#and Harry hired Jack (my detective) to find out who

[shy-sapphic-ace]

I'm trying to write this story about a noir-type detective and I'm just finding it so difficult?? Like not even for plot or whatever, I think I'm okay with that, but I'm trying so hard to make my detective guy all angsty and broody and dark, like oooh he's so tortured and sad but he handles it like a Man(TM), that kinda stuff, but every time I make him interact with anyone he just ends up being super polite and friendly. He calls everyone Mr. and Miss and old people Sir or Ma'am. Like, earlier I was just writing and the words were coming along well and when I reread it he was talking about this restaurant he likes because "the tea reminds me of how my grandma used to make it :)" It really shows that I have never actually written angst in my life.

[meanstreetspodcasts]

Tired of the everyday grind?

Escape is often considered a “sister series” to CBS’ Suspense, but where “radio’s outstanding theater of thrills” had sponsorship dollars to attract the biggest names in Hollywood, Escape was a sustaining series without a sponsor. Since it couldn’t rely on the likes of Cary Grant and Gregory Peck, Escape made great use of the stable of Hollywood radio players (Stacy Harris, John Dehner, Virginia Gregg, Betty Lou Gerson, Parley Baer, Frank Lovejoy, and more). Radio legends William Conrad and Paul Frees were regularly heard in dramatic roles, and - as “the voice of Escape” - they also lent their voices to the ominous opening lines of each week’s show. Occasionally the show landed a big name and made the most of it. The best example of this may be Vincent Price starring in the chilling tale of ravenous rats “Three Skeleton Key.”

For much of the run, Escape was produced and directed by Norman Macdonnell, the man behind The Adventures of Philip Marlowe and Gunsmoke. Also at the helm was William N. Robson, who would go on to run Suspense in the late 1950s.

In honor of the anniversary of its July 7, 1947 premiere broadcast, here are some of my favorite episodes of Escape - examples of its variety of stories and why it still holds up as a taut, exciting adventure series so many years later.

“The Most Dangerous Game” - Richard Connell’s short story of a deranged hunter who preys on men has been filmed and retold many times over the years, including several radio adaptations. This version casts two radio legends and iconic voices. Paul Frees is the narrator and quarry of Hans Conried’s legendary - but bored - hunter and pits one man against the other in a deadly exotic jungle. (Originally aired on CBS on October 1, 1947)

“An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” - Another classic short story, this one by Ambrose Bierce, gets a memorable adaptation courtesy of Escape. A Confederate sympathizer tries to sabotage a bridge and ends up at the end of a Union noose. A twist of fate gives him a chance to escape…or does it? There are some problematic racial portrayals (a scene where the protagonist meets one of his slaves is particularly rough), but overall this is a great show with a cast of some of radio’s best voices - Harry Bartell, Bill Johnstone, William Conrad, and Frank Lovejoy. (Originally aired on CBS on December 10, 1947)

“Leiningen vs. the Ants” - A South American plantation owner refuses to run when an army of ravenous ants descends upon his homestead. The great William Conrad shines as the titular Leiningen - a man supremely confident in his dominance over nature. Lou Merrill is the government official who tries to persuade Leiningen to leave and later decides to stay and watch this titanic battle unfold. It’s a great example of the power of radio - the horde of ants comes to vivid life with only the narration and sound patterns. (Originally aired on CBS on January 14, 1948)

“Red Wine” - Jeff Chandler stars as a detective who travels to Borneo in search of a murderer. He finds several possible suspects working on a rubber plantation, and he’ll have to get creative to unmask the killer. (Originally aired on CBS on February 26, 1949)

“A Shipment of Mute Fate” - The passengers and crew of an ocean liner at sea have no place to hide when a deadly poisonous snake escapes from its case and stalks the ship. This classic thriller was performed several times on Escape; all of the versions are worth a listen, but this one features John Lund - a rare example of a big name starring in the show. (Originally aired on CBS on March 13, 1949)

“Three Skeleton Key” - One of the scariest old time radio dramas of all time, “Three Skeleton Key” features amazing performances and sound effects that will make your skin crawl. Vincent Price stars as a lighthouse keeper on a remote island. The daily bored existence of Price and his comrades is shattered when a derelict ship runs around and its passengers - thousands of carnivorous and very hungry rats - emerge with an appetite. Wine corks against glass create the illusion of gnawing rats, and your imagination does the rest to keep you on the edge of your seat. (Originally aired on CBS on March 17, 1950)

“The Time Machine” - H.G. Wells’ science fiction classic follows an inventor and his friend as they take a jaunt 100,000 years into the future. John Dehner and Larry Dobkin star in this adventure through time itself. (Originally aired on CBS on October 22, 1950)

“Earth Abides” - This two-part drama is hailed by many as the best story Escape ever produced. Adapted from George Stewart’s novel of the same name, it’s the story of a post-apocalyptic world following the outbreak of a deadly plague. Stephen King cited the story as an inspiration for his own post-apocalyptic epic The Stand. (Part One originally aired on CBS on November 5, 1950; Part 2 originally aired on CBS on November 12, 1950)

“Wild Jack Rhett” - John Meston adapted Ernest Haycox’s story of the old west, and it wound up being a test run for Gunsmoke for Meston and director Norman Macdonnell. John Dehner stars as an infamous gunfighter and “town tamer” hired to clean up the town of Red Mesa after its sheriff is gunned down. It’s an atmospheric adult western with great performances, and its influence can be felt on Gunsmoke which would launch less than two years later. (Originally aired on CBS on December 17, 1950)

“The Abominable Snowman” - William Conrad stars in this tale of adventurers who climb into the Himalayas to hunt for the legendary yeti. It’s a chilling (no pun intended) story as the men fight to survive in the snow and the hellish storm - never knowing for sure if they’re being stalked by their monstrous quarry. (Originally aired on CBS on September 13, 1953)

Check out this episode!

[asexual-hugger]

Allison McQueen is hard at work organizing her boss’s case files into folders on her computer, a flash drive plugged into the USB port in order for her to copy everything on to it. She knows Detective Sinclaire is in the room next to hers, his main office space, working on case materials as well.

Her phone goes off. She glances at the screen. ‘Mom,’ says the name at the top.

“Hello?” She accepts the call.

“Allison? It’s Mom.” The voice sounds far-off. “Is this a bad time?”

“Well, I’m just doing some assistant work for a private investigator, so it’s not the worst time,” Allison responds.

“I won’t keep you,” her mother promises. “I know you work hard over at that agency. I’m sure your superior is beyond impressed. I was just wondering if you could take some time off to come home and help on the farm a little bit.”

Help on the farm. Traveling back to her tiny little hometown usually meant one thing: there wasn’t enough help.

“All right, Mom, what did Kade do now?” Allison’s voice is demanding and her younger brother’s name comes out slightly more emphasized.

Kade is the youngest of the McQueen children, and although Allison loves him dearly, he can’t help being a klutz. Their parents always joked that after he was old enough to walk, he had been born with two left feet.

“Again, I’m sorry to interrupt you so suddenly,” her mother says guiltily, “but yes, unfortunately it is Kade again. He was helping jack up the plow for harvesting the corn, and he accidentally knocked it over and it landed on his foot. He’s going to have to wear a cast for a few weeks.”

Great.

“So he broke his foot?” Allison asks.

“He has several fractures on his big toe and second toe of his left foot, but it’s nothing too serious,” her mother explains. “He’s going to be off his feet for awhile. I was wondering if your boss would let you take some time off so you could come home and assist with the harvest. The corn is getting big now. If you can’t, that’s no problem. We can find a neighbor or a friend to help. I just thought with Harry working tight schedules at the courthouse and Dom goodness-knows-where in that micro plane he always flies around in, you were the best option.”

“Uh-huh.” Allison speaks in an indifferent tone.

Apparently working as the personal assistant to a private detective didn’t classify as a “burdensome job,” according to Lady McQueen.

“Seriously. I can ask someone else.” Her mother is reasoning. “If you feel this is a bad time for you, I’d understand. All of you work hard. It’s just difficult when everyone you love and can count on is gone living their own lives. I’m sure your boss would let you go for a while. He seems like a pretty reasonable person by the way you’ve spoken about him. When was the last time you took a proper holiday?”

When WAS the last time Allison visited her family? Never. Not since she moved out of the house and rented the apartment at Edgewater Estates.

That was seven years ago.

“I haven’t had a holiday in a long time,” she admits slowly. “And I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. Let me check with my boss and I’ll text you his answer.”

“That’s fine,” her mother insists. “There’s no rush. It’s just that the corn needs harvesting and I don’t want your father straining himself any more than he has to. I hate asking this of you, but you know Kade. The boy is always bumping into things. Literally.”

“I know, Mom. I’ll see you soon.” Allison hangs up and opens the door to her private office, walking over to Detective Sinclaire’s closed door with his name and occupation etched into the fogged window glass.

She knocks.

“Come in.” Sinclaire’s voice answers, and she slowly opens the door.

Detective Ernest Sinclaire is seated at his desktop computer, wearing eyeglasses and staring at the screen. He glances up and flashes her a wide grin when he sees her.

“Miss McQueen! Did you finish that organization task already?” He looks awed.

“Far from it,” Allison replies. “I was in the middle of it when my mom called.”

“Is everything all right?” Sinclaire’s expression changes to alarm as he removes his glasses to see her better.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Allison stares at the pair in his hand.

“Yeah. I don’t wear them very much.” Sinclaire shrugs, his face turning a slight shade of red. He pinches the bridge of his nose and puts the glasses back on. “They’re mainly for reading very small print. My eyes aren’t that accustomed to certain text sizes.”

“I think they look good,” Allison comments.

“You do?” His face brightens.

“I do. Really,” Allison answers. “You look good in basically anything. I wear glasses, too, but only because I can’t see long distances, and mine don’t look nearly as good on me.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Sinclaire says. “Show me you in glasses and I’ll be the judge of that.” He swivels around in his chair before centering on her again. “So. Your mother called. Is everything all right back home?”

“That’s why I came in here,” Allison says. “She called because my younger brother did yet another klutzy move. She needs my help on the farm. The corn is ready for harvesting now, and Kade...well, let’s just say he had a run-in with the jack on the plow and lost. Two of his toes are fractured and he has to wear a cast.”

“Ouch.” Sinclaire inhales sharply through his teeth. “Broken toes are never fun. Kade is your brother then?”

“My youngest,” Allison explains. “Harry and Dominic are the oldest, which leaves me kind of in the middle and towards the younger side.”

“You’re the only girl?”

“Yep.” Allison nods. “I don’t mind it, really. It makes me feel extra special, especially since Harry and Dom are both very protective of me and Kade.”

“Sounds like paradise,” Sinclaire says. “I mean: you being protected by your two older brothers. I feel much safer knowing that my assistant has people looking out for her even when she’s not at work. I owe it to Harry and Dom for doing what I can’t when I’m not there to help you.”

“That’s sweet,” Allison says, feeling her cheeks heat up.

“So you want time off?” Sinclaire asks. “That’s fine by me. If your parents need you to fill in on the farm, then I’d go for it.”

“Really?” Allison is surprised by how easy he’s taking it. “You’d let me go home?”

“You’re not a prisoner here, Miss McQueen,” Sinclaire tells her. “You have a family and a life outside of work. We all do. I know you’re devoted to your job here, and I love that about you, but even I don’t expect you to stay here day after day going off on errands for me or helping me with case files without taking a break. If you need some time off, just tell me.”

“Hopefully it won’t be long,” Allison says. “I do want to come back as soon as I can so I can help with all the latest cases. I hate the idea of you being hired by more rich socialites to investigate their dirty secrets without me being there to hear about them. This job is important to me, and I don’t intend on wasting it away.”

“You are FAR from wasting this job away,” Sinclaire assures her. “And I know you want to help. I admire your dedication. But seriously: I can probably handle working on my own while you’re gone. I did it enough times before I hired you. It’s not like I can’t work solo. It’s just a bit easier when I have help.”

“Exactly,” Allison responds. “You just proved my point.”

“So when do you want to leave?” Sinclaire asks. “I haven’t had very many cases lately, as you can tell. This might be the perfect time to get away for a bit. I can write a note of dismissal for you if you want.”

“Do I need one?” Allison asks.

“It’s not mandatory, but it might help your family understand your work a little more,” Sinclaire explains. “I can write it up on the computer and print it out for you. It’ll explain what we’ve been doing up until the time you requested your break, and it’ll also be proof that I gave you permission to leave rather than you walking out on your own.”

“Like I’d really walk out on my own,” Allison mutters.

“I know you wouldn’t, but your family might think otherwise,” Sinclaire says. “Or maybe not. I don’t know them, so I can’t judge.”

“I know you’re needed here in case you get hired on another investigation,” Allison says, “but I wish you could come with me. You could meet my parents and Kade.”

“Miss McQueen, are you asking your boss to formally meet your family?” Sinclaire looks amused and his blue eyes twinkle. “I didn’t think we were ready for that yet.”

“It’s not a date,” Allison insists. “I wouldn’t throw that out on you!”

“I was kidding!” Sinclaire chuckles. “Of course it isn’t. You think your family would want another person in the way while you’re working?”

“It won’t be the entire family,” Allison says. “Harry is working as a lawyer at the county courthouse, and Dominic is flying mini planes somewhere, I don’t know where. I don’t really keep track of what he does. It’ll just be me, my mom, my dad, and Kade, who, I am sure, would love to meet you. I did put in a few words for you the last time we spoke.”

“Good ones, I hope?” Sinclaire asks. “I’d be more than glad to spread some good cheer about your work ethic if you wish.” Pause. “You said Harry was a lawyer. What does Dominic do?”

“He’s a pilot,” Allison answers. “He flies small planes around to both test-fly and go on regular trips. He moves around a lot. The only time any of us see him is during the holidays, preferably Thanksgiving and Christmas, since his schedule is so unpredictable.”

“Amazing.” Sinclaire looks at her with wonder and intrigue. “Three boys: one a lawyer, one a pilot, and one a farmhand. Not to mention a sister who works as a PA to a PI.”

“Yep. That basically sums up the McQueen family,” Allison responds. “It’s an unusual combination, that’s for sure, but it’s what we chose.”

“Now I REALLY want to meet them!” Sinclaire looks determined. “If you are all right with it, and your family is all right with it, I’d be happy to come along. The thing about my business is that it could be done from anywhere. As long as I have my phone on me, I can be reached. It’s connected to my office line, and I have my personal cell as well.”

“You have two cell phones?” Allison asks.

“I do,” Sinclaire answers. “One for business and one for personal calls. Just to be safe, whenever I’m away from the estate, I take both.”

[celtics534]

Covert Love: Everything Has Changed

And here we go, as promised chapter 1 of Covert Love! @gryffindormischief​ and @thedistantdusk​ have been helping me with this fic so I just wanted to thank them! 

A little background: a magical AU. Harry never went to Hogwarts so he doesn't know any of the Weasley’s.

Also Read On: FF.net or AO3

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"Potter!" Jamison's deep Irish accent echoed through the room. Harry stood up to look over his cubicle. His detective chief was standing in the doorway to his office, his eternal grimace in place. 

  "Yes, sir?" Harry pushed in his chair, knowing full well he was not coming back to his desk anytime soon. When Jamieson had that tone, it meant Harry was gonna be gone for a while. 

  The look on Jamieson’s face suggested Harry’s premonition was correct  before entering the room. Excitement and nerves started jumbling in Harry’s gut. After months of desk duty, Harry was ready to get back out there. 

  Desk duty hadn't been his idea, but after the way his last case had ended, his boss had taken him away from active duty. It was fair, and the logical part of Harry agreed with his boss’s decision but that didn't make it any easier to be stuck doing paperwork. 

  Jamieson was already sitting behind his desk when Harry entered the office. He didn't look up from his work as he gestured at the chairs in front of the desk. "Potter, take a seat."

  Harry did as he was told, remaining silent. Jamieson preferred questions at the end of his briefings, and Harry was not going to chance being removed from the case due to speaking before being called upon. It only took a moment for Jamieson to finish his paragraph. He put his quill aside on the desk before lacing his fingers together, creating a bridge to rest his chin on.

  “You ready to go back into the field?” That was Jamieson for you, direct as a well-cast stunner. Jamieson just needed to know the basics. Are you fit and able? Good, then it’s time to get back to work. 

When Harry nodded, Jamieson studied him for a moment before he echoed Harry’s nod. “Aye.” He pulled a folder from underneath a pile of parchment. He handed Harry the file. “In there is the description of the individual who you’ll be protecting.”

  “Protecting?” Harry asked as he flipped open the manilla envelope. The front page held a basic profile. Ginny Weasley. Chaser for Ballycastle Bats. Threatened via numerous letters and notes left in her locker. 

  “Yes, I’m going to be sending you in to remain near Weasley. I want this to be a covert operation, in hopes of catching the perpetrator. If they have been leaving the notes in Weasley’s locker they have access to the changing room—”

 “Which means a player, staff, or security guard for the stadium may be involved.” Harry finished as he continued to read through the notes. “These are rather -- tame, all things considered.”.”

  Harry looked up in time to see Jamieson nod. “We have seen much worse, but if you noticed, there is a definite obsessional undertone. Mentions of knowing where her home is and where she shops. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ve got a stalker of some sort.”

  “No doubt about that,” Harry agreed, re-reading the line about how easy it would be to fly up to her fifth-floor flat. “So we’re getting involved because of the insinuation that one of her staff may be entangled in all this?” 

  Jamieson’s lips twitched in the closest thing he had to a smile. “I knew I hired you for a reason. Yes, that is the main reason, but I also happen to be mates with her brother Bill. We were in the same house and year at Hogwarts.” His brow quirked. “You didn’t go to Hogwarts, right?”

