Lia had been watching him for days now, the eccentric crew mate that seemed to be riding comfortably on both sides of the law. Initially, she'd thought he met up with law enforcement because they were on his payroll. That was clearly not the case, though, when she witnessed law enforcement paying him. Was he spying? A confidential informant? As it turned out, he really WAS playing both sides... quite comfortably, in fact, and not even trying to hide it. A criminal in Beko's crew, while consulting for the police.

He had made himself virtually untouchable.

While Lia hadn't been properly introduced, she made a point of watching him whenever opportunities arose. He was smart, she knew that much. So much so that it was intimidating, and this alone kept her from engaging in conversation or pleasantries, at least until she unearthed his grave and found him there in the coffin.

Well. It wasn't him, but it sure looked like him. After Lia had picked clean the treasures that had been buried with the Holmes-ish corpse, she found herself staring down at the baubles he'd been buried with, one of which was a small, ornamental key. After asking around, she was told that it belonged to a safe deposit box inside a bank here in town. Why he'd been buried with it was unclear... perhaps the person who'd put it there hadn't recognized it for what it was. Lia certainly hadn't. She didn't even know what a safe deposit box was. 

Now, here she was, staring down at the key to one, with the fuzzy outline of an idea forming. When she next saw SherlockHolmes_ enter the HQ, she got up from the chair she'd been sitting in, scooped up the key, and followed him to the kitchen area, where he was pouring himself coffee... or was that tea? She couldn't tell, as his back was to her.

"Excuse me, Sherlock, isn't it? My name is Lia. We haven't properly met," she said as he looked at her. His gaze was like a weight, it was almost as if he could bore into her skull with his eyes and read her IQ. Before she lost her courage, she pushed on.

"I may have some easy work for you, if you're interested, You see, I was, uh." How embarrassing to admit that one graverobbed. "I found this, while doing a little dirty work," she said, holding up the key for him to see. "The man who owns it... owned it... bore a striking resemblance to you. I don't know anything about cassettas. Safety-deposit boxes," she amended, "but I'm told the owner has to be the one to get into it, or the next of kin, at least. He's pretty freshly dead, though. His obituary isn't even in the papers yet, surely the bank doesn't know of his death. Would you be interested in a 50-50 split? I could pose as your wife... his wife... but the only identification they'd need would be yours, as the bearer of the key. I can get you a fake ID pretty easily. What do you think?" The worst he could do was tell her to fuck off, right? 

Mycroft was going to pay and pay dearly for this. The entire British Government was going to pay dearly. It was one thing to do his brother's dirty work and clean up messes all over Europe but it was another thing entirely to be demanded that he go and clean up a mess that Mycroft himself somehow made all the way over in America!

His big brother and his minions were definitely going to pay for this, the safety and well-being of England be damned. 

To Mycroft's credit, though, he hadn't completely left Sherlock in the dark. Using connections that not even Sherlock knew he had, he had found a group of people in Las Vegas, a group of people who his baby brother would 'fit in' best with in order to complete his mission. 

He was going to pay for that as well.

Day after day, Sherlock had found the people of America and the city which he was dumped in, all so very suffocating, dull and predictable. Beneath him. Sin City, as so many people called it, didn't deserve his presence, his genius, but he had a job to do and knew all too well the consequences if he returned to England without completing it, so he carried on and fought through the mind numbing predictability and boredom until one day it was changed in a rather unusual way, in the form of one crew member very shyly approaching him while he was making himself a cup of 'tea' and he used that term very loosely. Another thing American's had no clue about. He was approached by a young lady calling herself Lia and she had an offer for him. As she rather nervously spoke to him, Sherlock couldn't help but deduce her. 5'8, blonde Italian female, early 20's. Fled from Venice in order to escape someone, most likely a father who doesn't approve of her choice of suitor. Wants to prove her worth. Admirable. Although foolish. Says shes been doing dirty work. Haunted but embarrassed look. The smell of earth, dirt and death under her nails, the beginning of blisters and faint scratches, point to grave-robbing. Interesting.

In between his initial deduction and several more as she spoke to him, Sherlock was presented with a key, by the looks of it, it did indeed belong to a safety deposit box and in his experience, people hid either the most mundane things in them or hid truly amazing and highly incriminating things and when someone is buried with a key, it's with very good reason. The man who apparently bore a striking resemblance to Sherlock, which he found very hard to believe but kept it to himself, knew it as well, however was not anticipating anyone finding it. Human error. I would never make such a mistake.

So caught up in his deductions, it took Sherlock a few moments to realize that Lia had finally stopped talking and was waiting, nervously, for the consulting detective to say something, anything. But what could he say? John had frequently reminded him about 'timing' and the way he spoke to people, especially since coming to America, but John wasn't here at the moment, Sherlock had left him behind earlier wandering The Strip, to run interference or speak for him. This was definitely going to be a 'Not Good' moment if the detective wasn't careful. All he knew was that he had been presented with a puzzle, a key, that for all he knew could open Pandora's box or open a void of nothingness. He had to take the chance. He would do anything to stop being bored.

Placing his now cold cup of 'tea' behind him on a bench, Sherlock made a decision.

"I must confess, you have presented me with quite the opportunity to help cease my boredom with god forsaken city, and you may breathe easy and relax now. I shall be honored to help you with your rather ambitious endeavor."

"Oh. Well. Wonderful!" Lia replied, mildly shocked. She'd really anticipated a 'no'. "I'll have our documents man get that identification printed up for you. 'Rotering' was the name on the headstone. As soon as the ink dries, I'll be in touch," she said, then left him to his tea.

-

"This is very good work! It even looks a bit worn out and used," Lia commented as she examined William Rotering's state-issued identification card. "Why are you not printing out currency?" She asked, looking up at the printer who did odd jobs here and there for the crew. 

