Read Murder with Lens: A Sherlock Holmes Case (221B Baker Street Series) for Free Online

her expression now quite like the dark thunderhead rolling in beyond the windows. She reached him, grabbed both of Holmes arms and yanked them out toward her. Her husky voice went off. “Slight wince on the motion of your left arm, tendon or muscle damage high up makes you inclined to frame your shoulders stiffly and keep that arm closer to the body. It’s because you remember pain, maybe serious tissue damage there, and, mentally, you’re still dealing with the trauma. But that’s not even the good part. Slight inward turn on the right arm is even more telling. It was accompanied by a tiny shudder. Shivering isn’t pain. You’re not protecting it, you’re hiding it. You put your inner elbow almost against your ribs. You’d put your hands behind your back if you could, and hold that position. So – long term psychological damage. I’m thinking lefty got badly hurt recently, and that’s giving you flashbacks. But righty, I’m getting that’s self-induced. I’m thinking you’re left-handed, and that inner elbow is your favourite injection spot. So that’s where you shot whatever the hell you did so your eyes could go blank, and you didn’t have to deal with all of this shit.” She released his arms with a shove and spoke slowly to him. “Don’t you ever dis me again.”
    With that, Reese turned on her heel and strode down the hall toward the elevators.
    Sherlock tucked his hands behind his back. The left hand locked around the right. His expression was completely smooth and abstracted. He might have been a resin doll.
    “Sherlock,” John said quietly. There was no indication he’d heard. “All right?”
    In the elevator, Reese held the door. She looked up at Holmes wordlessly.
    He started forward without hesitation, the cell returning to his hand so that he could browse the internet on the way. Special Agent Young followed closely, with Scott.
    “What the hell was that?” Lestrade asked quietly.
    Lewis lowered his voice, “Oh. Oh yeah. The big guns, the really smart ones, they have an adjustment period when they first meet. There’s always conflict. Reese is the best we have, so there’s been a lot of rivalry around her since she’s been about fourteen. I’m surprised he did so well. I didn’t think he’d get the little greeting ritual our Assets do.”
    “Let me get one thing straight with you and your people,” John said softly. “He’s not an Asset. He’s not equipment. He’s just a man, and if you mess him about, I will seriously make you regret it.”
    A moment after, John stepped into the elevator. He came to a stop beside Sherlock. Holmes leaned in the back left corner. Reese leaned in the front right. They stared at one another noiselessly, and even with the packed elevator, there might have been no one else there. As if nothing out of the ordinary were taking place, Special Agent Young pressed the G button. The doors slid closed.
    “Why?” Holmes asked.
    Reese raised her chin a little in challenge. “What did you shoot? I’m betting cocaine. Everything else is just so trashy compared to cocaine. Am I right?”
    “Yes.” Sherlock said.
    “Expensive.”
    “If you’re smart enough, price stops being an issue. Why did you slit your wrists?”
    “Because I so loved the world,” She looked away. Her inability to meet his eyes was the second sign of a chink in her steely armour.
    “Are you satisfied that you failed?” He asked. “The scars are old, perhaps half a decade old.”
    She peered through black forelocks and replied. “Four and a half years old…. Very good. You’ve seen a lot of scar tissue.”
    “I have.”
    Reese thought about it for a moment. “You miss being high?”
    Seconds ticked. Sherlock shut his eyes, “Sometimes.”
    “Is it better not being high?” she asked him.
    There was a long pause before he answered. “Yes.” He opened his eyes again.
    Reese, in her corner of the elevator was now softly smiling. It looked disarming, like she was finally