  Harry nodded absentmindedly, his focus back on the letters in hope of finding any indicating phrases. “My Godfathers homeschooled me.”

  “That’s right. Well, Bill asked me to check into this as a favor, and I can’t say no to the man who just named me the godfather of his next daughter.” 

  The obvious fondness in Jamieson’s voice surprised Harry. He’d never imagined his captain as the touchy-feely type, but it was obvious his affection for his friend and his family was great. Harry wisely chose to keep his observations to himself, figuring his tough as nails boss wouldn’t appreciate the callout. He flipped through the pages of Ballycastle staff.  “Fair enough. Do any of the suspects stand out more than the rest?”

  “Ah, well, we don’t have much information on the actual situation.” 

  Harry stopped mid-flip. When he looked up at Jamieson he noticed a pink tinge around his ears. “What does that mean?”

  Jamieson took a deep breath, his chest rising. “The only intel is public knowledge, or what Bill has provided.”

  “Wait.” Harry couldn’t quite contain his surprise. “Are you telling me we’re going in blind?” 

  “Not blind, per se.” Jamieson scowled as he rubbed the back of his red neck. “I mentioned you’ll be undercover, yeah?”

  “You said covert.”

  Jamieson raised his hand. “Exactly. You were almost signed by a professional quidditch team, if I’m not mistaken.” 

  Harry nodded slowly. He had gone to the league tryouts a few years back, but decided to decline the offers, instead taking the advice of a trusted friend and enlisting in the Auror academy. “I played seeker.”

  “And that is exactly the position that has opened up for Ballycastle.” Jamieson gestured to the folder still on Harry’s lap. “Their current seeker, Malcolm Kalvin, was seriously injured two days after their reserve seeker Philip Henson quit.” 

  It only took Harry a moment to read the notes on both of the Bats’ seekers. “Henson left to go be with his family in America and Kalvin has periodic memory loss.”

  “That’s right. Which means they are having an emergency trial on Friday.” Jamieson scratched the stubble along his jaw. “When was the last time you flew, Potter?”

  “Uh -- I’d guess maybe last week, maybe the week before.” 

  “Well, the rest of this week you’ll be doing nothing but flying.”

  Harry’s mind needed a moment to comprehend everything his boss was telling him. “So I have two days to be at a professional level?” 

  Jamieson waved off his concern. “We’ll get you into tip-top shape. Bill knows Oliver Wood from Puddlemere and he’s agreed to come work with you.” 

  “Sir—” Harry wanted to object that even with one of England’s best keepers there was no way he was going to be selected for the squad, but Jamieson interrupted him. 

  “Potter, I know you, and when you set your mind to something… you don’t stop until the end. It’s one of the reasons you’re my best detective.”

  Harry was stunned into silence. Never before had his chief given him such a compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jamieson waved him off again. “Now, let’s discuss Miss Weasley. You read her profile?” 

  Nodding, Harry flipped back to the starting page. 

  “Good. Now, she will be unaware of your mission. Same with the rest of the team. I need you to stay close to her. Befriend her. I want it to be inconspicuous that you’ll be around her often.”

  Harry nodded. It couldn’t be too hard to find a topic to bond over with a professional quidditch player. “Who is my contact?”

  “Bill Weasley. It will be easy for him to around Miss Weasley so you’ll report any important findings to him. He has been staying around his sister’s flat at night, so really we just need a day shift.”

  “Okay.”

  Jamieson laced his fingers in order to rest his chin again. “Any question right now?”

  Harry thought about it. He knew his purpose, target, contact…  “When you say undercover, what’s my backstory?”

  “Ah, that’s the easiest part. You’ll be Harry Potter, who changed his mind and decided to re-tryout as a professional seeker. You can craft any tales you want to tell people, but I’d advise keeping it close to the truth.”

  “Easy enough.” Harry took a deep breath. “Then I have nothing else for now.” 

  “Good.” Jamieson stood from his chair, offering out his hand. “Thank you, Potter.” 

  Harry grasped his boss’ calloused hand. “I’m happy to help.” 

  “I knew I picked the right man.” Jamieson released his finger. “Now, dismissed. Wood should be here within the hour and you need to give your remaining paperwork to Finnigan.”

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  Harry clutched the handle of his Firebolt as if he was afraid the broom would fly away without him. He’d forgotten how intense tryouts were, and he was saying that as a member of one of Ireland’s most elite auror squads. And it wasn’t even over yet! He’d made it through the first three cuts, which had left only himself and one other bloke, and now they were going to have a one on one seeker battle. 

  His fingers felt numb as he forced himself to loosen his grip. It wouldn’t do him any good to let the snitch slip out of his fingers because he’d lost feeling in them. 

  “That was an impressive feint earlier,” a voice spoke behind him. Harry turned and was face to face with the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen. Add that to an adorably freckled nose and hypnotic brown eyes, and Harry’s mind went completely blank. He was certain that if breathing it wasn’t integrated into his hardwiring, he might have stopped.  

  The woman, or goddess, pointed up into the sky. “I saw you feint past McNabb when he was coming for you. Most can’t get past him.” 

  Harry discreetly used his free hand to pinch his leg, hoping the pain would jolt his mind back into making coherent sentences. “Uh - Thank you.”

  Her smile became sympathetic. “Nervous about the one-on-one?” 

  “Y - Yeah.” Harry was happy to have any reason other than the truth for his incompetence. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m not sure how I’ll match up against the titan over there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the bulky man stretching before his flight. 

  “Oh, I’d say you have it in the bag,” said the red-head, waving off his concern. “And if he gets too close…” A wicked smirk curled on her lips. “Just ask him to spell his name, and you’ll have a twenty-second head start.”

  “Is his name that difficult?”

  “If you think Jack Smith is a challenge, then yes.”

  Harry snorted. “That does sound very complex, but hasn’t he been spelling it his whole life?” 

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “You’d think so, but after watching him struggle to write it on the sign-in sheet this morning…” She shrugged again. “Anyways, your name is Potter, right?”

  “And I know how to spell it.” Harry wanted to pat himself on the back when his joke made her laugh. Instead, he held out his hand. “Harry.”

  Her grip was strong in his. “I’m Ginny.” 

  "Ginny, as in Ginny Weasley?" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. 

  She laughed. "Glad to see my reputation precedes me." 

  Harry couldn't get his mind to wrap around it all. This was Ginny Weasley, his charge. She didn't seem like the kind of person you'd want to threaten. Ginny was too nice and funny for the kind of shit to happen to her. Then again, he might just be biased because she was the most attractive woman to ever talk to him… 

  "Harry?" Ginny waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Did you get lost there?" 

  "Huh? Oh, sorry." Harry forced himself into his work mindset. A little warning in the file would have been nice. Why Bill didn't include a photo of her… he could have prepared himself! No! Harry couldn't allow himself to admire her beauty, no matter how attractive her smile was. She was his ward and nothing could happen between them. The sooner he got that through his head, the better. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “Oh yeah! Ballycastle stadium is quite a sight.” Ginny looked across the perfectly cut grass, her smile serene. “It’s one of the many reasons I choose the Bats.”

  “What are some of the others?” Harry praised himself for his casualness. This was what he needed to do, these were his orders:To become her friend. And  that was done not by fawning over her, but by keeping things smooth and easy. Having simple, friendly conversations. 

  “Ireland’s lush green fields.” Ginny didn’t miss a beat as she started ticking off fingers. “Not being the only red-head for twenty kilometers, and don’t get me started on my passion for a good Irish ditty.” 

  “I’m guessing that means you know some good places to relax with a pint and music?” 

  “You could say that.” Ginny leaned in closer, and Harry was floored by a scent so intoxicating words were lost on him again. It was like she’d combined the sweetest-smelling flowers in the world and added something indistant… so indistinct he couldn’t  describe it in words. “How about this; after you’ve signed your life away to the Bats, I’ll take you out for a pint or two. The first shout on me.”

  “Th -/” Harry cleared his throat. “That would be amazing. But wh -- what if I don’t get signed?”

  Ginny’s hand came up to pat his shoulder as her lips twisted into a doubtful smile. “Then Coach Nessa really does hate the team, because why else would he want to the torture the team with that brainless brute?” 

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  “One Kilkenny Ale for you, and one Harp Lager for me.” Ginny set the glasses down on the table. Harry took his drink with a quick thanks. He was still in a shocked state. Signing to a professional quidditch team would do that to you. No matter what Ginny had said before the one-on-one flight, Harry really hadn’t expected to win. But Ginny had been right. Harry had flown circles around the larger man.

  Ginny raised her glass. "Welcome to the team." Harry followed her lead, taking a large gulp. Ginny put her drink back onto the table. "So, I'd say it's about time I get to know my newest teammate." She placed her elbow beside her glass and rested her head on her hand. "What do I need to know about you, Potter?" 

  Harry hated how -- for lack of a better term -- turned-on he was from just the look she was giving him. It wasn't necessarily flirtatious, but rather intense , and made him feel as if the rest of the world didn't exist. 

  He took another quick sip of his pint before answering. "Uh -- not much, really." 

  Ginny rolled her eyes. "I doubt that. A guy like you --" Ashiver ran down his spine… that damn look !— "has something interesting about him. Maybe like where you learned to play like that? I know it wasn't Hogwarts, because I'd remember you."

  Part of Harry, the part that was a glutton for pain, wanted there to be more to her words. He wanted her to admit he hadn't gone to Hogwarts because she found him too attractive to forget. There was also the desire for her cheeks to darken with a pretty flush because she was nervous, and not just appear darker in the flickering of the faint pub light.

  Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We —I guess I —learned from my godfather, Sirius." 

  "With a name like that, I'd guess he had a serious side." Ginny laughed at her own joke, which was too endearing.

  "Hardly. The man can't stop himself from making a joke. Being raised by him was an interesting experience, to say the least." 

  Ginny lifted her head off her hand and tilted it slightly to the side. "You were raised by your godfather?" 

  "Yeah." His hand unconsciously came to rub the back of his neck. He'd never liked talking about his past. People always got awkward when he explained what had happened to his parents. Not that he could blame them. Death was always awkward. "My parents they -- er -- died when I was one." 

  Harry prepared himself for the oh I'm so sorry or that's horrible. Instead, Ginny reached across the table and took his free hand. She didn't say anything, just squeezed his fingers. Warmth spread from her touch. Normally, Harry would retreat from the conversation when his parents were brought up, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could talk about it. 

  "It - They were murdered by an old friend of theirs from Hogwarts.” His throat always closed up every time he said those words. Harry could see the surprise in Ginny’s eyes, but she still didn’t say a word, letting him be in complete control. “Peter, their friend, joined a gang and his leader knew my parents had money, so he and Peter went to go rob my parents. Things went -- South in the end.”

  “I’d say things were South from the start.” Ginny twisted their joined hands so she could rub her thumb over his palm. 

  To Harry’s surprise, he laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “So your godfather raised you after that?”

  He nodded. “Sirius and Remus, actually. They were both friends with my father, but Sirius is legally my godfather. Remus is now a teacher up at Hogwarts, and Sirius owns a muggle motorcycle shop.” 

  “Really? You don’t hear about many wizards starting muggle businesses.”

  “Sirius has always loved bikes. He told me it started just because his parents hated anything to do with muggles, but then he realized how interesting they were. And after what happened to my parents -- Sirius said the muggle world was a nice break from it all.” Harry realized how dry his throat had become and took a deep drag from his pint. 

  “And I’m guessing he knows how to ride them?” Ginny was still looking at him as if there weren’t twenty other people in the pub, as if there weren’t  an entire world outside that front door. It sent shivers down his spine. 

  “Yeah, and he taught me.” 

  Ginny’s grin became wider and a little mischievous. “ Really ?” She slid her hand out of his, Harry instantly bemoaned the loss of her touch. She linked her own fingers together in a praying stance. “How long do I have to beg for you to take me on a ride?”

  “You -- you wanna go for a ride?” 

  “Hell yeah! I’ve never met anyone who actually knows how to drive a muggle vehicle.” She waved her hands in excitement.“My father works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in England, and he’s gone on and on about motorbikes and automobiles. He’s also obsessed with aeroplanes, but that’s another thing entirely.”

  Harry couldn’t stop staring as Ginny eagerly chattered. She was...amazing wasn’t a strong enough word.  “I’d love to take you for a ride sometime.” 

  Ginny beamed at him. “Awesome! When would you be free? Tonight?”

  “Well, night time isn’t the best time.” Harry paused, going through his mental calendar. “We have practice all week, but I should be free next Saturday. Maybe go sometime in the morning?”

  Before Harry could comprehend what was happening, Ginny had risen from her chair and her arms were wrapped around his neck. “That’s perfect, Harry! Thank you!” 

  Her flowery scent filled his lungs, making his mind lose connection to the rest of his body for a moment. When he finally came back to his senses he stuttered his response. “O -- Of course. Any time.”

  “I’m gonna go get you another pint,” Ginny proclaimed as she drew back. Harry watched her practically skip across the room. He let out a long breath. Harry knew when he was in trouble. Self-preservation had always been a strong skill of his, and at that moment, he knew he was in way too deep. Yet, he had no desire or will to evaluate the turbulent situation. No, instead all his mind could do was think of was ways to get Ginny to wrap her arms around him again. 

  Fuck, he was in so much trouble… 

[laconservancy]

Our Favorite Movies, Starring Los Angeles!

This list was compiled by the L.A. Conservancy’s Last Remaining Seats Committee—the volunteers who select the LRS lineup each year, and help produce the film series. Rest assured, they know their movies—as well as their classic L.A. architecture! If you’re pining to visit the places that make our city special, consider watching one of these classic L.A. stories—and enjoy seeing them on the small screen, instead.

Clueless (1995)

Streaming: N/A

“This was such a great coming of age movie that it took me years to realize it was an adaptation of Jane Austen’s “Emma.”  One of my favorite scenes is when Cher is being robbed at the Circus Liquor store, on a bad day I like to drive to that location and quote “You don’t understand. This is an Alaia… It’s like a totally important designer.” -Helen 

Double Indemnity (1944) 

Streaming: Hulu 

Los Angeles locations plus a great Film Noir story.  You can’t go wrong with a movie that has lines like “How could I have known that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle.” -Scott 

La La Land (2016) 

Streaming: YouTube

Not a historic movie, but is there any film that better captures the beauty of living in the city of angels? A musical with songs that will keep you cheery while sitting in traffic, La La Land is peak modern Los Angeles. -Sam 

Bosch (2014 - Present)

Streaming: Netflix

Michael Connelly's LAPD homicide detective, Harry Bosch, travels all over L.A. There is enough detail (in the books) to follow his travels. He lives on Woodrow Wilson just off Mulholland. He eats at Chinese Kitchen, Nickel Diner, Musso and Franks, Pacific Dining Car, etc. -Paul 

“M” (1951) 

Streaming: N/A, but on DVD on Amazon 

Great shots of 1951 Bunker Hill before it was redeveloped, plus, this is a great atmospheric Film Noir. -Celeste 

Devil In A Blue Dress (1995)

 Streaming: Amazon Prime Video, and also on STARZ 

Noir Los Angeles in the 1950s, but from an African American perspective. 

