(JANUS CARS; Alice’s POV: )

 Sherlock, John and I were in the office of the car hire company. John sat on the other side of the desk to the owner, taking notes while Sherlock looked out into the forecourt. I leaned on the threshold of the door again, my arms folded.

“Can’t see how I can help you gentlemen.” Mr. Ewert said.

“Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday.” John said.

“Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself!” Ewert said again. Sherlock walked over to the other side of the desk so that he’s standing beside Ewert, then pointed into the forecourt.

“Is that one?” He asked. Ewert turned his head to look and Sherlock immediately looked closely at the side of the man’s neck.

“No, they’re all Jags. Yeah, I can see you’re not a car man, eh?” He replied. I snickered. Sherlock straightened up and looked at me briefly as Ewert looked round and smiled at John.

“But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, it’s a fair point. But you know how it is: it’s like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the liquorices allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?” He started scratching near the top of his left arm with his right hand. Sherlock looked at him for a moment, then turned away and headed around the room towards the other side of the desk.

“But you didn’t know Mr. Monkford?” John questioned.

“No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod.” Ewert said. When Sherlock reached the other side of the desk he stopped.

“Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?” Sherlock asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Eh?” The greasy man asked.

“You’ve been away, haven’t you?” Sherlock asked again.

“Oh, the-the...” He stammered, gesturing to his tanned face. “No, it’s, er, sunbeds, I’m afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun.”

“Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?” Sherlock asked again, immediately changing the subject.

“What?” Ewert asked.

“Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven’t got any change.” Sherlock explained, offering Ewert a bank note. “I’m gasping.”

“Um, well...” He reached into his trouser pocket and took out his wallet. “Hmm.” He opened the wallet and looked inside. “No, sorry.” He concluded, putting his wallet away.

“Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert.” Sherlock thanked, heading towards the door. I joined him on the way out.  “You’ve been very helpful. Come on, John.” We left the office and headed back across the forecourt.

“I-I’ve got change if you still want to, uh...” John stammered.

“Nicotine patches, remember? I’m doing well.” Sherlock excused, patting his upper left arm.

“So what was that all about?” John asked.

“He needed to look inside his wallet.” I explained, moving up next to Sherlock and stuffing my hands in my jean pockets.

“Why?” He asked again, facing me.

“Mr. Ewert’s a liar.” Sherlock said.

 ST. BART’S LAB:

Sherlock had a large drop of blood in a shallow glass dish. Putting it on the desk, he reached into a small bag of equipment, opened a bottle and siphoned out some liquid with a small dropper. Bending down to the dish, he squeezed out a drop of liquid onto the blood, which started to fizz. As Sherlock straightened up, the pink phone rang. The Caller I.D. read “BLOCKED”. He picked up the phone and answered it.

“Hello?” He asked.

“The clue’s in the name. Janus Cars.” The young man said, reading tearfully from the pager.

“Why would you be giving me a clue?” Sherlock asked. I was thinking along perfectly with Sherlock. I bent over next to him and looked at the blood absentmindedly as I listened to the conversation.

"Why does anyone do anything? Because I’m bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock.” The young man answered. I stood back up and looked at Sherlock’s face.

“Then talk to me in your own voice.” He said softly.

“Patience.” He finished. The line went dead. Sherlock lowered the phone and looked thoughtfully into the distance for a while. Finally he looked down at me, and then the fizzing liquid in the dish, then picked up the dish and looked at it more closely. He began to smile.

THREE HOURS TO GO; POLICE CAR POUND

Sherlock, John, Lestrade and I were standing around Monkford’s car.

“How much blood was on that seat, would you say?” I asked.

“How much? About a pint.” Lestrade shrugged.

“Not ‘about’. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood’s definitely Ian Monkford’s but it’s been frozen.” Sherlock corrected.

“Frozen?” Lestrade asked.

“There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that’s what they spread on the seats.” I continued.

“Who did?” John asked.

“Janus Cars. The clue’s in the name.” Sherlock told him.

“The god with two faces.” John murmured.

“Exactly.” I nodded and shifted my weight onto my left foot and folded my arms.

“Mmm.” John hummed.

“They provide a very special service. If you’ve got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he’s a banker. Couldn’t see a way out.” Sherlock began to Lestrade.

“But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver’s seat...” I finished, trailing off.

“So where is he?” John asked.

“Columbia.” Sherlock said, closing the car door.

“Columbia?!” Lestrade exclaimed.

“Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet...” I said, playfully leaning on John and putting my arm around his shoulders.

“...Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn’t been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly.” Sherlock said feeling quite pleased with himself.

“No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm.” I continued.

“His arm?” Lestrade asked.

“Kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding.” Sherlock explained. “Why? Because he’d recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance.” Sherlock began again.

“Conclusion: he’d just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars.” I concluded turning and smiling on a confused John.

“M-Mrs Monkford?” He stammered.

“Oh yes. She’s in on it too.” Sherlock said. Lestrade lowered his head with a look of amazement on his face. I smirked.

“Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That’s what you do best.” I said happily. Sherlock turned to John and me, me still leaning on him.

“We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved.” He said, turning and leading us away. Lestrade watched us, still reeling at all the information that he had just been given. Sherlock clenched his fists triumphantly as he went.

“I am on fire!” He exclaimed.

“We.” John corrected, pointing at Sherlock and I. Sherlock ignored the comment but I appreciated it and smiled at him.

221B

Sitting at the living room table in our coats –because the heating still can’t be turned on nor the fire lit after the ‘gas leak’ and because the windows are still broken and boarded up – Sherlock typed a new message onto The Science of Deduction:

“Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Columbia.”

I smiled happily, sitting on the coffee table next to John in his chair. He sent the message. A few seconds later another ‘blocked’ phone call came in on the pink phone lying on the table beside the computer. Sherlock switched the phone on.

“He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please.” The young man said, terrified and crying. Sherlock gave a call to Lestrade and we sat in 221B, smiling at each other, satisfied.

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