"The Adventure of the Norwood Holoartist"
Author: Robert Brown
Disclaimer: This story uses characters created and copyrighted by Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle and then adapted for television by DiC(except where
noted, in which case they were created and copyrighted by me or by
another and I have permission to use them). The author hereby
gives permission for this story to be downloaded and/or printed at
1 copy per user as long as (1) no changes to the story are made
without my express written(not e-mailed) permission and (2) no
attempt is made to profit from this story. If either or both rules
are violated, it will be considered a violation of copyright law.
Author's Note: Please, don't ask what possessed me to do this story. The
simple fact is that I have so many damn ideas running around inside my head
that they're crowding out the ideas I need to work on the main storylines that
either I write solo or with Francis. So, the only real way to deal with them
is to get them out of my head by getting them typed down. And here's one...of
about fifteen or twenty...I lost count. Anyway, enjoy, have fun, and let me
know what you think. As always, three asterisks denote my own characters.
Cast of Characters(in order of appearance)
Sherlock Holmes
Watson
Jeanette McFarlane***
Chief Inspector Charles Grayson
Inspector Beth Lestrade
Deirdre
Wiggins
Tennyson
Andrienne Oldacre***
It was a quiet day at 221B Baker Street in the city of New London, and
Holmes could find nothing that suggested it was likely to change. For one of
the few days that he could remember, there was nothing in the news or on the
streets that even hinted that Moriarty was active. It was quite the unusual
state for Holmes to find himself with nothing to do, and he found himself
wishing that something would just turn up on his doorstep.
No sooner had the wish formed in his thoughts than it was answered by a
sudden knocking on his door. "I'll get it Holmes," Watson said from down the
stairs, moving to answer the door before Holmes was even out of his chair. To
this day, Holmes was amazed at the kinship that had formed between him and
this robot who had adopted the likeness and mannerisms of his old friend and
confidant, Dr. John Q. Watson.
"Sherlock Holmes' residence," Watson said as he opened the door only to
be hurriedly brushed past by a red-haired woman. "My word," Watson said,
closing the door behind him as he walked back toward Holmes' sitting room,
"that was rather rude."
As he approached the sitting room, Watson could make out the woman's
voice as she spoke excitedly to Holmes. "Please Mr. Holmes," her lightly
accented voice pleaded, "you must hear me out before they come to arrest me!"
"Calm down Ms...." Holmes said before letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Forgive me, but I don't recall you ever mentioning your name."
"I must ask your forgiveness then," the woman said, some from of manners
returning to her as she sank down into one of the highbacked chairs that
Holmes seemed to favor. "I assure you, I am not normally this excitable. But
the events of today have brought me to my last nerve."
"Perhaps a spot of tea would help you to relax?" Watson offered as he
reached the doorway of the room.
The as yet unidentified woman turned to accept the kind offer but her
face went completely white when she caught sight of Watson, quite the feat
considering that her complexion was already quite pale. "No!" she screamed,
standing up so suddenly that she would have surely knocked her chair over if
she'd been stronger. "Stay back! I won't let you take me!"
"Calm down," Watson said soothingly. "I mean you no harm."
"That is quite correct," Holmes said calmly, though by his steepled
fingers and slightly furrowed brow Watson could tell that he'd found something
very interesting in the woman's reaction. "Watson here is quite harmless and
rather a good friend of me."
"But he is a robot!" the woman exclaimed. "And he has a human face!
Surely he must--"
"Merely an elastomask I'm afraid," Watson said, temporarily lifting the
device and revealing his robotic head. "I hope I did not cause you undue
shock at my appearance."
Once he had revealed his mask, the woman calmed down considerably, a
fact that did not go unnoticed by Holmes. "Now then," Holmes said, studying
the woman that once again sat down across from him, "I believe you were about
to tell me your name?"
"Indeed. The woman who sits before you is the unfortunate Jeanette
McFarlane."
"McFarlane did you say?" Holmes asked, one of his eyebrows quirking up.
"I believe I heard something regarding that name on the news this morning.
Watson, could you bring up this morning's news programs on the holoviewer
please?"
Watson moved to the holoviewer and keyed in the request, though he was
sure it was a waste of time. Even if he didn't have the advanced sensory
equipment that came standard with his model, he was sure he'd be able to tell
that Holmes was perfectly capable of recalling the entire broadcast by memory.