-Celeste 

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019)

Streaming: Amazon Prime 

I know it isn’t an older film though it completely changed the meaning of “once upon a time” for us… -Caroline 

Kiss Me Deadly (1955)

Steaming: N/A 

“Kiss Me Deadly” is one of my top ten movies.  It also features some scenes with great footage of Bunker Hill and Angel’s Flight going up and down.  Later, the world seems to come to end, but not without a lot of tough guys talking wise first and dames manipulating them behind their backs. -Tom Dailey 

Inherent Vice (2014) 

Streaming: Amazon Prime

One of my favorite recent discoveries!  It stars Joaquin Phoenix, Josh Brolin, and a pre-Fantastic Beasts Katherine Waterston. It features so many great L.A. locations. Director Paul Thomas Anderson loves LA and it comes through on film. -Traci 

The  Exiles (1961)

Streaming: N/A 

Depicts transplanted American Indians from SW reservations, living in the Bunker Hill area of Los Angeles during the late 1950's. Directed by Kent MacKenzie, a USC film student, it was lost for 50 years and rediscovered by Director Thom Anderson in his movie "Los Angeles Plays Itself". It is important to me because of my Native American roots. -Elizabeth Night 

Nightcrawler (2014)

Streaming: Amazon, Google Play, ITunes, VUDU 

Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal), a driven young man desperate for work, discovers the high-speed world of L.A. crime journalism. Finding a group of freelance camera crews who film crashes, fires, murder and other mayhem.  -Tracy Jackson

The Neon Demon (2016) 

Streaming: Google Play, YouTube 

Jesse (Elle Fanning) moves to Los Angeles just after her 16th birthday to launch a career as a model. The head of her agency tells the innocent teen that she has the qualities to become a top star. Jesse soon faces the wrath of ruthless vixens who despise her fresh-faced beauty. On top of that, she must contend with a seedy motel manager and a creepy photographer. As Jesse starts to take the fashion world by storm, her personality changes in ways that could help her against her cutthroat rivals. I love this film because it’s very weird but beautifully shot. It’s a slow-building thriller that shows LA in a creepy, neon light! -Megan Bennett 

The Big Sleep (1946) 

Streaming: Available to rent on Amazon Prime, Google Play, YouTube

P.I. Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart) is hired by a wealthy general to discover who is blackmailing his daughter over gambling debts and stop them. Marlowe finds himself deep within a web of love triangles, blackmail, murder, gambling, and organized crime, not to mention falling in love with the general’s other daughter, Vivian (Lauren Bacall). Marlowe goes all over L.A. looking for clues, including the Hollywood Public Library and up into the Hollywood Hills. Author Raymond Chandler was rumored to have based the General’s home on the Greystone Mansion. This film is one of my favorites because it has the best dialogue I’ve ever heard in a film. The one-liners and quick exchanges are awesome, and every scene with Bogie and Bacall is exquisite. - Liz Highstrete 

Chinatown (1974) 

Streaming: Amazon Prime, Hulu, iTunes, Google Play

I know this title is radioactive due to its connection with Polanski.  But, as the recent book by Sam Wesson, The Big Goodbye, points out, Chinatown was a significant collaboration of many creative forces, including Robert Towne, Jack Nicholson, Robert Evans, Faye Dunaway, John Huston, Diane Ladd, John Alonzo, Richard Sybert, and others.  Their work can still be admired.  Plus, there are scenes shot on location throughout L.A. city and county. https://la.curbed.com/maps/chinatown-filming-location-map -Tom

L. A. Confidential (1997)

Streaming:  Netflix 

L.A. Confidential is a 1950’s Hollywood crime drama of corrupt cops and mobster bad-guys filmed at historic locations across Los Angeles.  In particular, the movie showcases Richard Neutra’s “Lovell Health House” on Dundee Road in Los Feliz as the supposed home of the local pimp, who runs a prostitution ring of women who have taken on the appearances of famous movie stars.  Kim Basinger stars as Veronica Lake look-alike.  Russell Crowe, Kevin Spacey and Guy Pearce star as three very different cops.  Danny DeVito writes the local tabloid news. Originally built and named for a health-and-fitness guru, the Lovell Health House has just been put on the market, according to Curbed Los Angeles, and the current owner “wants to find a buyer who will appreciate the home’s architecture—and either preserve it or restore it”.  Any takers? -Leslie

[fyrapartnersearch]

Let's Burn it All down and Start again

Ah, FYRA, hello. Back in January I had proudly bragged to a partner that I was done posting ads because I had all the writing I needed. Was I actually that naive or has 2020 actually been that long? Damn COVID. Anyway, my name is Chris, a dude in his late twenties with a lovely wife (that also uses this board for ads! Hey, Poe! I love your ass!), two gorgeous animals that I love sharing pictures of, a comic book addiction and crazy ass job in a COVID19 ICU as a night nurse. Basically, the roleplay will *ALWAYS* be super medically accurate. I've been writing long enough that I list my skill as 'god damn professional' and post 2-3 times a week but am available for plotting and gushing over our line nearly around the clock. I can crank out anywhere from 4-16 paragraphs a reply, depending on the action and characters. I only write m/f (as the dude) and f/f. Always aiming to write in the long term. I'm easy to reach! Either drop a line to me at Chrisx104@gmail.com or on Discord at NurseBatman#3674. I'm also on Gchat and skype at Chrisx104 if anyone still uses those dinosaur messengers. Anyway, onto plots, originals first and then fandoms. Original Political Intrigue, m/f A male US congressman with an image as a family man plans to make a jump to the senate and hires a young and savvy woman to be his campaign manager. One thing leads to another on the road and the two begin a secret relationship that revolves around garnering more political power. This line is heavily influenced by my love of House of Cards and could involve sabotage, murder, black mail, etc. Definitely a line that I could envision lasting a few 'seasons'. Lost in America, m/f & f/f A piece set in 1970s, my favorite era of time. A group of teenagers, most of which have recently graduated from High School, decide to leave their sleepy little east coast town behind for a new life out in California. Loading up into a VW Bus and blaring some music that would eventually be deemed 'classic rock', they had out on their adventure. I'm envisioning a cast from 4-7 and will HAPPILY throw in some horror elements into this line. A Detective Story, F/F Twin teenagers are murdered and two female detectives are kicked the case. I'm really wide open on this one, in regards to the setting and if there's a relationship between the two detectives previously or not. This is just heavily influenced by my love of True Detective. The Fight Life This one is a bit of a longshot because I'm definitely looking for someone with some knowledge in regards to MMA/UFC, my personal favorite sport. I'd love to find someone interested in writing a female MMA fighter that is just breaking into the big leagues. I have a bit of a supporting cast in mind to build around her (Coach, best friend, and a love interest) left over from when I couldn't get this line off the ground previously due to a partner's chronic ADD. This line would include getting to write some pretty batshit crazy fight scenes. If you're interested but don't know anything about MMA, I am a willing, willing tutor. FANDOMs DC Comics I would definitely just love to write an original continuity Batman against an original continuity Catwoman. We can pick the circumstances of their meeting/reunion (adding in knowing each other when they were younger) and what sort of Gotham we want to write in. I have a lot of experience writing Bruce but have never gotten to do this pairing much. Marvel Comics PLEASE, I so badly want to write Peter Parker. I have read comics for a hundred damn years and have never really gotten to write the Spectacular Spider-man and really, really want to. Unfortunately, most of his love interests are sort of lame, Black Cat/Felicia Hardy notwithstanding. If anyone would be interested in writing these two, I'd love to do it quasi MCU adjacent, with Peter at college when he meets Felicia before later encountering (unknowingly) encountering her as Black Cat. Crossover Comics I love writing John Constantine and he's one of my favorites to write. I'd love to find someone interested in writing Wanda/Scarlet Witch since the MCU has never really touched on the magic aspect of her powers and give her a drunken Yoda to deal with and channel her obscene amount of power. Alternatively, I would love to write John against Elsa Bloodstone but I would want someone that knows the character well. The Matrix An old fandom that I wrote years ago but one with a lot of original potential for fun. Maybe something with the next anomaly or just a crew working to ease humans out of the matrix after the films. Idk. Doctor Who I really, really want to find someone to write the 13th Doctor. I've spent years writing the Doctor and want to give a crack at being against the Oncoming Storm for once. I propose Jack Harkness for m/f and Yaz for F/F. I have experience as both characters. Dead Like Me An old show I loved. What could be more fun than writing an original group of grim reapers as they navigate their own death and escort the recently deceased onto the next life while still trapped in this plane. Harry Potter Buddy cop aurors. That's all I got.

Resident Evil I’d like to write Leon against Claire Redfield or Jill Valentine in an original outbreak or a new one. I know this is an old school fandom but I’m a diehard fan. I hope something in this ad caught someone's attention. Message me or email me and let's create something awesome together!

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

A Second Look Chapter 3

Fandom: Elementary

Tags: Female Sherlock Holmes, Soulmate-identifying marks, s1ep10 leviathan

Summary: Sherlock is put on what she thinks will be a run-of-the-mill vault heist. Little does she know what's in store for her.

AO3 Link

Sherlock walks towards the front door, pulling on a shirt as she goes. "Good morning," Olivia says, smiling as she passes her. She smiles back, then finds an unamused Watson.

"Watson," she says. Watson doesn't respond as someone repeatedly rings the doorbell. "If you must know, the Lynch sisters and I enjoy a mutually beneficial relationship."

"'If I must know?' I didn't ask."

"I get to study the differences between two specimens born into the world with exactly the same genetic material. In the Lynch sisters, for example, I've found seven major ones. And they get-"

"I! Didn't. Ask."

Sherlock hides her smile. How she loves teasing Watson. She's always so Victorian about sex. It would do her good to have some once in a while.

"If that's for me, I'm not here," Sherlock calls at Watson's retreating back. "I'm going back to bed after I see the Lynches off."

"If rabbits could talk, they would call jackrabbits simply 'jacks,'" the man on the other end greets.

"By that logic, if bears could talk they would call the stuffed animals simply Teddy."

"Good morning. Does Sherlock Holmes live here?" Unsure. New client. Don't recognize the voice. Referral? But why didn't he assume Watson was me? "I was referred here by an old colleague of hers back in London." Harris? No, he wouldn't send anyone my way, he's too proud to admit he needed a consulting detective. Coutier? She seems likely, but she doesn't have any contacts in the colonies. Kerry could be a possibility... "He said I might have to try more than once." Ah. Phillips then.

"Good advice," Watson replies.

"Uh, would you please tell her I need to speak with her?" There's a rustling that means that the man reaches into his pocket to draw out a card. If he has a card, then he's either important or just thinks/hopes he is.

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" Watson leaves, the man standing aside to let her pass. Sherlock is forced to go to the door.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," she introduces, and the man frowns slightly, then relaxes.

"Yes, I'd like to hire you. May I come in?"

"I suppose." Sherlock stands aside and leads the man to the kitchen. Intelligent. Confident. Rich, but not inherited. A made man. "So. Who are you," Sherlock asks, gesturing at the table. He sits. She pours out two cups of coffee and hands him one.

"Thank you. I'm Micah Erlich," he starts.

"Of Casterly Rock security," Sherlock notes. "You are president and head engineer. I know your work." She takes a sip of coffee.

"Then you know that we introduced a new flagship product in 2009."

"Crepe," she offers, turning and pointing.

"No thank you."

"Bye, Sherlock," Gwen wishes. Sherlock nods at her. Erlich only spares her a parting glance.

"The Leviathan," Erlich continues.

"Yes, the safe that was marketed as impregnable. Did you people learn nothing from the Titanic?" Sherlock sits at the table next to him with her crepes and starts to eat.

"Bye, Sherlock," Olivia passes the door.

Erlich glances at her and then faces Sherlock again, opening his mouth. Then he stops and looks back at the door. "Were they-"

"Identical twins, yes. But the Leviathan was indeed pregnable, as showcased when one was plundered within the calendar year it was sold."

"The four men who robbed that bank were brilliant," Erlich sighs. "A once-in-a-lifetime assembly of criminal talent. Now, eventually all four were caught and convicted, but none of them told us how they did it. We did what we could to improve the product, but the chance of a group of criminals that bright collaborating again?" Erlich shakes his head at his presumed absurdity of it all.

"And yet here you sit."

Erlich looks away. "The Svalbard Diamond Exchange was robbed last night. They're missing 40 million dollars in stones."

"Stones protected by your vault."

"The Leviathan has a seven figure price tag," Erlich stresses. "If someone finds out that another one's been compromised and we don't know how, we're done."

"The police must be looking for who robbed your vault. I take it the how is where I come in?"

"I think there must have been a fifth conspirator," Erlich leans in as if someone else was in the kitchen with them that he doesn't want hearing what he's about to say. "Someone the other thieves never told us about. And-"

"Poppycock," Sherlock interrupts him. Erlich frowns. "The height of intellectual vanity. If one group of people can figure out how to break in, then so can another. And another, ad nauseum."

"You don't understand. We have six layers of bleeding-edge security," Erlich insists. Rubbish. I'll be back in bed before my body will have time to digest the crepes. "Redundancy at every step."

"If you want to know how someone got into your vault, take me to the diamond exchange. We'll talk fee on the way, but I really don't know what I'll charge for a job that'll only take an hour or two." She starts to walk away. "Be back in a moment!" She gets dressed and leaves a note for Watson. Watson. Gone with Micah Erlich to see how thieves robbed the Svalbard Diamond Exchange. Won't be long, two hours at the most. Feel free to help yourself to the crepes.

They get in Erlich's driver's car and agree on a fee- it's less than what she charged Canon Ebersole, that's for sure. But it'll still be a nice amount for her trouble. Not that it will be much trouble at all. There are several factors that Sherlock takes into account when she calculates how much money she'll accept on a job- the financial state of her client first and foremost, then how stimulating the case will be. This one won't be difficult and Erlich makes a tidy living for himself, so Sherlock takes that into account.

They arrive at the diamond exchange and Sherlock examines its security- it's not impressive. "It's down here," Erlich gestures, and Sherlock follows him down the stairs.

"The security upstairs is rather rudimentary. I take it anything of real value is stowed in the vault after hours," Sherlock says.

Erlich nods and is about to speak when he's distracted by a man calling his name. "The police said that your consultant can't see the vault until they're done."

"I'm also a consultant with the NYPD, Mr," she trails off.

"Batonvert. David Batonvert. I'm the floor manager here." He hides his surprise at her lack of a greeting well.

"I can assure you I know how to conduct myself at a crime scene, Mr. Batonvert. Your name means 'green stick' in French." Batonvert just nods, confused. "So," Sherlock starts, pointing as she walks. "You have a motion sensor embedded in the ceiling, a light sensor on the wall. Cardboard box can take care of the motion sensor, the light detector they'd simply mask with black tape." She moves on, Erlich and Batonvert following her. "They made short work of that lock," she points to it as she passes it. Not surprising, I could do that one in my sleep. "Body heat sensor in the ceiling can be coated with hairspray, that would buy them some time, with brings us to," she stops in front of the Leviathan herself. She smiles. "The door itself, yes." She examines it. "She is beautiful." Behind her, she hears the slight rustle of fabric that means Erlich straightened with pride. "This lock is not pickable, that key is what, a foot long," she asks, looking at the side of the door. "Tumblers weighted so that they cannot be manipulated with a pick," she gestures. "You could, of course, put a tiny camera on this fire extinguisher," she says, examining it. "If you knew an excellent locksmith, you could provide an image of the key, have a duplicate made."

"Clever, but we already knew that," Erlich says. She can hear that he's beginning to doubt her. At least she got the promise of payment already.

"Ten digit access code?"

"Yes, it's provided by a random number generator that's hardwired into the system," Batonvert chimes in. "The code changes every two minutes."

"Who has the code?"

"It appears on a key fob the owner carries," Erlich replies. "If you want to get in, he has to read it to you. He's in Gstaad right now. He's had the fob on him the whole time."

"You could attack the random number generator," Sherlock muses. "Make it spit out a pattern so you could predict the code."

"The number generator is working perfectly," Erlich refutes, a tad testy. Though, that's understandable- it's his coding, after all.

Sherlock looks at the Leviathan again. That exhausts her current ideas. "I'm going to need a little time with this." She drops smoothly into a cross-legged position on the floor, facing the safe.

No camera on the fire extinguisher, so no image of the key. Of course, if they did get down here, they could get some putty in to get an imprint, but there's no sign that they did, it would leave residue. Lock outside would be easy enough to pick, but no sign it's been repeatedly picked, minimal scratches on the outside. No combination lock, so any of those techniques are right out. The only thing left is the RNG. She stands and goes to the panel, inputting a series of incorrect codes and getting a rejection every time. She studies the numbers that flash on the screen, wondering if there's any link between them and the true code, but as she works on it for a few minutes, she notices that they're the same every time.

"What are you doing down here," Watson asks from behind her.

"Stress-testing the keypad," Sherlock replies. "You'd think there'd be some tell in the keys themselves, but each of them need the same amount of pressure to activate," she continues. "And none of the numbers show any more wear than the last."

"No, I mean what are you still doing down here?" Sherlock looks back at her, confused. "You said you were going to be gone two hours, it's been all day!"

"Has it?" She'd lost track of time, then. No windows down here to check the progression of the sun.

"How stubborn are you going to be about this?"

"Uh, excuse me, we're closing now, Ms. Holmes," Batonvert says.

"Greenstick, do you want your diamonds back or not," she asks him. The man leaves.

"That wasn't very nice," Watson scolds her. Sherlock ignores her. I'm not a nice person.

Watson sighs and sits against a post. Sherlock studies the safe once more.

Sherlock eventually turns around and finds Watson asleep. She crouches near her, cheek in her hand, and watches her for a few moments. Sherlock reaches out and shakes her awake. Watson gasps.

"She thinks she's a clever one, doesn't she," Sherlock asks as Watson gets her bearings.

"Who's 'she,'" Watson questions, rubbing her eyes.

"Her," Sherlock thumbs over her shoulder.

"What time is it," Watson asks. Haven't the foggiest. Watson checks her watch.

"She generates an ocean of pure randomness, hoping that you'll drown. But I can see the horizon line. I can tread water." She knows they attacked the RNG. It's all that's left of her theories. Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains- however improbable- must be the truth. Even though it seems to be working, there must have been something fed into it so the robbers could predict the pattern. She's sure of it.

"Stop!" Sherlock does. "It's 2:00 in the morning," Watson says slowly. Sherlock just looks at her. So?  "You've been down here what, 17 hours?"

"So?"

"So, I'm supposed to meet my mother for brunch, not spend the night in a bank vault."

"Go, then."

"I'm not leaving you alone down here." Sherlock's surprised. Why would Watson want to stay? She's always been alone. "In A.A., they'd say you were on a dry drunk." Sherlock has never heard the term. "You're indulging in all the obsessions of addiction without actually using drugs. So, are you going to admit that you can't think your way past that vault door or am I going to have to smash the fire alarm and get us both dragged out of here?" Sherlock considers her. She's serious. Oh, Watson. How you've changed, she thinks proudly.

"You're absolutely right, Watson." Watson just looks at her, shocked. "I can sometimes disappear into the rabbit hole of my own psyche," she admits.

"Ok, good, then you're ready to go."

"Would you mind terribly if I tried just one more idea before we leave?" Watson groans. "It'll only take a minute."

"Fine," Watson relents.

Sherlock stands and considers the Leviathan. You haven't bested me. She smashes open the fire box with her elbow.

"What are you doing?!" Sherlock takes the fire axe out. "Oh my God, put that down."

Sherlock uses it to smash the keypad. She gazes at it proudly for a few seconds. "Before you say anything, I would like to remind you that I'm holding an axe," Sherlock remarks. She puts it back and walks out, Watson following her.

"Why did you do that," Watson demands.

"Like I said; one last idea."

"You already knew that they didn't use a fire axe!"

"And now I know for sure."

"I can't believe you."

"We're going home, Watson," Sherlock says as they get on the subway. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"What I wanted is for you to not use a fire axe to solve your problems!"

"And it didn't. And now I know better. So, we're going home, you're going to bed, and I shall ruminate some more."

