Sherlock Fic - Welcome to London - 1/2
May. 6th, 2012 07:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impulsereaderTitle: Welcome to London
Author: impulsereader
Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock; gen; case!fic
Length: ~12,000 words
A/N: In my head this is set during series 2 since I couldn’t interest John in angsting over how much they spend on taxis, as well as the closeness of how I (hope I) portray their friendship - pre-Reichenbach. If you’d like to see the head in the fridge as a thoughtful gesture on Sherlock’s part, please mentally slot these events in just before The Great Game. Thanks go to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
penguineggs and makeanewworld for britpick and beta services; all remaining americanisms, errors, inconsistencies and plot holes belong to me alone. Also, as LJ has informed me of djarum99’s impending birthday I am offering this as a slightly early birthday present in thanks for the moral support and my Sheet!Sherlock icon, which is wonderfully shiny and makes me very happy. Many happy returns of the day!
Disclaimer: I neither own nor seek to profit from any aspect of Sherlock.
London is the capital city of England and the United Kingdom, the largest metropolitan area in the United Kingdom, and the largest urban zone in the European Union by most measures. Located on the River Thames, London has been a major settlement for two millennia, its history going back to its founding by the Romans, who called it Londinium. London's ancient core, the City of London, largely retains its square-mile mediaeval boundaries. Since at least the 19th century, the name London has also referred to the metropolis developed around this core. – Excerpt from Wikipedia
In the fleeting, yet somehow also endless seconds he spends falling before he hits the water - Sherlock’s voice calling his name echoing in his ears - John thinks a little wistfully about how well the day had been going until he’d stepped just wrongly enough to end up with a gaping stab wound in his gut.
Baker Street is a street in the Marylebone district of the City of Westminster in London. It is named after builder William Baker, who laid the street out in the 18th century. The area was originally high class residential, but now is mainly occupied by commercial premises.
Baker St is a busy thoroughfare, lying in postcode areas NW1/W1 and forming part of the A41 there. Selfridges, a landmark department store is on the corner of Orchard Street and Oxford Street.
The street is served by the London Underground by Baker Street tube station, one of the world's oldest surviving underground stations. Next door is Transport for London's lost property office.
A significant robbery of a branch of Lloyds Bank took place on Baker Street in 1971. – Excerpt from Wikipedia
It had started with tea, and that is invariably a good beginning to any given day. He had savoured his cuppa with a slice of toast over the Guardian’s crossword and the reassuring thought that he’d done the shopping yesterday so didn’t have to worry about it today; this also meant that there was milk for his tea. Said milk was currently residing next to a jar full of eyeballs, true, but one couldn’t have everything.
Sherlock breezes through somewhere around the time John is contemplating ‘15D Very sad unfinished story about rising smoke (8)’, but only long enough to retrieve his jar of eyeballs and leave the room with a lingering impression of cheekbones and swirling coat. “Barts,” he barks absently on his way out.
John looks up, startled by the fact that the contents of their refrigerator have just been rendered very nearly normal. After the initial surprise, his eyes narrow suspiciously. This is his first indication that the day might not continue as serenely as it has begun, and it is a sad state of affairs indeed when he is so used to having inappropriate things in the fridge that their removal acts as a danger sign. He quickly allows the puzzle to distract him from the disturbing fact that he has seemingly come to derive some level of comfort from the fact that body parts are regularly being stored in uncomfortable proximity to the leftover curry.
Prices - Free
Review of Trafalgar Square
London is a city full of landmark squares. Without a doubt, the best known is Trafalgar Square, which has been significantly remodeled over the past decade, with parts pedestrianized and most of the former swarms of pigeons sent on their way.{WRONG} It boasts numerous landmarks, including the National Gallery on the north side, St. Martin-in-the-Fields on the east, and at the center Nelson's Column — a 46m (151.3 ft.) granite column topped with a statue of Horatio Viscount Nelson (1758–1805), one of the country's most celebrated naval heroes.
There's always plenty going on at Trafalgar Square. This is where most major parades and marches end up, and it provides the focus for the festivities for St. Patrick's Day, the New Year's Day Parade, Pride London, and numerous other events. {In other words a hotbed of crime.} For decades the square was also the venue for the rowdiest New Year's Eve celebrations, held within earshot of the famous bongs of Big Ben, although these days larger crowds can be found around the London Eye where there's a midnight firework display. – Excerpt from frommers.com
The day doesn’t really seem as if it even has the potential to get dodgy until the first text comes in, around one o’clock. John has moved on to the washing, and after loading up the machine the first time - also after much conflicted muttering to himself - has given in and ventured into Sherlock’s room to skim the top layer from his laundry basket. He is contemplating, much as he had the crossword clues earlier, a dark purple button down shirt and wondering if he dares put it in with anything else when his phone chimes.
Trafalgar Square –SH
Irritated because he is feeling manipulated into doing his flatmate’s washing, and apparently the lack of entrails or similar in their refrigerator has made him feel slightly off since finishing his morning tea, John sends back – Still got four sides, has it? He immediately feels better and smirks at the screen in anticipation of a gratifying reply. It is not long in coming.