"Because I'm not that good. I'd get caught," he replied abruptly, ever the charmer. The magnifying loupe strapped to his head looked like a third eye.

"If you say so. American banks require only one form of identification, yes?" She asked.

"Correct. If Rotering were making a withdrawal, or even a deposit, they'd need the passbook. Since he's just accessing a safe deposit box, he'll only need ID and a key," he muttered, as if she should know all this already. A blonde Dego, double whammy. Lia nodded and reached for her wallet, but he waved her off.

"Beko has me on retainer, pays monthly." And with that, she was dismissed.

-

"It's pretty good, isn't it?" Lia handed the ID over to Sherlock, who peered down at it, eyes narrowed. The reply she got was a single word that sounded like 'passable'. And then he was off, with Lia struggling to keep up. The bank wasn't far, and they were going on foot. Lia was not a short woman, but Sherlock's tall frame and long strides made any chitchat impossible. Just as he opened the door to the bank, she looped her arm through his.

"I'm your wife. His wife. Remember?" Sherlock blinked down at her, then passed through the glass door, Lia on his arm. As they stood at the desk waiting for the vault keeper to escort them to the vault itself, she could see Sherlock absorbing, calculating, examining his surroundings. Did his brain never stop working? How did he ever relax, sleep? Lia opened her mouth to ask when the attendant approached them, all friendly smiles and niceties.

"Mr. Rotering!" he enthused, as if they were dear old friends, and he wasn't using the proffered identification to remember his client's name. "How are we today? This must be the missus?" Sherlock cleared his throat, and Lia jumped in, offering her hand.

"Karen Rotering, yes, charmed. My husband here says I need to keep my mother's pearls secured, since I never wear them. Would you take us to the safety deposit boxes, please?" She asked, doing her best to drop her accent. With Sherlock's English and Lia's Italian, they'd just stick out all the more. The attendant nodded and turned, and they followed. Once inside the vault, he left them in privacy. Sherlock wasted no time matching the key to the correct compartment. In a moment, he had the box slid out and set upon the single, high table in the room. Lia stepped up beside him as he opened it.

"Eccellente," Lia breathed, reaching for the stack of hundreds bundled together. Not a lot, but it alone had just made this little venture worthwhile. Besides the cash, there were some old coins, a deed, some papers that Lia had no clue about, and a photograph. Lia picked that up next, her brow furrowing.

"Rotering and his wife, I think. Why would he have a picture of himself and his wife holding hands at a cafe'? Wait," she said, moving the picture closer to her face. "Mio Dio, ci sono tre di voi!" She breathed, and when Sherlock didn't reply, she realized she'd not spoken in English.

"There is another. A cousin, perhaps even a twin? The man I saw in the grave, he looked like this, except his hair was styled much differently, shorter, and he didn't have a beard like this one does. The nose was crooked as well, as if it had been broken," she said as she flipped the photograph over, looking for a clue. Nothing. Maybe there was something in the paperwork? She handed the photograph to Sherlock, then flipped through the documents. 

"I don't even know what these are, but I'm sure you do. If he was blackmailing his own brother, or wife, would there be something here? Oh. Oh! What if Rotering was killed by one of these two?" She let go of Sherlock's sleeve, which she hadn't realized she'd been tugging on. This was a whole other box of worms, or whatever the Americans called it. If it was blackmail, they could pick up where the deceased had left off. If murder was involved, Sherlock may have just halfway solved a case for the Nevada authorities. And all these papers... there was no telling what was in here. They had a decision to make.

"Signor Holmes, what would you like to do? This is far beyond what I expected to find. We could take this money, these coins, and simply go. Or," she said with a shrug, "... we could see how this plays out?"

Sherlock could tell that Lia was surprised about his response she was obviously expecting a 'no' and honestly I should have given her one but I cannot tolerate this stagnation, this boredom any longer. John will not be pleased with me running off without him but it's hardly my fault that he's still off chasing leads, playing tourist while he's at it, but it is what it is. There is a puzzle that needs solving and there is clearly no-one smart enough to do it. I'll just have to endure John's wrath later on. The game is afoot.

Sometime later, Lia had returned to collect Sherlock so they could make their way to the bank. She obviously had been busy in the time she had last seen Sherlock. She handed the detective a ID which Sherlock dismissed as 'passable' which it was but he had seen better, he'd even made better himself but this would do for now. As the odd pair made their way to the bank, Sherlock could tell that Lia was struggling to keep up with him but he couldn't do anything about it. He was so used to having John with him and somehow being able to keep up with him without complaint and to Lia's credit, she didn't complain, either. 

Just as Sherlock was about to open the door to the bank, he was stopped by Lia looping her arm around his. It took Sherlock a moment to realize what she was doing. Couples seem to frequently do this. They linked arms, held hands, held each-other, showed affection. Love. Caring. Devotion. All lies. Of course it was all lost on him, but he had a role to play and he was not going to quit now.

He would endure.

Once inside the bank, it was all up to Lia. Sherlock was merely there as a face, a decoy and would act as such until they finally got inside the vault. While Lia spoke, trying to hide her accent, Sherlock set himself the task of seeing and observing his surroundings, making sure to leave nothing and no-one out. Thankfully for the both of them, their act was believed, another glaring example of American's and their blind stupidity. See but do not observe. Foolish. They were allowed into the vault and then quickly and easily left alone. Sherlock took the key and immediately knew what he was looking for and made quick work of it and placed it upon the lone table in the room and just as quickly as he had placed it down, Lia was beside him, watching as he opened it. Upon opening it, Sherlock found it to be another standard safety deposit box, a stack of hundreds bundled together, some old coins, a deed, some papers, and a photograph. It was, however, the photograph that caught Lia's attention. Clearly wasn't prepared for this outcome. Another rookie mistake. Taken by surprise to the point of reverting to her native tongue. Interesting.