"Morning news," the news reporter said as the holoviewer flared to life.
"Here are the headlines. If you wish further information, please specify."
Holmes listened to the list impassively until he heard the one he was
waiting for. "Expand information," he ordered, sitting forward slightly.
"Suspected murder in Neo-Norwood," the reporter said, pausing a moment
before continuing with the story. "Last night, police in the Neo-Norwood
section of the countryside responded to a report of an illegal bonfire. Once
the fire was extinguished, a thorough examination of the ashes revealed human
remains mixed in with the burnt wood. A DNA examination revealed the remains
to be that of a Ms. Andrienne Oldacre, one of the country's leading holograph
technicians. Further examination found the DNA of a Ms. Jeanette McFarlane
of New Surrey at the scene. Ms. McFarlane is currently being sought for
questioning in this case. End story."
"You must believe me Mr. Holmes," Jeanette said, her steel grey eyes
boring into Holmes' own brown ones, "I am completely innocent of this. I was
nowhere near Norwood when this blaze broke out."
Holmes studied the woman before him with his characteristic calmness.
"I do believe you," he said after a moment. "After all, it is not in the best
interest of patent lawyers to kill their clients." Jeanette stiffened
noticably and her gaze narrowed at Holmes' words. "Before you ask," Holmes
said in his maddeningly calm voice, "I'll tell you exactly how I know. First
of all, your fingers are somewhat callused. While that is not uncommon in
this day and age with all the computers in use, you also have a callus on the
thumb side of your left index finger. That tells me that you write a lot, and
that you are left-handed.
"Now then, not many jobs require both writing and computer skills, less
still that allow a person to dress so casually as you are obviously accustomed
to doing," Holmes added, gesturing to her t-shirt and jeans. "But even that
was not enough to put the pieces together until I made two final observations.
One was the government ID card that you are wearing around your neck. The
other is the half-finished patent form that is just barely sticking out of
your jeans pocket."
Jeanette sank back into the well-padded chair with a sigh. "You are
certainly every bit as good as I've heard." she breathed.
"Well, I do aim to please," Holmes said a trifle smugly. "The one thing
I do not know, however, is why the esteemed officers of New Scotland Yard
would believe that someone as timid and meek as you would be capable of
murder."
"I'm afraid they do have a good reason," Jeanette admitted, biting her
bottom lip. "I just fear that I won't have enough time to explain all the
circumstances before the Yard shows up to arrest me."
"Indeed. As a matter of fact, I believe we should be hearing my front
bell ring about...now." Jeanette jumped when the bell rang, but Watson just
took it as a matter of course and left to answer the door. "Unless I miss my
guess, our dear Inspector Lestrade will be here momentarily to demand that I
turn you over to her custody."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you detective," Chief Inspector Grayson said
as he strode into the room with Inspector Lestrade following along behind him,
which actually caught Holmes off guard for the barest of moments, "but this
case is high profile enough that I am here to personally oversee this arrest."
Holmes quickly regained his composure, but his keen eyes easily picked
up the surprise that registered on Lestrade's face when she noticed that he
had been wrong. "Chief Inspector Grayson," he said cordially, "I am surprised
that you have taken time out of your busy schedule to come to my humble
abode."
"Can the flattery Holmes," Grayson huffed, but he couldn't help puff up
his chest slightly. "Jeanette McFarlane, I hereby place you under arrest for
the murder of Andrienne Oldacre. You have the right to remain silent,--"
"While I wholeheartedly agree with informing Ms. MacFarlane of her
rights," Holmes interrupted, "I must insist that she not remain silent. Not
yet anyway."
Grayson fixed Holmes with his most intimidating stare, slowly becoming
more and more incensed at the detective. "I don't know what game you're
playing at--"
"I assure you, it's no game," Holmes interrupted again. "She has come
here to ask for my help, and she will get it. Now I ask you to please leave
while I speak with her."
"Now see here," Grayson started before Lestrade interposed herself.
"I think we should give Holmes some leeway," she insisted. "After all,
we all know that he never asks for something unless he has a really good
reason for it."
Grayson looked like he was about to burst from anger, but managed to
keep his emotions in check. "You have ten minutes," he said stiffly. "One
second past that and I'll bust you down to New Scotland Yard with her!"
