Dark Star: Chapter 5
Jun. 15th, 2010 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: Dark Star
Chapter Title: Chapter 5
Challenge/Fest: CaseStory Big Bang
Rating: T
Dedication: Thanks to my wonderful artists, to everyone who's heard me rattle on about this, and to my brother for beta-ing.
Fandoms: Torchwood and Sherlock (BBC)
Summary: When Torchwood encounters an everyday case with far from everyday suspects, they need help they can trust. Fortunately, Ianto had an extraordinary flat mate when he was at university.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, OCs. Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Gwen/Owen
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto Jones stood at the top of Roald Dahl Plass, a lone figure with shoulders hunched against the persistent drizzle. He watched every car and bus that came past with an absent gaze, his posture imbued with serene patience despite the sheen of water droplets now coating his suit and the wind that tugged at him and lifted his tie. No one was around here where the wind whistled straight up off the Bay, cold from the Atlantic Ocean, and it would be an hour or so before the hardy dinner crowds started hurrying to their reservations or to a show at the Millennium Centre.
A taxi pulled up in the bus lay-by and a tall, thin man with unruly dark hair, soon made more unruly by the wind, got out before bending over to talk to the driver. Ianto sighed and made his way across to them, clapping his friend on the back and opening the front passenger door. “Good afternoon. How much?”
The driver looked relieved at dealing with someone who wasn't Sherlock Holmes, especially someone who appeared prepared to give him money. “Four hundred, mate,” he answered, with a world-weary tone. “London to Cardiff's a big one.”
Ianto raised his eyebrows, but pulled out his wallet and passed over one hundred pounds and one of his socially acceptable business cards. “You can wait for me to go to a cash point, or send me an invoice.”
After reading the business card carefully, the cab driver nodded his reluctant agreement and folded the notes again. “Urgent business, was it?”
“Something like that. And we may need him again, so send me a business card with the invoice?”
That seemed to cheer him up, and the driver smiled brightly. “Right you are, Mr Jenkins. It's been my pleasure. Good luck to you both, sirs.”
“Thank you. Drive safely.” They both stepped back and closed the doors, then Ianto raised a hand in farewell, letting Sherlock look him over. “So... seen all you need to?”
Sherlock smiled brightly. “Should I be worried that you've learnt to shoot?”
Ianto sighed and beckoned him down the Plass, towards the Water Tower. “Welcome to Cardiff. Capital of Wales, if you've not progressed past the eighteenth century yet.”
Sherlock gave the Water Tower an appraising look and eyed Ianto thoughtfully. “Riveting, Ianto. Where are the bodies?”
“Down there.” Ianto gestured to the sweep of stone across the Plass. “It used to be a wharf.”
“I bet you're insufferable,” Sherlock told him.
“Completely.” They measured each other up once more, and then Ianto grinned. “It's good to see you again.”
“You too,” Sherlock returned his smile and clapped his hands together. “Especially with such a tempting case. And this is your boss, I assume?”
Ianto gaped for a moment, and looked to where Jack had stepped off the invisible lift. “You shouldn't have been able to see him,” he commented, a little awe-struck. “Your mind really does work in strange ways.”
Sherlock looked between them, unusually confused. “Why would I not be able to see him?”
“It's a perception filter,” Jack explained. “Tells your mind that you don't want to see anything standing on that spot.”
“Ah... I've never been one for listening to things like that,” he pointed out. “But that is fearsome technology.”
“It's not technology.” Jack beckoned him forwards and Ianto followed them so that they all crowded together on the stone. “It just happened. This is technology.”
With a clunk, the lift began to descend. Ianto gripped Jack's arm, closing his eyes tightly and so not seeing the grimace that Jack gave at his tight grip. He allowed the contact, though, and kept his eyes on Ianto until the lift arrived at the bottom and he relaxed. “Welcome to the Hub.”
“You have... Did you steal this from a Bond villain?” Sherlock barely glanced at Ianto before raking his gaze across the ceiling again. “Or are you the Bond villain?”
Jack laughed and rested his hand on Ianto's shoulder, using it to push him off the lift and towards the kitchenette. “Ianto...”
“Coffee, sir?” He smiled tightly and left them quicker than usual.
Sherlock watched him go and glanced back up to the space where the lift had descended. “What happened on that lift?”
Jack shot him a glare. “Don't ask, and definitely don't ask him.” He made for his office and changed the subject. “What has Ianto told you about this case?”