Taking the photo that was handed to him, Sherlock gave it a quick glance but couldn't find anything out of place but that didn't mean there wasn't anything hidden, which is why he decided to keep it and give it a closer look later on. For now he was focused on Lia's movement, the tugging on his sleeve and words as she tried to make sense of everything. She was rapidly and blindly firing off 'What If's' something that Sherlock always found annoying, distasteful and very much a waste of valuable time. Time they were already wasting by remaining inside the vault. Placing the photo in his pocket, and making a move to collect everything on the table, Sherlock made a decision.

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. Therefore I must insist that we take everything we have found here and follow it. The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes. However lucky for you, unlucky for everyone else, I am here. So let us go and see what kind of demons and ghosts Mr Rotering was hiding."

Lia blinked at the dressing-down, then brushed it off and shoved into her purse anything that wasn't fitting inside of Sherlock's pockets, trying her best not to wrinkle or damage the papers in the process. She had a feeling she might catch hell for it later if she did. Once the safety deposit box was cleaned out, it was hastily slammed back home, and they were off. When Sherlock hailed a cab outside the bank and climbed in, his head popping back out to raise his eyebrows impatiently at her, she crawled in after him.

"We walked here, why-" 

Before she finished her sentence, it was struck down by Sherlock's clipped explanation that the HQ would have too many distractions, contaminants, and onlookers for him to properly examine what they'd found. In a short time, they were pulling up to Sherlock's apartment, which was about as far from Vegas as one could get, while still somehow being in Vegas.

"Nice apar- oh," Lia abandoned her compliment once she got further into said apartment. Sherlock, ahead of her, went immediately to a large table in the center of the room. Lia stood just inside the doorway, then began to spin in a slow circle, taking in all the bizarre eccentricities that his home had to offer. A smiley face was painted on one wall, and there looked to be bullet holes in it. There was some sort of animal skull mounted on another... or was that a piece of art? There was a large microscope on a counter, and a mountain of vials, tubes, and petri dishes, the contents of which were completely unknown to her. Some were looked to be filled with chunky-looking red fluid, which immediately summoned a lurch in Lia's stomach. 

"May I get a glass of water?" She asked, feeling light-headed. Sherlock muttered a reply that sounded in the affirmative, but didn't move from the table. Lia took that as a cue that she was supposed to help herself. She stepped towards the kitchen, staying as far away from the questionable paraphernalia as possible. Once she'd retrieved a glass from a shelf, she opened the freezer in search of ice.

"Cazzo...HEAD!" Lia hollered, as two frozen eyes stared out at her. Just as the glass slipped from her fingers and hit the kitchen floor, she heard Sherlock quip...

"No, thank you."

The attempt at humor unbalanced her so much that she forgot about the nausea, the dizziness, and the human skull in the freezer. Kneeling quickly, she picked up the pieces of glass carefully, then found a wastebasket to place them into.

"Prego," she mumbled as she stepped back over to the table Sherlock was standing at, the water forgotten as she looked at what he had in his hands. It was one of the documents she was unfamiliar with... how had he gotten it out of her purse without her noticing?

"I am unfamiliar with this, what is it?" She asked, peering at the paper closer, as if proximity would somehow make it clearer.

They had already wasted too much just standing around, dwelling on 'What If's?'. Sherlock needed to study every thing they had found in the vault, the only way that could be safely done was back at the flat, or as these Americans called it, apartment, that Mycroft had placed his little brother and John. It was no 221B but it would be adequately serve its purpose for the duration of Sherlock and John's stay.

Hailing a cab as he quickly could, Sherlock hurried Lia inside, gave the driver a handful of cash, followed by his address and orders to get them to their destination as fast as the driver could and thankfully he did not disappoint. Only minutes later they had arrived and Sherlock leapt from the cab before it had a chance to really stop, taking the stairs two at a time, not even bothering to check if Lia was following, but her presence was confirmed moments later by her obvious surprise at Sherlock's residence as he walked over to the table he often found himself using for various things. He just hoped that Lia wouldn't touch anything because the last thing Sherlock needed was her breaking something or placing something out of order thus throwing his entire world into utter chaos.

However his fears were founded when Lia asked for a glass of water and made her way into the kitchen to get it. There was a loud scream, followed by the shattering of glass, which he really hoped that Lia would clean up after she got over her shock.

She had found what was in the freezer and Sherlock decided to play along with her cry of surprise, something he often did with John when he found body parts in the fridge or freezer. Just because he wasn't in England, was he really expected to stop doing things? Granted it would be a little bit harder to explain to the police here than it would be with Lestrade, but thankfully Sherlock hadn't had to deal with that particular problem just yet. 

A simple exclamation in Italian once again, altered Sherlock to Lia's glass of water-less presence. She rounded on Sherlock and the table to find that Sherlock had managed to take one of the documents out of her purse. He would have to lecture her later on the importance of always keeping things with you no matter how little or insignificant you think they maybe because they can fall into the right or wrong hands.

"In answer to your question, this..." Sherlock pointed to the piece of paper. "Is something called 'The Caesar cipher'. Very few people know about it and even less can crack them, so please bear with me for a few moments if you can because it will be greatly appreciated."

Lia nodded in what Sherlock hoped was agreement and launched into his explanation.

"The Caesar cipher is one of the earliest known and simplest ciphers. It is a type of substitution cipher in which each letter in the plain-text is 'shifted' a certain number of places down the alphabet. For example, with a shift of 1, A would be replaced by B, B would become C, and so on. The method is named after Julius Caesar, who used it to communicate with his generals. There are more complex encryption schemes such as the Vigenère cipher that employs the Caesar cipher as one element of the encryption process. The ROT13 'encryption' is simply a Caesar cipher with an offset of 13. The Caesar cipher offers essentially no communication security, and thus can be easily broken, which I am capable of doing."

Sherlock risked a glance at Lia to see if she was still keeping up before continuing on.