In a startling burst of creativity it has manifested a disembowelled tourist. –SH
John whistles. All hands on deck, then. The Yard will be keen to clear up something this high-profile and alarming as quickly as possible. He types out and sends - On my way. Was just thinking the day needed some entrails.
Feeling more cheerful now that there is suddenly something in the offing other than the potential of a washing machine full of newly-lilac colored clothing, he happily re-consigns the shirt to the somewhat dubious embrace of Sherlock’s basket and collects his gun on his way out of the flat.
When John reaches the square with its sky-high Nelson and cornerstone lions, he finds it even more bustling than normal due, he is forced to suppose, to the novelty of the crime scene tape cordoning off a surprisingly large section of the open area. He briefly wonders if this incident will in fact boost tourism rather than discourage it. Perhaps he is not as alone as all that in his craving for danger.
Scanning the area, he is astonished to find that Sherlock has ascended one of the massive lion-supporting slabs and, one hand resting on a leonine flank, is peering up in Nelson’s direction as if he is contemplating how to attain that considerably greater height. He has a sudden urge to snap a photograph with his phone – Sherlock Holmes sightseeing in bustling London town - but loses his chance when the detective returns his gaze to the earth and jumps down in a whirl of coat and long limbs.
John walks to meet him and falls into step at his side. They make their way toward the police tape where a lot of people are standing about looking distinctly uncomfortable. He supposes this is because they are standing near a disembowelled body which they haven’t yet been allowed to discreetly tidy away from under the noses of all the living tourists who have stopped for a stare. They needn’t have bothered saving it for him, it’s fairly obvious what killed the woman. Her stomach has been slashed across deeply and brutally from one side to the other, the wound is a clear offense to the body and various bits which are meant to stay firmly inside bodies are spilling out into her lap. The body is sprawled across shallow stone steps, her head higher than her feet.
“Ugly,” John comments.
“Boring,” Sherlocks lobs back.
“Oh? Then why are we here?”
“Because no one saw anything.”
“Sorry?”
“The place is teeming with people but not one of them can give us any information about how the body got here,” he explains with relish.
John looks around, just for reference. The area is very open. Considering the number of people regularly occupying the square someone clearly should have seen something having to do with hauling a body around. “Shame the pigeons can’t weigh in.”
Sherlock snorts and turns to contemplate Nelson again. John considers the body and his colleague’s new preoccupation with heights. “Do you think someone dropped it here? I feel someone would have noticed that.”
“Yes, pity.”
John looks at the body a bit more closely. “Well, if she was dropped, Nelson is innocent. Possibly from the roof of the gallery, but not much higher than that. The body isn’t broken enough for a fall from that height.”
“Obviously.”
John refrains from asking why, then, he was peering at the Admiral so intently. “There’s no trail of blood,” he goes on instead. “Could someone have done this right here and no one noticed? How is that possible?”
Sherlock turns his head and bestows upon him the withering look that tells him he’s being an idiot, so John turns back to the body and looks again. No blood trail…no blood trail. What is he missing? He’d thought to look for a blood trail because it may have given them a clue as to which direction the person who left her body had moved either before or afterward. He was missing something – or, rather, was something missing? Yes, that was it - no blood trail – not very much blood at all, in fact. He nods, once, to himself; yes, not noticing that sooner had been idiotic. “No blood pool. Right. So disembowelled elsewhere, dumped here in broad daylight by an invisible man.”
“Hardly. A corpse leaking intestines while making its way across Trafalgar Square seemingly under its own power would have attracted attention. No, invisibility doesn’t come into it.”
John spares a second to contemplate the fact that Sherlock seemingly took that bit seriously; honestly, the strangest things.
“Pretty little problem, isn’t it?” his partner murmurs. He shakes himself slightly as if to reset and turns more fully to John. “Finished here?”
“Anything done to the body other than the obvious?”
“Unfortunately not. No clues there.”
“Sherlock!”
Hours Times vary, but Eye is open daily from 10am, usually till 9pm in summer (9:30pm in July-Aug) and till 8pm in winter
Location - Millennium Jubilee Gardens, SE1, South Bank
Transportation - Tube: Waterloo or Westminster
Web site - http://www.londoneye.com/
Admission £18 adults, £14 seniors and students, £9.50 children 4-15
Review of London Eye
The largest observation wheel in Europe, the London Eye has become, just over a decade after it opened, a potent icon of the capital, as clearly identified with London as the Eiffel Tower is with Paris. {Hardly} And indeed, it performs much the same function -- giving people the chance to observe the city from above. Passengers are carried in 32 glass-sided "pods," each representing one of the 32 boroughs of London (which lucky travelers get Croydon?), {Really? Croydon of all places?} which make a complete revolution every half-hour. Along the way you'll see bird's-eye views of some of London's most famous landmarks, including the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the BT Tower, St. Paul's, the "Gherkin," {You must be joking.} and of course, the River Thames itself.
The Eye is extremely popular, ridden by some 3 1/2 million people every year. {Dullards} Its iconic status was further cemented a few years ago when it became the principal venue for the capital's New Year celebrations, with a 10-minute firework display taking place around the wheel as midnight strikes.