“He told me that this was the highest security case I've ever worked on, and that I should look at the Battle of Canary Wharf.” He settled into the chair Jack indicated, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hand on it. “It's not hard to find information on it.”
“I know,” Jack said quietly. He looked out of the office towards the kitchenette and gave Ianto a curt nod. “Ianto prefers it that way.”
“Was it really aliens?”
“Yes it was.”
He leaned forwards and propped his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “So aliens are real, and this is the most classified case I've ever taken. You must be an alien hunting organisation.”
Jack's expression closed and he collected some papers together from his desk. “Yes we are. Torchwood is outside the government, answerable only to the reigning monarch. This is the last surviving defensive outpost, although we had nearly two dozen before the First World War.”
Ianto pushed the door open with his hip and set the tray down on the recently cleared space. “I hope you've picked those papers up to sign them, sir,” he told Jack mildly. “I need to get them to London by the end of the week.”
Sherlock straightened up and picked up the closest mug from the tray. “What's in London?”
“That's classified.” Ianto retrieved the mug and passed it to Jack, handing Sherlock a plain black one. “And that's Jack's.”
“I could just find out,” he taunted.
“You won't.” Ianto pulled another chair over from next to the door and collected his own coffee. “And I wouldn't advise trying. How's the coffee?”
“You're not going to give me food poisoning again, are you?” He pulled a face and sipped it, then gave Ianto a grudgingly pleased smile. “Anyway, tell me more about this case.”
Jack raised an eyebrow when they both looked at them and uncapped his pen, hovering it over the paperwork Ianto wanted him to sign. “My story, then?” He scrawled his signature and dropped the pen. “Male victim, found him about eight this morning. Owen estimated time of death at roughly half two, and the last people to see him alive left the pub at one.”
Sherlock frowned. “The pub?”
“He ran a pub,” Jack explained. “The last people to see him worked the last shift with him and left when they finished cleaning up. That was one o'clock. He died in the bar, and the office was ransacked.”
He narrowed his eyes, uncrossing his legs and leaning further forwards. “The last people to see him, I need to talk to them.”
Jack stood up with a grunt and gestured to the door. “Grigo's down in the apartments. I'll take you down to him and you can talk to him in the sitting room.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back to them. “By the way, he's not human. Ianto, coming?”
“Yes, sir.” He stepped back and returned the chair to its position next to the door, avoiding Sherlock's curious and assessing look. “You should follow him.”
“You're more interesting.” Sherlock stood up and poked at the paperwork on the desk. “How classified is this?”
“If I told you that, I'd have to kill you,” he sighed. “Are you going to make this difficult?”
“Don't I always?” He grinned and Ianto smiled back reluctantly. “Interesting, though.”
“That's what I have Jack for.” He rested one hand on his hip and pointed out to where Jack was waiting near to the entrance to the lower levels. “Out.”
He bowed low and strolled out ahead of Ianto, peering under desks and into corners as he went. “I hope you're treating Ianto right, by the way.” Sherlock warned, bringing Ianto to a sharp stop. “That's what friends are supposed to say, isn't it?”
“Not to their friends' bosses,” Ianto muttered.
Jack chuckled and shook his head, turning on his heel to head down towards the apartments again. “I treat him badly, but that's the way he likes it. Keep up kids.”
They followed him down to the apartments and waited whilst he knocked on the door and leaned against it. “Grigo, you in?”
A moment later the door opened, and Grigo poked him with a book. “Where else would I be?”
Ianto smiled blandly. “Basingstoke?”
“I'd rather not.” He pulled a face, which Jack laughed at, and looked to Sherlock. “Are you another of Jack's team?”
“This is our detective for the case,” Jack introduced them, “Sherlock Holmes. He works in London as a consultant.”
Grigo nodded, but his gills flattened. “Are you good, Mr Sherlock?”
He smiled. “I'm the best. I need to talk to you.”
“Of course.” He stepped back into the room and gestured around. “There's not many seats – no offence, Ianto – but I think there's enough.”
Jack made to follow him in, but Ianto got close enough and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, could you finish that paperwork off for me, please?”
He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at Ianto's hand, which he removed hurriedly. “Sure thing.” He stepped away from the door to let them in. “You'll be okay looking after them?”
“I'm sure I can manage. Buzz me if you need me.” Ianto smiled at him and stepped into the room, positioning himself out of the way against the desk to look between Grigo on the sofa and Sherlock sprawled in the armchair.
Sherlock made a show of studying the bookcase. “Are these your choices, Grigo?”