"In order to pass an encrypted message from one person to another, it is first necessary that both parties have the 'key' for the cipher, so that the sender encrypts it and then the receiver decrypts it. Which means we will eventually need to find who Mr Rotering had been passing these back and forth with and why he was doing such."

Incredibly, Lia was able to comprehend Sherlock's clipped, rapid-fire explanation. She even managed to decode the first two words herself before she gave up... without writing it down as she went along, it was nearly impossible to continue. Sherlock, obviously, had no problem with it at all, so she left him to it, picking up the photograph that had somehow found its way to the table, instead. 

He'd been correct, of course. Assumptions and guessing were a waste of time, but curiosity had grabbed hold of her, and wasn't letting go. 

"Do you have the paper delivered?" She asked. Sherlock waved a hand at her, which could mean anything at all. Yes, of course! No, why would I? Fuck off, I'm working here! Turning to survey the apartment once more, she spotted what she was looking for, folded up on the floor by the door. She reached down and grabbed it, carefully unfolding the pages until she found the obituaries. 

No Rotering. Damn. She'd have to try again, with the afternoon edition. Another thought came at her, and she asked Sherlock another question. 

"Do you own a telephone directory?" This time, the answer was one that sounded in the affirmative, and once Lia found the phone itself on an end table, she could see the directory sitting beneath it. She flipped it open to the R's.

Not one Rotering in Vegas, but two! Both with the same first initial, and each with their own, separate address. She'd been correct! She considered telling Sherlock this, but quickly changed her mind. He'd probably just retort with an analogy similar to monkeys and musical instruments locked in a room, eventually producing a symphony. Why not check into it, though? She didn't have anything else to do. Stepping back over to where Sherlock stood, she reached into her bag and pulled out a sheet of stationary from the hotel she'd been staying at, and hastily scribbled down the room number.

"Here's my number. Call me when you decipher the cipher? I think I'll go take a drive past Rotering's home, see what I see." Sherlock made a sound at her, not looking up from his work. Lia left then, hailing a cab once she was outside.

-

The cab driver didn't even ask her why she wanted to drive by the two homes. Neither address produced anything, anyway... both were shuttered tight, blinds drawn, no cars in the driveway. They looked like every other house that surrounded them. Lia wasn't all that disappointed, since she'd not really expected to find out anything, anyway. Back at the HQ, though, the evening edition of the newspaper had just been delivered. Lia picked it up and went for the obituaries, and there it was... Rotering's service, today, at 6PM! Cazzo! A glance at her watch showed it to be 5:40PM. Another glance, this time at her own outfit, told her that the black skirt and white blouse could probably pass for acceptable funeral wear. St Mark's Episcopal wasn't that far away, either... she could just make it if she hurried. Fortunately, cabs were in surplus today, and she made it to the church just in time to see Rotering's twin brother guiding the widow out of a car by her elbow. Lia followed them into the church, noting that his hand slipped down and came to rest on her backside when he thought no one was looking. 

So far, those useless guesses had been correct. Lia took a seat in the far back pew and watched the couple through the entire, short service. Not many were in attendance, and after it was over, she merged into the small crowd filing out of the back of the church, and again followed the couple, this time out to the parking lot. From where she stood, pretending to hunt for nonexistant car keys, she could just make out parts of an argument.

"...fucking key? He was probably buried with it!"

"...careless?! How are we supposed to get..."

She'd heard enough, and turned to leave, running smack into SherlockHolmes_' chest. 

"Oh. You came!" Sherlock was staring at his one remaining doppleganger, over her shoulder. Placing a hand on his upper arm, she gently turned him away from the fussing couple and led him back towards the street, where she hoped to continue her lucky streak with the cabs.

"The code, what was it?" She asked him. She knew there was no point asking IF he'd solved it... he wouldn't be here if he hadn't. And was there really any way that he wouldn't have been able to?

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure if and how much Lia was understanding what he was talking about, even with how much he had simplified his explanation but it seemed it worked, to a degree. Lia had managed to work out the first two words but to no-ones surprise, she quickly gave up and instead went back to asking Sherlock even more mundane and dull questions while he was trying to work. He vaguely heard something about 'paper deliveries' and 'telephone directories' but if he was asked anything else, the consulting detective had already deleted it and carried on with his decryption on the rather poorly written Caesar cipher.

Lia made one last attempt at communicating with Sherlock before she left by producing a card from the hotel she was obviously staying at and telling him to find her at the number she had written down once he had finished as she called it "decipher the cipher" a remark that Sherlock was tempted to correct but decided against it, instead taking the offered card and placing it in his trouser pocket. He wasn't going to use it. Of course he wasn't. Even without Lia telling him where she would be, he already knew the outcome and would be there with a decrypted cipher.

Once Lia had left, Sherlock let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding and dragged a hand down his face. Silence had once again fallen around him and he was grateful for it because now he could fully focus on finding the data that needed to be found hidden among the words that to nearly everyone else in existence were random letters thrown together but Sherlock definitely knew better.

Cracking his fingers, a habit that John was always admonishing him about, he readjusted his sitting position, then Sherlock dragged the piece of paper that seemingly was determined to get away from him and his laser focus.

"Oh this is good." Sherlock reached for a blank piece of paper and pen that somehow still remained on the table and got back to work.

"jsyjwuwnxj" (enterprise)
"fsijwxts knjqi" (anderson field)
"gtzqijw hnyd" (boulder city)
"bmnysjd​​​​​​​" (whitney)
"bjxy qfx ajlfx" (west las vegas)
"xzrrjwqns xtzym" (summerlin south)

These were all places in Clark County and some were even very affluent areas. The next section contained two sets of co-ordinates and Sherlock knew exactly where those co-ordinates belonged.