Traveller review for London Eye
It is indeed pricey for a tour in a big wheel. BUT, the view is so beautiful and it is the perfect opportunity to get the best photo of the landscape of London (for all the amateur or professional photographers out there!). The wait seem {seems} long at first, but it really is in fact not that long. Getting in and out of the London eye might be slightly stressful (since there is an entire group trying to get in or out at the same time while the wheel is moving), but it is still one of the most briliant memory {brilliant memories} I have from London.The best time to try it would definitly {definitely} be at dusk.
Not good for: people who don't like heights, Old People {Oh my, how extradordinarily insightful of you.} - Excerpt from lonelyplanet.com
Lestrade is jogging towards them and he nods to John in greeting. “They’ve found another. This one was riding the Eye for an hour and no one saw a bloody thing.”
John offers, “Someone’s taken it into his head to kill off the tourist trade, then.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly, possibly indicating a second body has added a spark of interest in addition to deducing how their body dumper got away cleanly. “Definitely another tourist?”
“Yes, that’s confirmed. Also, both women were travelling alone.”
“Same hotel?”
Lestrade answers, “No,” without consulting his pad.
John long ago learned to recognize these points at which he should collect the details that Sherlock won’t bother with but will want later. “I’ll take the hotels’ and victims’ names, then,” he says, and Lestrade obliges by ripping a page from his pad. “Cheers.”
“I don’t suppose you want to ride with me.”
“We’ll meet you there.” Sherlock spins and they hail a taxi.
During the taxi ride, Sherlock steeples his fingers, his eyes flutter closed and he Thinks.
Tourists – tourists travel – plane – train – boat – car – the tube - monopolize taxis – irritating – on foot – Tourists – take photos – spend money – Money – go to shops – buy things - go out and do things – see things – see plays – drink things – eat things – Tourists – tourists use the internet – book plane tickets – look up schedules – confirm locations – Tourists use maps – tourists are idiots who can’t read maps – stand on street corners looking lost – annoying – Tourists pack bags – carry bags – don inappropriate footwear – traipse around the city – get lost because they’re rubbish at reading maps – Tourists ask for help – get the wrong tube stop – Tourists ask for help – Tourists are rubbish at reading maps –
And he has it. He knows how to find the killer. He needs to search the first victim’s hotel room, and if the second doesn’t have it on her, that one’s as well for confirmation. He needs to review receipts, and then he and John will have a stakeout so that they can apprehend this disappointingly garden-variety murderer.
A second body had raised his hopes, but he sees now that this case is just as dull as he had expected it to be. Really, he should leave the rest to Lestrade, but it’s been weeks since they’ve had a good stakeout and it’s bound to be more entertaining than anything else he can find to occupy himself tonight. Besides, he still wants to know how this garden-variety murderer has pulled off his high-profile body disposals so cleanly, and if he gets a chance to be up close and personal he has a much better chance of working it out. Yes, a good stakeout is the least this murderer can provide for the trouble he has caused by taking up Sherlock’s day with a tediously boring case.
His eyes snap open to find John regarding him closely. “We’ll have a stakeout tonight, and you’ll be pleased to know that it will probably involve a restaurant,” he informs him.
He is gratified when John doesn’t look surprised, just nods and quirks a smile at him before checking his watch. “Three minutes flat. Care to fill me in?”
Sherlock considers this for a moment then offers, “Wouldn’t you rather work it out for yourself? It’s quite simple, really, well within your capabilities.”
John grins. “Not exactly a three patch problem, then?”
“No,” Sherlock agrees disdainfully.
“Hm.” John crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head, looks thoughtful. “We’re looking for someone who’s killing tourists, and you’ve worked out that there’s probably a restaurant involved somehow.” He pauses, then his relaxed posture goes tense as he shoots Sherlock an alarmed look along with the question, “Oh god, the restaurant and the disembowelment aren’t connected are they?”
“Not to my knowledge at this point.” John doesn’t look entirely convinced, so he adds reassuringly, “I am very nearly certain we will not be consuming bits of the victims for dinner this evening.”
To his surprise, John groans at his declaration. “You know, most of the time I’m perfectly fine with your being very nearly certain, but in this case I’d really appreciate it if you could aim for one hundred percent. Is there any way you could do that for me?”
Sherlock gives him a look which he hopes clearly expresses the fact that he is now very - in fact, crushingly - bored by this conversational sideline. It seems to serve because John sighs and only briefly glances out the window before he turns his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Right. Anyway. Well, tourists go out to restaurants, they’re less inclined to stay in and have a takeaway, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very good,” Sherlock purrs with satisfaction now that they are back on topic.
“So we find out if both victims ate in the same restaurant, do we? Check receipts and such. That’s a bit of a leap isn’t it? London’s got a restaurant on every corner, how do you know that’s the connection?”
“You’ve missed the middle bit.”
“Ah. All right. Hang on, then.” He tilts his head back and aims a blank gaze to the ceiling of the cab as he goes on more quietly, mostly to himself, “I’m a tourist. I’m in London. I’m, well, I’m a woman, and I’m travelling alone. I’m going out to dinner, yeah? So where do I go?” After a moment’s pause, he abruptly straightens in his seat, his mouth falling open just slightly, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s. “Oh, you’re joking,” he exclaims, “is it really that simple?”
Sherlock smiles smugly. “I believe it is exactly that pedestrian, yes.”