“What?” He swung around to look at them and deflated against the upholstery. “No, they're not. I have quite a large library at home... not much of it in English, though.”
“You're not from this planet, then?”
Grigo sighed and settled back again, flicking a glance at Ianto. “I was born in Roath.”
“Oh?” Sherlock smiled brightly. “Where's that?”
“North Cardiff,” he answered. “I moved into the centre after my parents... Well, Atraxet could take better care of me than they could.”
“That's the victim?” he checked. “Was he related to you?”
“Probably.” Grigo shrugged. “Most of us are related to each other, however distantly.”
“Us?”
“Blowfish in Cardiff. Not a large breeding population,” he pointed out. He seemed to droop. “He was the only family I had, though. We were sort of... in the no-man's-land.”
“Between whom?” Sherlock asked, then glanced to Ianto in time to catch a glimpse of his smile.
Grigo didn't notice. “There's alien gangs here. Some species hust like that, Blowfish do. Some say it's from our shoal ancestry. But the Dark Star was neutral territory, so we didn't belong with anyone.”
“The Dark Star, that was where you saw him last, right?” Sherlock leaned forwards. “What were you doing there?”
“I work there...”
“No, specifically, what were you doing last night?”
He looked taken-aback, but answered the question hesitantly. “I was on the bar in the second bar with Ainii until closing at midat, midnight I mean. Then we cleaned that room and the second lounge, I helped fetch the bottles from the cellar to restock both bars, and then we locked up behind us.”
“Locking him in,” Sherlock checked.
“Well, yeah. Or he might have locked the door behind us. It was one in the morning, I'm not certain. He always sees whoever's working late off, though.”
He nodded and steepled his fingers, resting them against his chin. “And you went straight home?”
“No.” He frowned and shifted, dropping his gaze to the carpet. “I went to Ainii's house first, and then home from there.”
“Oh yes?” Sherlock smiled teasingly. “This Ainii, you work with her, you walk her home... Sounds promising.”
Grigo kept his gaze fixed on the floor, and his fins fluttered. “We're... dating. Tentatively. We like each other, but we don't want to rush it. My last girlfriend and I... she wasn't interested really.”
“I'm sorry?”
He shrugged. “She wanted a career, not a man.”
“Sounds like she could have combined them,” Sherlock pointed out. “You seem to be pretty invested in the pub.”
“I grew up there,” he explained. “And I love the place. It's home.”
Sherlock looked up at the ceiling and traces patterns across it. “Could you tell me what you noticed when you went to the pub this morning, then?”
“Well, I...” He swallowed and shook his head, but ploughed on. “I only saw a few rooms. The lock hadn't been forced, no one had touched the back lounge. But the office had been gone-over. They found the safe, too.”
“Was it well hidden?” Sherlock dropped his gaze to consider him. “Who knew where it was?”
“Well... me and Atraxet knew.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And Ainii, I think. Yunika did too.”
Sherlock nodded. “What was kept in there?”
“The cash, and some of his papers.” He shrugged. “Normal stuff, I think. I don't really know.”
“But you knew where it was?”
“Yeah,” he glanced over at Ianto, finding him gazing fixedly at the floor and seeming uninterested in the conversation. “I'd taken the cash up there once or twice, helped him with paperwork and seen him put it away in there. We have to register our paperwork with Torchwood to be able to keep running.”
“Why with Torchwood?”
“Because they like to know what's going on?” Grigo guessed. “Because they're curious? Because they keep a track of us? I don't know, we just do.”
“Ianto?” Sherlock looked at him as well, and Ianto looked up at last. “What does Torchwood need to know?”
“We keep a track of the alien population,” Ianto explained quietly. “It helps us to deal with housing and with ships coming in periodically. Sort of like a council tax assessment and census rolled into one.”
Sherlock considered this. “I'll need to see that paperwork.”
“Of course.”
“But now...” he jumped to his feet and came across to shake Grigo's hand. “Thank you. I need to go to the pub.”
Ianto watched his exit from the room and rubbed the back of his neck. Grigo smiled weakly at him and gestured to the door. “You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you.” Sherlock yelled down the corridor and he sighed again. “I think I've been summoned.”
He followed Sherlock out into the corridor and caught up with him at the first corner. “You haven't learned patience, then?”
“I can be patient, but sometimes I have to move fast or the ideas escape me. Patience is for people, not crime scenes, Ianto.” He clapped him on the shoulder and rubbed his hands together. “You're driving, we need to see that pub.”
