The Elephant in the Room [Greg Lestrade, Sage Underwood, Sherlock,)

It was spring in London. May. Sparrows twerped on the balcony outside the window of 221B Baker Street in the bright sunshine and hopped in and out of the clay pots picking greenfly off the multicoloured pansies. Five months had passed for Sherlock after the private jet taking him to a death sentence in exile in Serbia had turned around landing him back on the tarmac of a minor military airfield in the middle of nowhere.

Sherlock looked out of the window at the retreating back of his client. He was far less picky about the cases he took on these days. Something had changed him. Her son, a bright lad, for an ordinary 18 year old had died of an unusually pure heroin overdose. He wasn't a druggie, she insisted, or she wouldn't be here wasting his time she said. It wasn't murder unless he'd been forced, it wasn't suicide so it seemed to be an accident. But someone had supplied him with the drug and she didn't want someone else's child to die. Don't solve the murder save the life. “I'll take your case.” He had told her.  The sparrows, who lived in their own little world, ignorant of all that was false, specious and morally corrupt in Sherlock's world, ignored him as Mrs Hudson showed in the next client. He dashed a text off to ask for the word on the street about high purity drug dealing.

The new client was a slim and neat young woman, a little under 30, perhaps, who, with thick rectangles of black spectacles hiding most of her face, entered the flat hesitantly, looking around. She explained that she had met a man from a dating website and had been date raped. There were no CCTV tapes, no witnesses and she couldn't adequately describe her attacker so Scotland Yard couldn't help at all. The detective sighed, sensing it was going to be one of those days. It suddenly occurred to him that there was something vaguely familiar about the woman's build and the frankly alarming glasses. There was a girl he had seen, similar to this woman, walking through the office in Scotland Yard. She was in the IT Department. “Leave it with me.” He assured his client and grabbing his coat left her to Hudders as he hurried out the door to grab a taxi. The taxi dropped Sherlock at Scotland Yard's door.

"My greatest enemy, we meet again."

With a vaguely disappointed frown, Sage looked down at the fax machine from the doorway of the copy room. It was a Mexican standoff made for the big screen. But instead of a colt revolver, Sage was armed with a stack of papers, and conversely the fax machine was armed with the seemingly endless unmarked papers that it seemed to gag out of its mouth with each hoarse creak of its machinery. The cliche tumbleweed was nonexistent in this case, but it would have been a nice touch.

A sigh from the Technician broke the tension, and it was back to the now routine fixing of the fax machine. There was no gritty sand or western music, just bland office walls and The Beach Boys playing quietly in Sage's earbuds. She set down her stack of papers on the counter, and got herself to work.

Little did she know of the detective seeking her out, and little did she know of her possible involvement with a case. All that was on her mind was the task at hand, the silent prayer that the new fax machine would be delivered soon, and the haunting thought in the depths of her mind that a certain El Diablo doesn't kill her in her sleep tonight.

Greg wasn't at all with his best game, he was running low on fumes but then suddenly Greg jerked as his phone went off, sure it was on vibrate. It was Sherlock.

"A druggie? Oh no...don't say it, don't say it..." He was hoping that Sherlock wasn't on drugs as they would mean having to put him behind bars, if anything stupid was committed. But at the moment, he was simply too tired, putting his head in his hands and groaning.

Sage had him worried, she wouldn't bloody tell him on what was going on with her and being 'ill', in fact, that barely cam up at all anymore. It was something that had stuck in his mind but he hadn't mentioned it when she had come back to work.

He didn't take anymore notice to his cell phone and grudgingly went back to work, taking his head out of his hands and sitting on his lazy ass. Sally was off duty and so was Anderson, no one was around to fetch him coffee. "Murder...murder...murder...oh, robbery..." He felt like Sherlock now, bored from all the small murders, but unlike the consulting detective, Greg had to help these families and see what had happened to their friends, lovers and had no real option of saying: 'no, sorry, can't help you...'

((Sorry, I had exams :-/))

Don't say what? Sherlock wondered as he clicked his phone off. There was nothing from his Homeless Network and Lestrade must not have any information. He wondered exactly what he had to do these days to convince everyone that he wasn't a womanising, sex maniac or an addict. He felt he couldn't blame them for putting two and two together and coming up with six though from his past dabbling with drugs. There was only one thing for it, if Lestrade was snowed under and not coming out to get him into the IT department he would have to take himself up there. How to get in? Heavy parcels, files, blag it showing a plastic card which probably wouldn't work. That'd be embarrassing. He looked around, his gaze flickering intensely over desks and tables. His eyes fell on a taped up parcel with a brand name fax machine and an image of the model. "Gotcha."