The cab arrives at their destination at that moment, so without further delay Sherlock takes off to find the body. “Hold the cab!” he instructs over his shoulder. “I won’t be a moment.”
John, in the relative solitude of a Sherlock-less back seat, contemplates how well this day is going. A relaxing morning, a lucky escape from the drudgery of the washing, the prospect of a stakeout with the unexpected bonus (dubious menu possibilities aside) of not missing dinner, and now he’s actually managed to work out what he hopes is the same lead Sherlock has latched onto. Granted, this particular deduction was child’s play compared to Sherlock’s normal efforts, but a deduction is a deduction and John is very inclined to be pleased with himself.
Location - Bloomsbury
Transportation - Tube: Russell Sq, King's Cross, or Euston
Web site - www.jenkinshotel.demon.co.uk
Room Information - 14 units
Prices - £95 double. Rates include English breakfast {Meaning a coronary on a plate is served to you each morning completely free of charge. Amazing.}
Credit Cards - MC,V
In Room Amenities TV, fridge, hair dryer, Wi-Fi (free)
Jenkins Hotel Review
Yes the rooms are small, {Hardly; they are miniscule at best.} but if you want a quiet, pretty hotel within walking distance of the British Museum and West End shopping then the Jenkins Hotel offers better value than most of the identikit hotels on Russell Square. Some of the original charm of the Georgian house remains and many rooms have been completely refurbished. There are some drawbacks: no elevator and no reception or sitting room. But this is a place where you can settle in and feel at home.
Facilities: Tennis courts (in Cartwright Gardens) – From frommers.com
It isn’t long at all before his partner is back, throwing himself onto the seat and snapping, “First victim’s hotel,” at the cabbie who looks both bewildered and alarmed by these words being grouped together and flung at him until John quickly fishes out the sheet Lestrade gave him and clarifies, “The Jenkins Hotel please.”
Sherlock is humming with the thrill of the chase now. John supposes this means he found what he was looking for on this body and his disdain for the ease of finding the connection between victims has been soothed slightly by the prospect of action. “Just the one hotel room then?” he asks for confirmation.
Sherlock rewards him with a grin. “Indeed.”
When they reach the hotel, John is out the door on Sherlock’s heels; thrusting a tenner at the cabbie, eager to see if his deduction is up to snuff. He takes the fact that there is no indignant cry of, “Oi!” behind him as sufficient proof that he’s handed over too much rather than too little.
There doesn’t seem to be a reception area so when John advises, “Fourth floor,” they veer directly for the stairs. A uniformed policeman is stationed outside the door and he lets them in with a key.
John, to his immense pleasure, spots the book first, lying on the bedside table. He only has to take one step in order to pick it up and brandishes it at Sherlock. “They had the same guidebook,” he declares triumphantly. “The second victim had it on her.”
Ping Pong South Bank Festival Terrace, Southbank Centre, Belvedere Rd, London, Greater London SE1, United Kingdom - pingpongdimsum.com
Categories: Restaurant, Chinese Restaurant, Bar, ...
Hours: 12:00 pm – 12:00 am
Transit: Waterloo (0.2 mi SE)
Reviews
3 weeks ago
Atmospheric restaurant with great dim sum. The cocktails and food is great - a creative western twist on typical chinese dim sum. {Read as - not actual chinese in the least. Also tends to go cold quite rapidly.} The restaurant is usually buzzing - occasionally this can mean waiting for a table / service, but not usually any more than normal at a busy restaurant. Great place to eat with friends and share dishes.
Was this review helpful? Yes - No - Flag as inappropriate
a month ago
Service was a disaster, had to wait 20mins and approach 2 waiters to take our orders. None of our first choices were available, food took extra long and was not pleasant. Waiter didnt know what he was doing, brought wrong food, made us wait forever for our mains. Admitted himself "he had a rough night and hasnt slept yet". Another waiter said apologizing for the wrong order being deliver by saying: "this place is a one big mess"! Clearly cant be too good if even the staff says so!
Disliked: Service, Atmosphere, Value
Was this review helpful? Yes - No - Flag as inappropriate – Excerpt from maps.google.com
Sherlock beams at him proudly. “Excellently done, John. Turn to page seventeen.”
John turns to the indicated page and is rewarded by finding a slip of paper marking the spot which proves to be a receipt matching up to one of the recommended listings. “Receipt from Ping Pong. Looks like she had lunch there yesterday. South Bank.”
Sherlock snaps, “Lunch? Not dinner?”
He double checks to be sure. “Lunch. Time stamp says thirteen hundred.”
Sherlock frowns, but just for a second, then he turns on the spot and stalks out the door in a whirl of coat. “Bring the book,” he instructs, not bothering to turn his head.
John rolls his eyes and mutters, “Drama queen.” But he strides after him and follows the instruction to misappropriate evidence.
