Welcome to Baker Street

8. The impossible

"Cryptic," Sherlock mumbles thoughtfully, looking down at the note.

"She was in a hurry, and she only left what seems to be a useless message before taking her own life. And yet she went to a lot of trouble to hide it. But why the rush and those precautions?"

His questions echo in the room. He wanders for a while, pacing the floor. Suddenly he whips his head up and widens his eyes in realisation.

"Oh! Someone was hunting her down. She knew they would have eventually found her, so she came here and wrote those words to a very specific person. It's not a common suicidal note. This one was meant to be extremely personal. And for some reason, she didn't want her chasers to read it." He makes a pause before whispering, "Someone wanted her dead."

Lestrade frowns. "And she preferred to kill herself?"

Sherlock gives him a grim look. "She wasn't afraid of dying, but she feared something worse."

"Worse than death?"

Holmes stares into his eyes, spelling out gravelly, "Torture."

"Why would someone torture her?"

"To get information," Sherlock replies instinctively, as if it was crystal clear. As much as there might be sadistic people on this earth that would torture others just for fun, he knows that this wasn't the case. She wasn't randomly attacked in a dark alley by a maniac. She knew that someone was coming for her, and she knew what they wanted. Most importantly, she was aware of what fate would be waiting for her if she let them put their hands on her.

Lestrade sighs. "Right. And what kind of information?"

"About a terrorist attack. It's obvious, isn't it?" intervenes a nasal voice belonging to a man with short brown hair that has just entered the room. The man is in forensics, for he is wearing a coverall and a pair of latex gloves.

Sherlock glances at him for a second, and his eyes fill with disdain.

"Where did you dig out this brilliant idea, Anderson?" he emphasises the irony of his question.

"From the piece of evidence gathered in this house and the security footages in nearby stores. Several cameras caught her," Anderson points an accusatory finger at the cadaver, "with a group of men suspected of terroristic affiliations, who were being monitored by Scotland Yard." He leans arrogantly against the wall.

"This explains the freeze-frame from security footage in her report," Sherlock realises, shooting a reproachful look at Lestrade for not being more outspoken during their phone call.

"Although, the mere fact she was mingling with the wrong crowd doesn't prove that she was one of them. Terrorists do not commit suicide without causing damages and casualties." He glances at the corpse on the floor, then affirms confidently, "She was simply on the run. Cathy Baaral was not a terrorist."

"I don't know that, but I can say you got something wrong. This woman isn't Cathy Baaral." Lestrade says as several wrinkles crowd his forehead.

Sherlock shoots a disoriented look at him, then fishes his phone out of his pocket, opens the photo attached to the text, and compares it with the victim's face.

"Of course she is."

The D.I. shakes his head slowly.

"This is what I tried to tell you just a few moments ago, but you interrupted me with your deductions. Everyone believed so, then we got lab results."

Holmes freezes. "The DNA doesn't match?"

"It partly does. But the fingerprints don't," the inspector clarifies, leaving the detective visibly confused.

"I'm not following you. How's it possible?"

Lestrade raises his eyes at him and looks like he is about to announce that the aliens have just invaded Earth.

"Because this is Cathy Baaral's secret twin."