Work Text:
"Fine, yes, we'll be there."
Dawn broke on 221B Baker street just as the kettle had gone off and so had Sherlock Holmes' mobile. John Watson yawned widely as he poured the tea, hoping that this time he would actually have a chance to drink it before they were off helping to solve another murder. Clad in his blue silk dressing gown, Sherlock whirled around and snatched up the cup of tea that was meant for Watson, earning a glare from the good doctor.
"Lestrade called. We're wanted at a crime scene. Though..."
"Though? Though what?" John stifled another yawn and poured the dregs of the milk carton into his tea.
"He was laughing.... and there was some sort of commotion in the background. A distinctly Irish accent."
"You think it may be Moriarty."
"No... definitely not. This was a much more vocal... drunk man."
John furrowed his brow and looked at the clock. "But it's only half-eight, how could he be..."
Sherlock was gone, coming back only seconds later fully dressed in a dapper black suit and leaving John to wonder how he got dressed so damned quickly.
"... how could this Irish man you said you heard be drunk at half-eight on a Tuesday morning?"
"I believe we'll find out soon enough. Come on, no time for tea."
"Right. And I'm surprised how?" John put his tea down and rushed off to get dressed. He didn't even know where they were off to.
~~~
"All I'm saying is text me with the address next time and then you wouldn't be waiting."
The Consulting Detective and the Army Doctor stood outside a small book shop on a quiet street. No one was about except for the police. However, something was different. They were all stifling laughter and smiling. Usually in a case such as this, there would be grim faces, some hung over from the night before, some poor paramedic emptying his stomach into a storm drain. None of that was happening.
Detective Inspector Lestrade stepped out of the small, dishevelled shop with Sergeant Donovan, both of them chuckling quietly until they saw Sherlock and John wondering what was going on.
"What's the situation?" Sherlock asked in his usual dour demeanor.
"Oh, you're going to like this one." Lestrade said with a huge smile on his face. "No, sorry, we're going to like this one. Go on then, scene's all yours."
"Is this some kind of joke? I'll not have my time wasted."
"No, it's not a joke Sherlock. There really is something odd about this killing. It's just.... the manner of the place, and the suspect... and the lady that found the victim. It's all good really."
Sherlock Holmes narrowed his eyes at the Detective Inspector and hoped, for his sake, that his time would not be wasted on a frivolous open-and-shut murder.
The book shop, Black Books, was in a state. Books upon books were stacked onto each other, not even in the correct way that a shop owner would display his wares. It was as if whoever owned this shop was trying to deter shoppers and purchases. There was a sticky spot near the window, mollusks on the pipes and a wayward wasp flew past him to an open pizza box.
"There's a rising smell. But I don't think that has anything to do with the murder," John said, hot on Sherlock's heels.
"Obvious."
"Is that.... toast? On the ceiling?" John squinted, confused and tilted his head to get a better look, the rest of them following suit to stare at the breakfast adhered to the ceiling.
"YES! Don't touch it, that's my toast."
They all turned to see a very drunken Irish man sitting on a couch with an open wine bottle at his feet and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. No one could see his eyes because of the dark, black sunglasses he was wearing at the time.
"If you want your own toast you have to make it yourself. In the kitchen. Over there. Except.... we're out of jam. And bread."
Sherlock sighed and turned to look at Lestrade grinning at him. "Is this the suspect?"
"Yes, it would appear that he is, unless you can deduce differently. His name is Bernard Black and he owns this shop."
"If he's the suspect, why isn't he cuffed? And where is the body?"
"He's not dead." Bernard mumbled, rising from the couch and swaying before trying to walk.
"Pardon?"
"HE'S NOT DEAD!!! Oh God that was a bad idea.... shout carefully next time, I can't listen."
Bernard had screamed directly into Sherlock's ear, believing the detective to be hard of hearing.
"Apparently, you can." Angrily, Sherlock grimaced at the man who was standing very close, invading his personal space.