2/2 is here http://impulsereader.livejournal.com/11296.html
Author: impulsereader
Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock; gen; case!fic
Length: ~12,000 words
A/N: In my head this is set during series 2 since I couldn’t interest John in angsting over how much they spend on taxis, as well as the closeness of how I (hope I) portray their friendship - pre-Reichenbach. If you’d like to see the head in the fridge as a thoughtful gesture on Sherlock’s part, please mentally slot these events in just before The Great Game. Thanks go to
penguineggs and makeanewworld for britpick and beta services; all remaining americanisms, errors, inconsistencies and plot holes belong to me alone. Also, as LJ has informed me of djarum99’s impending birthday I am offering this as a slightly early birthday present in thanks for the moral support and my Sheet!Sherlock icon, which is wonderfully shiny and makes me very happy. Many happy returns of the day!Disclaimer: I neither own nor seek to profit from any aspect of Sherlock.
London is the capital city of England and the United Kingdom, the largest metropolitan area in the United Kingdom, and the largest urban zone in the European Union by most measures. Located on the River Thames, London has been a major settlement for two millennia, its history going back to its founding by the Romans, who called it Londinium. London's ancient core, the City of London, largely retains its square-mile mediaeval boundaries. Since at least the 19th century, the name London has also referred to the metropolis developed around this core. – Excerpt from Wikipedia
In the fleeting, yet somehow also endless seconds he spends falling before he hits the water - Sherlock’s voice calling his name echoing in his ears - John thinks a little wistfully about how well the day had been going until he’d stepped just wrongly enough to end up with a gaping stab wound in his gut.
Baker Street is a street in the Marylebone district of the City of Westminster in London. It is named after builder William Baker, who laid the street out in the 18th century. The area was originally high class residential, but now is mainly occupied by commercial premises.
Baker St is a busy thoroughfare, lying in postcode areas NW1/W1 and forming part of the A41 there. Selfridges, a landmark department store is on the corner of Orchard Street and Oxford Street.
The street is served by the London Underground by Baker Street tube station, one of the world's oldest surviving underground stations. Next door is Transport for London's lost property office.
A significant robbery of a branch of Lloyds Bank took place on Baker Street in 1971. – Excerpt from Wikipedia
It had started with tea, and that is invariably a good beginning to any given day. He had savoured his cuppa with a slice of toast over the Guardian’s crossword and the reassuring thought that he’d done the shopping yesterday so didn’t have to worry about it today; this also meant that there was milk for his tea. Said milk was currently residing next to a jar full of eyeballs, true, but one couldn’t have everything.
Sherlock breezes through somewhere around the time John is contemplating ‘15D Very sad unfinished story about rising smoke (8)’, but only long enough to retrieve his jar of eyeballs and leave the room with a lingering impression of cheekbones and swirling coat. “Barts,” he barks absently on his way out.
John looks up, startled by the fact that the contents of their refrigerator have just been rendered very nearly normal. After the initial surprise, his eyes narrow suspiciously. This is his first indication that the day might not continue as serenely as it has begun, and it is a sad state of affairs indeed when he is so used to having inappropriate things in the fridge that their removal acts as a danger sign. He quickly allows the puzzle to distract him from the disturbing fact that he has seemingly come to derive some level of comfort from the fact that body parts are regularly being stored in uncomfortable proximity to the leftover curry.
Prices - Free
Review of Trafalgar Square
London is a city full of landmark squares. Without a doubt, the best known is Trafalgar Square, which has been significantly remodeled over the past decade, with parts pedestrianized and most of the former swarms of pigeons sent on their way.{WRONG} It boasts numerous landmarks, including the National Gallery on the north side, St. Martin-in-the-Fields on the east, and at the center Nelson's Column — a 46m (151.3 ft.) granite column topped with a statue of Horatio Viscount Nelson (1758–1805), one of the country's most celebrated naval heroes.
There's always plenty going on at Trafalgar Square. This is where most major parades and marches end up, and it provides the focus for the festivities for St. Patrick's Day, the New Year's Day Parade, Pride London, and numerous other events. {In other words a hotbed of crime.} For decades the square was also the venue for the rowdiest New Year's Eve celebrations, held within earshot of the famous bongs of Big Ben, although these days larger crowds can be found around the London Eye where there's a midnight firework display. – Excerpt from frommers.com
The day doesn’t really seem as if it even has the potential to get dodgy until the first text comes in, around one o’clock. John has moved on to the washing, and after loading up the machine the first time - also after much conflicted muttering to himself - has given in and ventured into Sherlock’s room to skim the top layer from his laundry basket. He is contemplating, much as he had the crossword clues earlier, a dark purple button down shirt and wondering if he dares put it in with anything else when his phone chimes.
Trafalgar Square –SH
Irritated because he is feeling manipulated into doing his flatmate’s washing, and apparently the lack of entrails or similar in their refrigerator has made him feel slightly off since finishing his morning tea, John sends back – Still got four sides, has it? He immediately feels better and smirks at the screen in anticipation of a gratifying reply. It is not long in coming.
In a startling burst of creativity it has manifested a disembowelled tourist. –SH
John whistles. All hands on deck, then. The Yard will be keen to clear up something this high-profile and alarming as quickly as possible. He types out and sends - On my way. Was just thinking the day needed some entrails.
Feeling more cheerful now that there is suddenly something in the offing other than the potential of a washing machine full of newly-lilac colored clothing, he happily re-consigns the shirt to the somewhat dubious embrace of Sherlock’s basket and collects his gun on his way out of the flat.