35° 55′ 51.62″ N, 115° 2′ 38.53″ W  - Black Mountain. 
35° 54′ 57″ N, 115° 2′ 54″ W​​​​​​​  - McCullough Range.

"Interesting. I wonder what you were looking for all the way out there. Some holes that required filling or digging perhaps?" Sherlock continued to scribble down his decryption.

"pfwjs" (karen)
"xfkj mtzxj" (safe house)
"rtsjd" (money)
"rjjynsl" (meeting)
"sjafif utqnhj" (nevada police)
"dtz bnqq ufd" (you will pay)
"xnqjshj" (silence)
"rnhmfjq rfyymjbx" (michael matthews)
"fsiwjb otsjx" (andrew jones)
"ofhp qjbnx" (jack lewis)
"xmfbs ifanx" (shawn davis)
"n pstb" (i know)
"pnqq​​​​​​​" (kill)

"Well, well, well. I do believe we have been a little bit naughty. We wouldn't be possibly having an affair with your brothers own twin, Mrs Rotering?" Sherlock put down his pen and glanced at his watch. It was after 6PM which meant that the late Mr Rotering's funeral service would be wrapping up and Lia would be among the small group of people leaving St Mark's Episcopal. Sherlock quickly got up from his chair, wincing slightly as his body creaked and cracked against the sudden movement but there wasn't time to dwell on it; he had to reach Lia and he had to do it before John got back at the time he originally gave Sherlock several hours earlier and found him gone. He grabbed the decryption and his jacket from it's spot draped over the sofa and make his way outside to hail a cab that would take him to St Mark's.

Thankfully the church wasn't that far away and as expected Sherlock had timed it exactly. As the cab pulled up, people, including Lia were making their way slowly out of the church. Handing over a fist full of cash, Sherlock exited and made his way over to where the semi crowd was gathered. He was just about to reach Lia when she suddenly turned around and crashed into his chest which he hardly noticed, she also seemed surprised that he was there, where else was he suppose to be? He thought about saying such but he was more interested in the arguing happening behind her featuring what could easily be his doppleganger but Lia didn't allow him to linger. She gently turned him away and lead them back towards the street and distracting him by asking him what the code was. Sherlock broke his stride to come to a stop and reach into his jacket pocket to pull out what he had decrypted.

"There is plenty more data to be found but I have narrowed down a starting point. Mrs Rotering, as I'm certain you've already witnessed by the highly inappropriate actions, is having an affair with her husbands own twin and both are responsible for Mr Rotering's demise. The Rotering brothers were running a rather shady business and were looking to sell something, most likely information to the highest bidders, then take the money and run, very risky indeed and once Mrs Rotering and the remaining brother leave here they are going to try and find what they hope is quite a large sum of cash and other valuable items they had taken from their clients. The problem is it could be anywhere in Vegas. They killed Mr Rotering before he could give up the exact location, if they only just waited. Now they have a list of places; which all fall within Clark County and deep within the mountains and a list of bidders. We however have the one thing they truly require; the key. So even if they find what they are looking for, they have no way of opening it. Which places us with the advantage and disadvantage. I can help you find out more if you wish to accompany me back to my residence, John should be back by now and could also assist us. Because there is no telling how deep this rabbit hole goes."

Luckily Sherlock was more than willing to find out.

Mulling over everything he'd just told her, Lia stared out of the back window of what felt like the hundredth cab she'd taken today. Perhaps it was time to learn how to drive, and invest in a vehicle? It certainly would simplify things.

Back at Sherlock's residence now, they were met at the door by John Watson, his roommate. John was quite friendly and pleasant, seemingly the social opposite of Sherlock, but the two obviously got on well together. A yin and yang situation, perhaps. Opposites did, after all, attract. Once John had offered her tea, which she accepted, they all convened around the table that Sherlock had been working at earlier. 

"Safe houses? Places where authorities hide criminals from other criminals? Like stools? And mice?" She asked.

"Stoolies, and rats," John chuckled, but not in an insulting way.

"Si'. Well, yes, I suppose those locations certainly would be worth a lot to someone facing a prison sentence, thanks to the testimony of the inhabitants," she said, glancing down at the papers again, her eyes coming to rest on the coordinates that Sherlock had written down. Her face fell, then, as it occurred to her that it wasn't just a stash of goods that might be hidden in those places, but quite possibly, bodies. Lifting the cup of tea absently, she sipped from it, and the dismay on her face morphed into surprise. John had witnessed all of this, and smiled.

"Not quite what you were expecting, is it? British tea and American tea are not at all the same animal," he chuckled again. Lia could do nothing but agree, then listened as Sherlock and John engaged in a back-and-forth over the names and locations Sherlock had decoded. She recognized not a single name, but the men seemed to... particularly John, who actually read the papers and listened to news broadcasts. While most were indeed involved in the criminal underworld just as she was, she simply hadn't been here long enough to be familiar with any of them, or their crimes. The locations were even more a mystery to her, just places on a map. She herself had yet to make it off The Strip, with the exception of a few... enterprises... out in the desert itself.

"This... e' molto contorto," she muttered under her breath. She wasn't sure how the men wished to proceed. It seemed unlikely either would want to blackmail the lovers, or even to let the list go to the highest bidder and collect the money for a 3-way split. Sherlock might be in a crew, but it wasn't for the same reasons as anyone else. He just wanted to solve puzzles. John, being a doctor, and one who seemed ethical, would likely opt to turn the lovers in for murder, perhaps even vote to have the list destroyed, letting the criminals face their fate.

Truth be told, Lia was a bit torn. She could either walk away a rich woman, with many new, grateful connections in the underworld, or she could eliminate a large number of competing mafioso by doing nothing at all.

