deal or no deal | Sherlock Holmes

31

𝐸𝓋𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

"We must go over the evidence." I told Sherlock as I stare at the door to the interrogation room. "A lot of it points to Sam but my gut is telling me that we are missing something."

"I think you should talk to him alone." Sherlock suggests.

I give him a look of understanding and nod my head.

***

I stepped into the dimly lit interrogation room, where the air hung heavy with tension. My brother sat handcuffed, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and desperation.

"Ev, I can't believe they think I did this. Why do they think I did this? You know I would never—"

"In this room, I am Detective Flemington. Remember that," I cut him off sternly, prioritizing the investigation over personal ties.

Samuel nodded, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Detective Flemington, I didn't even know she was gone until the officers arrived. I swear, I had no idea."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I pushed through the emotions. "Samuel, you have to help me understand. Why were you stealing the newsboys' wages?"

He sighed, burdened by shame and remorse. "I never wanted to, Evangeline. It started with a debt I owed. I thought I could pay it off, but it spiraled out of control. I didn't want you or anyone else to know."

Struggling with conflicting emotions, I leaned in, my voice softened: "We can sort that out later. Right now, we need to focus on proving your innocence regarding Mother's death."

Overcome with emotion, Samuel whispered, "I loved her, Ev. I would never hurt her. I need you to believe me."

I studied his face, searching for any trace of guilt or innocence.

"Samuel, I need to know the truth," I began, my voice steady but tinged with urgency. "Where were you on the morning of Mother's murder?"

Samuel's eyes flickered with uncertainty before he replied, "I was at the office, packing my things. I left around midnight and went straight home."

I furrow my brows at his statement. "Packing your things?"

"I had to get out, Ev." He breathed shakily. "I can't live with the guilt. I mean— all that money. Those poor boys..." He bites his tongue. "I was one of them, but he didn't understand."

"Who, Sam?" I ask.

"James Woodley," he states, giving me a quizzical look. "Well, Barkley to you." He chuckles.

I nearly passed out as my mind raced at the mention of Barkley. The newspaper said, 245 Barkley St. It was right there this entire time.

"Bloody—" I slap the table and rub my face. "I'm an idiot." I stand from my seat and head for the door.

"Evang-" I slam the door shut and march towards Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Darling?"

"What led you to believe my brother did this?" I look to Mycroft. "I need answers now!"

He sighs as he fiddles with his cuff links. "I was quite stomped with this particular case, but your mother's newspaper made it obvious that your brother was seeking to silence her."