When John reaches the square with its sky-high Nelson and cornerstone lions, he finds it even more bustling than normal due, he is forced to suppose, to the novelty of the crime scene tape cordoning off a surprisingly large section of the open area. He briefly wonders if this incident will in fact boost tourism rather than discourage it. Perhaps he is not as alone as all that in his craving for danger.
Scanning the area, he is astonished to find that Sherlock has ascended one of the massive lion-supporting slabs and, one hand resting on a leonine flank, is peering up in Nelson’s direction as if he is contemplating how to attain that considerably greater height. He has a sudden urge to snap a photograph with his phone – Sherlock Holmes sightseeing in bustling London town - but loses his chance when the detective returns his gaze to the earth and jumps down in a whirl of coat and long limbs.
John walks to meet him and falls into step at his side. They make their way toward the police tape where a lot of people are standing about looking distinctly uncomfortable. He supposes this is because they are standing near a disembowelled body which they haven’t yet been allowed to discreetly tidy away from under the noses of all the living tourists who have stopped for a stare. They needn’t have bothered saving it for him, it’s fairly obvious what killed the woman. Her stomach has been slashed across deeply and brutally from one side to the other, the wound is a clear offense to the body and various bits which are meant to stay firmly inside bodies are spilling out into her lap. The body is sprawled across shallow stone steps, her head higher than her feet.
“Ugly,” John comments.
“Boring,” Sherlocks lobs back.
“Oh? Then why are we here?”
“Because no one saw anything.”
“Sorry?”
“The place is teeming with people but not one of them can give us any information about how the body got here,” he explains with relish.
John looks around, just for reference. The area is very open. Considering the number of people regularly occupying the square someone clearly should have seen something having to do with hauling a body around. “Shame the pigeons can’t weigh in.”
Sherlock snorts and turns to contemplate Nelson again. John considers the body and his colleague’s new preoccupation with heights. “Do you think someone dropped it here? I feel someone would have noticed that.”
“Yes, pity.”
John looks at the body a bit more closely. “Well, if she was dropped, Nelson is innocent. Possibly from the roof of the gallery, but not much higher than that. The body isn’t broken enough for a fall from that height.”
“Obviously.”
John refrains from asking why, then, he was peering at the Admiral so intently. “There’s no trail of blood,” he goes on instead. “Could someone have done this right here and no one noticed? How is that possible?”
Sherlock turns his head and bestows upon him the withering look that tells him he’s being an idiot, so John turns back to the body and looks again. No blood trail…no blood trail. What is he missing? He’d thought to look for a blood trail because it may have given them a clue as to which direction the person who left her body had moved either before or afterward. He was missing something – or, rather, was something missing? Yes, that was it - no blood trail – not very much blood at all, in fact. He nods, once, to himself; yes, not noticing that sooner had been idiotic. “No blood pool. Right. So disembowelled elsewhere, dumped here in broad daylight by an invisible man.”
“Hardly. A corpse leaking intestines while making its way across Trafalgar Square seemingly under its own power would have attracted attention. No, invisibility doesn’t come into it.”
John spares a second to contemplate the fact that Sherlock seemingly took that bit seriously; honestly, the strangest things.
“Pretty little problem, isn’t it?” his partner murmurs. He shakes himself slightly as if to reset and turns more fully to John. “Finished here?”
“Anything done to the body other than the obvious?”
“Unfortunately not. No clues there.”
“Sherlock!”
Hours Times vary, but Eye is open daily from 10am, usually till 9pm in summer (9:30pm in July-Aug) and till 8pm in winter
Location - Millennium Jubilee Gardens, SE1, South Bank
Transportation - Tube: Waterloo or Westminster
Web site - http://www.londoneye.com/
Admission £18 adults, £14 seniors and students, £9.50 children 4-15
Review of London Eye
The largest observation wheel in Europe, the London Eye has become, just over a decade after it opened, a potent icon of the capital, as clearly identified with London as the Eiffel Tower is with Paris. {Hardly} And indeed, it performs much the same function -- giving people the chance to observe the city from above. Passengers are carried in 32 glass-sided "pods," each representing one of the 32 boroughs of London (which lucky travelers get Croydon?), {Really? Croydon of all places?} which make a complete revolution every half-hour. Along the way you'll see bird's-eye views of some of London's most famous landmarks, including the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the BT Tower, St. Paul's, the "Gherkin," {You must be joking.} and of course, the River Thames itself.
The Eye is extremely popular, ridden by some 3 1/2 million people every year. {Dullards} Its iconic status was further cemented a few years ago when it became the principal venue for the capital's New Year celebrations, with a 10-minute firework display taking place around the wheel as midnight strikes.
Traveller review for London Eye
It is indeed pricey for a tour in a big wheel. BUT, the view is so beautiful and it is the perfect opportunity to get the best photo of the landscape of London (for all the amateur or professional photographers out there!). The wait seem {seems} long at first, but it really is in fact not that long. Getting in and out of the London eye might be slightly stressful (since there is an entire group trying to get in or out at the same time while the wheel is moving), but it is still one of the most briliant memory {brilliant memories} I have from London.The best time to try it would definitly {definitely} be at dusk.
