Okay, sorry this took longer than usual to update. Weekends are hetic and weekdays are calmer for me, so here you go. I'll update again in a couple of days. Please vote and comment! Thank you, lovely peoples!!

(TAXI; Alice’s POV: )

 As we sat in the back of the cab, Sherlock was looking at the pink phone in frustration. I sat by the window next to John, who was imbetween Sherlock and I, staring out of it, the rest of the world blurred out.

“Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?” Sherlock complained. A thought striked him and he leaned forward to the taxi driver.

“Waterloo Bridge.” He commanded.

“Where now? The Gallery?” John asked.

“In a bit.” Sherlock confirmed.

“The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?” John asked, making an intelligent observation.

“Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.” Sherlock replied. He had taken his notebook from his pocket and now wrote something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He put the paper into his pocket, and then a few seconds later called out to the driver.

“Stop!” He shouted. The cab pulled over to the side of the road. “You wait here. I won’t be a moment.” He said before slamming the door. I watched him through the window. He got out, went to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaulted over them.

“Sherlock...” John complained, getting out of the cab as well. As Sherlock walked off, John shook his head in exasperation, then scrambled over the railings and followed him. Sherlock trotted up some steps to where a young homeless woman was sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge. She had a large bag beside her with a handwritten cardboard sign poking out of the top. The first two words on the sign said,”HUNGRY AND”. Presumably the next word, obscured by some of her possessions, was ‘HOMELESS’.

“Change? Any change?” She asked Sherlock. (I read her lips.)

“What for?” Sherlock asked. It seemed as though it was a code.

“Cup of tea, of course.” She replied, smiling as if it was obvious. I raised my eyebrows. In front of me the cabby sighed, frustrated.

“Sorry, mate. Just a moment more.” I said to him. He looked back to me and nodded, turning back.

“Here you go – fifty.” Sherlock said, handing the girl the piece of paper from his pocket.

“Thanks.” She thanked, smiling sweetly. Sherlock immediately turned and walks away again. John looked at him in bewilderment before turning and following, pointing back towards the girl.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Investing.” Sherlock answered.  John looked back to where the girl was unfolding the note and reading it. Sherlock went to the railings and easily leaped over them again. He opened the door of the cab.

“Now we go to the Gallery.” He said, looking at me and smiling. He stopped and then looked back at John. “Have you got any cash?” He asked. Before John could answered, I did.

“I’ll cover it.” I spoke for only the second time that day. Sherlock got into the cab, making me scoot over and John after him. Now I was by the other window next to Sherlock, who was now imbetween.

HICKMAN GALLERY

 The taxi pulled up and Sherlock stepped out. John was about to get out as well but Sherlock stopped him.

“No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.” Sherlock commanded.

“Okay.” John said obediently. Sherlock then looked at me.

“How do you fancy dressing up?” He asked. He didn’t wait for me to answer and pulled me out. John closed the cab door and gave the cabby new instructions after I gave him two ten pound notes. Sherlock and I walked away toward the gallery without a word.

(ALEX WOODBRIDGE’S HOME; John’s POV: )

 Julie led me into Alex’s tiny attic bedroom. It was messy with clothes scattered everywhere, and near the window -which looked up into the sky- was a large object covered with a sheet.

“We’d been sharing about a year. Just sharing.” Julie said, emphasizing sharing.

“Mmm.” I hummed, looking around more.  Julie stopped and gestured around the room. I walked in and looked around, not touching anything. I looked at the sheet-covered object and pointed to it.

“May I?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She replied sadly. I tried to lift just the top of the sheet but it slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. I winced.

“Sorry.” I said quickly. I looked at the telescope on a tripod which had been revealed.” Stargazer, was he?” I asked.

“G*d, yeah. Mad about it. It’s all he ever did in his spare time.” She looked away sadly. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him.” She looked around the room. “He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” She laughed nervously. I smiled at her, then I allowed myself to look disgusted as she looked away.

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” I asked.

“It was just a job, you know?” She answered, shaking her head.

“Hmm.” I thought. I bent down and peered at the items on the bedside table. “Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?” I asked.

“No. We had a break-in, though.” Julie told me.

“Hmm? When?” I asked, straightening up.

“Last night. There was nothing taken. Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline.” She said, remembering.

“Who was it from?” I asked.

“Well, I can play it for you if you like. I’ll get the phone.” She offered.

“Please.” I nodded. She went out of the room briefly and came back with the phone and played the message.

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it’s Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when...” A woman’s voice said. It just stopped in mid-sentence.

“Professor Cairns?” I asked.

“No, no idea, sorry.” Julie apologized.

“Mmm. Can I try and ring back?” I asked.

“Well, no good. I mean, I’ve had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know.” She said sadly. I nodded and Julie left the room again just as my phone trilled a text alert. I got the phone out and looked at the message which read;

“RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
Have you spoken to West’s
fiancée yet?
Mycroft Holmes”

I grimaced and put the phone away again.

(HICKMAN GALLERY; Third Person View: )

 An elegantly dressed woman walked into the large white-painted room which was displaying the Vermeer painting. There was no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but free-standing posts were roped together to form a path to the picture. The woman stopped at the sight of a security man in a black jacket and black cap standing in front of the painting with his back to her next to a tall red-headed woman wearing the same, but a woman’s version.

“Don’t you have something to do?” She asked in an Eastern-European accent.

“Just admiring the view.” The man answered, his voice revealing himself as Sherlock Holmes.

“Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work. We open tonight.” The woman commanded.  Sherlock looked over his shoulder and then turned and walked towards her. The woman (whom we all know is Alice) turned around as well, her weight on her left foot and her arms folded.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Sherlock asked.

“What?” the woman demanded.

“That the painting’s a fake.” Alice said.

“What?” The woman demanded again angrily.

“It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation.” Sherlock said, getting closer to her and looking at her I.D badge. “You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wenceslas?” He asked.

“Who are you?” Miss Wenceslas asked, looking at both of them. Alice walked up to Sherlock a bit, not speaking.

“Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?” Sherlock demanded, getting in her face.

“Golem? What the h*ll are you talking about?” She shouted.

“Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?” Sherlock said, his eyes searching her face.

“It’s not a fake.” She repeated.

“It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.” Sherlock argued.

“What the h*ll are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot.” Miss Wenceslas threatened.

“Not a problem.” Sherlock said.

“No?” She scoffed.

“No. We don’t work here, you see. Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.” Sherlock retorted.

“How did you get in?” She demanded, glaring at Alice as she came up to Sherlock.

“Please.” Sherlock scoffed scornfully.

“I want to know.” She demanded, obviously to fix the enormous gap in her security.

“The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.” Sherlock explained, beginning to walk away with Alice at his side and taking off their caps.

“Who are you?” Miss Wenceslas demanded again. She was a very demanding woman.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He announced, dropping the caps onto the top of one of the railing posts and continuing onwards.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” She scoffed.

“You should be.” Sherlock shouted. He took off the jacket, looked round deliberately at her and dropped it on the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoved one open, almost dancing out of the room. Alice smiled at him and gave the woman a sarcastic salute as she followed him out.

“Have a nice day!” Sherlock announced. Miss Wenceslas walked closer to the painting and looked at it as the door slowly and squeakily swung closed.