No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Lead #1

There was silence for a moment. The air was still. Celestia's heels clicked as she stepped back in - one foot, then the other - and closed the door behind her. She looked dazed, but her relief was plain.

He would take the case.

He would find this crazed killer and she would be safe. Safe to start a new life, privileged, but free of her perfect little prison.

"Are you sure?" she asked with hesitation, "I don't want to put you in danger."

Sherlock smirked.

"You'd be doing him and me a favor, dear. I don't fancy having bullets put in my walls," Mrs. Hudson replied, throwing a stern look in Sherlock (who was still seated on the floor facing the couch)'s direction. He sat cross legged with his palms pressed together and held under his chin as he made a habit of doing.

"Celestia, sit," he commanded, gesturing to the couch.

Silently she obeyed.

"I need that physical description, anything and everything."

She closed her eyes and began to sort through the images she held in her mind from the brief encounter with the man. "Tan skin, dark brown hair and eyes. He was tall-" she hesitated a moment and then switched to an image of him standing next to her, measuring his height against her own. "6' 3" I'd say, with a medium build. He was lean but still strong, I suppose like a cyclist or swimmer would be."

"What about clothing; anything out of place there?" Sherlock pressed.

"He wore dark jeans and a grey button up shirt. He had a black jacket with-oh!" She paused. She squinted her closed eyes, scrunching them back in extreme focus. "It's a company uniform," was the final verdict.

Sherlock leaned forward, thoroughly engaged. "What company? Does it have a logo or a name?" he tripped over his words in impatience.

"Aye," she said distractedly, too deep in thought to correct her distinctly Australian speech. "Hunt and Co. Wine. It's awfully small but I think that's what it says, it's on the outside on the front pocket. It's dark and blends well with the fabric," she said as she opened her eyes. "I suppose that's why I missed it before."

Sherlock leaned over and pulled a laptop out of the corner where it was charging.

Mrs. Hudson excused herself with a wink in Celestia's direction and put away the tea before leaving.

The clicking of keys rang throughout the empty flat as Sherlock leaned over the screen, lost to the world. Celestia waited patiently, looking down at her hands. A small ring she wore was twirled aimlessly around her finger in a never ending pattern.

Sherlock's head bolted up suddenly, breaking Celeste out of her daze. "Which country would you assume this company would be located in?" he demanded.

"Well, I'd say Australia since that was where we were at the time," she replied reasonably.

"It's here."

"What? That can't be right." She came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. To her surprise, a news article was on the screen, or a picture of a news paper article dated 15 years ago to be more precise.

"Hunt and Co. Wine was a small business, only employing about 200 workers and operating with only one warehouse in none other than London, England." Sherlock summarized under his breath. "The warehouse has been abandoned for over a decade; the company went bankrupt." He looked up at Celeste who looked surprised and slightly unsettled.

"So I guess we should go to this abandoned building since it seems as if that's the only lead we have," she said in an authoritative tone as she stood up.

Sherlock's eyes darted up to hers questioningly.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry I meant you! But I mean you don't have to do anything I tell you-" she broke off with a sigh, pushing her hair back from her face impatiently. "I'm awfully sorry, mate," she said quietly, cursing her awkwardness. She wasn't higher than him, she wasn't higher than anyone anymore, she reminded herself. Adjusting to this normal life might be harder than she thought.

Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes narrowing, sizing her up. There eyes met and their stare dragged on.
"You can come if you wish," Sherlock finally said. Your mind houses the only evidence we have other than the other notes."

"I highly doubt I still have them, they were all in my suitcases back at the hotel," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Well then, I hope you didn't leave your wits 'down under'." 

A very aprapros roll of the eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Sherlock jumped up and donned a long jacket and blue scarf before grabbing his gun and shoving it into one of several wool pockets. He turned to walk to the door and was surprised to see Celeste holding it open. He smiled slightly, pleased that she had kept up, and took the stairs two at a time down. Bursting out into the freezing street, an excitement brewing in the detective's eyes.

A cab was hailed, Celeste right on Sherlock's heels.

"The game is on."