Not good for: people who don't like heights, Old People {Oh my, how extradordinarily insightful of you.} - Excerpt from lonelyplanet.com
Lestrade is jogging towards them and he nods to John in greeting. “They’ve found another. This one was riding the Eye for an hour and no one saw a bloody thing.”
John offers, “Someone’s taken it into his head to kill off the tourist trade, then.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly, possibly indicating a second body has added a spark of interest in addition to deducing how their body dumper got away cleanly. “Definitely another tourist?”
“Yes, that’s confirmed. Also, both women were travelling alone.”
“Same hotel?”
Lestrade answers, “No,” without consulting his pad.
John long ago learned to recognize these points at which he should collect the details that Sherlock won’t bother with but will want later. “I’ll take the hotels’ and victims’ names, then,” he says, and Lestrade obliges by ripping a page from his pad. “Cheers.”
“I don’t suppose you want to ride with me.”
“We’ll meet you there.” Sherlock spins and they hail a taxi.
During the taxi ride, Sherlock steeples his fingers, his eyes flutter closed and he Thinks.
Tourists – tourists travel – plane – train – boat – car – the tube - monopolize taxis – irritating – on foot – Tourists – take photos – spend money – Money – go to shops – buy things - go out and do things – see things – see plays – drink things – eat things – Tourists – tourists use the internet – book plane tickets – look up schedules – confirm locations – Tourists use maps – tourists are idiots who can’t read maps – stand on street corners looking lost – annoying – Tourists pack bags – carry bags – don inappropriate footwear – traipse around the city – get lost because they’re rubbish at reading maps – Tourists ask for help – get the wrong tube stop – Tourists ask for help – Tourists are rubbish at reading maps –
And he has it. He knows how to find the killer. He needs to search the first victim’s hotel room, and if the second doesn’t have it on her, that one’s as well for confirmation. He needs to review receipts, and then he and John will have a stakeout so that they can apprehend this disappointingly garden-variety murderer.
A second body had raised his hopes, but he sees now that this case is just as dull as he had expected it to be. Really, he should leave the rest to Lestrade, but it’s been weeks since they’ve had a good stakeout and it’s bound to be more entertaining than anything else he can find to occupy himself tonight. Besides, he still wants to know how this garden-variety murderer has pulled off his high-profile body disposals so cleanly, and if he gets a chance to be up close and personal he has a much better chance of working it out. Yes, a good stakeout is the least this murderer can provide for the trouble he has caused by taking up Sherlock’s day with a tediously boring case.
His eyes snap open to find John regarding him closely. “We’ll have a stakeout tonight, and you’ll be pleased to know that it will probably involve a restaurant,” he informs him.
He is gratified when John doesn’t look surprised, just nods and quirks a smile at him before checking his watch. “Three minutes flat. Care to fill me in?”
Sherlock considers this for a moment then offers, “Wouldn’t you rather work it out for yourself? It’s quite simple, really, well within your capabilities.”
John grins. “Not exactly a three patch problem, then?”
“No,” Sherlock agrees disdainfully.
“Hm.” John crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head, looks thoughtful. “We’re looking for someone who’s killing tourists, and you’ve worked out that there’s probably a restaurant involved somehow.” He pauses, then his relaxed posture goes tense as he shoots Sherlock an alarmed look along with the question, “Oh god, the restaurant and the disembowelment aren’t connected are they?”
“Not to my knowledge at this point.” John doesn’t look entirely convinced, so he adds reassuringly, “I am very nearly certain we will not be consuming bits of the victims for dinner this evening.”
To his surprise, John groans at his declaration. “You know, most of the time I’m perfectly fine with your being very nearly certain, but in this case I’d really appreciate it if you could aim for one hundred percent. Is there any way you could do that for me?”
Sherlock gives him a look which he hopes clearly expresses the fact that he is now very - in fact, crushingly - bored by this conversational sideline. It seems to serve because John sighs and only briefly glances out the window before he turns his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Right. Anyway. Well, tourists go out to restaurants, they’re less inclined to stay in and have a takeaway, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very good,” Sherlock purrs with satisfaction now that they are back on topic.
“So we find out if both victims ate in the same restaurant, do we? Check receipts and such. That’s a bit of a leap isn’t it? London’s got a restaurant on every corner, how do you know that’s the connection?”
“You’ve missed the middle bit.”
“Ah. All right. Hang on, then.” He tilts his head back and aims a blank gaze to the ceiling of the cab as he goes on more quietly, mostly to himself, “I’m a tourist. I’m in London. I’m, well, I’m a woman, and I’m travelling alone. I’m going out to dinner, yeah? So where do I go?” After a moment’s pause, he abruptly straightens in his seat, his mouth falling open just slightly, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s. “Oh, you’re joking,” he exclaims, “is it really that simple?”
Sherlock smiles smugly. “I believe it is exactly that pedestrian, yes.”
The cab arrives at their destination at that moment, so without further delay Sherlock takes off to find the body. “Hold the cab!” he instructs over his shoulder. “I won’t be a moment.”
John, in the relative solitude of a Sherlock-less back seat, contemplates how well this day is going. A relaxing morning, a lucky escape from the drudgery of the washing, the prospect of a stakeout with the unexpected bonus (dubious menu possibilities aside) of not missing dinner, and now he’s actually managed to work out what he hopes is the same lead Sherlock has latched onto. Granted, this particular deduction was child’s play compared to Sherlock’s normal efforts, but a deduction is a deduction and John is very inclined to be pleased with himself.