Watson groans. They get to the brownstone and Watson goes up to her room. Sherlock goes to the study and sends an email to the NYPD crime lab requesting the pictures and the files to the original crew that broke into the vault. She doesn't expect to hear back until proper morning. She sits in her chair and faces where her wall of evidence usually is. How did they attack the RNG?  She thinks on that. If I knew the code to get in and watched as it changed a few times, maybe I could see the pattern. But Erlich seemed quite convinced that it was 'working perfectly'. Which means that they already examined it. But she hasn't. Gstaad, he said? That's- she thinks for a moment- 6 hours ahead. She checks her watch and smiles. She walks to her computer and sends another email, this one to Erlich requesting that he allow the owner to send her the code. She turns away but frowns when the computer pings. She reads the response, skimming it. No?  She reads the entire thing.Too much risk? The bloody thing's already been broken into! And he knows where I live! Although, it is flattering to know that he knows I could disappear whenever I want. She sits in her chair again. She remains there until she gets the pictures from the lab, which she arranges on the wall. She gets to work.

"Did you give the people from Casterly Rock my phone number as your contact info," Watson asks.

"Well I didn't want them to call me."

"Well, they're wondering who took an axe to their vault. Apparently, the repair bill's going to be huge."

"Cost of doing business. They'll get over it when I figure this out." She looks at her wall. "We need to figure out who broke into the safe; that's how we'll figure out the how. It wasn't an inside job, everyone at Casterly Rock who knew how to get in has given an alibi. And I can't see how the original thieves would have needed a fifth conspirator as Erlich suspects. Between them, they had every skill they would need to get in." Watson comes next to her and examines the wall. "Obvious what happened. One of the original team sold the recipe for breaching the Leviathan to an outside party."

"That's obvious," Watson asks.

"When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains- however improbable- must be the truth."

"And what's impossible here is that you couldn't break into the Leviathan but someone else could," Watson faces her. Sherlock continues to scrutinize her wall. "In other words, you are the smartest person in the world." Watson walks behind Sherlock. "Waiting for you to chime in and say 'that's ridiculous.'"

"You'd think it'd be easy to get one of the four original team to admit they'd sold the secret on." She points to the picture of the men. "Carter Averill, the man who masterminded the heist, died in prison last year and the other three have yet to respond to my request for an interview." Watson's phone rings. She checks the I.D. and ignores the call. "You should answer that," Sherlock says. "Tell them it was a necessary part of my process."

"What are my keys doing here," Watson asks. Sherlock glances over, seeing her pick them up from her balance.

"They weigh the right amount. Enjoy brunch with your mother. I hadn't realized you were still so eager to impress her." Watson shoots her a disgruntled look. "You're dressed like you're going to a job interview, not a meal with a loved one." Watson looks down at herself and rolls her eyes before walking away.

Sherlock peruses the files once more, this time taking them down and looking through them in her hands. She's just putting them in a new arrangement on the wall when her phone rings. She looks- Sing Sing. She smiles and answers. The robotic voice tells her who's calling and asks if she'll accept the charges. "Yes, I accept."

"Pencils should all be mechanical so that you don't have to sharpen them," Charles Briggs says.

"I want to know how you got into the Leviathan. I'll make it worth your while."

A pause. "You know they record all phone calls here, right?"

"I work with the police, Mr. Briggs. Another one has been infiltrated. If you allow me to speak with you in person, I'll offer you something that will be extremely valuable to you." Briggs thinks. Sherlock is content to wait.

"You know, I thought you'd be a guy."

"I've heard that before."

"Fine. You can come." He hangs up.

Sherlock calls Watson.

They go to Sing Sing and sit down with Briggs. "The ocean hasn't been fully explored, there might be sea monsters down there."

"And Bigfoot might exist, somewhere deep in the forest," Watson replies.

"You said you wanted to know how we got into the Leviathan. And you think for some reason, even though I kept my mouth shut during the trial, I'm going to tell you." He has his arms folded across his chest. Defensive.

"You did agree to see me, after I told you I'd make it worth your while. Which means you have a price." Briggs shrugs slightly. "You're one of the best lock-pickers in the world, and I collect expertise, Mr. Briggs; people to help me with my consultancy work on an as-needed basis. I think I could find a use for a mind as lively as yours."

"You want me to work for the cops," Briggs asks, voice flat. He's not entirely disinterested, no matter what facade he puts on.

"What I'm offering, Mr. Briggs, is an opportunity to use your brain." Briggs inhales softly. "An opportunity," she looks around the drab walls of the visiting area, "you probably won't see again for the rest of your natural life." Briggs thinks on that for a few moments, then nods slightly. "Excellent." Sherlock holds up her fingers as she talks. "How did you get into the Leviathan, and who did you sell your secret to?"

Briggs leans in, uncrossing his arms and instead folding his hands on the table. "I don't know exactly how we got in. We were specialized. I was responsible for getting past the outer door. Averill figured out the code, never told the rest of us how he did it." Bollocks, Sherlock laments. "After he got sick, he told me someone got in touch with him." Sherlock pays close attention. "Averill said this guy wanted to know how he did it, and he was willing to pay. If you're saying that someone else broke into a Leviathan, my guess is Carter saw an opportunity to get some money for his family before he died, told the guy his secret." Nobility, Sherlock mentally scoffs.

"And does this 'guy' have a name," Watson asks.

"I only know an alias." Briggs sits back and puts his hands at his side on the bench. "Even if you never find this guy- which you won't- is that enough to land me this gig?" Sherlock shares a look with Watson. Watson looks curious, so Sherlock looks back at Briggs and inclines her head. Briggs smirks. "The guy Averill said got in touch with him, everyone just calls him...Le Chevalier." His French accent is decent, far better than most English speakers.

"Le Chevalier," Sherlock questions.

"Who is he," Watson asks.

"A thief," Sherlock explains. "Whose spoils are, allegedly, an original copy of Shakespeare's first folio, a rather extensive collection of ancient Greek coins, Van Gogh's Pieta, and others of their ilk."

"So you do know him," Briggs nods, smiling.

"What does he look like?"

"No one knows," Briggs answers. "Hey, I said you wouldn't find the guy," he shrugs at Watson's disbelieving look.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Sherlock says. "You're forgetting one thing; I have never looked for him." Sherlock stands and she and Watson walk away.

"I'll be waiting for your call," Briggs yells after them.

"You know he's sending us on a snipe hunt," Watson says once they're out of the prison.

"How would you know?"

"The guy sounds like a legend, not a person."

"Some people think so."

"And yet you're going to believe Briggs?" It seems as though Watson has taken up her habit of calling people by their last name, though perhaps it is out of the fact that Briggs is a convicted felon.

"Like I said in there, Watson; I have never gone looking for Le Chevalier."

They return to the precinct. "Holmes," Gregson calls.

"Captain," Sherlock stops.

"What's up?"

"I spoke with one of the original members of the team that broke into the Leviathan the first time back in 2010. He said that Carter Averill, before he died, spoke with someone that wanted to buy the secret."

"Got a name?"

"Of sorts. Le Chevalier."

"I take it you know what that means."

"The Knight." Gregson just looks at her, unamused at her joke. "He's a thief of the highest caliber."

"He stole Shakespeare's first folio," Watson says. "Among other things. No one has ever even seen the guy."

"And now, we shall go and find Le Chevalier." Gregson smiles and Sherlock's heart feels like it does a strange flip.

"Have fun."

"God, how do you work down here," Watson complains. "It's so cramped. And I feel like I'm in prison," she gestures to the walls of the cage.

"No one bothers me down here." She looks at all the files from Le Chevalier's five robberies.

"You know, if this guy exists, he's got good taste," Watson remarks, looking at Van Gogh's Pieta.

"Yes, Van Gogh is one of my favorites," Sherlock smiles, looking at the masterpiece.

"Mine too." Watson is surprised.

Sherlock pulls the files for the Greek coins closer and frowns when she sees the pictures. She taps her finger on one and searches for another picture of Pieta she recalls of two men shaking hands in front of it.

"Who's that," Watson asks.

"Peter Kent. Head of the Kent Philanthropic Trust and leader of the fundraising drive that led to the acquisition of Pieta."

"Ok," Watson draws out. "Why are we looking at a picture of him?"

"Look at his cufflinks. They're fashioned from silver tetradrachms. Ancient Greek coins." Sherlock hands over her phone, magnifying attachment already set up. Watson looks at the screen. "Now look at the coins Le Chevalier stole." Watson looks back and forth.

"My God, they're the same."

"That's Le Chevalier," Sherlock gestures. "Now, Le Chevalier may be the stuff of legends," she says, retrieving her phone and typing. "But Peter Kent is listed in the phone book."

They go to the Kent home.

"I tell you what. I won't be using Charles Briggs as a consultant any time soon," Sherlock fumes up the stairs of the subway.

"I cannot believe I got on the subway with a Chopard watch," Watson says. "There are 200 carats of diamonds on this thing," she hisses. "I don't even want to know how much it costs."

"25 million." Watson gasps softly. "Pieta almost twice that, if recent auctions are anything to go by," she taps the tube under her arm. She looks at Watson, who's glaring. "Got away with it, didn't we? Neither one of us wanted to put a stroke victim in jail, and Peter Kent's son didn't want anyone to know what his father did in his spare time. No, this was the best outcome for everyone."

"I'd like to hear you explain that in court. 'Your Honor, we abetted in grand larceny.'" Sherlock catches Watson's arm, turning her around.

"Court. Yes. Well done, Watson."

"What?"

"There was a trial," Sherlock smiles. "When the first heist team was arrested, three of them took plea bargains. But one of them, Carter Averill, tried his luck at trial." Watson still looks blank. "All the details of the original crime, they were submitted as evidence! Watson, we need to find out everyone who took part in that trial." Watson's expression changes to one of disbelief. "What, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I think the only reason that you're clinging to this copycat theory is because you couldn't figure it out."

"I'm playing the probabilities. That's what I always do." Sherlock keeps walking towards the precinct and Watson falls into step at her side.

They go directly to Gregson's office, and Watson sets the box down on his desk. "What's in there, files," he asks, opening the lid and looking inside. He stills and looks up. "You're kidding."

"No," Sherlock shakes her head. "Best not to ask any questions."

Gregson looks at Watson. "It really is."

"Some priceless artifacts come into your possession- the ones that just happen to have been the ones this Chevalier-" mm. Must work on that accent "-guy stole, and the fewer questions I ask, the better," Gregson says, taking the items out one at a time and examining them before laying them out on his desk.

"And the culture will be grateful for these items' return," Sherlock says brightly.

Gregson laughs lightly. "I tell ya, Sherlock. You make my life interesting." Sherlock's heart stutters in her chest and her mouth goes dry. "What about that," he indicates the tube under her arm.

"A trifle I picked up for the brownstone," she lies. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Night, Holmes. Joan."

Watson has the good sense to wait until they're home to put up a fuss. "I'm not ok with this," she says as Sherlock lovingly hangs Pieta up.

"I thought you said Van Gogh was one of your favorites."

"You stole a 50 million dollar painting!"

"We're just borrowing it, Watson. If we're going to read court transcripts, we might as well do it in the company of a masterpiece."

Sherlock sits on the floor and starts reading. Watson huffs. Watson's phone rings and she retrieves it from where Sherlock had moved it. "Hi, Oren," she greets her brother. "I miss you too, but didn't Mom tell you I'm on a job?" Pause. "From me?" Another pause, where she shoots a disapproving look at Sherlock. "My client? No, no, I..." She sighs. "I'll be there," she smiles. "Love you. Bye." She hangs up and stalks over to her. "I put a lock code on here to prevent you from sending out texts," she brandishes the device.

"I was hired to break into the Leviathan," Sherlock says. "Did you really think I wouldn't be able to guess your passcode?"

"You're not meeting my family."

"Really? I'm not sure I can be without your company for two hours tomorrow night. Feeling a little relapse-y." Joan gasps.

"You're only using that word because you know I can't leave you alone if you say 'relapse!' You just want to meet my family so you can put them under a microscope."

"Nonsense," Sherlock proclaims. "You search your conscience, Watson. If you feel comfortable going out to dinner while I dream of chasing the dragon, then so be it." Watson doesn't so much as roll her eyes as roll her entire body. "I have a transcript to read." She sits on the couch with it. Eventually, Watson joins her.

Several hours after Watson went to bed, Sherlock smiles. "Got you."

Sherlock wakes Watson up gently. "Good morning! Coffee, yogurt, assorted fruits," she says, putting the tray down and stepping back.

"Thanks," Watson says into her pillow.

"Seven minutes for you to eat and drink, twenty-three to shower and dress, should get us to the property clerk's office just when it opens."

"Why are we going to the property clerk's office," Watson asks, rolling over. Sherlock notices the 'we.'

"That's where they keep Exhibit C from Carter Averill's trial. I want to have a look at it."

"Why?"

"The jury looked at it three separate times during the course of their deliberations."

"Isn't that the jury's job, to examine the evidence," Watson asks, starting to eat.

"This is but a mere paper upon which was scrawled the coffee orders of the four men who robbed the Leviathan. The prosecution used it to show that the men were working together. Hardly a thing that needs to be looked at more than once, hmm?" Sherlock leaves Watson's room without waiting for an answer.

Sherlock shows Watson the paper. "What is it," Sherlock asks her.

"A coffee order. Three of them ordered soy. I'm surprised they were so health-conscious." Sherlock flips the bag down to show the other side. "That looks like what your printer spits out to make sure it's working."

"It looks like sheer nonsense," Sherlock nods. "That's what it's supposed to look like. It's actually a programming language called 'malbolge.' The language's creator named it after the ninth circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno. Few people can even identify malbolge when they see it. Fewer still can use it to write software. I first learned about the language through one of my Irregulars back in London. We should get a translation from her soon."

"You think someone on the jury recognized it?"

"Well, it's much more interesting than the coffee order, wouldn't you agree?" She flicks through the jurors' paperwork. "Here we are. Justin Guthrie. Unemployed at the time of the trial but listed his previous occupation as a software engineer," Sherlock smiles and looks up.

"Same as Carter Averill," Watson realizes.

"Shall we see if he's familiar with malbolge?"

"What if Guthrie says that he doesn't know what you're talking about," Watson asks as they approach Guthrie's apartment building.

"I suppose we could see if he has any loose diamonds laying about." Her phone pings, and she checks it. "Ha! I was right," Sherlock says, stopping Watson. "They attacked the random number generator." Watson looks at the equation Harrison sent her.

"That does not say 'they attacked the random number generator,'" Watson says.

"The algorithm. It's the answer. It's the malbolge decoded."

"Ok."

"It's how they got in." Watson just raises her arms and lets them drop. "Ok. The vault is designed to spit out numbers randomly, yes?"

"That's generally what a random number generator does."

"Plug this in, and instead of getting random numbers, it starts spitting out escalating digits of pi every two minutes." Watson's face shows her dawning realization. "That way, the thieves could predict the pattern."

"How did Casterly Rock not realize what happened? I thought they said that the number generator was working fine."

"Pi is infinite and non-repeating. Take a ten-digit sample, it still looks like the software is functioning. And no one would ever think of the humble pi."

"You did not just make a pun."

They arrive at Guthrie's apartment building. "Officer, we need to get into this building," Sherlock says to the uni guarding the door.

"Sorry, lady, no can do," the officer says. "This is an active investigation."

"We work with the NYPD. Call the 11th precinct, ask to speak with Captain Gregson. All we want is to talk to Justin Guthrie."

"Wait. You said Guthrie?"

"Yes."

"He's the one we're here for. You might want to talk with one of the detectives," he points behind him. Sherlock and Watson look, finding a man impaled on the barbed wire fence. "Mr. Guthrie jumped out the window of his apartment a little while ago."

Sherlock finds a detective. "Excuse me," she says, and the man turns to them. "I need to see Guthrie's apartment."

"Listen, ma'am, this is an active investigation-"

"I consult for the NYPD, Detective. If you call Captain Gregson at the 11th, he'll vouch for myself and Ms. Watson. My name is Sherlock Holmes."

They wait for them to get cleared. "Maybe he couldn't live with himself," Watson offers as she looks up.

"With at least a quarter of 40 million dollars waiting for him? I don't think so. I know the expression is 'money doesn't buy happiness,' but at least 10 million dollars is a nice number to start testing, wouldn't you think?"

"Holmes. You're clear. Go up, don't touch anything." Sherlock takes gloves from her pocket and puts them on.

"You just carry those around with you," Watson asks as they walk.

"All investigators should. Uh, spare set of gloves for my associate," she asks the nearest CSU worker, who hands Watson a pair. Sherlock looks around and sees a clue. She smiles down at it.

"What?" Watson arrives next to her.

"Justin Guthrie didn't kill himself. He was murdered." She spies blood on the wall close to the floor. She crouches and Watson follows suit. "See?"

"The kitchen is right there, Sherlock," Watson points out.

"I doubt he encountered a high-force event on his own."

"Come again?"

Sherlock gestures to her nose.

"You think he got punched in the nose?"

"You assume it's Guthrie's blood."

"You think someone got punched in the nose," Watson corrects herself.

"Yes." She stands, goes to the piano, and starts to play. She gets odd looks from the CSU workers and other police associates, but they enjoy the music. "Call the Captain," Sherlock tells Watson. "Tell him what we've found."

"I don't know what we've found."

"Then tell him what I told you." Watson sighs and makes the call.

Gregson arrives with Bell in tow. They approach Sherlock at the piano. Sherlock looks up when she hears Gregson's familiar gait and he arrives next to her, watching her fingers. "What is it? I know you didn't call me here to give me a recital." Sherlock stops playing.

"This is a murder. Justin Guthrie planned, or helped plan, the robbery of the Leviathan at the Svalbard Diamond Exchange."

Gregson and Bell look at Watson. "It's a long story."

