Free Murder with Lens: A Sherlock Holmes Case (221B Baker Street Series) by S.K. Lloyds

Pardon us.” Sherlock was on the next floor up by the time John had extricated himself from the student.
    Sherlock had found the correct flat and was talking to a young man standing just inside the slab door. This was one excellently groomed and turned-out young man. He seemed confused by Sherlock’s sudden appearance at his door.
    “Ah, you’re the fellow who phoned, well, Lawrence didn’t come home.” An idea occurred to him of a sudden. “I… I don’t suppose you’re responsible for that.” He looked Holmes over and his brows went up. “He’s not into older guys as a rule, but you’d catch the exception.”
    “Hm. Charming,” Sherlock said, “and I do know where he is this morning.”
    The young man’s eyes widened. “Oh that is ace, he spent the night with you then? No kidding?!” The young man stepped aside in a gesture designed to let Sherlock pass.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Sherlock swept into a communal flat where the kitchen island was dotted with young people, mostly clad in PJs and eating sugary cereal.
    “I’m Charlie,” the young man smiled. “Sit down, really. I’ll fix tea and you can wait on him.”
    This garnered Holmes some curious looks. John stopped at the doorframe and let his eyes adjust to the dimness inside.
    Sherlock looked around the room into which he’d walked like a new landlord, “Oh, no. He’s dead and in the mortuary by now. Last night I examined his remains. John, didn’t you show them the badge?” he wagged his fingers in air and was off to throw open the curtains.
    John stepped in and closed the door. Shock and dismay; frozen faces; marshmallow cereal dribbling out of one guy’s mouth – Holmes had arrived. John showed them Sherlock’s badge, motioning at the genius who retreated deeper into the apartment, “Sherlock Holmes, police specialist. He saw your friend last night.”
    “No… Lawrence isn’t dead…” Charlie, who’d let Holmes in, roused himself and turned in John’s direction. “That’s… that’s crazy. Who are you people?”
    John tossed the badge to the boy. “Feel free to call the Yard.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and noticed Holmes was no longer in the room.
    There was some crashing from the hall Sherlock had vanished down and John exhaled slowly. “Sherlock,” he called out.
    Half the kids scattered to see if it was their room he’d decided to destroy.
    “Sit, please sit down,” John held out his hands as if he could hold them all back. “Trust me, he won’t mistake one of your rooms for Lawrence’s. And we’re going to need to talk to you.”
    Charlie’s face was pale, “What happened to him? Can you tell me?”
    John wasn’t fielding this, and he’d very possibly clap a hand over Sherlock’s mouth before he let the man explain the condition of the body to adolescents. “This is in the hands of Scotland Yard, right now. Call and ask for Detective Inspector Lestra-”
    Sherlock appeared from the hallway with a heap of books he dropped on a cluttered table. They made a loud bang. Hands free, he caught the couch before anyone had a chance to sit, and yanked it off to one side of the room.
    ***
    “What’s he doing?” one of the flat mates yelped. He’d almost toppled to the floor. “People are still sleeping, man! Have a mind!”
    “Most definitely,” Holmes motioned about him. “Move… stuff.”
    John moved the coffee table. He started to collect the game consoles, scattered books, and other whatnot on the floor to one side. “Uh, Sherlock, what are you doing?”
    “I looked at his book shelf,” Sherlock half turned. “Clear as day, the notation flags in the books are patterns. There are oscilloscope patterns, like a voiceprint, but without the spectrograph.”
    “That could be random,” John opened his arms.
    Sherlock turned several of the exercise books so that the bright note flags faced John, “His initials are spelled in Morse code: L.A.W. – Lawrence Ambrose Waters. Do you