"Ten minutes then," Holmes agreed, "starting the moment you leave this
room." When Grayson and Lestrade stepped outside the door and Holmes was
sure that they weren't listening, he turned his attention back to Ms.
McFarlane. "I trust that ten minutes should be enough to tell your tale?"
"Whatever can't be said in ten minutes doesn't deserve to be said,"
Jeanette said quietly. "It all started about two months ago. I was at my
office when a call was transferred to me. I was surprised when the caller
identified herself as Ms. Andrienne Oldacre."
"Were you now?" Holmes asked as she paused in her tale.
Jeanette looked at Holmes in surprise. "Why wouldn't I have been? Word
has been going around for months that Ms. Oldacre was working to perfect a new
technology that was completely revolutionary. To be asked to process her
patent application by name.... I don't think I have to tell you that I was on
the receiving end of many jealous glances from that moment on.
"At first, it seemed like a normal job. I received all the information
needed to file the application and then met with her personally to go over
some of the details. There was nothing odd about our meeting even though we
did seem to hit it off rather well. I did my best to keep things at a
professional level, but she seemed determined to become my friend. Once the
patent was finalized, there wasn't any reason to avoid it and we did become
the best of friends, despite our difference in age."
"Is there such a difference?" Watson asked. When Jeanette jumped at
his words, he immediately apologized.
Jeanette took a handkerchief from her back pocket and wiped her brow.
"No, I must apologize," she said. "I'm not normally this jumpy. But to
answer your question, she is about twenty years older than me."
Holmes looked as if he'd expected that because an ever so slight smile
quirked his lips. "Please, continue your tale," he invited.
"Well, Ms. Oldacre has no living family, so she was very grateful for
my friendship. Maybe a bit too much, but I just put it off to her...well, I
suppose it could be called eccentricity. But when she offered to make me the
sole beneficiary of her will, I was shocked. I mean, I knew she had no family
of her own, but this was beyond belief."
"And rightfully so," Holmes said, leaning forward in his chair. "I can
guess how the rest of the story goes. After becoming her beneficiary, you
thought nothing more of it. You probably haven't had any contact with her for
at least a week. And then, this morning, you find yourself the prime suspect
for a murder that you weren't even aware of."
Jeanette nodded. "I knew that they would suspect me because of the
will. To make matters worse, one of the conditions of being named her
beneficiary was that I keep it to myself; I wasn't even allowed to tell my
parents of the arrangement. I left my home just as the cruisers were landing
to arrest me. Somehow they didn't see me and I made my way here. So now you
know the whole story Mr. Holmes, do you think you can help me?"
"My dear lady," Holmes said smoothly, "I'm positive of two things at the
moment. One is that I do not know the whole story. The other is that I can
indeed help you. Feel free to sit there and compose yourself for the
remainder of your ten minutes. Right now, I have some things to ponder."
The rest of the alloted time passed quietly as Holmes turned over the
facts in his mind. "Time's up," Grayson announced, storming back into the
room exactly ten minutes after he left it. "I trust there won't be anymore
interruptions?"
"None at all," Holmes assured him as Lestrade snapped her cuffs on
Jeanette. "Watson, would you please accompany Ms. McFarlane to New Scotland
Yard?"
Watson started out of his chair, looking surprised. "As you wish
Holmes," he said, quite surprised. "But where will you be going?"
"I will be taking a drive down to New Surrey."
"Checking out the scene of the crime for yourself then? Shouldn't you
be going to Neo-Norwood?" Grayson asked snidely.
Holmes chuckled under his breath. "No, I'm quite sure I mean New
Surrey. Though if Watson is so inclined, he may send the Irregulars to Neo-
Norwood to see what they might find."
"Maybe I should drive you Holmes," Lestrade offered. "Besides, I'd like
to see where you're going with this." Holmes thought for a moment before
graciously accepting. "You just continue to surprise me today Holmes," she
added, referring to the lack of a fight he had given to her suggestion.
"I try my best," Holmes said as he bowed gallantly to her.
It was much later that night when all interested parties met up at the
flat of Sherlock Holmes. "I must admit," Holmes said as he sat down in his
favorite chair, "today has been the most frustrating of days."
"You did not find what you were looking for then?" Watson ventured,
passing out cups of freshly made tea to those gathered there.
Holmes took a few sips of his tea to settle himself before speaking.
"Quite the opposite, I must admit. If anything, I have only strengthened the
case against our dear Ms. McFarlane."