"Precinct detective said this is a suicide," Gregson says. "Why do you think that it's murder and he's a criminal mastermind behind a 40 million dollar heist?"

"Obviously, a violent altercation took place." The policemen look around the apartment- it's pristine. Or seems to be so. She stands and gestures to the blood she found. "Blood evidence. Ms. Watson and I found it and examined it closely. Blood spatter indicates that it was a high-force event."

Gregson looks at Watson. "She's saying that someone got hit in the nose."

Gregson crouches. "Ok. It's worth looking into," he nods. He stands smoothly. Good knees for his age. "I still don't understand how it connects to the robbery."

"Justin Guthrie was on the jury at the trial of Carter Averill, mastermind of the original Leviathan heist. They were both software engineers. Guthrie recognized and decoded a string of malbolge that was the key to cracking that particular safe again."

"I lost you," Gregson admits.

Sherlock smiles and inclines her head. "Come." They follow her to a table where there are three glass votives, filled with decorative rocks. "See these rocks?"

"Yeah. What about 'em," Gregson asks.

"These two have three layers," she points. "This one only has two. But the residue on the glass indicates that it was full until just recently."

"Ok," Bell says. "I'll bite. So what?"

"Many of the stones stolen from the diamond exchange happened to be uncut diamonds. Uncut diamonds, to the untrained eye, can look exactly like decorative rocks. I believe that whoever killed Guthrie relieved him of his share of the profits."

"A good story. How ya gonna prove it," Gregson asks.

"Glad you asked." Sherlock pours some of the rocks from the two-layer votive out and spreads them on the table. "If someone was in a hurry, they might have left some behind." She picks up a dirty, colorless stone and balances it in her palm. Gregson and Bell lean in.

"You're telling me that that's-" Bell starts.

"An uncut fucking diamond," Gregson says. "I need everyone in here!" The men leave.

"Looks like we have a murder on our hands," Watson says. Sherlock doesn't answer, instead scrutinizing the diamond. "It's almost 6, we should start getting ready."

"Oh, right. Dinner with your family. Well, as you said, this is now a murder investigation. You'll understand if I can't make it."

Watson hides her relief well. "Absolutely." She leaves. Sherlock puts the diamond on the counter and leaves right for the restaurant.

"Bees shouldn't be feared, they should be loved. Without them, we wouldn't have 70% of the crops that feed the vast majority of the world," Sherlock greets.

"But people think of them as bugs," Mrs. Watson replies. Sherlock extends her hand.

"Sherlock Holmes. Your daughter's current client. How do you do?"

"Pleasure," Mrs. Watson smiles, taking it. Mary Watson doesn't think highly of her, but manners above all else.

"Yellow flowers should all be called sunflowers," Oren greets.

"By that logic, all green flowers should be called grass."

"Oren. I'm Joan's brother. This is my soulmate and girlfriend, Gabrielle."

"Horsepower varies from horse to horse," the woman greets.

"So one horse could be considered half a horsepower."

"It's so nice to meet you!"

"You as well, Gabrielle." They all sit at the table.

"Where's Joan," Mrs. Watson asks.

"Oh, she took the car. I thought it'd be faster to take the subway. Guess I was right." Polite laughter. "She'll be here shortly, I assure you."

"So. Sherlock, is it," Oren starts. "I can understand having an unusual name."

"Oren," Mrs. Watson warns.

"Kidding, mom."

"I've grown to embrace it, as no doubt have you, Oren." Mrs. Watson smiles softly. "So, Joan has told me so little about you all. What do you do, Oren?"

"I work with stock brokers. What about you?"

"I consult for the NYPD."

"What do you mean, consult," Oren asks.

"Well, when they have particularly difficult cases, they call me and I provide them with assistance."

"Sounds exciting," Gabrielle smiles. "How'd you get into that?"

"I've always had a certain proficiency for reading people. As such, I found a practical use for it. Your sister helps me a great deal."

"Joan? No," Oren shakes his head.

"It's true. Let me tell you about one of the first cases we worked together." The others perk up in interest- even Mrs. Watson. Everyone loves a good detective story. "I was summoned by Canon Ebersole. Their COO had failed to show up to work the day before and the police had recommended me because their hands were tied."

"You worked for Canon Ebersole," Oren asks, shocked.

"For a time. Now, I found the man in his apartment, having apparently overdosed on heroin."

"Apparently," Mrs. Watson asks.

"I thought that the apartment was too clean and tidy to be the home of an addict. I would know. So, I prompted the police to test the salad he had been eating for heroin, and lo and behold that's what they found."

"Amazing," Gabrielle gushes. "What happened next?"

"I delved into the background of the company and found a disturbing pattern. Employees that seemed to be proficient in whatever they died of kept cropping up- five in all. So, I made a timeline- anyone who was in those cities during those years would be a suspect. As it turns out, only one such person fit that bill." Sherlock pauses, and the others are literally holding their breath. "The CIO."

"Oh my God," Gabrielle says. "He was a murderer?"

"That's what I assumed. But I was incorrect because he had a solid alibi. I then noticed on a medical form the name of his secretary. I went alone to accuse her, which was admittedly foolhardy on my part. She subdued me and knocked me out."

"Oh, no," Gabrielle gasps.

"Meanwhile, your sister was trying to get in touch with me. The secretary saw all the missed calls and texts and decided to text back. See, I have a very unique way of texting. Your sister astutely noticed that it didn't sound like me and alerted the authorities. They saved me just when the secretary was about to shoot me."

"Joan did that," Mrs. Watson asks.

"Indeed she did."

"You said that you were good at reading people. What did you mean," Gabrielle asks.

"Everyone carries their past and present on them at all times. For example," Sherlock says. "You, Gabrielle, have recently changed watches. Your old one's strap broke and you changed it for the one you're wearing now. But you love the old one so you're looking to get it fixed. I know an excellent jeweler, if you're interested."

She and Oren look at each other. "How did you know," Gabrielle asks.

"There's an area of skin on your wrist that's smoother than the rest. The back of a watch face rubbing against the skin will do that. Yet the links on that watch are shiny and new- you hardly ever wear it. I suppose only on special occasions? You were on the phone with a jeweler when I walked in, you stepped aside to take the call."

"That's incredible."

"So, Sherlock. Is there such a thing as a perfect crime," Oren asks.

Sherlock smiles. "You know, I've wondered the same thing. If you were to kill someone, Oren, how would you do it?"

"Well, I guess I would be like a vigilante and only kill murderers," he starts. "Kill them in their own homes rather than in mine. Wear a whole body suit."

"Murder weapon?"

"Plastic bag. Suffocation."

"See, that's an excellent plan. It would fool most police officers." Oren straightens with pride. "But not me. But if you, for example, instead of using a plastic bag, you used a bucket of purified water and then evaporated the water, then I'd never be able to prove you were a murderer." The table laughs. Sherlock looks over her shoulder. "Joan, you're here. Excellent." Sherlock stands and pulls Watson's chair out for her.

"This is Gabrielle, your brother's girlfriend and hopefully soon, fiancée," Sherlock jokes, and the table laughs.

"Habits should be built one at a time," Watson greets.

"People are too impatient for that."

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Watson smiles, shaking her hand.

"You, too! Oren talks about you all the time."

Watson leans closer to Sherlock. "What happened to 'this is a murder investigation,'" she asks.

"Presently in a bit of a lull. Awaiting DNA tests on the blood. I saw a chance to spend some time with your family and I took it."

"Joan," Oren says. "Is it true that you helped prove the CIO of Canon Ebersole had a secretary that killed five people?"

"Uh, not really," Watson shakes her head. "I only helped out a little."

"She was instrumental in solving that case," Sherlock nods.

"And you saved Sherlock's life," Oren prods.

"Well," Watson trails off. "Kind of."

"Joan's quite a promising detective in her own right," Sherlock says. She sees Watson straighten next to her.

"I'm not a detective," Watson says, contradicting her body language. "I'm just along for the ride for a while."

"Oh, you're being modest," Sherlock tells her. Which she is. "That's not the only case she helped me solve." It wasn't.

Mrs. Watson looks at her daughter, surprised and proud.

"Hard to picture what she does, isn't it," Sherlock asks. "'Sober companion.' I had no idea what it meant, and I'm a recovering addict." Watson nearly coughs up her water, but the rest of the table laughs. "She practices quite a unique specialty, your daughter," she directs to Mrs. Watson with a soft smile. "She rebuilds lives from the ground up. You can measure her success in careers restored. In my case, criminals caught and lives saved."

"Interesting," Mrs. Watson says. "I've never thought of it that way."

"You've raised a humble daughter, Mrs. Watson. She would never dream of presenting her job in such a way." The rest of the table smiles. "Shall we order," she asks, and they all open their menus. "I hear the rabbit is a-ma-zing."

In the cab home, Sherlock works, full of rabbit. It had indeed been delicious. Cooked to perfection. "I know you're going to blow this off, but I'm going to say it anyway. Thank you," Watson says. Sherlock pauses. "I've never been able to make my family understand what I do."

"Yes, well," Sherlock says. "Your family- while lovely- is at their core, conventional. So I just phrased things in a way that they'd understand. And I meant very little of what I said."

"There's the blowing off part." Watson pauses. "And you know, I've been spending too much time with you. You lied."

"As I said, I meant very little."

"There it is again." Sherlock looks at her. "You do think I help on cases. And I just want you to know that I am enjoying our time together."

"Well of course you are. While you may put on conventional airs, I know that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the humdrum routine of ordinary life." Sherlock looks at Guthrie's phone and scoffs.

"What?"

"I've been trying to find out who Justin Guthrie may have collaborated with. I've been sifting through his phone in my downtime."

"That's his phone?! Isn't that evidence?"

"The police would want it in my hands," Sherlock says, continuing to work. "He stored three numbers in his notes section. Each with only a first name next to it; Jeremy, Amelie, Alex. These are probably the names of three people with whom he served on the jury."

"So, they kept in touch," Watson says with a minuscule shrug.

"Have you served jury service," Sherlock asks, looking at her. Watson nods. "Did you have any desire to see those people again when it was over?"

Watson looks away, conceding the point.

When they get home, Sherlock goes to her evidence wall. Watson wishes her a good night and goes to bed. Sherlock ponders the wall.

Justin Guthrie was a software engineer, she thinks. So his job was to decode the malbolge and attack the random number generator. Now all he'd need is a locksmith, an electrical engineer, and an inside man. She goes to the packet containing the jurors. She examines each one, finding names and professions matching the ones Guthrie had written down- Alex Wilson, Jeremy Lopez, Amelie Widomski. She puzzles over Amelie the longest. She must have been the inside woman, but how? She can't find her name in any of the files of the Svalbard Diamond exchange, nor in Casterly Rock when she expands her search. Her husband wasn't in any of them either. Husband. She grins and looks up Amelie Widomski's maiden name on any paperwork she can find. Batonvert. She laughs quietly and moves into her library, where there's a clean wall. She puts up the mug shots of the original team and lies down on her settee. She picks up the remote for her stereo and blasts opera music, both to bring Watson down and to celebrate.

Watson soon comes down, livid. She walks to the stereo and turns the music down. "It's nearly finished, don't turn it down. I'm basking." Sherlock uses the remote to increase the volume. Watson shuts it off entirely.

"It's 3:00! Can't you bask in the morning?"

"It's this case, Watson. It renews one's faith in the profession. It's a life of boundless surprises, detective work," Sherlock says, unhooking her legs from the arm of her settee and sitting up before she hops to her feet.

"Do I have to find you a drug test?" Sherlock knows that Watson is joking. Sherlock walks past her to the wall.

"These are the four men who broke into the Leviathan in 2010. We've already met Charles Briggs, lockpick and locksmith extraordinaire. This is Vance Paulson," she continues, and Watson sits down to listen. Sherlock fights a smile, even though Watson looks more tired than interested. But she will be the latter soon. "He was the inside man. The late Carter Averill, organizer of the crime; genius. He mastered everything from computer coding to surveillance software. Finally, David Retts. PhD in electrical engineering."

"Nothing about this is making me want to bask."

"I haven't got to the good bit yet." Sherlock grins and moves to the table. She holds up a photo to Watson. "We already know that Justin Guthrie's programming skills allowed him to perform much the same function as Carter Averill. Now, let's meet some of his fellow jurors." She hangs it under Averill's picture. She picks up another photo. "Alex Wilson worked as an electrical engineer before his employer forced early retirement on him." He goes under Retts. Watson starts to become more alert. "Jeremy Lopez, son of a locksmith. He worked his way through school by plying his father's trade."

"You're saying that Guthrie committed this robbery with other members of the jury?"

Sherlock nods. "Probably started as a joke. Jurors spend a lot of time together, there's lots of idle chitchat. They noted that between the three of them, they had the same skills as the thieves they were trying. Once Guthrie spotted the malbolge, it turned serious. They realized they had been handed the recipe for making millions of dollars."

"So, who was the inside man?

"Inside woman, as it turns out. This is Amelie Widomski, a homemaker from Roosevelt Island. Couldn't make any sense of it until I thought of looking for her maiden name on paperwork. Amelie Widomski was born Amelie Batonvert."

"Green stick," Watson says, wondrous.

"The manager of the Svalbard Diamond Exchange is her brother. Whether he was in on it or she just used the family connection to gain access during working hours, I haven't ascertained yet. These are the four people who robbed the Svalbard Diamond Exchange two days ago. And one of them is killing the others to keep the proceeds."

Watson smiles softly. "Good job, Sherlock."

Sherlock basks once more, this time in the praise.

"But we should get some more sleep before we go to Gregson in the morning."

"Good night, Watson. Pleasant dreams," Sherlock wishes. Watson stands and goes back upstairs. Sherlock looks proudly at her board for a few moments and goes to get changed out of the previous day's clothes.

Sherlock and Watson go into Gregson's office the next morning and Sherlock tells him her theory. He listens intently. "You really think that four members of the jury just decided to become criminals?"

"Well, they knew it had been done once before, and how they were caught," Sherlock points out. "And millions of dollars is quite a tantalizing prize."

Gregson nods, thoughtful. "Alright. I'll call in the jurors."

Sherlock nods and she and Watson walk out.

"Let's see if you're right," Watson says.

"Ten jurors, two alternates," Gregson says, looking in the conference room from outside with the women. "Figured I'd cover all my bases. The only surviving juror we couldn't find was Alex Wilson. He's on your list, right?" Sherlock nods. "Assuming you're right, he's in the wind. Seems like he could be our guy."

"A distinct possibility," Sherlock nods. "But I believe that our killer is standing in that room." Watson and Gregson look at her. "That man right there, Jeremy Lopez, you can see from here that his face is injured." The others turn back to the conference room.

"You think Justin Guthrie did that to him," Watson asks.

"Should be easy enough to find out," Gregson says. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are, Captain." Gregson gestures and Sherlock leads the way, trailed by Gregson and some detectives with sterile swabs. "Ladies and gentlemen," she starts. "I'd like to first thank you all for performing your civic duty. The justice system called, the twelve of you answered. Unfortunately, it seems as though four of your number have become criminals themselves, and one of those four is now a murderer." The jurors start to murmur amongst themselves. "Shocking, I know. But we have obtained a sample of the killer's blood. Now it's a simple case of comparing your DNA to that sample, and we'll have our killer." She looks at Gregson, who nods.

"Ok. You can start." The detectives start handing out the swabs.

"Please, bear in mind that we cannot force you to give us a sample. But you've already demonstrated your civic mindedness by serving as jurors, and I'm sure that the innocent amongst you will relish the chance to help catch a murderer. If, however, you did murder Justin Guthrie, you certainly should not give us a sample. That would be folly." Gregson covers his mouth, and Sherlock knows he's hiding a smile. Sherlock keeps a close eye on Lopez. He's the only one who doesn't swab his mouth. "Everything alright, Mr. Lopez?"

"Fine, fine," the man says, and swabs his mouth. Sherlock shoots a surprised look at the Captain.

"Alright, everyone, you can go now," Gregson says, crossing over to her and gently nudging her out of the path of the door. "Thank you very much for your time." Lopez is the first one out the door and Sherlock watches him. When every juror is out, Gregson turns to Sherlock. "We'll keep some people on Lopez and Amelie Widomski, make sure they don't try to flee. Maybe he gave us that sample because he knew if he didn't, we'd know it was him." Sherlock scoffs. "I know, he seemed pretty confident," Gregson says, not offended in the least. That's why Sherlock enjoys his company so much. "Why would a killer just hand off his DNA like that?"

"I don't believe he would," Sherlock admits.

"Captain," Bell says, coming into the room. "We just heard from an officer in Irvington, New Jersey. Guy saw our BOLO on Alex Wilson. This cop swears he saw Wilson a couple of days ago, gave us an address."

"We need to find him," Sherlock says. "I may have been wrong about Jeremy Lopez, and I doubt Amelie Widomski could throw a grown man out a window. So if Lopez is not our man, Wilson must be."

Sherlock gets in Bell's car, sitting in the front passenger seat while Watson sits behind her.

"Why was his face injured, then," Sherlock wonders.

"People hurt themselves all the time," Bell says. "Doesn't mean you were wrong about him being a thief. I like your theory," he admits. "It makes sense. Crazy, but it makes sense."

Sherlock looks out the window.

"Thank you," Watson says, poking the back of Sherlock's head.

"Yes, thank you Detective."

They arrive at the address in Irvington that the New Jersey police officer provided. Marcus knocks on the door. Sherlock and Watson shoo away flies, and Sherlock identifies the species. She wanders around to the pile of trash and examines it. "Detective," she calls, and Bell looks over. "I'm concerned there's no need to look for Mr. Wilson inside." When she gets curious looks, she elaborates. "Not with this many coffin flies around."