"This is on my way." Sherlock smiled at the receptionist using one of the best, most charming versions of a smile in his stock. "Oh.." She preened, a little distracted, as Sherlock scooped up the box and sailed off with it to the lift.

His next question would be to find the right room on the bland corridor as he got out of the lift and peered into open plan offices and rooms. Then he saw the girl he was looking for. "That sounds like this is what you need." He gave Sage Underwood, according to her ID badge, a small and natural little smile. "Fax machine."

If Sage didn't have her music on low volume, she would have ignored the seemingly delivery man for a good three minutes before noticing him. Yet, seeing as this wasn't the case, she gladly acknowledged the other as he entered the copy room.

"Yes, that is exactly what I need, thank you!" Judging by the accent, the IT was clearly American, her most recent residency being Boston by the sounds of it.

Sage was more than happy to put down the papers she had in her hands, which were really only old manual books, and take out her earbuds so she could hear the other a bit better.

"This thing has been giving me trouble since the day I got here," She said with a bit of a laugh, "So it's nice to see it go."

Sherlock had arrived, how bloody lovely. Greg hauled himself off his seat and wandered down to where Sage and Sherlock were having a rather nice conversation. "Don't think I am getting rid of it…" Greg chuckled slightly, a smile creeping on his face when he saw Sherlock, it quickly disappeared.

"Sherlock, what do you really want? If there is a case, spit it out. I want in. I'm also guessing that you need Sage too?" Greg leaned to one side, his hand draping one the fax machine. For him, it was rather odd having a visit from Sherlock, his way usually included embarrassing him in front of the press with a simple word.

His gaze fixed on Sage, but not for too long, worry was clearly on the forefront of his mind as the previous texts from her came floating back into his mind. And it showed.

"Sage, you alright…?"

Sherlock's ears detected the long 'ah' and lost 'r' and the short, jaunty 'o' of not quite a native Bostonian but someone who'd had daily contact with the accent. "You lived in Boston for a time." He replied in his Old Harrovian tone then continuing modulated his reply using the Bostonian accent which sounded like “Weall, yu cahn pahk it in the cornuh ahn fahget it now.”"Sherlock grinned. He liked showing off his skills and he lacked an appreciative audience with John out of the picture. Their conversation was terminated by Lestrade who was obviously itching to know why he was talking to Sage. "I do actually. Since Scotland Yard was unable to help my client."

Perhaps if Sage had a rarer, more specific regional accent she would be impressed more with the other's observation. The Boston accent was portrayed many times in movies and shows. Not to mention that Sage figured that like many Americans, she thought the country was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and that a person would be crazy not to know about the regional differences of the nation.

Yet despite all this, she still smiled and even laughed a little at his mimicking of the accent. "I guess I lived there long enough to make it obvious." She said in good humor.

Though she couldn't help but get a little uneasy when Lestrade entered the room. "Wait you're not? But it's so old..." She then perked up a bit at the mention of her being a part of a case. But before she could speak her mind on the matter, she had to first answer Lestrade's latest question now directed to her.

"Never been better!" Quick and too the point, and perhaps too much of that.

If her hired criminal was any good, then she really would have nothing to worry about. Greg didn't need to know, no one did. No good would come of it, and she felt it best to fight her own battles anyway.

Greg frowned at Sage's answer but something told him to shrug it off. He felt more embarrassed by the fact that Sherlock was trying to put on a Bostonian accent. "What client?" Greg couldn't remember being asked by anyone to have helped out, either that or Sally hadn't left him a memo or a post-it note or Anderson had turned it into a dinosaur.

"So, can you be more specific, because I can't exactly help with the fact that Scotland Yard didn't help, unless it was me personally turning someone down, in which…I don't remember." Greg crossed his arms, growing tired of standing up.

Old age was settling in quick. He must stay off the beers next time, a mental reminder was set in his head. Greg wasn't ready for having a big case lobbed onto his head, especially when it was apparently their fault for turning down Sherlock's clients. Who would have guessed? "So, what can we do to help?"

"It wasn't a big leap, no" Sherlock admitted with an unusually generous smile, for him, at picking up on Sage's accent. "It just passes time." He sighed internally. He knew that something was bothering Sage by her oh so fast and bright attempt to cover it.

He turned to Greg to answer his query. "My client joined an online dating site, she arranged to meet a man and was drug-raped. Apart from temporary psychological damage she should be fine in time. She came to Baker Street on her own. She can't remember anything specific enough to describe him and there is no CCTV footage. DI Blake investigated and couldn't find any witnesses. The dating website, run by two little old ladies who fancied themselves as matchmakers, closed and they destroyed the hard drive to comply with the Data Protection Act all they can remember is he prefers women who are similar to my client and none of them went for dates with 'romantic321' so he can't be traced. He'll probably pop up under a new false identity on another chat or date site."