Next chapter
Chapter Title: Chapter 5
Challenge/Fest: CaseStory Big Bang
Rating: T
Dedication: Thanks to my wonderful artists, to everyone who's heard me rattle on about this, and to my brother for beta-ing.
Fandoms: Torchwood and Sherlock (BBC)
Summary: When Torchwood encounters an everyday case with far from everyday suspects, they need help they can trust. Fortunately, Ianto had an extraordinary flat mate when he was at university.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, OCs. Jack/Ianto, mentions of Gwen/Rhys and Gwen/Owen
Contains:
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
Ianto Jones stood at the top of Roald Dahl Plass, a lone figure with shoulders hunched against the persistent drizzle. He watched every car and bus that came past with an absent gaze, his posture imbued with serene patience despite the sheen of water droplets now coating his suit and the wind that tugged at him and lifted his tie. No one was around here where the wind whistled straight up off the Bay, cold from the Atlantic Ocean, and it would be an hour or so before the hardy dinner crowds started hurrying to their reservations or to a show at the Millennium Centre.
A taxi pulled up in the bus lay-by and a tall, thin man with unruly dark hair, soon made more unruly by the wind, got out before bending over to talk to the driver. Ianto sighed and made his way across to them, clapping his friend on the back and opening the front passenger door. “Good afternoon. How much?”
The driver looked relieved at dealing with someone who wasn't Sherlock Holmes, especially someone who appeared prepared to give him money. “Four hundred, mate,” he answered, with a world-weary tone. “London to Cardiff's a big one.”
Ianto raised his eyebrows, but pulled out his wallet and passed over one hundred pounds and one of his socially acceptable business cards. “You can wait for me to go to a cash point, or send me an invoice.”
After reading the business card carefully, the cab driver nodded his reluctant agreement and folded the notes again. “Urgent business, was it?”
“Something like that. And we may need him again, so send me a business card with the invoice?”
That seemed to cheer him up, and the driver smiled brightly. “Right you are, Mr Jenkins. It's been my pleasure. Good luck to you both, sirs.”
“Thank you. Drive safely.” They both stepped back and closed the doors, then Ianto raised a hand in farewell, letting Sherlock look him over. “So... seen all you need to?”
Sherlock smiled brightly. “Should I be worried that you've learnt to shoot?”
Ianto sighed and beckoned him down the Plass, towards the Water Tower. “Welcome to Cardiff. Capital of Wales, if you've not progressed past the eighteenth century yet.”
Sherlock gave the Water Tower an appraising look and eyed Ianto thoughtfully. “Riveting, Ianto. Where are the bodies?”
“Down there.” Ianto gestured to the sweep of stone across the Plass. “It used to be a wharf.”
“I bet you're insufferable,” Sherlock told him.
“Completely.” They measured each other up once more, and then Ianto grinned. “It's good to see you again.”
“You too,” Sherlock returned his smile and clapped his hands together. “Especially with such a tempting case. And this is your boss, I assume?”
Ianto gaped for a moment, and looked to where Jack had stepped off the invisible lift. “You shouldn't have been able to see him,” he commented, a little awe-struck. “Your mind really does work in strange ways.”
Sherlock looked between them, unusually confused. “Why would I not be able to see him?”
“It's a perception filter,” Jack explained. “Tells your mind that you don't want to see anything standing on that spot.”
“Ah... I've never been one for listening to things like that,” he pointed out. “But that is fearsome technology.”
“It's not technology.” Jack beckoned him forwards and Ianto followed them so that they all crowded together on the stone. “It just happened. This is technology.”
With a clunk, the lift began to descend. Ianto gripped Jack's arm, closing his eyes tightly and so not seeing the grimace that Jack gave at his tight grip. He allowed the contact, though, and kept his eyes on Ianto until the lift arrived at the bottom and he relaxed. “Welcome to the Hub.”
“You have... Did you steal this from a Bond villain?” Sherlock barely glanced at Ianto before raking his gaze across the ceiling again. “Or are you the Bond villain?”
Jack laughed and rested his hand on Ianto's shoulder, using it to push him off the lift and towards the kitchenette. “Ianto...”
“Coffee, sir?” He smiled tightly and left them quicker than usual.
Sherlock watched him go and glanced back up to the space where the lift had descended. “What happened on that lift?”
Jack shot him a glare. “Don't ask, and definitely don't ask him.” He made for his office and changed the subject. “What has Ianto told you about this case?”