Lestrade waited for Holmes to continue, only speaking when it was
apparent he would not. "It turns out that Jeanette's father was an old
acquaintance of Ms. Oldacre," she said with a peculiar emphasis on the word
"acquaintance."
"Let me guess," Deirdre said, mischief alight in her eyes. "They were
at one time really good friends."
"Quite the understatement actually," Holmes admitted. "They were lovers
in a brief but torrid affair, one that ended when Mr. McFarlane met the woman
who would become his wife. By his own admission, their parting was less than
amicable and he was extremely surprised to hear that she had sought out his
daughter to handle her affairs. When last these two met, she had nearly
ruined his business and his reputation."
"But how does that hurt the case?" Wiggins asked.
Holmes regarded him with a grave expression before answering. "It is
difficult to believe that Ms. McFarlane knew nothing of the relationship
between her father and her client. That being said, it now gives her more
motive to kill Ms. Oldacre as revenge for what she tried to do to her father."
"I can't believe that she would do something like that though,"
Lestrade said. "From what I've seen of her, she doesn't have a vengeful bone
in her body."
"I quite concur," Holmes agreed. "And that is what makes this so
troublesome." He set his now half-filled cup of cooling tea on a waiting
saucer and turned to face the Irregulars. "I hope that your investigations
turned up more promising results than my own."
Wiggins, Deirdre, and Tennyson all shook their heads. "Sorry Mr.
Holmes," Deirdre said, "but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. I
spoke with a number of her neighbors and they all spoke very highly of her.
Every one was sad that she had been killed. But then none could believe that
Ms. McFarlane would do something like this either."
"Tennyson and I searched the house from top to bottom," Wiggins offered.
"Twice actually. We couldn't turn up even a single scrap of cloth. I had
Tennyson keep a video record of our search in case you could see something we
missed."
Tennyson handed over a printed list that Holmes glanced over. "The
chemical analysis results from what was left in the fire?" Holmes asked,
which Tennyson confirmed. "Nothing unusual here either. Blast it all, I was
sure there was something to be found."
"Maybe we should head to the crime scene ourselves tomorrow," Lestrade
suggested. "Not discounting their abilities, but maybe you should see things
for yourself?" Before Holmes could answer, Lestrade communicator started
making an awful racket. "Lestrade here," she said after opening it up.
"Lestrade!" Grayson's voice sounded loud and clear in the still room.
"You can tell your detective that this case is as good as closed. We've found
indisputable evidence to link Jeanette McFarlane to the murder of Andrienne
Oldacre."
Holmes looked exceedingly perturbed by that news. "And just what is
this evidence you've discovered?" he asked.
Lestrade could see Grayson's eyes widen as his lips stretched into a
smirk. "Oh ho! So you're there are you? Well why don't you come down to
New Scotland Yard right now and I'll show it to you?"
"I shall be right there," Holmes said, his voice as steely as his gaze.
"I will see for myself if your evidence is as airtight as you believe it to
be. Lestrade, if you would take me there?"
The ride to New Scotland Yard was quiet, Holmes' manner tense and
unapproachable. Normally Lestrade would try to pass some comment to break the
tension, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would be the worst
thing she could do. Holmes leapt out of the cruiser almost before she'd
set it down on the parking runway, striding purposefully directly toward Chief
Inspector Grayson's office.
Grayson was sitting in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Are you ready to admit that you were wrong?" he asked as Holmes threw open
the door?
"I shall only admit that I'm wrong if you can prove it to me," Holmes
said, sitting down in an empty chair.
Grayson picked up an evidence bag that was laying on his desk and tossed
it to Holmes. "I think you'll find this rather convincing. A dainty
handkerchief monogrammed with the initials 'J.M.' and covered in what has been
determined to be the blood of the late Andrienne Oldacre. And if that weren't
enough, in case you think of any excuse for this, Ms. McFarlane's own
fingerprint is clearly visible in the blood. We've run every test at our
disposal to verify that it's true."
"I have no doubt that you are correct," Holmes said, turning the bag in
his hands over and over. "I do have to ask though, exactly where was this
found?"
"Laying half in and out of the wastebasket in Ms. Oldacre's bedroom.
The wastebasket was under the table which was why we missed it on the first
sweep of the house."
"An oversight that I'm sure you won't be making again," Holmes sneered.