"Your hair looks really nice." Bernard slurred before turning on his heel and stepping into the kitchen.
John stepped in next and sniggered while Lestrade and Sherlock followed. Bernard had taken off his sunglasses and shoved them into his coat pocket, a wine glass now in one hand while he looked down at the body. Manny was lying face up on the kitchen floor wearing khaki cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, a floral apron and his feet were bare, showing traces of a tan from his sandals. He had a smile on his bearded face that was almost too happy.
"D'you see? He's not dead. He's just being a lazy bastard as usual." Bernard stuck out a toe, almost losing his balance to nudge Manny to get him to wake up.
"Come on, you're not fooling anyone Baggins. They've called the police! Attention whore... he's always like this." Another nudge and Bernard started and looked at the detectives.
"See... he moved! I saw it."
"You nudged him with your foot!" John said, slightly amused.
"No. He moved... as Fran is my witness."
"You mean as God is your witness?"
"No, Fran. She works next door. FRAAAAAAN!"
Sherlock gasped and covered his ear when, yet again, the brunt of Bernard's voice travelled directly into his ear canal.
"Would you please stop screaming in my ear!!! And for God's sake Lestrade, get your suspect under control!"
"Alright alright. Mr. Black, where is this 'Fran' then?"
"How am I supposed to know, we're not married."
"Then how in the blue blazes can she be your witness if she wasn't even here?" Sherlock seethed.
"We have... an arrangement." Bernard waggled his eyebrows and lifted his full wine glass in a 'cheers' before draining half of it.
"I don't think that's something you want to admit to a room full of police officers." John stated, blinking incredulously.
"Oh, right. Forget I said that, all of you... I'm drunk, I'm not credible."
Lestrade sighed and sent Sally to go and find 'Fran who works next door'.
Sherlock was growing impatient at an alarming speed. The only thing keeping him at the crime scene was the lure of the puzzle. "So, the victim?"
Lestrade drew his attention back to the man on the floor and stood next to Sherlock. "Manny Bianco. Mr. Black's live-in assistant here at the book shop."
"You've done all the collecting then?" Sherlock hunched down and took out his magnifying glass, inspecting Manny's body.
"Yes, Anderson's been and gone."
"Who's Anderson... that man who was .... you know?" Bernard waved his hand around and scrunched up his face. "He looked like, a palaeontologist to me. Likes dinosaurs."
"Lestrade, please keep him quiet."
"Ooooo, I think you need this wine more than I do. Or that stick removed from your arse. No wonder you're so tall."
The magnifying glass clicked shut and Sherlock Holmes stood stock straight and stared at the smoking, drinking wretch in his easy-chair. It was all that Sherlock could do from throttling the bastard where he sat.
"John, could you please take a look. May have been an allergic reaction."
"How do you mean?"
"Shrimp tail in his beard, not to mention the ... cocktail sauce, everywhere." Sherlock sneered and stepped over the body.
"If he was allergic to shellfish though, wouldn't you think he'd want to avoid shrimp cocktail?"
"Oh I don't know?" Sherlock said, grimly gleeful. "If I had to live here, with that man for a boss and flatmate, I'd go out for a nice lobster dinner. It would explain the blissful look on his face anyway."
Dr. Watson received a nod of permission from Lestrade. He turned Manny over and found that he had an entry wound. "It's not a bullet though, it's... something, with a mildly heavy base to it. A statue maybe."
"He was just lying there all happy and smiling. I thought it was a joke at first.” A female voice piped up from the doorway, not really wanting to intrude at first.
"Manny's dead Fran." Bernard said, sipping at his wine through his words.
“Yes Bernard, I know he’s dead, I was the one that found him.” Fran Katzenjammer, the shop lady from next door, looked at her dead friend on the floor and frowned.
"I thought you said he was only sleeping... 'being a lazy bastard' as I recall." Sherlock's low voice rang through and Fran turned round to stare at him.
"What did you just say?"