"Coffin flies," Bell asks, coming down the stairs to meet her.

"Small, humpbacked members of the Phoridae family. They feed on decaying corpses. And they're congregating on this cardboard." She bends to move it, but Bell stops her. He removes it himself. He uncovers Alex Wilson.

"Looks like he's been dead at least two days," Bell says.

"Which means he didn't kill Justin Guthrie yesterday." Sherlock scowls. "Then why did Lopez volunteer his DNA?"

"Look, the results haven't come back yet," Bell tries to placate her. "Maybe it'll match."

"But he's not a stupid man, that much is obvious. He must know what bloody DNA is." Bell shrugs and starts walking back to his car.

"Marcus is right," Watson says as Sherlock climbs the stairs to meet her on the sidewalk. "Maybe he did it to throw us off, or he thought we were bluffing."

The ride back to the precinct is silent. They run into Gregson just as they're entering the bullpen.

"Oh good. You're back," he greets, putting his hand on Sherlock's back and turning her back around. Sherlock eyes him- he's wearing an NYPD windbreaker. She's never seen him in one before. It suits him. "We just got the preliminary DNA results back from Justin Guthrie's apartment. It doesn't match Jeremy Lopez, it doesn't match Alex Wilson."

"Who does it match," Watson questions. Sherlock would like to know that as well.

"It belongs to an Army chaplain by the name of Audrey Higuerra." He hands a photo first to Bell and then another to Sherlock. She shares hers with Watson.

"What's her connection to the jury," Sherlock asks him.

"As far as we know, she doesn't have one." Sherlock is shocked; her theory. It had been so tidy and beautiful in its simplicity. A little strange, yes, but such is the nature of the human condition.

"But-"

"Sherlock, you can ask her yourself when we go get her," Gregson assures her, and they get back in a car, this time Gregson's. Bell rides in the passenger seat and she and Watson in back.

Sherlock looks out the window, pondering. Where did I go wrong? I was wrong about Lopez, what else was I wrong about? Everything else is adding up.

"Sherlock, I can hear your brain working from here," Gregson says, and Sherlock turns her head to look at him from her position behind Bell. They lock eyes in the rearview mirror. "You can ask her all the questions you want. I promise."

Sherlock nods. "But it was so neat."

"It was. But people aren't neat." Sherlock concedes that point. They arrive at Higuerra's house. "Stay back, you two." Sherlock and Watson wait across the street.

"She seems rather noble, this Audrey Higuerra, doesn't she," Sherlock muses. "I don't like her."

"Because she's a chaplain or because she has a 'Habitat for Humanity' sticker in her window?"

"Because she doesn't fit. It was a beautiful theory," she bemoans. "She doesn't have any connection to the jury or the trial."

"We found her blood at Justin Guthrie's apartment."

"And I don't know why that is."

"Someone once said 'when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"

"Sounds like a windbag."

"I don't know what that means, but you're probably right." The officers and Gregson burst into the home. Sherlock waits, stomach tightening, until Gregson re-appears and gestures for them.

"All clear," Gregson says when they get close. "You two can look around."

After a few moments, Watson speaks. "I don't see anything here that would indicate that she was a murderer."

"Quite the opposite," Sherlock says. This woman builds homes for the needy, consoles those who need it most. "If I could attribute three miracles to her, I would nominate her for sainthood."

"Looks like she's got the 'caring for the sick' part down." Sherlock hums. "She nursed her sister through cancer."

"So," Gregson says, coming into the room. "Not only is Audrey Higuerra not to be found in her own home, she's not even in the country." Sherlock looks at him, confused. "We just found her calendar. Turns out she was deployed to Kabul a couple'a weeks ago."

"That can't be right. We found a fresh sample of her blood in Guthrie's apartment yesterday," Sherlock replies.

"Believe me, I know. Now I'm starting to wonder what the fuck is going on," Gregson admits.

"We're waiting on the Army to confirm that she's posted overseas, but look around," Bell shrugs. "Does it look like anyone's been here recently?"

Sherlock shakes her head, exhaling. She, like the Captain, would also like to know what's going on.

"Can I take back everything I said about 'eliminating the impossible,'" Watson asks, turning sharply around. Bell looks slightly confused.

"Why would you want to do that," Sherlock asks.

"Because Audrey Higuerra's sister died of leukemia." The three just look at her.

"You're getting to be as bad as her," Bell says, indicating Sherlock. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"When she was gone, Audrey did everything she could to help people with the same disease." Sherlock is starting to catch on, but she needs to be sure. "I used to see these at the hospital all the time," Watson gestures at a small dish on a side table. "They give them to bone marrow donors." Gregson goes to Watson's side and looks in.

"Watson, I could kiss you," Sherlock says. She turns to Gregson. "Do you still have a police detail on Jeremy Lopez?"

"No, we called them off once the DNA didn't match. Why, what's going on?"

"You need to find him, bring him in immediately." Gregson makes the call and then turns to her once he's hung up.

"You want to tell me why I did that?"

"Because I believe Jeremy Lopez once had a bone marrow transplant from Audrey Higuerra."

"Ok," Gregson draws out.

"Bone marrow transplant recipients starts producing the DNA of their donors instead of their own. And bone marrow makes-"

"Red blood cells," Gregson realizes. "Let's go."

"Well done, Watson," Sherlock says in the car.

"Yeah, good catch Joan," Gregson nods.

Jeremy Lopez is caught quickly outside his home and brought to the station. Gregson walks into the interview room, Sherlock right behind him.

"I don't know why I'm back here," Lopez says. "I already gave you people my DNA."

"Yeah, we had a little problem with that," Gregson says. "Something went wrong with one of the swabs. If it's not too much trouble, we'd like to get a blood sample. It's a cleaner read."

Sherlock is always impressed with the Captain when he steps into 'the box.' The last time she saw him interrogate someone was Wade Crewes.

"I've already been very helpful," Lopez says. "Generous, even. But honestly, I don't like needles. I don't see why I should-"

"There they are," Sherlock interrupts. "The evasions and rhetorical curlicues of a man with something to hide."

"I don't have anything to hide."

"You had leukemia, is that correct, Jeremy," she asks.

"Yeah. Five years ago. I'm better now." He raps his knuckles on the table.

"Good. And you're better because of a bone marrow transplant, right," Sherlock questions, unnecessarily. She already knows. She just wants to see Lopez try to talk himself out of this one. "Did you know that one of the side effects of a bone marrow transplant is that your body begins manufacturing cells that bear the DNA of your donor? And bone marrow manufactures blood." She watches Lopez's face- he's completely impassive. He's quite an excellent liar. "So you know that every recipient of a transplant walks around with DNA of their donor coursing through their veins. But the DNA in your hair, your skin, your saliva, that's entirely your own." Lopez spreads his hands in a 'so?' motion. "The blood we found in Justin Guthrie's apartment. It bears the DNA of Audrey Higuerra, but it came from your body," she points at him. "You knew that you could give us a saliva sample because the DNA wouldn't match."

"I cannot believe that you are dragging my illness into this," Lopez says, trying to guilt-trip her. Sherlock, however, believes that guilt is a useless emotion.

"You stole 40 million dollars, and then you murdered two people."

Lopez sits back, the only sign of distress he's shown all interrogation. "I'm leaving." He stands. "Don't call me, don't expect me to cooperate." He moves towards the door. Where he's expecting to go, Sherlock isn't sure- the door locks from the outside. Also, an officer opens the door and comes in to block his way.

"Oh, we don't need your cooperation," Gregson says. He puts the folder he had been carrying on the table and slowly flips it open.

"What's that," Lopez asks, wary.

"Court order," Gregson says. "Compels you to give us a blood sample."

"We neglected to mention that we had this when we walked in here. Truthfully, we didn't want to deny ourselves the pleasure of watching you squirm." She smiles slightly at Gregson, who smiles back.

"You give us enough to arrest Amelie Widomski for her part in the robbery, and who knows? Maybe a parole board will see you before you're...dead." Lopez looks at Gregson and then back at the court order. He sighs and sits down.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything would be nice," Sherlock nods.

"It was all Justin's idea. It was a joke until he decoded that nonsense," Lopez waves his hand. "We were stuck until Amelie told us her brother ran the diamond exchange. We moved in. Amelie did recon inside, saw the security wasn't great. Alex took care of all the sensors. I picked the outside lock. Justin attacked the RNG." Gregson nods at the officer who had come inside when Lopez tried to leave.

"Legal pad, please," Sherlock says happily. The officer leaves and Lopez puts his head on his arms.

Sherlock answers the door when it rings, accepting a box containing three bottles of champagne from Erlich. "These are for you," he says. "You were finally able to tell us what the thieves did so we can safeguard against it in the future. Thank you."

"It was brilliant."

"It was. Good thing I hired an even more brilliant detective. Goodnight, Ms. Holmes. Enjoy the champagne."

"Goodnight, Mr. Erlich." Sherlock closes the door and walks back to the kitchen. "Such a shame," she says. "These bottles cost 500 dollars apiece. You'd think if they wanted to thank me with champagne, they'd go to the trouble of finding out if I drink first. Have a glass if you'd like. You're the one who figured out Audrey Higuerra was a bone marrow donor."

"Pretty sure that's not a good idea. Is the smell gonna bother you?"

Sherlock shakes her head. Watson moves the bottle to the sink. "Ah-ah," Sherlock protests. Watson looks at her. "I think we should go to the precinct."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't drink. And you won't while you're around me. But one could be for the Captain and his wife, one can be for Bell and the third," she trails off. "Can be for one of them to gift to someone else, I suppose," she muses. She turns to see Watson looking at her with a fond expression on her face. "What?"

"Nothing." Watson picks up the basket. "Let's go."

"I suppose being proven right is the best gift of all," Sherlock says as she follows Watson. "There was no genius who independently cracked the Leviathan. It was simply a matter of copying the original team."

"So that means you might still be the smartest person in the world."

"I would never suggest that."

"Really," Watson asks, looking at her with eyebrows raised. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you say anything remotely modest."

"It's not modesty," Sherlock protests. "There's just no way to reliably test the theory."

They'd stopped in the library and are about to move again when the doorbell rings. "Triplets," Watson asks. Sherlock shakes her head and opens the door. "Mom," Watson questions, seeing the woman on the other side.

"I know I'm not supposed to come see you while you're out on a job, but you did give me your card the other night," she directs to Sherlock.

"Please, come in," Sherlock offers, standing aside.

"Thank you." Mrs. Watson does.

"I'll leave you two to chat." Sherlock goes to the media room to drown them out. She turns on the news and sees something Watson will appreciate. She goes back downstairs. "So sorry to interrupt," she says. "I've just seen the most incredible thing on the news. I'm quite sure you'd want to see it."

"The police are puzzled by the sudden and unexplained return of Vincent Van Gogh's masterpiece, Pieta. It was delivered by courier to the head of the Aster Museum of Modern Art. The NYPD is speculating that the thief must have been suffering from a guilty conscience, but the exact motive for the return remains a mystery," the reporter says. Sherlock watches Watson smile. So does Mrs. Watson.

"I'll leave you two to your evening," Mrs. Watson says.

"One moment, if you'll indulge me," Sherlock says. She takes a champagne bottle and presents it. "For you and your family. To toast Oren's hopefully soon engagement."

"Thank you." She takes the bottle, nods to them both, and then leaves.

Watson drives them to the station.

"I thought you two left hours ago," Bell remarks.

"Yes, but we're back. Come into the Captain's office," Sherlock invites.

Bell frowns but follows the women. The Captain is in there, performing his duty as a captain and wading through paperwork. He looks up and takes off his glasses when he hears them approach. "Sherlock," he greets, surprised. She turns and picks up a bottle, presenting it to him. Gregson takes it. "What's this for?'

"We don't drink," Sherlock says. "And it's rather good champagne, or it should be."

"If you don't drink, why'd you buy it," Bell asks.

"We didn't. I would never spend 1000 dollars on champagne." The men freeze and look at her.

"The bottles cost 500 dollars apiece," Bell demands.

"Sherlock, I can't-" Gregson starts, trying to hand the bottle back to her. Sherlock curls her fingers over his and gently presses it back.

"You can and you shall, Captain. Consider it a token of my appreciation for all the good work you've done. And as a gift for you and your wife. Detective, you get one, as well," she turns away from her soulmate.

"Holmes-"

"Take it," Joan coaxes. Bell lifts it out.

"Might I propose a toast," Sherlock asks.

"Sherlock," Watson protests.

"I won't have a glass."

"But the smell-"

"Won't bother me a bit, as I said before."

"We don't have flutes," Bell points out. Sherlock goes to the break room, coming back with four mugs.

"You said you wouldn't have any," Watson scolds her.

"I'm having juice."

"It feels like sacrilege to do this to 500 dollar champagne," Bell mutters as he opens his bottle and pours in each of the three empty mugs.

"To friends," Sherlock says, once everyone has their mug.

"To friends," the others chorus. They all drink.

"Oh my God," Bell says. "That's really good," he laughs. Gregson chuckles.

"Boy, is my wife gonna love you," he says, lifting the mug in Sherlock's direction. He drinks again. "Another toast?" They nod. "To the return of Pieta," he smiles, looking Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock feels her cheeks warm and Gregson chuckles. They drink.

[aion-rsa]

Mr. Mercedes Director Jack Bender On The Show’s Peacock Move and Future

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Mr. Friendly’s Frosteez has a new driver scooping ice cream for the kids and smiley-faced tennis balls for the older crowd. A certain 2003 Mercedes-Benz S 600 sports a new color. And Mr. Mercedes has a new home. The Stephen King detective series will be getting a second life at Peacock. While Mr. Mercedes season 3 ended with a vague tease the serial killer at the heart of the series may be starting anew as the Supreme Electronix co-worker who took him out, Peacock is keeping the series exactly as it originally ran before Audience Network was shut down.

Based on King’s New York Times best-selling Bill Hodges Trilogy, the title character owes a debt to classic detectives. Brendan Gleeson brings a grizzled annoyance to his obsession over a case which will never go cold. Harry Treadaway’s serial killer Brady Hartsfield, aka Mr. Mercedes, the title character of the series, made an unexpected departure, but left Lou Linklatter (Breeda Wool) the keys to his wheels and some of his fondest memories.

Mr. Mercedes sticks fairly close to the Bill Hodges Trilogy source material, which explores the evils of the human mind, rather than supernatural suspense. A good portion of the books takes place in Brady’s head but the TV series’ opening scene, the crime which tortures the now retired detective, was based on a real event. In 2011, a woman drove into a crowd of people at a McDonald’s hiring event in Cleveland, Ohio.

Director Jack Bender is used to the twisted worlds of television. He started as an actor appearing on such shows as All in the Family, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and The Mod Squad before moving behind the camera. Best known for his work on the groundbreaking fantasy series Lost, he also brought the groundbreaking comedy Ally McBeal to screens, and directed episodes of Game of Thrones. Bender spoke with Den of Geek about his work with Stephen King, the world of detectives and killers, and where the Mercedes is parked now.

Den of Geek: Does the move to Peacock come with changes?

Jack Bender: Mr. Mercedes was done originally for three years on direct TV for the Audience Network. Peacock has picked it up in their infinite wisdom to show the first two seasons. And then, sometime in the near future, hopefully, once the show has a terrific audience, they’re going to play season three. We did three seasons. And nobody has asked me at Peacock to make any cuts or changes, so I trust they’re showing the show in all its wonderful weirdness and twisted humanity.

Will there be any further production on it if it does well?

Well, we talked about that and that is, potentially, in the offing but at this point there’s no commitment. David Kelley and I have had conversations regarding what season four would look like and some of our younger cast who would come back and what the story could be, because there is some story left there.

Stephen wrote three books, but we definitely have something in mind for a season four if the stars were to come together and we would do it.

Is that why the Mercedes got the yellow paint job?

David Kelley invented that. It was Holly’s way of getting over the trauma. It empowered her. First of all, she wanted the Mercedes and she didn’t want it to be ruined by the nightmare that it was used for by Brady Hartsfield. Although that was always Hodges’ argument, “How can you have that fucking thing around? It killed all these people.” Her argument was, “No, the Mercedes didn’t kill people. It was a weapon. Brady killed people. My memory of the Mercedes is my aunt had pride in it and used to take me for drives. So, it’s my way of healing.”

It’s interesting because Stephen King supposedly, and we’ve gotten very close and I never asked him this, but I think after the van hit him when he was out jogging that day and, as you know, it was very serious, practically every bone in his body was broken. Eventually, he bought that car and beat the shit out of it with a sledgehammer. So, I think it’s a very similar act of, “Fuck you, I’m alive. And goddammit, you’re not going to ruin this for me.”

Every horror fan in the world held their breath when he was hit.

Oh, yeah. It was just horrible. Did you ever read his extraordinary book? There’s a great book he wrote called On Writing, which is autobiographical. It’s the greatest book on how to be a writer and how to write and very specifically what he does, what his oeuvre is, what his process is. You hear the story of some amazing books and how they came to him and how he stuck with them, et cetera, et cetera. 

I’m very fortunate to have crossed paths with Stephen, and I’ve got another couple of projects in development with him. It’s just a real gift to not only have him as a friend, but somebody who trusts me with his material.

I love the references that you throw in, like having Treadaway’s character be a Ramones fan. How does the legacy of King play into the creative process?

Well, when David and I were developing the show, it was my thought that: I love the use of music, but I don’t really like it when shows just plug the song in over the montage. Look, everything is manipulative in art. It’s just obviously manipulative. It’s like, “You want me to feel emotion now,” or, “You want to make some comment.” So, I said, “What if Hodges is such a train wreck when we start the show there are only two things: He’s got a lousy relationship with his daughter, with his ex-wife. He’s a man on his own. Now, thanks to David, who invented Ida, he’s got a friend who he gets closer with, Ida Silver brilliantly played by Holland Taylor. But I said, “What if the only two things he takes care of are his vinyl collection and his tortoise that he bought for his daughter when she was little?”