"If you'll excuse me, I have something I must attend to."
Grayson stood up in a huff; this conversation had not gone how he'd
intended it to. "Aren't you even man enough to admit when you've been
beaten?" he demanded.
Holmes fixed Grayson with a cold look as he stood. "When I've been
beaten, I'll admit it," he said, turning around and stalking from the room.
Lestrade had been waiting outside, trying to eavesdrop on the
conversation. But she was still surprised when Holmes came out of the office
enough to nearly knock her on her backside. "Holmes, where are you going?"
she asked, trying to recover some of her dignity.
If Holmes noticed her embarrassment, he showed no signs of it. "We must
head back to Baker Street," he said, walking as if he expected her to follow
without further question. "There is something I must check out." Lestrade
opened her mouth to say something, but knew any comment she would make would
be ignored and so she just kept it to herself.
If possible, the ride back to Baker Street was even quieter than the
ride from it. But unlike before where Holmes' manner was as angry as she had
ever seen, a quiver of excitement seemed to travel through his form as he sat
next to her. She had seen this many times before; it was the unmistakable
sign that he had finally found the one clue that would lead him in the right
direction. It was always unnerving to her simply because she never saw it
when he did, but he never failed to be right.
This time, he waited to exit the cruiser until Lestrade had safely
parked. He approached the door just as Watson opened it. "My, that didn't
take long at all," he said as he moved aside for Holmes to enter the house.
"Was Grayson correct?"
"That shall be determined in my next course of action," Holmes said
simply. "Tennyson!" he called, alerting the Irregulars to his arrival. "I
shall need to see the video of your explorations of Ms. Oldacre's house.
Quite specifically, her bedroom."
Tennyson and Wiggins shared a confused glance. But being used to the
unusual demands of Holmes, Tennyson simply keyed in the information needed.
Holmes studied the video with a nearly frightening intensity, making Tennyson
replay a specific part multiple times. When he finally sat back, he did so
with a triumphant smile on his face. Tennyson made some questioning sounds
as he shut down the hologram; he'd seen nothing of importance himself.
"You're quite right Tennyson," Holmes agreed with a small chuckle. "I
didn't see anything either. And that is exactly what is important. I think
it's time we end this farce once and for all."
Lestrade clenched her fists in exasperation. "Holmes," she snarled,
"could you please take a minute to explain exactly what is going on?"
"All will be made clear as we drive to Neo-Norwood. Now then, let us be
off before the chief inspector does something rash."
An hour later, Grayson pulled up to the home of the late Ms. Oldacre
with a small complement of officers. "What is the meaning of this?" he
demanded as Holmes met him at the door. "You'd better have a good reason why
you forced me to call off my news conference. Not to mention the overtime I'm
paying these officers."
"I daresay you'll be glad before this night is over," Holmes returned,
his smile firmly in place. "Come with me, this will all make sense in a few
moments."
"It had better," Grayson muttered, motioning for the officers to precede
him into the building, "because if it doesn't, you'll be finding yourself in a
cell right next to your client!" Whatever Grayson was expecting, it certainly
wasn't the sight that was awaiting him: Lestrade piling bundles of paper near
a non-descript wall. "What in blazes are you doing Lestrade?"
"Trust me Chief," Lestrade grunted as she dragged the last bundle of
paper against the wall, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you. But after
Holmes explained everything to me, after walking around the house incessantly
and counting his steps, I'm willing to see if this theory of his holds water."
After finishing her task, Lestrade stepped away and drew her ionizer pistol.
"Stand back, everyone," she said, waiting for everyone to be clear before
firing at the paper and igniting it.
Holmes nodded as the paper smoldered into a very smoky fire, one that
would be suitable for what he needed. "Fire!" he yelled, adding a note of
hysteria to his voice. "Fire!"
To all but Holmes' amazement, the wall that the papers were against
suddenly disappeared and a middle-aged woman whose chestnut hair was just
slightly streaked with grey came charging out from a hidden room. She hadn't
gotten far when Holmes tripped her up and sent her sprawling to the ground.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing the gathered officers, "I suggest you place
this woman under arrest for fraud, among other things."
When no one moved, Lestrade stepped forward with her cuffs in hand.
"Andrienne Oldacre," she said in an official tone that overrode the string of
invectives that spewed from the older woman's mouth, "I am placing you under
arrest for fraud, though I'm sure other charges will be forthcoming."