"I'm sorry madam, if I offended you. I'm sure your friend wasn't a lazy bastard. I was only repeating what Mr. Black had said."
"Yer, I don't care what he said, just keep speaking." Fran stepped right over Manny's body, and John Watson for that matter, to get to Sherlock.
"Fran.... stop it, or we'll both end up arrested. Me for 'attempted murder of a bearded man' and you for... lewd behaviour. Again."
Fran's bottom lip was red from biting it, trying to make an alluring, pouty face at Sherlock and standing much too close to him. This is what he got for being so haughty most of the time and he thought that this was Lestrade's idea of wonderful revenge. The Detective Inspector took Fran by the arm just then and put her down into a seat where she was still ogling Sherlock.
"Did you know the deceased Miss?" Lestrade asked, his arms folded across his chest.
"Yes, yes I did... and yes, it is still 'Miss'." She made a biting motion with her mouth towards Holmes, causing him to roll his eyes and walk away.
"Did Mr. Black and Mr. Bianco have any altercations that you know of?"
"Well, they did have disagreements yes, but I don't think Bernard would kill him."
"What about allergies or medical conditions that Mr. Bianco may have suffered from?"
"I don't think he was allergic to anything.... but he does have a head thing."
"A head thing?" Sherlock asked quickly, regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth.
Fran lowered her voice in an attempt to be sultry and answered his question dramatically. "If you were to call Manny's mobile, he would get a shooting pain in his head."
"Could have been an aneurysm?" John thought out loud... but that didn't explain what was lodged in Mr. Bianco's back.
"No no no... " Bernard said from his little corner "...he's always been so clumsy. He probably just fell on something - gotten all drunk or knackered on caffeine and curly wurlys or some such garbage. He fell... he fell." Mr. Black motioned animatedly toward Manny lying on the floor and the room heaved a collective sigh of exasperation.
DI Lestrade's shoulders hunched before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright then. We'll have to get Molly to have a look at him, get whatever is lodged in his back out and find the exact cause of death. Meanwhile, all of you, out!" Lestrade scowled at Sherlock for tutting at was merely regulation and continued "We'll have the forensics team contact Molly with their findings since you're headed that way anyway, and as for you two" Bernard and Fran "you're coming with us to the Yard."
"Oh 'The Yard' ... how fancy. Are we going to play Frisbee?" Bernard said half-mockingly.
"Scotland Yard. You idiot." Fran said to him, a little worried at that point.
"You know, if I had a posh coat and a little sidekick I could probably solve this a lot faster than... Captain Wow over there."
"You do have a posh coat, it's just moth eaten and reeks of cigarettes and your sidekick is dead."
"Oh right. Fine, let's go!" Bernard stood up quickly and swayed back and forth like a reed in a strong wind before being led off to be taken to the Yard.
Meanwhile, Sherlock walked over to Lestrade who was suppressing laughter as the cold-eyed man stared him down. "You've been waiting a long time for this haven't you?"
"You have no idea." Greg Lestrade gave his brightest grin and chuckled under his breath as Sherlock exited in a swirl of massively-annoyed coat.
****************
After a few minutes of questioning, Fran had been cleared and was free to go. Bernard was not so lucky. Even with Fran's insistence that Bernard couldn't have done something like this; he may be a drunk, and a bit of a freak, but he wasn't capable of murder. Still, DI Lestrade was still questioning him while Manny's body was in for autopsy with Molly Hooper.
"You know, this would go much quicker if you would get out and wait until I'm done." Sherlock really wasn't interfering with her, he was only hovering by the door and pacing just out of her eye line. "You're like a raven circling prey!" Dr. Hooper cut the cord, having sewn Manny up again, still with the stupid gin frozen onto his face. "At least he died somewhat happy." she said quietly.
"Have you extracted the item that was lodged in his back?" Sherlock asked impatiently.
