Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Five

"Just some tissue." Margaux's voice was higher in pitch than she had meant it to be.

She hid the container behind her back, balling her other fist to hide the swab inside the mound of tissue paper.

"Shut the door," Bart instructed the guard.

The guard slammed the door shut and stood in front of it, blocking it with his huge body.

"I would like to leave now," said Margaux, turning away.

Bart stormed towards her, pulling a gun from the drawer next to the couch and grabbing her wrist tight. She dropped the tissue on floor, the swab rolling out of it. Bart looked down and took a few steps back.

"What do you know?" he said.

"Everything." Margaux revealed the swab container and dropped it on the floor next to the tissues. She took the recorder out of her bra and switched it off, throwing it over to the couch and raising both hands. "But that's it, that's all of my evidence, so..." she trailed off, her eyes wandering to the floor.

"How can I be sure?"

Margaux raised her arms higher in the air. "I'm not sure what else you think I could hide under this ridiculously tight dress. A gun too, perhaps? Or maybe a sword–"

"Who are you working for?" Bart interrupted, marching towards her and holding the gun inches from her face.

"No one." She lied. "I... I worked on the case of a body found in a field. I managed to identify it as Bartholomew Mentford. Then I saw your story in the paper; I put two and two together and realised you're a fraud... and a murderer." She scowled. "I'm working alone."

"I can't trust you," he began. "You can come with me to accept my money. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He grabbed her and turned her to face the door. He pushed her into it, clutching at one of her arms, his other hand pressing the gun into her lower back. He nodded at the guard to open the door and pushed Margaux into the foyer.

III

Sherlock bent down, examining the piece of Painite which sat inside its case. It was a huge chunk of deep, brownish-golden crystal, the edges were jagged and to any normal person, it was completely unremarkable. But Sherlock could see its value. As he leant in close, watching how those jagged edges reflected the light like glitter, he could see straight through the stone, as if it were a piece of rich amber-coloured glass. It reminded him of Margaux, somehow. He couldn't look away.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." the museum curator addressed the room. "If you could all make your way over here, we would like to invite Mr Mentford to... sign some very exciting contracts!" She smiled. The room murmured with subdued laughter.

Sherlock peeled his eyes from the Painite, turning to see Bart Mentford's imposter strolling into the room; cut lip, bloody shirt, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, fake smile. Something had happened. He glanced to the woman in Mentford's arms. Margaux. She was smiling too; a worried smile. Every few moments, she would look up at Mentford, her smile dropping instantly, before looking around the room again.

Sherlock and Margaux's eyes met. He scrunched his brow inquisitively. She replied with a quick glance down to the arm holding the gun behind her back. Sherlock understood.

John appeared at Sherlock's side. "I couldn't have kept them any longer. They were... Wait, what's Margaux doing with him?"

"John, I need you to go into the room they've just come out of. There will most likely be blood, either on furniture, on tissues in a bin or on a swab if she managed to get that far. Get it to Molly." Sherlock spoke without breaking eye contact with Margaux who was being led like a piece of arm candy across the room by Mentford.