She felt compelled to turn the lovers in, too, though, if only to ruin their day. The violation of two deadly sins seemed too much to go unpunished. Sherlock hadn't even uncovered it all yet, either. There could be even more to this than she was considering. A rabbit hole, he'd said. She wasn't familiar with the analogy but she could guess at its meaning easily enough. Speculating was beginning to give her a headache, so she sipped again at the tea, hoping any caffeine in it would provide some relief. She decided, then and there, to risk scathing remarks and unpleasant looks from Sherlock by asking what was, to her, the most important question here.

"Simply put, as it stands, what angles do you see right this minute, and how would you, personally, proceed with this information?" John looked at Sherlock as soon as the question was out of her mouth, eyebrows raised, looking like he was going to enjoy Sherlock's answer.

Back at the apartment, Sherlock and Lia were met by John, who upon seeing Sherlock walk through the door was going to once again lecture him about running off without him and also not leaving a note, when he saw Lia cautiously following behind him and quickly changed gears but not before giving Sherlock a look that said that they would be talking about him wandering off later on .

Now with John back, he could take the pressure off Sherlock by talking to Lia, because Sherlock was fairly certain he was one more comment or look away from her running away and taking everything with her and he couldn't risk that now. John seemed to sense this as well the moment they had walked through the door, after he got over the initial shock of the detective bringing someone back with him and quickly stepped into one of the many roles he played in Sherlock's life, while Sherlock got on with what he needed to do without having to worry too much now about saying or doing the wrong, 'bit not good' thing. Which, just like his wandering off, John would talk to him about later.

Sherlock quickly busied himself with the rest of the cipher and other pieces of evidence while John and Lia made small talk about various topics with the occasional glance and questioning at what Sherlock was doing, which wasn't as much as he liked. There was still so much they needed to find and Sherlock had no idea how much of a head-start Mrs Rotering and Rotering's twin already had on them and that was getting to Sherlock. Good lord all this waiting around and wondering, it was hateful. How did the rest of the world do it on a daily basis?

"When the impossible has been eliminated, all that remains no matter how improbable is possible." Sherlock muttered to himself as he went over what he had already decrypted. There had to be something more. There just had to be. After all life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. Data. Data. Data. He just needed something to help. Cocaine. Cigarettes. His violin. Mycroft to yell at. Donovan and Anderson to insult. SOMETHING! Focus. Focus. Focus!

"We balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination." Sherlock reminded himself and was about to announce that he needed silence to fall around so he could find what he knew was missing, a voice stopped him. Lia's voice to be precise. She was inquiring about 'the angles Sherlock saw' and 'how he personally would proceed with the information.' The look and eyebrow raising on John did not escape Sherlock's notice. What would he do? The better, more accurate question would be, what wouldn't he do?

"There seems to me to be absolutely no limit to the inanity and credulity of the human race. Homo Sapiens! Homo idioticus!" Sherlock pointed out with a slight smirk. "As for myself? Many people would tell you, I never can resist a touch of the dramatic. So I would take a shovel, set a timer, pick a location and start digging, so to speak. The Rotering's are going to find out that they have picked the wrong game to play." 

And THE 'worst' possible player EVER was about to join them. 

Acquiring shovels wasn't very difficult. Acquiring a car and driver who didn't mind a trip out to the desert or mountains with said shovels tossed into the trunk, was. Lia thought quickly. A rental seemed the best idea, and fortunately, one of the three actually knew how to drive.

John took the wheel while Sherlock sat passenger, consulting the decoded coordinates for direction. Lia sat in the back, hoping that the mountain location they'd decided upon would prove less work than the location in the desert. Watching a hole refill itself with the sand they'd just dug out of it, over and over, just seemed like too much Sisyphus. 

Black Mountain, nestled within McCullough Range, offered nearly 7 miles of hiking trail, which none of them were dressed for. The three stood at the mouth of the trails, shovels in hand, contemplating their options. Nothing really stood out as a marker... no pile of rocks, no flagpole, no sign. Nothing, save for the trail and the parking lot beyond it. Even the trees and bushes had so much uniformity amongst them that they were as indistinguishable from each other as grains of sand in the desert.

"Well, I suppose we should start walking," John began. Sherlock didn't reply if he heard him. He looked to be in deep thought as he studied the landscape around them. Lia saw it first, but only because she happened to be the one standing where it counted. She'd spun in a slow circle, looking for something, anything, that snagged the eye. And did it ever get snagged.

"Here," she said excitedly. "I believe I'm standing on it." The two men stepped over to where she was, dirt and rocks crunching under the soles of their city shoes.

"What makes you think so?" This, from John.

"Because it's the only place here where-" She began, turning John by the shoulders so that he was facing the same direction she was.

"-you can see The Strip," Sherlock finished, now standing beside her. When Lia looked up at him, she thought she saw a brief smile, but it was gone so fast that she had her doubts.

"Surely you can see it from the top as well, but-" John started.

"-no one is hauling a body or bounty seven miles, uphill, to bury it," Sherlock finished again. He began adding in other factors as well... erosion, precipitation, foot traffic, animals... but Lia and John had already sunk the blades of their shovels into the earth and had begun to dig. In short order, he joined them. Twenty minutes later,

CLANG!

It was Sherlock who struck the metal box first, and after a few more scoops of dirt, all three dropped to their knees and finished the job with their hands. Once it had been hefted to the lip of the hole, Lia breathed a silent prayer that it was much too small to contain a body. She nodded at Sherlock, indicating he should be the one to open it.

Black Mountain was the first location that Sherlock was certain held something, he knew it wouldn't be a body, much to his dismay, but it would more than likely be a smallish stash of money and possibly more clues hidden with a cipher.

Dull. Boring. Predictable.

A brief glance from John when the question on how they were going to get to Black Mountain was raised by Lia, quickly told them that Sherlock, despite his insistence to otherwise, wouldn't be the one driving, on the account of Mycroft and his minions revoking his drivers license (Sherlock still didn't see HOW that was supposed to stop him, it really didn't, but John was tired of facing Mycroft's wrath) after one too many close calls and how much money he was costing his big brother every time he came to his rescue, (which Sherlock never bloody asked for in the first place) So after some silent sulking on Sherlock's part, John, Sherlock and Lia got into a rental car, shovels and semi decrypted cipher tagging along. 