"Yes, it was the Eiffel Tower. Well, not THE Eiffel Tower, but a model of it. Pewter actually." She had it bagged and ready for evidence. "It's just there." Molly motioned to the counter. John watched her move covering Mr. Bianco up to the neck with a sheet.
"John look at this... John!" Sherlock had to startle his friend out of gazing at Molly.
"Right, yes, what?" His wandering eye earned him a look from Sherlock that basically said 'you've got to be kidding me'. "Shut up! Now what is it?"
"There's fingerprints on here... and what looks like..."
"Honey." Molly said, matter-of-factly. "It's honey. It was all over the base of that figurine. Rather old too. Not quite crystallized yet but definitely very sticky. He also had cocktail sauce in his beard, on his hands and a droplet of it on his foot." She snapped her gloves off and tossed them in the bin.
All three of them were startled when they heard a woman blowing her nose and weeping over by the door. Fran was standing in full mourning attire, veil and all... even a little bit inappropriate with a plunging neckline and obscenely short skirt. "I'm sorry, Miss... "
"Katzenjammer." she said to Molly with a watery expression.
"Miss Katzenjammer. You can't be here. This is the morgue, who let you in?"
"Found it on my own... oh Manny!" Fran cried out in a wailing tone. You would think that she would rush towards her friend's body, grieving and sobbing. Instead, she latched onto Sherlock with such force that he swayed a bit and looked to John as if to say 'what the bloody hell is this'.
"Oh... he was so sweet! We would sit around and drink wine... a LOT of wine..." Fran winked obviously at Sherlock and continued "He was the only one who would read the celebrity rags with me, watch crap telly. Oh my poor poor Manny." Sherlock's eyes bugged out of his head when she squeezed him that much harder. He was frozen to the spot, pleading with John through facial expressions to help him.
John was no help at all. It was all too amusing.
Finally, Molly stepped in with a sigh, nearly needing the jaws of life to pry Fran off of Sherlock. She wouldn't receive a thank you or anything, she never did, for helping but Molly knew the allure of Sherlock Holmes and it seemed painful to let this woman continue to throw herself at him. "Come on love, we'll get you a cuppa.... and there's no use trying there." Molly said to Fran under her breath. "Believe me, I've tried everything."
"But but... he's so..."
"Yes, I know. All the short skirts and see-through tops won't do a thing. Best not linger. We'll get you a nice drink, yea?"
"Well, alright but..." she turned suddenly in Molly's arm and looked at Sherlock "...if you have any more questions, I'm sure I could be persuaded." Her voice lowered and she winked and nodded.
Molly shook her head and got poor Fran out of the morgue, leaving Sherlock and John to inspect the evidence and Manny's body for clues.
"What in the hell did you do to piss Lestrade off so badly. This case is ridiculous!"
"Oh I'm sure he's saved up a few instances when I've referred to his team as a bunch of rabid idiots, slathering for the easiest possible scenario."
"Yer, that might have done it."
Sherlock was already rifling through Molly's initial findings on the counter and alternately looking over Manny's body while he could.
Molly re-entered the morgue after a few short minutes, shaking her head and remembered what it had been like for her to be that infatuated with Sherlock. She hoped it hadn't been that embarrassing to watch. To take her mind off of the bizarre display and her own memories, she decided to give a commentary on her findings.
"So, basically, cause of death was exsanguination from a puncture wound from the Eiffel Tower. There was honey caked on the bottom of the figurine and fingerprints analysis just came back. They were not Mr. Black's. As well, there was cleaning solution on his feet. It left a residue so presumably it wasn't dry on the floors at the time of death." Molly didn't dare try to deduce what had happened to Mr. Bianco herself, that was just asking to be mocked. "One other thing though, it might help." John was the only one of the two who looked interested. "Miss Katzenjammer said that Manny liked travel books. That was going to be his job the next morning... to set out the shipment that they had received from the publishers. Perhaps that may be why we're seeing the Eiffel Tower as part of his demise." Molly half-smiled and thought about Manny. "Poor bloke, probably wanted to take a trip." She smiled kindly at John and motioned that she'd be in her office whenever Sherlock was finished with Mr. Bianco's body.