"Oldacre?" Grayson asked, sounding like he had just woken up from a
dream. "But how?"
"Quite elementary actually," Holmes said as he stomped out the flames.
"You were the one who tipped me off after all."
Grayson looked at once pleased and flustered, quite the feat if one
stopped to think about it. "And just how are you laying this on me?" he
grumped, though it was a trifle forced.
Holmes walked over to a chair and sat down in it. "When you produced
that handkerchief of Ms. McFarlane's, I immediately knew something was wrong.
I had made sure to have this place searched from top to bottom, even in that
wastebasket that you supposedly missed. And the video recorded during the
search proved my hypothesis: the handkerchief had not been there originally."
"So then it must have been planted there," Grayson realized. "But that
still doesn't explain how you knew that she was still alive."
"Who better to plant the evidence?" Holmes countered. "You did after
all confirm that it was her blood, did you not? It could not come from
anyone else."
"But even that shouldn't have been enough. What motive could she have
for this? And just how did she pull this whole thing off?"
Holmes eyes glittered dangerously as he stared at the now quiet Ms.
Oldacre. "It is twofold actually. The first is revenge. You see, she never
forgave Ms. McFarlane's father for spurning her affections. What better way
to get her revenge than to destroy the daughter that should have rightly been
hers?
"But it the second reason that you will find more pertinent to your
investigation. When Ms. McFarlane first visited me, she reacted rather badly
to seeing Watson with a human face, relaxing only when it was revealed to be
a mask. I was surprised at first until I heard of the crime she was being
accused of. Ms. Oldacre over here is fairly well known in the field of
holography and been in competition with some other notable names as to who
could make a hologram seem solid. As such, if Watson's face was in fact such
a hologram, it would not have been wise to trust me as I would have
undoubtedly been in league with the enemy, so to speak."
"That explains the disappearing wall," Lestrade interjected. "And now I
understand why you were pacing around so much earlier. You were trying to
find where she was hiding by comparing how many steps you could take on each
floor."
Holmes favored Lestrade with a genuine smile before continuing his
explanation. "You are quite right Lestrade, a true credit to your namesake.
Our dear Ms. Oldacre filed the patent applications first that is true, but
I'd wager it won't take much digging to find out that one of her rivals has
recently reported that all of his or her research had been stolen. I do
doubt however that she will be forthcoming with the names."
"You can be assured of that," Andrienne spat. "You won't get any help
from me."
Grayson considered all this thoroughly. "It makes sense, but it still
doesn't explain how she pulled this off. I mean, how could she fake DNA
evidence? And the fingerprints in the bloody handkerchief?"
Holmes thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Tell me," he
said, "when you scan for DNA evidence, do you only scan for human DNA?" When
both Grayson and Lestrade nodded, Holmes couldn't help but smirk. "Then a
broader scan should reveal some form of animal remains with which she mixed
in her own blood and some effects of Ms. McFarlane that were left here.
"As for the fingerprint, I'm sure that Ms. McFarlane has left plenty of
her own fingerprints around here under the pretense that they were becoming
friends. I would not think it hard for Ms. Oldacre to create a holographic
finger capable of leaving those exact fingerprint markings."
"Take her away," Grayson ordered. As Andrienne Oldacre was being led
away, he turned and faced Holmes. "I suppose I owe you some gratitude," he
said grudgingly. "You've saved this department, and me, some embarrassment.
But don't think this has earned you any kind of personal favor in my book."
Lestrade just shook her head as Grayson left. "He'll never change,"
she muttered, sitting down on the arm of Holmes' chair.
Holmes just smiled again and patted Lestrade's leg in a friendly way,
though it still made her blush. "What disturbs me is that I had begun to
doubt myself," Holmes admitted. "Up until that handkerchief surfaced, I was
no longer sure of my conclusions. The framing was perfect in every way, and I
was none the wiser. If she'd possessed the gift of the artist, the knowledge
of when to stop, then I would have been powerless to stop her. But she didn't
and an innocent woman is now free once more."
"Sometimes that's all you can focus on," Lestrade added, surprising
Holmes slightly. "It doesn't matter what mistakes you made in getting to the
end. All that matters is that you get there correctly."
Holmes pondered her words for a moment before responding. "Too true
Lestrade. Too true." (
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