Sherlock turned back to Sage. "Which is where you can help. With...Greg's approval. I need a very appealing dating brand new website with false profiles in a hurry. I also need one profile with a picture of a woman similar in physical description to my client. You, Sage, match quite well. Since it's not possible for you to officially set him up because you are the police and he could claim entrapment, if he is lured into my flat by Sage you could just happen to be there, Greg, to arrest him." He thought it was one of his best ideas all week.

Now, Sage was no crime expert or witty detective, but she watched enough Law and Order to have a general understanding of what she signed up for, though it was the Hollywood version at best. As far as the website making and maintaining went, it'd take some time and some money. Time to design and code the site, as well as making false profiles and getting advertizing. And then the money to pay for the domain name and the subscription, and to have the website advertized. Just thinking about it made her head spin, but it was all for the help of one person and the prevention of any future victims, and that was enough to have her on board.

"I can do all of that and everything. But just one thing... What's to prevent us from getting the wrong guy?"

"That's good." Sage had the skills and she agreed to help so Sherlock was a happy man.

"How do you mean the wrong guy?" Sherlock queried Sage, puzzled. "If anyone comes into my flat with and attempts to drug you in a drink, you know in advance not to take a drink, there'll be a camera to film the proceedings as evidence and it'll enable us to watch out for you."

He might have dubious morals according to John at times but he would never intentionally allow anyone associated with him to be at risk from serious harm. "I'll be in my bedroom on the same floor, you can use a phrase if you don't feel safe. I will hear you. Sensitive ears. Besides which there is a bedroom upstairs not being used. Greg, you can watch the filming from up there."

Greg nodded, finding himself in a slightly awkward situation. But nonetheless, he was rather happy about this idea. "Fine, long as we catch this guy, I've approved." Greg liked the sound of the idea and was quite happy to go along with it, Sage had already asked the one question on his mind at the moment.

"How long do you need, Sherlock?"

Greg wasn't Sage nor was he a top-notch IT expert but he sure knew that setting up a site was one of the longest things to do, especially if they were to start it from scratch. He will be bringing his pistol, it would be his fault if Sage had managed to be drugged and taken away. That wouldn't fair well with anyone at the Yard.

"Look, I've got a taser but I will also have my pistol, Sage. So…you still alright with all of it?"

Sherlock grinned. "I need it yesterday." There was another case he had to investigate and more clients would roll up with small civil matters that were outside of the police remit. The mid-life crisis men having affairs, too many of those. He hadn't had a lost rabbit case for years. Supposedly stolen dog, lost racehorse, missing cat but no hell hounds or lost glowing rabbits. Redbeard. He knew how little Kirsty felt losing her pet. Trying to not feel hadn't worked, trying to not feel to be sharper witted had been an error. Genius needed an audience and his most appreciative one had someone else to admire. Feeling like the worst so having to act like I'm the best.

Sage did not dwell long on the possible danger, or exactly what she was getting herself into. It sounded action-y and covert, like a Hollywood drama. If it fit the criteria for that, then she was pretty much on board with anything. Though her romanticized view on crime wasn't really the best in terms of her own well being, it was the best in having a willing participant. A person to "take one for the team", as they say.

"It all is well and fine with me!" She smiled blissfully, a certain ignorance like that of a child. Surely she didn't understand the danger, and she would only know it when she came face to face with the rapist himself.

"So, I guess I'll get to work with the website? I'll need a week, at least. Though I can cut it down to half, if I can include a few friends to work on it...?"

Greg nodded, allowing for the conversation to continue it's natural pace. But if Sherlock needed it yesterday, he could have at least sent a few text messages. But he still had the nagging feeling about Sage being put up as bait and her willingness to get involved so quickly, it was almost like he was being a father figure. He had to stop it.

"Alright, so all I really have to do is sit here and be quiet?"

Greg wasn't certain about having her friends working on it, it may endanger the case. "How much would you tell them?"

It was John's old bedroom upstairs that Greg could watch from "He shouldn't hear you, no."

Sherlock had hoped for a quicker turnaround and Greg had a good point. "He's right." The fewer involved in this the better. "Show me what to do and I'll do the profiles." He held up his hand to hush any objection that he couldn't possibly learn quickly. "I can learn a language with common root words in an hour or so although the pronunciation may take a little longer. It depends. Tibetan was a little difficult took two hours nearly. Serbian only took an hour. Slavic loan words." He explained or thought that he had explained. "You can use my flat. I've got five laptops and wifi."

He turned to Greg."You could bring fish and chips so that Sage and myself can keep working tonight."