"You don't think it was murder do you."
Sherlock straightened and sighed. "Unfortunately, you're correct. The fingerprints on the base of the figurine are too wide to be anyone else's but Mr. Bianco's." A flash of paper from Molly's report showed a copy of Mr. Bianco's fingerprints as compared to the fingerprints of Bernard Black that Lestrade had e-mailed him.
"Adding to the state of the flat, there's a very large possibility that the honey spill that was left uncleaned adhered the pewter figure in place. Mr. Bianco had an apron on and was therefore either cooking or cleaning while he read and had a snack of shrimp cocktail. Most likely cleaning based on the residue Molly found on his feet. The travel books I noted were on the small coffee tray so Mr. Bianco was reading the books before he was to set them out the next day. Clearly he set the figurine on the table to visualize a holiday to France."
"Makes sense. But how did he end up with the Eiffel Tower in his back?"
"This... is a case of a very strange series of events. Mr. Black said that Mr. Bianco was very clumsy. That may just be an observation on his part but there were also a lot of other things out of place. It's absurd, but Mr. Bianco seemed to be cleaning, mopping the floor in small sections and had the misfortune of knocking that figurine off of the coffee tray along with his snack during his break, thus expediting his need to clean the spill. The tray itself was semi-adhered to the floor as well judging from the four small marks on the hardwood. Mr. Bianco knocked it over, the base of the figurine righting itself into the puddle of honey that was uncleaned while he moved the coffee tray to where he wouldn't knock it over again, forgot about the figurine as well as the portion of the floor that was still wet where he'd just cleaned prior to his little sit-down. He slipped on the spot, fell backwards and was impaled by the Eiffel Tower."
"Un..believable. Poor sod."
"Tell Lestrade that he can release Mr. Black... well, if he's sober. May want to leave him in the drunk tank for a while."
"Wait, why was there a puddle of honey on the floor in the first place? People don't just pour honey on the floor."
"You spotted your answer earlier John. The toast on the ceiling. Mr. Black said that they were out of jam and bread most-likely because he had used the last of it. He also said that it was 'his' toast. I noticed the ceiling where Mr. Bianco died had a crumpet stuck to it as well... with honey suspended in mid-drip. Manny here made breakfast for Mr. Black, who disliked it and very inelegantly tossed it up onto the ceiling."
"So why did he toss the toast then? Wait... last slice of bread was probably stale."
"Precisely. Mr. Bianco died due to an unhygienic workplace, a propensity for knocking things over, and a drunken employer."
**************
“You see, I told you I didn’t murder him. HA HA!” Bernard crowed triumphantly as he was discharged from the Yard into Fran’s care.
“Yes Bernard, you may be a freak, but not a murderer. Though now, you’re without help in the shop.... and don’t look at me either. Not doing that again. Especially now that your place can literally be called a death trap.” The look on Fran’s face melted away into sorrow. “Poor Manny. We won’t be able to find another like him.”
“No, no one will be as beardy... no one will eat my bees anymore. Oh Bollocks? Who’s going to make me a ham sandwich?? You there... yes, with the disgusted look on your face, will you make me a sandwich?”
“My name is Anderson and good God why would I make you a sandwich?”
“Ah! Yes... the paleont... the paleo...the man who looks like he likes dinosaurs, I remember you!”
With a groan, Fran watched the absurd conversation and figured she’d better step in before he got arrested a second time.
On the outside she wore a tired, sorrowful expression and the worry lines for having to now take care of Bernard until they could find some more help creased on her brow. On the inside though, Fran was plotting on how to get Bernard to accidentally cause someone else to die so that dishy detective could come by again.
“Come on Bernard...” Fran wrangled Bernard away from everyone and chalked his behaviour up to misappropriated grief. “I’ll make you a ham sandwich and get a straw for your wine.”