlock. "I just formed an approximation based on how many times you came in the door with both a snack and a frown with some change in your hand." Of course. Because who doesn't notice something that obvious? Sherlock may be a strange person, and could be incredibly annoying at times, but somehow I was glad that we were partners. When he put his mind to something he could be incredibly brilliant, and it was just part of who he was. He was simultaneously socially unaware and the most constantly aware and observant person I know, and even though I would never admit it to him, I was glad for every bit of it.

The end