“He told me that this was the highest security case I've ever worked on, and that I should look at the Battle of Canary Wharf.” He settled into the chair Jack indicated, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hand on it. “It's not hard to find information on it.”
“I know,” Jack said quietly. He looked out of the office towards the kitchenette and gave Ianto a curt nod. “Ianto prefers it that way.”
“Was it really aliens?”
“Yes it was.”
He leaned forwards and propped his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “So aliens are real, and this is the most classified case I've ever taken. You must be an alien hunting organisation.”
Jack's expression closed and he collected some papers together from his desk. “Yes we are. Torchwood is outside the government, answerable only to the reigning monarch. This is the last surviving defensive outpost, although we had nearly two dozen before the First World War.”
Ianto pushed the door open with his hip and set the tray down on the recently cleared space. “I hope you've picked those papers up to sign them, sir,” he told Jack mildly. “I need to get them to London by the end of the week.”
Sherlock straightened up and picked up the closest mug from the tray. “What's in London?”
“That's classified.” Ianto retrieved the mug and passed it to Jack, handing Sherlock a plain black one. “And that's Jack's.”
“I could just find out,” he taunted.
“You won't.” Ianto pulled another chair over from next to the door and collected his own coffee. “And I wouldn't advise trying. How's the coffee?”
“You're not going to give me food poisoning again, are you?” He pulled a face and sipped it, then gave Ianto a grudgingly pleased smile. “Anyway, tell me more about this case.”
Jack raised an eyebrow when they both looked at them and uncapped his pen, hovering it over the paperwork Ianto wanted him to sign. “My story, then?” He scrawled his signature and dropped the pen. “Male victim, found him about eight this morning. Owen estimated time of death at roughly half two, and the last people to see him alive left the pub at one.”
Sherlock frowned. “The pub?”
“He ran a pub,” Jack explained. “The last people to see him worked the last shift with him and left when they finished cleaning up. That was one o'clock. He died in the bar, and the office was ransacked.”
He narrowed his eyes, uncrossing his legs and leaning further forwards. “The last people to see him, I need to talk to them.”
Jack stood up with a grunt and gestured to the door. “Grigo's down in the apartments. I'll take you down to him and you can talk to him in the sitting room.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back to them. “By the way, he's not human. Ianto, coming?”
“Yes, sir.” He stepped back and returned the chair to its position next to the door, avoiding Sherlock's curious and assessing look. “You should follow him.”
“You're more interesting.” Sherlock stood up and poked at the paperwork on the desk. “How classified is this?”
“If I told you that, I'd have to kill you,” he sighed. “Are you going to make this difficult?”
“Don't I always?” He grinned and Ianto smiled back reluctantly. “Interesting, though.”
“That's what I have Jack for.” He rested one hand on his hip and pointed out to where Jack was waiting near to the entrance to the lower levels. “Out.”
He bowed low and strolled out ahead of Ianto, peering under desks and into corners as he went. “I hope you're treating Ianto right, by the way.” Sherlock warned, bringing Ianto to a sharp stop. “That's what friends are supposed to say, isn't it?”
“Not to their friends' bosses,” Ianto muttered.
Jack chuckled and shook his head, turning on his heel to head down towards the apartments again. “I treat him badly, but that's the way he likes it. Keep up kids.”
They followed him down to the apartments and waited whilst he knocked on the door and leaned against it. “Grigo, you in?”
A moment later the door opened, and Grigo poked him with a book. “Where else would I be?”
Ianto smiled blandly. “Basingstoke?”
“I'd rather not.” He pulled a face, which Jack laughed at, and looked to Sherlock. “Are you another of Jack's team?”
“This is our detective for the case,” Jack introduced them, “Sherlock Holmes. He works in London as a consultant.”
Grigo nodded, but his gills flattened. “Are you good, Mr Sherlock?”
He smiled. “I'm the best. I need to talk to you.”
“Of course.” He stepped back into the room and gestured around. “There's not many seats – no offence, Ianto – but I think there's enough.”
Jack made to follow him in, but Ianto got close enough and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, could you finish that paperwork off for me, please?”
He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at Ianto's hand, which he removed hurriedly. “Sure thing.” He stepped away from the door to let them in. “You'll be okay looking after them?”
“I'm sure I can manage. Buzz me if you need me.” Ianto smiled at him and stepped into the room, positioning himself out of the way against the desk to look between Grigo on the sofa and Sherlock sprawled in the armchair.
Sherlock made a show of studying the bookcase. “Are these your choices, Grigo?”