Upon arriving at the Black Mountain, Sherlock immediately realized, nothing really stood out as a marker... no pile of rocks, no flagpole, no sign. Nothing, save for the trail and the parking lot beyond it. Even the trees and bushes had so much uniformity amongst them that they were as indistinguishable from each other as grains of sand in the desert, but unlike Lia, and maybe John, he wasn't entirely surprised. John made a comment about them starting to walk, which Sherlock easily brushed off in favor of seeing and observing their surroundings. A rather excitable exclamation from Lia caused John and Sherlock to slowly turn around and walk towards the direction of where she was now standing. Did she really realize what she was standing on and looking at? Sherlock doubted it but decided to wait and see what she would say and do. John, and his never-ending need to ask questions, was turned via his shoulders and pointed in the right direction.

The Strip.

Sherlock then made his way to the still excitable Lia and confused John, and proceeded to answer John's unfinished question that "no one was hauling a body or bounty seven miles, uphill, to bury it,". With that out of the way, he resumed adding in other factors as well... erosion, precipitation, foot traffic, animals... but Lia and John had already sunk the blades of their shovels into the earth and had begun to dig before he could truly calculate. With his mathematics rudely interrupted, he joined them before they did anymore harm and destroy the crucial data hidden beneath them.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock found something. By the sound of the metallic clang it made, how far down in the ground it was, he had found a 3.5'' H x 8'' W x 6.3'' D lock box, the variety that had a combination as a lock. A few more scoops of dirt and his calculation would be proven correct. 

And he was.

Retrieving it from its resting place, it then fell upon Sherlock to be the one whom opened it. Glancing at the combination on the front of the box, Sherlock made short work of cracking the combination and opening the lock box. Reaching inside, he pulled apart the top section of the box, which was empty, to find the bottom of the box held, with a stash of cash, like he had expected, a pair of pliers, a bullet and... a blank piece of paper?

Interesting.

Lia looked relieved and John looked like he was about to hit Sherlock over the head with a shovel for dragging them all the way out here for some cash, pliers, a bullet and a blank piece of paper? 

But Sherlock knew better and it was once again time to prove it. He grabbed the pliers and placed the bullet in the teeth of the pliers and made short work of removing the bullet's tip. He then emptied the casing onto the center piece of paper. Once that was complete, he reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a lighter, the intake of breath from John did not go unnoticed, as he flicked it to life with his left hand, he nodded to the gun powder filled piece of paper within his right hand, and held the flame a small distance under the supposed blank piece of paper and with a slight smirk, he remained silent, as he brought the hidden words into existence. 

"Michael Matthews" 

"Michael Matthews. Who is...oh, from the list you decrypted." At least it wasn't Michael Matthews himself, she thought wryly. 

"So, it stands to reason, then, that if Rotering had gone to the extreme trouble of securing an encrypted document that led to another hidden, encrypted document, bearing this man's name, that he could very well be the icing on this particular blackmail cake. The name sounds familiar, but I can't recall-"

"I can!" John said excitedly. It was his turn to shine. "He's to testify against Jim Ferguson next week."

Lia and Sherlock stared at him, then at each other, then back at John again.

"Jim Ferguson, King of the Tenderloin? You two really should get out more. It's all over the papers. The man's got his fingers in every dirty pie in Vegas. Bootlegging, prostitution, gambling, you name it," he said, shifting the shovel to his other hand. They'd all have calluses tomorrow.

"Alright. Then he's tucked away in one of those safe houses. But there were so many listed...five, six of them?" She said, stepping next to Sherlock, who already had the paper out. 

"Four names, six locations, excluding the coordinates on which we stand," he said, the look on his face one of a man in deep thought. Lia tried to think of when she had seen any other look there, and failed.

Enterprise was listed as the first location, just as Michael Matthews was listed as the first name. That alone wasn't enough to prove he'd be there. Two of these locations would be empty.

"Well," Lia said with a heavy sigh. "We can spend the next few days driving all over the state of Nevada, looking into all these places. The first one is my personal choice, unless a more solid connection can be made between the men and their locations," Lia said to no one in particular, but all three knew it would be Sherlock who found the connections, if any existed.

"The other thing is...what do we do if we find him?"

Jim Ferguson, King of the Tenderloin? Fingers in every dirty pie in Vegas? Bootlegging, prostitution, gambling? And this meant what to Sherlock? Beyond John using his brain, his skills, which Sherlock was proud of, he didn't care for what the man was doing or had done, all that mattered to him was the fact that he was now another piece of the puzzle and there was a possibility that he was being hidden away. 

There was many things Sherlock couldn't stand and something being hidden from his ranked among his top five.

Four names. Six locations. Excluding the coordinates on which we currently stand. Enterprise is listed as the first location, just as Michael Matthews is listed as the first name. However that alone isn't enough to prove he'd be there. Which leaves two of the locations empty, or so we are supposed to believe.

Luckily and rather unluckily for everyone else, Sherlock failed to believe such a thing. Because for the detective, it had long been an axiom of his that the little things are infinitely the most important. He also knew that it was his call on where to go next. Did they follow the list from top to bottom? Keeping things in an organized manner, which was Sherlock's preferred method. Or did they do what Sherlock was pretty certain the Rotering's were doing and just swinging blindly and hoping they would hit something like the amateurs they clear are? 

As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify.

Glancing at their surroundings, his watch and finally at Lia and John, who were obviously waiting on his decision, Sherlock did one final quick calculation before he gave his answer.