Location - Bloomsbury
Transportation - Tube: Russell Sq, King's Cross, or Euston
Web site - www.jenkinshotel.demon.co.uk
Room Information - 14 units
Prices - £95 double. Rates include English breakfast {Meaning a coronary on a plate is served to you each morning completely free of charge. Amazing.}
Credit Cards - MC,V
In Room Amenities TV, fridge, hair dryer, Wi-Fi (free)
Jenkins Hotel Review
Yes the rooms are small, {Hardly; they are miniscule at best.} but if you want a quiet, pretty hotel within walking distance of the British Museum and West End shopping then the Jenkins Hotel offers better value than most of the identikit hotels on Russell Square. Some of the original charm of the Georgian house remains and many rooms have been completely refurbished. There are some drawbacks: no elevator and no reception or sitting room. But this is a place where you can settle in and feel at home.
Facilities: Tennis courts (in Cartwright Gardens) – From frommers.com
It isn’t long at all before his partner is back, throwing himself onto the seat and snapping, “First victim’s hotel,” at the cabbie who looks both bewildered and alarmed by these words being grouped together and flung at him until John quickly fishes out the sheet Lestrade gave him and clarifies, “The Jenkins Hotel please.”
Sherlock is humming with the thrill of the chase now. John supposes this means he found what he was looking for on this body and his disdain for the ease of finding the connection between victims has been soothed slightly by the prospect of action. “Just the one hotel room then?” he asks for confirmation.
Sherlock rewards him with a grin. “Indeed.”
When they reach the hotel, John is out the door on Sherlock’s heels; thrusting a tenner at the cabbie, eager to see if his deduction is up to snuff. He takes the fact that there is no indignant cry of, “Oi!” behind him as sufficient proof that he’s handed over too much rather than too little.
There doesn’t seem to be a reception area so when John advises, “Fourth floor,” they veer directly for the stairs. A uniformed policeman is stationed outside the door and he lets them in with a key.
John, to his immense pleasure, spots the book first, lying on the bedside table. He only has to take one step in order to pick it up and brandishes it at Sherlock. “They had the same guidebook,” he declares triumphantly. “The second victim had it on her.”
Ping Pong South Bank Festival Terrace, Southbank Centre, Belvedere Rd, London, Greater London SE1, United Kingdom - pingpongdimsum.com
Categories: Restaurant, Chinese Restaurant, Bar, ...
Hours: 12:00 pm – 12:00 am
Transit: Waterloo (0.2 mi SE)
Reviews
3 weeks ago
Atmospheric restaurant with great dim sum. The cocktails and food is great - a creative western twist on typical chinese dim sum. {Read as - not actual chinese in the least. Also tends to go cold quite rapidly.} The restaurant is usually buzzing - occasionally this can mean waiting for a table / service, but not usually any more than normal at a busy restaurant. Great place to eat with friends and share dishes.
Was this review helpful? Yes - No - Flag as inappropriate
a month ago
Service was a disaster, had to wait 20mins and approach 2 waiters to take our orders. None of our first choices were available, food took extra long and was not pleasant. Waiter didnt know what he was doing, brought wrong food, made us wait forever for our mains. Admitted himself "he had a rough night and hasnt slept yet". Another waiter said apologizing for the wrong order being deliver by saying: "this place is a one big mess"! Clearly cant be too good if even the staff says so!
Disliked: Service, Atmosphere, Value
Was this review helpful? Yes - No - Flag as inappropriate – Excerpt from maps.google.com
Sherlock beams at him proudly. “Excellently done, John. Turn to page seventeen.”
John turns to the indicated page and is rewarded by finding a slip of paper marking the spot which proves to be a receipt matching up to one of the recommended listings. “Receipt from Ping Pong. Looks like she had lunch there yesterday. South Bank.”
Sherlock snaps, “Lunch? Not dinner?”
He double checks to be sure. “Lunch. Time stamp says thirteen hundred.”
Sherlock frowns, but just for a second, then he turns on the spot and stalks out the door in a whirl of coat. “Bring the book,” he instructs, not bothering to turn his head.
John rolls his eyes and mutters, “Drama queen.” But he strides after him and follows the instruction to misappropriate evidence.
2/2 is here http://impulsereader.livejournal.com/11296.html
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no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 05:42 pm (UTC)I hope that the story helped. I'm a little nervous about your reading this one. I did my best with the London locations, but the power of the internet can only do so much. :-)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 08:22 pm (UTC)I had to resort to the commentary on the disc during the chase scene. I a still scratching my head about where they did the stuff up and down the iron staircases because although they brought them down to earth in exactly the place the bit of St Ann's tower at the back of the scene on the roofs would put them (Bourchier Street), as far as I can tell there is nothing at roof height to film. Mark Gatiss allowed me to identity the Pret a Manger off Frith Street. If I ever meet him I must say thanks! He has an interesting accent too - the Durham accent is so different to Geordie (which Mike Stamford has a gentle version of) and he's 'posh northern' - whether by attempt or purely the way his parents spoke I am not sure.