“What?” He swung around to look at them and deflated against the upholstery. “No, they're not. I have quite a large library at home... not much of it in English, though.”
“You're not from this planet, then?”
Grigo sighed and settled back again, flicking a glance at Ianto. “I was born in Roath.”
“Oh?” Sherlock smiled brightly. “Where's that?”
“North Cardiff,” he answered. “I moved into the centre after my parents... Well, Atraxet could take better care of me than they could.”
“That's the victim?” he checked. “Was he related to you?”
“Probably.” Grigo shrugged. “Most of us are related to each other, however distantly.”
“Us?”
“Blowfish in Cardiff. Not a large breeding population,” he pointed out. He seemed to droop. “He was the only family I had, though. We were sort of... in the no-man's-land.”
“Between whom?” Sherlock asked, then glanced to Ianto in time to catch a glimpse of his smile.
Grigo didn't notice. “There's alien gangs here. Some species hust like that, Blowfish do. Some say it's from our shoal ancestry. But the Dark Star was neutral territory, so we didn't belong with anyone.”
“The Dark Star, that was where you saw him last, right?” Sherlock leaned forwards. “What were you doing there?”
“I work there...”
“No, specifically, what were you doing last night?”
He looked taken-aback, but answered the question hesitantly. “I was on the bar in the second bar with Ainii until closing at midat, midnight I mean. Then we cleaned that room and the second lounge, I helped fetch the bottles from the cellar to restock both bars, and then we locked up behind us.”
“Locking him in,” Sherlock checked.
“Well, yeah. Or he might have locked the door behind us. It was one in the morning, I'm not certain. He always sees whoever's working late off, though.”
He nodded and steepled his fingers, resting them against his chin. “And you went straight home?”
“No.” He frowned and shifted, dropping his gaze to the carpet. “I went to Ainii's house first, and then home from there.”
“Oh yes?” Sherlock smiled teasingly. “This Ainii, you work with her, you walk her home... Sounds promising.”
Grigo kept his gaze fixed on the floor, and his fins fluttered. “We're... dating. Tentatively. We like each other, but we don't want to rush it. My last girlfriend and I... she wasn't interested really.”
“I'm sorry?”
He shrugged. “She wanted a career, not a man.”
“Sounds like she could have combined them,” Sherlock pointed out. “You seem to be pretty invested in the pub.”
“I grew up there,” he explained. “And I love the place. It's home.”
Sherlock looked up at the ceiling and traces patterns across it. “Could you tell me what you noticed when you went to the pub this morning, then?”
“Well, I...” He swallowed and shook his head, but ploughed on. “I only saw a few rooms. The lock hadn't been forced, no one had touched the back lounge. But the office had been gone-over. They found the safe, too.”
“Was it well hidden?” Sherlock dropped his gaze to consider him. “Who knew where it was?”
“Well... me and Atraxet knew.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And Ainii, I think. Yunika did too.”
Sherlock nodded. “What was kept in there?”
“The cash, and some of his papers.” He shrugged. “Normal stuff, I think. I don't really know.”
“But you knew where it was?”
“Yeah,” he glanced over at Ianto, finding him gazing fixedly at the floor and seeming uninterested in the conversation. “I'd taken the cash up there once or twice, helped him with paperwork and seen him put it away in there. We have to register our paperwork with Torchwood to be able to keep running.”
“Why with Torchwood?”
“Because they like to know what's going on?” Grigo guessed. “Because they're curious? Because they keep a track of us? I don't know, we just do.”
“Ianto?” Sherlock looked at him as well, and Ianto looked up at last. “What does Torchwood need to know?”
“We keep a track of the alien population,” Ianto explained quietly. “It helps us to deal with housing and with ships coming in periodically. Sort of like a council tax assessment and census rolled into one.”
Sherlock considered this. “I'll need to see that paperwork.”
“Of course.”
“But now...” he jumped to his feet and came across to shake Grigo's hand. “Thank you. I need to go to the pub.”
Ianto watched his exit from the room and rubbed the back of his neck. Grigo smiled weakly at him and gestured to the door. “You have my sympathies.”
“Thank you.” Sherlock yelled down the corridor and he sighed again. “I think I've been summoned.”
He followed Sherlock out into the corridor and caught up with him at the first corner. “You haven't learned patience, then?”
“I can be patient, but sometimes I have to move fast or the ideas escape me. Patience is for people, not crime scenes, Ianto.” He clapped him on the shoulder and rubbed his hands together. “You're driving, we need to see that pub.”
Next chapter
