Chapter Text
- THE CASE -
There once was a man named Sherlock Holmes who lived in London with his good and loyal friend, John Watson. Sherlock was a good man, who tried to help out where he could and whenever a problem would rise, he was on the case immediately, asking his trusty friend to help him solve the case, however tricky it could be.
Sherlock Holmes’ most recent case was one of very confusing nature, planted by the best trickster of London himself: James Moriarty, the criminal King of London. It was only very recently that Sherlock, who possessed the best of investigative skill, had come to learn the name Moriarty. He knew from the very start that it was a name he should fear, but he did not.
Sherlock was a fearless man who would take on any challenge, he’d be bored otherwise and boredom led to a wide range of ‘bad things’, that’s what he reminded his loyal friend every time he dove into a case that could be too dangerous. ‘Danger is better than boredom, without having to think, my brain rots!’ This case, however, was different. They all suspected this one would be quite easy and relatively safe. It was a matter of how did someone break into a bank account to put money back. All Sherlock needed to do was secure the account, but Sherlock saw more behind it than anyone else did. Who would put money into an account?
A few weeks ago, Sherlock had been paid a significant amount for helping his college acquaintance solve a case. The same money that had been drawn from the bank that day had all been put back. But how? He had given the money away to his dear and trusted homeless network for being so faithful. They had needed a helping hand and Sherlock had given it. So how come the same amount of money, had returned into a banker’s account, who had no clue where the money came from? A banker always knew what the money going out and coming into his bank was from.
Some cases were easily solved, but still entertaining enough to give a slight rewarding feeling at the end, but this – cracking the code to see how someone got into this bank account – was just plain boring. His feelings on that, however, changed when he found himself running into strange patterns in the code, which he kept his eye on as he worked through it. Eventually, the patterns that turned out to be letters spelled the name: King John.
In spite of him being fearless, he was also very unaware of what the man doing this wanted and Sherlock always knew what everyone wanted, what everything meant. He was a genius, a brain that functioned faster than anyone else’s seemed to be able to and it frustrated him endlessly that he could not find out why the mind behind the case had decided to put money in a bank.
He had shouted for everyone to leave the room, so he could think, just think. His trusted friend left without a word and he was in complete silence. He was able to explore every crevice and corner of every room in his own mind and he knew that he would find the answer. He had two very important clues, two clues that fit together perfectly, but how?
Royal family members with the name ‘John’ flashed through his mind, before he went into fiction and found a few possible characters, but there was only one that would fit, one King John. So where did hacking money into banks fit in? Sherlock searched his mind for the answer and as it came to him, it felt like a slap in the face.
“John!” he shouted, grabbing his coat and his possessions that had been scattered around the office during the course of the afternoon. “I’ve got it and we’re leaving, no time to explain, let’s go,” Sherlock spoke as John walked into the small office. John grabbed his coat and followed Sherlock out, heading to take a cab to go a little out of town. John recognised this place to be where Sherlock often went to meet up with members of his homeless network.
“The money I gave you,” Sherlock started as he stepped towards a young man he knew who'd noticed him. He was a good spy and brilliant at keeping things to himself. “What happened to it?” Sherlock asked.
“A guy took it,” the young man responded in a London accent and Sherlock shook his head, clearly annoyed with the fact that what he’d thought to be the case, was true. John saw distress in the other man. Ah, so this fact meant something bad. Normally Sherlock would be happy about getting it right, but it was the danger that caused the annoyance right now. Sherlock asked for description, but there was little his acquaintance could give, other than a description of a fairly normal man. No description was anywhere specific enough to find out more.
“He’s playing a game with me...” Sherlock spoke once he and John were back in the cab.
“Who?” John then asked. “Who is the person behind it?”
“It’s Moriarty,” Sherlock stated clearly, turning his eyes towards John. “Only he would play with a fairy tale like this,” Sherlock continued, at which John frowned.
“Wait, a fairy tale?” John asked, at which Sherlock finally cracked a grin.
“Yes, a fairy tale, ‘little John’, and I’m the main character.”