Now, that was autobiographical. Nothing else in the show is. I actually bought, for our daughter, when she was about six-years-old, an African spur-thighed tortoise who was only six-weeks-old that we named Federico Fellini until we found out it was a girl and we changed it to Federica. Then, we found out no, in fact, it’s a boy. So, it has become Fred. So, I said to David, “What if Hodges has that tortoise?” David loved that idea. He became a part of the show, as did Brendan’s record collection.

I wanted to do little drops in there like we used to do on Lost, little Easter eggs. Obviously, Harry Treadaway seeing Pet Sematary, because I had this image of Brady driving in his car. And when he goes out on those computer calls, he has to be Mr. Straight and be a little buttoned-down good worker, but when he gets in his car, he fucking lets it loose.

It was great working with Harry on that because when we were first doing it, and it was early on in the shooting, Harry was kind of singing the song well. He’s got a nice voice. I’m going, “This is weird.” I said, “Harry, you’ve got to fucking stick your finger out the window and screw everybody and sing loudly. Just be Brady.” And then he let loose and he was brilliant. So, that’s where “Pet Sematary” came from.

Weaving songs, both Brady’s character choices in the songs that came from Brady’s world along with Hodges’ world was definitely part of the language of the show season one, and then it continued through season two. People really dug that. Very eclectic choices of songs. It was part of the language and it said something about their characters. I always wanted them motivated in what they would listen to.

What was your involvement on HBO’s The Outsider?

No, I didn’t do The Outsider. What happened was Stephen gave me the book and I was developing it with Richard Price and the company. It was one of those Hollywood stories where somehow things got derailed. So, from afar, I was an executive producer, but creatively, chose to have nothing to do with it.

Do you approach a Stephen King detective story differently than a regular detective story?

Well, that’s interesting. I think everything I do I approach differently. See, I first got to know Stephen on Lost because he was such a fan. And then I joined and exec produced and directed many of the episodes for the first two years of Under the Dome. We were talking about finding something to do together, and one day in the mail came these two massive Manila envelopes, which were the galleys from Mr. Mercedes. I went, “Oh, my God.” And he didn’t tell me it was coming.

So, I read it and I loved it and said, “Yeah, I want to do it.” That was the beginning of this. But what I thought was so interesting was not only was Stephen King writing in the detective genre, and definitely he was using the detective metaphor all the way back to Chinatown and period detective stuff, is that it’s kind of a hat rack that Stephen hung the story on, which is the retired detective and the one case that got away. That’s kind of a standard detective trope, but in Stephen King’s hands, it becomes something very different. What I always saw the show as being was Stephen King writing about the monster inside the characters, as opposed to the monster outside the characters, which I loved. I said, “If I get lucky with the right cast,” and boy did I, “and I convince David Kelley to write it.”

I had worked with David all the way back to Ally McBeal and a bunch of things. I said, “David, nobody writes twisted better than you.” Big Little Lies hadn’t come out yet. I don’t even know if they’d shot it. I said to David, “When you write dark and twisted, nobody does it better.” I said, “You’re going to dive into these characters and it’ll still have heart and humanity, but they are really people who have been twisted by the world and their genes and everything else.” David wrote it.

In fact, when we first started and I said, “Stephen, I want to do this, but there’s this one actor who’s born to play Hodges. I don’t know if you know him. He’s this Irish actor named Brendan Gleeson.” He said, “Do I know him? I love him.” We mentioned all his movies and that became our dream. His agents and managers said, “Brendan’s not going to do a series, blah blah blah.” There were some people in Hollywood who said, “No, he’s not well known enough. What about this person, that person?” Well, as fate would have it, we got Brendan and let him be Irish. He’s just brilliant.

Also true of Harry Treadaway. I was convinced by our casting director to look at his film and he just was brilliant. Our whole cast was. We ended up, I mean, just with some extraordinary luck with Jharrel Jerome, who went on to win an Emmy. Justine Lupe, Holland Taylor, Kelly Lynch, Breeda Wool. I mean, it’s just a great great cast. I always felt that the success of this show lay in the performances. I very much wanted to frame it, stylistically, directorial, to take time for those performances, which we did.

What does Hodges owe to the classic detectives like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe?

Well, I think Brendan would say there has been, all the way back to Chinatown and Jack Gittes and Nicholson. I think Brendan, like all great detectives in film history and in novels, they’re all wounded people. He found the wounds in Hodges, the flaws in Hodges, played them all the way from him. Not being able to take a leak first thing in the morning, episode one, and looking like shit from the night before falling asleep in his Lay-Z-Boy.

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I think that the Stephen King character of Bill Hodges will stand the test of time as one of the great detectives because he’s got real depth, real flaws, and real humanity, like all these people, and a lot of scars. And Brendan shows those very bravely and with heart and humor.Mr. Mercedes will stream exclusively on Peacock beginning Oct. 15.

The post Mr. Mercedes Director Jack Bender On The Show’s Peacock Move and Future appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3nv7oU3

[beckylower]

In my last post, we left Evelyn Nesbit at the peak of her career as a model, showgirl, and sex symbol of the new century. Though her virtue had been stolen through trickery and rape by the much older Stanford White, nonetheless they began an affair that lasted about a year. Even more surprising, their relationship survived the end of the affair. He continued to support Evelyn and her family in the style befitting a goddess adored by the media of the day. Evelyn’s life became quite glamorous as wealthy and/or famous suitors presented themselves and her career continued to expand. Into this complicated mix of fame and sex appeal stepped a young man of dubious character wholly unsuited to marry anyone, much less a girl with Evelyn’s history.

Harry Kendall Thaw (February 12, 1871-February 22, 1947) was the son of Pittsburg coal and railroad magnate William Thaw. From an early age, Harry exhibited the warning signs of a violent and paranoid personality. His own mother declared he had been so in the womb. As a boy, he did not remain in any given school for long because his behavior was unacceptable and his teachers despaired of being able to teach him. His family name got him into the University of Pittsburg and then Harvard. He was to read law at Harvard, but spent his time in pursuits that had nothing to do with academics. By his own admission, he “majored in poker” instead. He also chased women and participated in binge drinking. He was expelled from Harvard after being arrested for threatening a cab driver with a shotgun. It appears Harry was a young man who never suffered the consequences of his choices, and as a result, never learned to control his emotions and actions. With his academic career over, Harry continued spending time in his preferred pursuits, but added cocaine and other recreational drugs to his list of debaucheries.

Harry became aware of and then obsessed with Evelyn because of an interest he shared with the much older Stanford White, an interest in beautiful, young show girls. Harry attended at least forty performances of The Wild Rose, in which Evelyn had a speaking part. He sent flowers, cards, letters, and gifts. He introduced himself as Mr. Monroe. At first, Evelyn rebuffed his advances, but eventually she agreed to start seeing him. Harry worked to impress both Evelyn and her mother ultimately revealing his true identity, which both Nesbits found very satisfactory.

Harry took mother and daughter to Paris, where he managed to convince the older woman to return to New York. From Paris, Thaw and Evelyn traveled on through Europe, Harry all the while pressing Evelyn to become his wife. She rejected his proposals until they reached Germany. During their stop at Katzenstein Castle, Evelyn revealed the true nature of her relationship with Stanford White. She explained being drugged and raped, which even the worldly Harry found shocking. Since she was no longer a virgin, she felt unworthy of being Harry’s wife. Though he promised she would never be subjected to such again, one must wonder if Harry blamed Evelyn in part for what happened with White or perhaps it was that she went on to have an affair with White after the rape. It could not have helped that Thaw already had a seething hatred of White. Whatever his reasons, Thaw kept Evelyn locked in a castle room for two weeks where he repeatedly beat her with a whip and raped her. Despite this, the girl returned with Harry to the States and eventually married him in April 1905, later saying, “I was so sorry for him. And…we’d been so terribly poor.”

Artist’s drawing of the shooting.

The seeds of Harry’s hatred for Stanford White were planted long before he began his relationship with Evelyn. Over the years, White had snubbed Harry at social gatherings and had blackballed him from several clubs. Given Harry’s nature, this proved most unwise. Harry did not let grudges go lightly. Layer over this the knowledge that White had “gotten there first” with his wife and Harry’s anger continued to heat until it boiled over on the night of June 25, 1906 during a performance on the roof of Madison Square Garden. In full view of the audience, Harry shot White in the head, killing him instantly. The show did not stop immediately because pranks were common fare in shows at the time. It was not until ladies in the audience screamed upon realizing that part of White’s skull was exposed and there were powder burns on his skin that the singing stopped. A witness told the New York Times that upon learning White was dead, Harry stated, “Well, I made a good job of it, and I’m glad.” The same witness reported Evelyn running to Harry, kissing him, and saying, “I didn’t think you would do it in this way.”

Thaw went on trial in February 1907 amid a tabloid frenzy. A selection of newspaper front pages from across the country have been digitized by the Library of Congress.  They demonstrate how widespread public interest was in the “Crime of the Century.” It comes as no surprise that for the first time in U.S. history, the jury was sequestered.

During the proceedings, Evelyn took the stand and testified regarding White’s rape of her when she was sixteen. The L.A. Times reported that the Thaw family offered to give Evelyn one million dollars to testify on her husband’s behalf with the condition that he was acquitted. As witnesses for the prosecution, a parade of women testified to Harry’s mistreatment of them which included sexual assault and use of a pearl handled whip. The Thaw’s housekeeper, Mrs. Susan Mueller, testified that she had for a time acted as a procurer of young women for Harry and had seen him abuse them in the way other witnesses described. Further testimony revealed that Thaw had hired private detectives to harass White for fear he was still having an affair with Evelyn. The L.A.Times further reported that White had gone so far as to hire bodyguards and planned to file charges against Thaw.

While on trial, Harry was denied bail and remained in the Tombs, Manhattan’s  Detention Complex, where he was afforded many privileges because of his position and wealth.

He dined on steaks and wine catered by Delmonico’s, slept in a bass bed, wore his own clothes, and enjoyed clean, starched linens on table and bed.

The trial ended in a hung jury in April 1907. During his second trial, Harry pled temporary insanity, was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and committed to Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in New York. In 1910, Evelyn gave birth to a son, Russell William Thaw, who she claimed was conceived during a conjugal visit at the asylum. Harry denied the boy and never accepted paternity. His confinement at Matteawan was to have been for life, but his lawyers were not finished. They filed a writ of habeus corpus, which was denied. At that point, it is believed his mother arranged for him to simply walk out of the asylum. He fled to Canada, but was extradited back to the U.S. and Matteawan. In 1915, he was granted a third trial where he was found no longer a danger and was released. Evelyn and Harry divorced in 1915, as well, and all financial support for Evelyn ceased. She was left to make her way as best she could. Unfortunately, none of his experiences effected any of the desired changes in Harry. He was arrested for nearly beating a boy to death on Christmas Eve 1915. He was found insane and committed to Kirkbride Asylum in Philadelphia until April 1924.

After his release, Harry moved to Clearwater, Virginia where his neighbors viewed him as an eccentric, but harmless individual who served in their volunteer fire department. Harry died of a heart attack while in Miami in 1947. He left Evelyn $10,000 (about $115,000 today) or 1% of his total wealth.

As for Evelyn’s later life, she returned to the stage and later performed in a few silent films. She had a second brief, unhappy marriage to a dancer, Jack Clifford. They married in 1916; he left her in 1918; she divorced him in 1933. Their marriage could not survive Evelyn’s notoriety and the public’s refusal to see her as anything other than the wife of a playboy killer and featured witness in the Trial of the Century. She never again achieved the success she experienced as a teenager. In 1926, there was a rumor of a possible reconciliation with Thaw. He visited her in a Chicago hospital after her suicide attempt and they were photographed together, but nothing came of it. She served as a technical advisor for the 1955 film The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing, a highly fictionalized version of her life with White and Thaw, for which she received $10,000. She was not pleased with the portrayal of her relationship with White, saying the film made it seem she had seduced White. Evelyn died in a California nursing home in 1967 at age 82.

Related Reading

  Resources

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4906724/Trial-20th-Century-Evelyn-Nesbit-supermodel.html

https://murderpedia.org/male.T/t/thaw-harry.htm

https://allthatsinteresting.com/evelyn-nesbit-stanford-white-harry-thaw

http://evelynnesbit.com/plot.html

https://www.famous-trials.com/thaw/405-home

http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/thaw/evelynstory1.html

https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84026749/1906-06-26/ed-1/seq-1/#words=Harry+Thaw+Stanford+White+kills+Mrs+Evelyn+Nesbit+Thaw+JEALOUS+RAGE+jealousy+revenge+wife

Linda Bennett Pennell is the author of five published works of historical fiction. Her latest, a gothic romance entitled All That Glitters, can be found here on Amazon.  Set in  the Glided Age, it tells the story of Sarah Anne, a young woman who finds her true purpose in a most unexpected place.

Murder in the Time of Robber Barons: the Goddess, the Architect, and the Millionaire, Part II In my last post, we left Evelyn Nesbit at the peak of her career as a model, showgirl, and sex symbol of the new century.

[thepinkseat-askthemoonbunny]

Dumbledore Explained

Right, so I found a chapter of Harry Potter rants on fanfiction,net. And this chapter was super long and it lists almost all of the common reasons why people hate Dumbledore or they think Dumbledore is bad/evil person. So one by one, I was able to explain most of these things and have decided to compile my answers. The link to that chapter/url is here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11917130/1/Harry-Potter-Rants , and my answers to all of her points are below:

1: Dumbledore is only a teacher. He's not Headmaster, he's not an Auror, it's a Muggle orphanage and thus outside jurisdiction. He has neither the power or the responsibility to stop a kid from doing things in a Muggle orphanage because there's no direct violation.

2. Not his job, they had tons of other teachers, Tom is not Dumbledore's problem.

3. Dumbledore DID report his suspicions. Hagrid said this, Dumbledore tried to convince people that Hagrid was innocent. Nobody believed him, and Dippet wanted to keep everything hush hush. Again, he's one guy and only a schoolteacher with none of his fame and influence yet.

4. The Ministry didn't give a damn, Hagrid was a half giant and as such they were prejudiced against him. Plus, a ghost? Really? She didn't see WHO killed her, she didn't know about Tom. She just looked into a pair of eyes and...ghost.

5. Where is this clear evidence? Dumbledore ain't psychic, what evidence did he have? Plus the book is called Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, not Albus Dumbledore and the Chamber of Secrets.

6. It's a MAGIC school. Where kids go to learn MAGIC things. Of COURSE they're gonna be around love potions and stuff. They have teacher supervision, they have to learn how to BREW these things! Dumbledore can't stop crazy kids or some random crazy people from doing stupid human things. The spells have to be taught.

7. No explanation for this, that was stupid. However, we do know why he hired Lockhart. Plus the job was cursed, he had to find SOMEBODY to fill it. And plot, these teachers gave Harry his story every year basically.

8. Dumbledore keeping Snape out of Azkaban literally won them the war. If Snape wasn't around to spy, we would've all been fucked without his intelligence. I don't know why he made him a teacher, I assume it's because he was highly skilled in Potions so that was the best job for him.

9. That was stupid as hell, but this trope has been around since the dawn of man so I don't really care.

10. He didn't know Sirius was innocent, only three people did and two of them were dead, one was presumed dead. He wasn't gonna get a trial from Fudge, they wanted to Kiss him. But he should have pushed for a trial, I agree.

11. The scar was a Horcrux, what was there to investigate about it? Plus, not his job. That scar is literally the entire plot from the books, if Dumbledore investigated it, Harry would once again have no storyline.

12. There WAS no safe way. This is stated in the books, the only way to destroy a Horcrux is to destroy the vessel. Harry was that vessel.

13. This was foul, completely and utterly foul. I have no explanation for this, but Harry COULD NOT be removed from that house, for his own safety.

14. Snape is an asshole, he chose to be an asshole. He's a grown man who should have straightened up his act, I don't know WHY Dumbledore didn't fire him but he needed him close.

15. Kids are evil little shits. You really think that he's going to be able to stop every kid in the school from being a bully? Nope, that's not the way school works. He should have done more, I definitely agree. However, Dumbledore is the principal. And in school, the principal isn't really the one who handles bullying like that. It's the teachers who take care of that stuff. Hogwarts is NOT a Muggle school. It's a fantasy school in a fantasy world, real world logic does not apply.

16. Plothole

17. Plot. This is Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, this was literally the whole story. All of that mess with the Stone was the plot, that was Harry's storyline.

18. Again, plot. See number 17 for title of book.

19. I am so SICK of this stupid theory. We literally have no proof that Dumbledore ordered Madam Pomfrey to do jack squat, and even if he did she could have disobeyed him. Harry stays at school for nine months out of the year, that's more than enough time for him to look pretty healthy if a little skinny. Most injuries heal around that time, it's not shocking to think nobody would notice. The Dursleys didn't physically abuse Harry all that much either, not many in that neighborhood knew he existed. Maybe there wasn't anything for her to find.

20. Again, plot point. NOBODY knew what was really up with Quirrell, except Harry and that was because he saw Voldemort's face himself. Quirrell was the antagonist of the first story, plot device.

21. Nobody knew where that troll came from. Nobody, what was Dumbledore supposed to do? Stalk every teacher twenty four seven? He has better things to do with his life.

22. He was a BABY dragon! Hagrid could have easily hidden him. Come on, Dumbledore ain't omniscient. He's not psychic, it's not his job to know what everybody is doing every second of every day. Hagrid isn't at the castle often, plus dragons ain't dark creatures. So no protective enchantment would have detected him.