"It is not that I think or believe, but that I know. Four names and six locations, excluding the coordinates on which we currently stand. Enterprise is listed as the first location, just as Michael Matthews is listed as the first name. However that alone isn't enough to prove he'd be there. Which leaves two of the locations empty, or so we are supposed to believe, which is an insult to me and I will not stand for it. Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing. It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It has been my experience that no-one goes to the trouble of selecting a location and then going as far as encrypting said location just for nothing. I personally don't want to risk the chance. Lia you came to me for help correct? I will not let the Rotering's win this game. They will not beat me." Which was the truth. Failure was never an option.

"As far as what we do if we find him? It's rather simple. If he is indeed alive, we have a chat, I think he would be most thrilled to learn of the Rotering's plans. If he isn't alive? Well, even dead men tell tales and I am a very good listener." 

The trip to Enterprise was a quiet one, with Sherlock, John, and Lia all lost in their own thoughts. Nighttime had descended, but none had even considered giving up for the day. Lia briefly considered asking John to pull over at a pay phone so that she could call Silvio and tell him that she was running late and not to worry, but there was no time and she didn't want to worry him unnecessarily. 

Enterprise happened to be one of the affluent areas on the list. Small, with new, large homes sitting on at least a couple of acres each. They had narrowed the search down to one of the streets and were studying the houses as John eased the car by each of them at a crawl. In a systematic, clipped tone, Sherlock picked off each home that would not suit the bill... children's toys in the yard... dogs... too many vehicles in the drive... curtains open... until he saw one that fit the profile. 

"Stop! That one, there. Huge home, but only one car, and it looks much like the nondescript rubbish they use as unmarked police cars here. The yard is professionally landscaped, because a witness and his handlers certainly aren't going to be out mowing the lawn. No children, no pets, no direct line of sight offering a view into the living room or dining area, despite that massive bay window," he said. Lia, in the back, stared out the car window at it. He was absolutely right, of course. Having spent some time recently daydreaming of buying a real home and getting out of the hotel she was currently living in, she had become somewhat familiar with the amenities that homebuilders were leaning towards these days. 

You bought a home because of that bay window. You would never install blinds or heavy curtains over it. Lia opened her mouth to say as much, when a flickering of shadows crossed across said window. The words she'd been about to say went by the wayside, with a

"Sarò dannato. Siamo stati picchiati qui."

"They were simply lucky, not smart," Sherlock murmured. Did he know Italian? He'd never given any indication that he did. As John pulled the car to the curb a few houses ahead, she realized that Sherlock probably didn't... he'd simply deduced what she'd said. 

The three left the vehicle and cut through a neighboring house's back yard, circling around to the back and opposite of the direction the shadows had gone. Stationing themselves amidst some trees that bordered the rear of the property, they watched as the shadowed figures came around the other side of the house, but much closer to it. Even in the dark, it was obviously a man and a woman. The surviving Rotering brother, and the widow, and with Rotering himself dead, it was safe to assume one or both would take no issue arming themselves as they scoped out the address, the one they most wanted to sell to interested criminals. 

The three, there in the trees, all had weapons. One was an expert, one was as skilled as any beat cop, and one had scarcely fired hers but was required to carry one, given her line of 'work'. They all exchanged glances, there in the dark, and eventually both Sherlock and Lia were looking at John, who nodded his understanding. If gunplay was required, they'd leave it to the pro. 

Easing out of their hiding spot, they silently crept across the back lawn, and towards the pair now trying to get a glimpse inside what looked like a kitchen window.

"...blinds, I can't see shit," said a female voice.

"It's the right place, I swear it has to be. Anderson and Boulder were empty."

Interesting. they'd gone in alphabetical order.

"Someone will be in this one. We'll just bust the lock. Remember, if it's Matthews, he won't be armed, so don't let him distract you. Take out the cops. At most, there will be two. We'll sit on Matthews, make the call, and when Ferguson's guys get here with our money, we hand him over. Easy, peasy."

Lia never even slowed her approach. She was not highly skilled in a lot of things yet, but stealth had always been on her side, and all the grave digging had given her better-than-average upper body strength. She went for Mrs. Rotering, slipping an arm around her neck and locking her in a chokehold. The only sound was a quiet little 

"Ccckk!"

Rotering looked over at her, then lunged towards the women, failing to even look behind him to see if Lia had company. By the time he saw Sherlock and John there, and tried to reach for his gun, John already had his out, and fired, right into Rotering's knee.

Screaming obscenities flew, lights came on, and two plainclothes came out of the back door with guns drawn. When they began barking orders and pointing their guns at the three still standing, the trio raised their hands immediately, with John holding up an authoritative-looking identification. Lia stayed silent- she was the only one who was an honest-to-God criminal, and had no right to be here at all. Fortunately, as women so often were, she was overlooked as any sort of threat and virtually dismissed. John and Sherlock stepped forward and explained what was going on, John doing most of the talking. When the police heard the full story, or at least a close enough version of it, they clapped the men on the shoulders and began making noise about 'commendations' and 'rewards'.

"NO!" This from all three of them, simultaneously. Lia came closer and spoke hurriedly.

"This may not be over, you see, and it wouldn't do well to have all that media attention. Discretion is the only reward we need," she said, offering her most charming smile. "In fact, you boys can take the credit for this little takedown, as if we were never here? Everybody wins." The cops looked at each other, then at the incapacitated Rotering whining and cradling his shattered knee, and finally at the unconscious woman on the patio cement next to him.

And they saw pay raises.

"Go," the closer one uttered as police sirens sounded in the distance. Letting out a breath she hadn't know she was holding, Lia smiled again and did just that, Sherlock and John close behind. No one said a word until they were in the car, and headed back to the relative safety of The Strip.

"Is it over? Are we done?" John asked, his eyes meeting Lia's in the rearview mirror. She didn't answer, and they both turned to look at Sherlock.

In the dark interior of the car, his lips curled into a smile.