_-another inspired by Sherlock, cause I’m obsessed :)-_

Ebbon swallowed grimly, staring down at the corpse. He scanned the body, his face twisting in disgust. One of its hands were in a chest, limply holding what looks like a button. A signal, presumably. Ash stood at the side, a nauseous feeling in his stomach. He always tagged along, hoping to be some sort of help. But, he always forgot how gory bodies could be…

“I have a theory.” Ebbon abruptly said, “This man—“

“Man? How do you know?” Ash interrupted, gesturing to the body’s face, which is covered by a balaclava.

A small, knowing smirk creeped onto Ebbon’s face, “You’re so innocent, my dear assistant. Anyways…” he turned back to the body, tenting his hands, “This man must have found a chest, supposedly thought it was treasure, or at least something of the sort.” He paused, raising an eyebrow, “inside is a button, I would assume it’s an alert. The moment he saw what the chest contained, he wished he’d never opened it… but it’s too late now.”

“So the button was a bomb?” Ash guessed, his eyes darting anywhere but the body.

“Oh, no.” Ebbon grinned, crossing his arms, “He died with no clear wound. So, I would guess that it’s gas, maybe poison, but gas would be a bit more likely.”

Ash’s brows knitted together, “Then why on earth would he press the button if it would cause some stupid poison gas?”

“Of course he wouldn’t know about the gas…”

“Curiosity?”

“No one’s that stupid.”

“Suicide?”

“Again, he didn’t know about the gas.”

“Then what?”

Ebbon sat on the ground and looked over the body again. “Inside his pocket is a bus ticket, two way. He was intending to go back to…” he checked the ticket, “London. But he came out here, in the countryside. With a… mask on? And, specifically into this one field, where he found a randomly placed chest.

“The fingerprints all over the chest suggest possibly checking it over or just random hesitation. Clearly if it was the former, he did a crap job. He opened the chest, found the button.” Ebbon looked over the chest, “A thousand pounds in cash is in this chest, Ash, and the man went for the button first. But why?”

Ash shrugged, finally summoning up the courage to walk over, “Does he have a phone? Some sort of possession?”

“Thats it!” Ebbon unceremoniously grabbed the deader’s hand and pulled the sleeve up, revealing a golden watch, “Ah, he was wealthy. Or dumb enough to invest in such an insignificant thing.” He smirked, “the watch is set to three hours before, but it’s still running. He has a second, smaller watch on the same wrist, with England’s time…”

“So, he’s foreign?”

“Possibly.”

“Is there a reason why he’s wearing gloves?” Ash indicated to the plastic gloves stretched over the man’s hands.

“Good spot, dearest assistant. Hmm… maybe to avoid fingerprints? Maybe cleanliness?” He rubbed his chin, “All these riddles… wait!” He remarked, pulling the mask off the man’s head, revealing the face. A simple complexion, soft features, a bit older, around 40. On his ear, a hearing aid.

“A hearing aid? Whats that got to do with—“

“Shh.” Ebbon snapped, moving his ear closer to the hearing aid. A voice. “It’s a communicator. _Don’t_ make a sound.”

The faint voice muttered some words, “He’s down, three minutes and forty seconds.” The voice paused, then there was a small chuckle, “what has hands but cant clap?”

Ebbon stood up straight. It was a game, there were clues, a riddle. They all needed to be put together… damn these phycopaths…

Can you solve this mystery?