23. Plot. Harry needed to investigate, this is his story. Plus I believe that was his detention. Magic isn't infallible, these protective enchantments aren't airtight. We need things to keep the story going.

24. Plot point. If Dumbledore had come back quickly, Harry wouldn't have had time to retrieve the Stone.

25. Who cares? It was irrelevant to the story whether they were counseled or not. The wizard world doesn't act like the Muggle one when it comes to mental issues.

26. This is already explained, Harry had to go back. What protections would you have had him enact? They're Muggles.

27. Again, maybe Harry is just skinny. It's not unusual, plus everyone probably figured he's gonna eat at school so he should be fine.

28. Dippet did the same thing. Plus the Basilisk is dead, the threat has already been dealt with. Why tell anybody, it's been taken care of.

29. The Basilisk is dead, there's nothing in the chamber that can hurt anybody now. What's the point.

30. You can't stop people from spreading rumors, people are going to be assholes if they want to be. People spread rumors about Dumbledore, he can't stop them. People are going to gossip and lie on you.

31. They HAD mandrakes, Professor Sprout had them. Plus they probably didn't have time to ship mandrakes from some foreign country, even with magic the negotiations and dealings, finding a seller would have taken too long.

32. Plot device and plus it's a magical school. Such things probably happen all the time.

33. Explained this already, the wizarding world as a whole is shit when it comes to mental illness.

34. Already explained this.

35. Plot. It's the Harry Potter series, of course Harry and his friends are going to be the ones to track down and destroy the Horcruxes. In a kids/YA story, the adults are often absent minded to give the young heroes some leeway.

36. Already explained that, there was no way to remove the scar. Dumbledore says in book one that he can't do crap about it.

37. It was a government mandated safety precaution. Dumbledore may be powerful but he isn't above the law or anybody's government. Him "caving" to the Ministry, what would you have him do? Break the law and get himself locked up?! Skeeter is not a reliable source AT ALL, and him threatening to close the school would have done nothing. It's a public school, the board of governors decides all those things.

38. Again, maybe there were no physical signs. Oh he knew, but maybe nobody else did because the physical abuse would have disappeared.

39. He didn't ignore that. He chased the Dementors from the pitch. Reporting it to whom? The government that put them there in the first place?

40. You just answered that. It would have made the whole plotline of the book moot.

41. Already explained this.

42a/b. Already explained this too.

42. Plot point, AND Barty had captured Moody. Maybe he learned how to imitate his mannerisms?

43. Plot point. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire?

44 Voldemort ISN'T a student? Students enter their own names, nobody else does it for them (Harry was a special case). Nobody would have thought of that, just because Dumbledore doesn't pull perfect solutions all the time doesn't make him stupid. And if he did that, books five through seven would have been moot, plot device.

45. Dumbledore could have done that, but people are going to spread rumors regardless. He clearly favors Harry, people would think he's lying for him. Kids are going to be dickheads.

46. Okay, so you want him to take every single student's mail and screen it? Invasion of privacy, plus it'd be impossible because that's a shit ton of mail to go through. People get secret passages, and Dumbledore can't stop hundreds of random strangers from writing letters.

47. He did, Minerva was guarding him. Nobody would have known that Fudge would be dumb enough to bring a Dementor. Plus what happened is exactly what Fudge would have done in any case, there wasn't going to be a trial. Why does everyone think that Hogwarts enchantments work like some sort of alarm system? Nothing is going to go off or beep and flash to tell Dumbledore anything, that never happens in the books.

48. To Rita?! RITA SKEETER IS NOT A RELIABLE SOURCE! Keep in mind this same Rita slandered Dumbledore in the papers AND Harry, with the Minister's help. And her slander the Ministry? She'd get arrested just like that. Fudge of course would have ignored him, he tried to cover up Voldemort's return.

49. Explained this already

50. Explained this too.

51. The books explain this, he was trying to protect them both from danger. Voldy could see into Harry's mind, this would have screwed up everything.

52. Nobody knows, this is really small and not that important.

53. This was foul and horrible and he should have done something about it.

54. The GOVERNMENT forced her on him, plus he probably didn't see anything. Harry didn't tell anybody about that Blood Quill, he only saw one instance of Um-bitch's treatment and that was with Marietta. Plus then he got kicked out by the government, so there was nothing he could do.

55. Probably didn't want to burden Harry with that. Plus then he'd have to tell Harry he's a Horcrux, and he didn't want to tell him till the very end.

56. No alternatives, Occulmency is the strongest mental shield. Snape was the best Occulmens around pretty much, he was the most qualified even if he was a dick.

57. Plot device, plus nobody wants to tell a kid all that heavy stuff.

58. Explained this already.

59. Explained this already.

60. Explained already, mind connection with Voldemort plus it's a plot device.

61. To stretch the storyline further. The books would have been over in ten minutes.

62. No it doesn't, if the government ignored most of the shit that went down in Hogwarts, one kid trying to commit murder isn't going to move them. Lots of kids join the DE, he can't stop them all. Plus Dumbledore was kind of dying, he has bigger fish to fry. This is still very bad, it's horrible. But there's the explanation.

63. This was a very personal thing for him, plus it's a plot device, the mentor always has to get killed off. That ring held a lot of private and painful moments for him, and maybe he didn't want anybody else to get hurt.

64. Harry was stuck with the fate of the world the moment his parents were whacked. Plus it's the Harry Potter series, he has to solve the problems, he has to fight Voldemort, he's kind of the protagonist.

[recentanimenews]

Random Reads #1

All hail the debut of a new recurring column of sorts, collecting reasonably short reviews of disparate books.

A Banquet of Consequences by Elizabeth George While A Banquet of Consequences is not the best Lynley and Havers mystery I have read, it’s still great heaping loads better than the last one (Just One Evil Act). In fact, in my review of the latter, I wrote “I wanted a book with Havers triumphant. A Havers showing that, despite her problems with professionalism and authority, she really has something amazing to offer.” And that’s pretty much what we did get this time around.

When Claire Abbott, respected feminist author, is found dead in a hotel room while on a book tour, her death is first ruled a heart attack. After her persistent friend and editor insists on a second opinion, a more thorough toxicology screening reveals the presence of poison. Having met the author and her truly odious personal assistant (and chief suspect), Caroline Goldacre, Havers begs Lynley to pull strings for her so that she can investigate, which doesn’t go over very well with Superintendent Ardery. Happily, Havers does do a competent job, though this doesn’t go very far in improving Ardery’s opinion of her.

Mystery-wise, there were elements that I guessed, but I did still enjoy the element of ambiguity that remained at the end. Too, I liked that in the next volume, the Italian detective from Just One Evil Act (probably the best thing about that dreadful book) is going to be visiting England. He was quite sweet on Havers, as I recall! My one real complaint is that Lynley had hardly anything to do, except intercede on Havers’ behalf, contemplate his relationship with Deidre, and look after an admittedly adorable dog.

Still, it’s good to have my faith in this series somewhat restored!

The End of Everything by Megan Abbott Lizzie Hood and Evie Verver are thirteen years old and have been BFFs and next-door neighbors for as long as they can remember. Lately, though, Lizzie has begun to realize that Evie is no longer the open book she once was. (“I know her so well that I know when I no longer know everything.”) When Evie goes missing, Lizzie does all that she can to help bring her home, while being forced to acknowledge that maybe there had always been a darkness hidden within her dearest friend that she had never noticed.

In addition to the mystery of what’s happened to Evie, this book deals a lot with Lizzie’s burgeoning sexual feelings. Though she has some contact with boys near her age, she’s really smitten with Evie’s gregarious father. She longs to be close to him, to provide clues that give him hope, to take his mind off what’s happening. She exults in her ability to affect him. In the process, she somewhat usurps the place that his eldest daughter, Dusty, has filled. What I actually liked best about the book is that Abbott leaves it up to the reader to decide—is Mr. Verver’s relationship with these girls crossing a line? Perhaps his intentions are utterly pure (and, indeed, it seems like he might be crushed to hear someone thought otherwise), but there are some things he does and says that just seem so inappropriate.

Ultimately, I liked this book quite a lot (though I feel I should warn others that some parts are disturbing). Abbott offers several intriguing parallels between relationships to consider, and I think it’s a story I will ruminate over for a long time to come.

The Ex by Alafair Burke Twenty years ago, Olivia Randall sabotaged her relationship with her fiancé, Jack Harris. Now he’s the chief suspect in a triple homicide and Olivia, a defense attorney, is hired by his teenage daughter to represent him. Initially, Olivia has absolute faith in Jack’s innocence (and feels like she owes him because of how she treated him) but mounting evidence eventually makes her doubt whether she ever really knew him at all.

In synopsis form, The Ex sounds pretty interesting, but the reality is something different. Olivia herself is not particularly likeable. Setting aside how she treated Jack in the past, in the present she drinks too much and is having a casual relationship with a married man. I think we’re supposed to come away believing that this whole experience enables her to grow past some parental issues inhibiting her ability to find real love, but it’s glossed over in just about the most cursory way imaginable. And because the narration is in the first person, other characters who might have been interesting—namely a couple of other employees of the defense firm helping with the case—are exceedingly undeveloped.

The mystery plot itself is average. The final twist wasn’t something I predicted from the outset, but once a certain piece of evidence was revealed, it turned out to be very similar to another mystery I’d just read so it was a bit of a slow slog to the inevitable conclusion. The writing is also repetitive, with the significance of various clues being reiterated over and over. One genuinely unique aspect of the book is that because Olivia is a defense attorney and not law enforcement, she wasn’t overly concerned with actually solving the case, so much as finding plausible alternate suspects to establish reasonable doubt. Perhaps that is why some things the culprit did were left unexplained and some evidence unaccounted for, though it could have just been sloppy writing.

I don’t think I shall be reading anything else by this author.

Girl in the Dark by Marion Pauw Set in The Netherlands, Girl in the Dark is told in alternating first-person chapters between Ray, a man with autism who has spent eight years in jail for the murders of his neighbor and her daughter, and Iris, a lawyer and single mother who discovers by chance that Ray is the elder brother she never knew she had. She is convinced of his innocence, despite evidence that he is capable of destructive rage, and begins investigating the case and pursuing an appeal, while trying to get her icy mother to talk about her past.

Although the book is advertised as a thriller, most of the time I was more infuriated than thrilled. Leaving aside the question of Ray’s guilt or innocence, the way he was/is treated by others—including Rosita, the opportunistic neighbor who used and then rejected him, as well as one of the employees of the institution he’s been transferred to, who seemingly frames Ray for smuggling drugs into the facility (there’s no resolution to this minor plot point)—generates a great deal of empathy. In particular, there is an especially cruel scene near the end of the book that made me literally exclaim, “Jesus Christ!” Although he occasionally exhibits frustrated fury, Ray is also shown to be sweet and thoughtful, at one time a skilled baker (thriving in an environment that prioritized both routine and precision) and obsessed with the welfare of his tropical fish (currently in his mother’s care).

I didn’t come away with as vivid a sense of Iris as I did Ray. The scenes involving her job and clients were, in a way, mental palate cleansers from the stress of Ray’s situation, largely bland and unmemorable. When she finally gets her hands on Ray’s case files, her end of the story improves, but there are aspects of the final resolution that are kind of ridiculous. That said, I thought the ultimate ending was satisfying and I doubt I’ll forget the book any time soon.

Mr. Kiss and Tell by Rob Thomas and Jennifer Graham Mr. Kiss and Tell came out in January 2015. I had pre-ordered it the previous May, but when it arrived I just couldn’t get into it, despite a few attempts. A couple of months later, iZombie debuted. It had all the hallmarks of a Rob Thomas show and, lo, I love it. So much so, in fact, that I started to feel like I’d be okay without further adventures in Veronica’s world. Mr. Kiss and Tell spent the next two years occupying various spots in my living room. Then, finally, I read it. And I remembered how deeply I love these characters and now I am totally sad that there aren’t any more books beyond this one. Yet.

I was somewhat disappointed that the first Veronica book, The Thousand-Dollar Tan Line, did not follow up on the movie storyline about police corruption ion Neptune. Happily, that plotline gets some attention in this book. Weevil is acquitted of the charges against him, but his reputation and business has taken a hit, so he agrees to a civil suit against the county. Keith works to find others who’ll testify about evidence-planting, and meanwhile a candidate enters the race against Lamb, who’d been running for reelection unopposed. There’s some closure on this by the end of the book, but still plenty of room for more going forward.

Veronica, meanwhile, is hired by the Neptune Grand to investigate a rape that took place in their hotel. The case has quite a few twists and turns, although it surprised me some by not twisting as much as I expected. (So is that, therefore, a twist?) By far, however, the best parts of the book are the conversations between the characters. Veronica and Logan, Veronica and Keith, Veronica and Weevil… I could vividly imagine each being performed by the cast, which is almost as good as not having to imagine. I especially liked that things still aren’t 100% perfect in Veronica’s world, and Logan is only home for a few months before the accidental death of one of his friends means that his shipmates are a man down. Veronica struggles to understand why he feels so strongly that he must return early, leading to my favorite scene, in which Logan reveals what his life was like in the years she was gone, and how he ended up in Officer Candidate School. It’s a bit implausible that they hadn’t had this conversation before, but it’s riveting nonetheless.

In fact, my only quibble is a bit of timeline fluffery near the beginning. On the whole, this was immensely satisfying and I will continue to hope for more books in the future. After all, never giving up hope has worked out for Veronica Mars fans in the past!

The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie This was a reread for me, but one I hadn’t yet reviewed, since I read it shortly before creating this blog. (I did review Christie’s second and third books before getting sidetracked. This time I shall persevere and read them all!)

A soldier named Hastings, invalided home from the front, runs into John Cavendish, an acquaintance who invites him to recuperate at Styles Court, where Hastings had often visited as a boy. It is Hastings who narrates the story of what happens there. In brief, instead of John inheriting Styles Court upon the death of his father, the property was bequeathed to his stepmother, Emily, upon whom he is presently dependent for funds. When Emily is poisoned, suspicion initially turns to her strange (and substantially younger) new husband, Alfred Inglethorp, and then ultimately onto John himself. The cast of suspects is rounded out by siblings, spouses, friends, and servants. Hastings suggests bringing his old friend Hercule Poirot in to investigate.

I did remember “whodunit,” along with the explanation for one perplexing aspect of the case, but otherwise, most of this felt new to me. In fact, I think I enjoyed it even more than the first time. Oh, I still find Hastings annoying, but Christie’s depiction of Poirot’s appearance and mannerisms struck me as especially vivid this time around, and I was left with a more distinct impression of him than I’d held previously. (I had somehow acquired a mental picture of Poirot that had him looking like Alfred Hitchcock!) Although some of the clues are a bit convoluted and/or improbable, the overall solution is satisfying and makes sense. What’s more, my enthusiasm for tackling the rest of Christie’s oeuvre has been rekindled!

The Outpost by Mike Resnick In an effort to broaden my horizons and read more science fiction, I went looking for books that might appeal to fans of Firefly. In the course of that search, I came across The Outpost. The notion of a bunch of space-faring outlaw types gathering at a bar on the edge of the galaxy, swapping stories, then banding together to fight off some aliens sounded appealing. Don’t be fooled like I was.

While it is indeed true that a bunch of space-facing outlaw types do gather to swap their stories, these recitations are actually highly embellished tall tales, and they seem to go on for an interminable amount of time. Finally, during a brief middle section of the book, the bar’s patrons go off and fight some aliens, and getting a glimpse of reality, including several pointless and unheroic deaths, was the best part of the novel. All too soon, they’re back at the Outpost, telling their war adventures with varying degrees of embellishment. It’s at this point that several very boring arguments on the ethics of “improving” history ensue.

It’s true that sometimes, I did smile or laugh at something, but on the whole this book just riled me up. None of the characters has any depth whatsoever, and several are positively odious. Many of the stories told by the guys involve busty and lusty women, and it’s fine if the characters themselves are sexist (to be fair, one of the female characters does call them out on this eventually), but most of the female characters created by Resnick are also vampy vixens whose stories are sex-oriented and bodily proportions repeatedly emphasized.

I listened to the unabridged audio version read by Bob Dunsworth, and I cannot recommend it. He frequently misreads and mispronounces words, so that at one point someone is wearing “flowering” robes instead of “flowing” ones, “defenestrating” loses a syllable, “etiquette” gets a “kw” sound, et cetera. Making it through the book was a tremendous slog, and more than once I cursed my completist nature.

These Vicious Masks by Tarun Shanker and Kelly Zekas I can’t for the life of me remember how I heard about this book. I immediately put in a materials request with my library, but when it arrived I didn’t remember it at all. It does have hallmarks of something that would appeal to me, though: a setting of England in 1882, superpowers, romance, one of the authors mentioning Buffy in the dedication… It boded well.

I found it a bit disappointing at first, however, despite an independent and snarky heroine (Evelyn Wyndham, and is that a Buffy/Angel reference?) and dialogue that made me snicker right from the start. It just seemed so like “Pride and Prejudice with superpowers” that I began to wonder who was meant to be who. (“That charming fellow Mr. Kent, set up as a romantic rival to surly and brooding Sebastian Braddock, must be the Wickham surrogate!”) Too, the constant bickering between Evelyn and Sebastian, as they work together to rescue her sister the healer from a scientist who wants to experiment on her, did grate after a while.

However, in the end the book surprised me. Not just by deviating from the Pride and Prejudice mold or by imbuing people with unsuspected powers, but by taking the plot in a direction that absolutely made sense and which I absolutely did not see coming. A sequel (These Ruthless Deeds) has just been released and verily, I shall read it.

By: Michelle Smith