It had been almost two months since Jim Moriarty took over every television screen in England taunting, "Did you miss me?" The best technicians couldn't work out how he'd managed such a feat let alone track the signals he'd hijacked. There wasn't much to be done. Sherlock had spent a month tracking ever movement of Moriarty's allies prior to his demise, attempting to convince John, Mary and baby Cassidy to go into protective custody and yelling at Mycroft for failing to ensure Moriarty was dead. He spent most of last month shooting walls, playing violin until the early hours of the morning and murmuring constantly and nonsensically after the realization that there was no where he could hide his family without them being found. Sherlock was lost in every sense of the word, and that was exactly what Moriarty had wanted. Sherlock couldn't let Moriarty's ghost get the better of him, so he started consulting again.
There were small cases – affairs, larceny, insurance fraud, not much beyond a 4 out of 10 but Sherlock needed something to do. Anything. Each case took around 24 hours to solve with one man being caught as the result of a speck of paint on his right shoulder, another due to a scratch along the side of his gold watch, a woman being caught as the result of a cookie eating habit and a man breaking down in tears after not being able handle the guilt of stealing the neighbours cat. Sherlock's life was becoming an anthem with lyrics exclusive to BORED!
Sherlock sat with a deathly gaze at the yellow smiley face on the wall opposite him. Its innate happiness had gone from comical to aggravating over the last couple of months.
"What are you so happy about?" Sherlock turned to the skull sitting over the fireplace, "What is it so happy about?"
Sherlock took out .22 caliber pistol and prepared to shoot the wretched thing over and over until he could permanently turn that smile upside down. It took a full magazine for him to realize that wasn't going to happen and in his fury he stood up off Johns recliner dropped the gun on the floor and tore at the wall paper until the smiley face had been scratched off. He then proceeded to carefully take his laptop off the study desk, pick up the desk chair and moments before smashing both into splinters there came the sound of bliss – a single ring maximum pressure for a half-second. Client.
Sherlock wasn't bothered to change out of his pajamas and gown, in fact he didn't even notice he hadn't gotten changed all day, nor had he noticed it was now 9pm. He raced down the stairs jumped down the he last four in one gate and threw the door open. For a moment he couldn't see anyone at the door, until he looked down. There on Sherlock's doorstep stood a young boy approximately eleven years old, just under 5 feet tall, starring towards the ground with a mop of wet hair sitting limply atop of his trembling head. It wasn't until that point that Sherlock realized it was storming outside.
The boy looked up briefly looking up to Sherlock with piercing blue eyes.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes."
"I need your help." The boy answered still starring at the ground.
Sherlock ushered the boy inside and quickly up to the study.
"Do you have a name?" Sherlock asked starring intensely in an attempt to profile the boy.
"Zach."
"Why do you need my help, Zach. Do try to be interesting."
"I can only talk if Doctor Watson is here."
Sherlock looked completely bewildered and somewhat offended, who was this boy?
"Doctor Watson and I are no longer working together."
"He said Doctor Watson had to be here." The boy's eyes started welling up and his voice was trembling.
"Who?"
The boy sat silent, determined not to say a word until this man, Doctor Watson had arrived.
Sherlock made a call and within fifteen minutes John was climbing the stairs, baby carrier at his side.
"What's this all about, Sherlock?"
Sherlock went straight over to the baby carrier and picked up young Cassidy careful to support her head, holding her to the center of his chest. John was always surprised to see Sherlock show such affection towards his daughter but never questioned it.
"The boy said he wouldn't talk until you were here."
"Sherlock you can't just let a kid into your apartment without his parents what were you think-"
"You played into my hand Sherlock." The boy interrupted in a monotone voice. "I owe you for playing my game. I owe you for taking a fall. I owe you for killing me. I owe you the truth. I owe you for living."
Sherlock stood in stunned and terrified silence and could feel his stomach rising. John instinctively took a step towards the boy.
"What?"
"That's what the man told me to say." The boy said in a panic looking at the anger in John's eyes. "He was the man that was all over the news a couple of months ago. Moriarty I think his name was."
"When did you see him?" Sherlock demanded.
"I'm a puzzle, Sherlock Holmes. Twenty-six, one, eleven. I owe you."
Sherlock handed the baby, still sleeping soundly, over to John.
"Where is he?"
"Twenty-six. One. Eleven." The boy said tears still in his eyes.
With that the boy stood up and attempted to leave the room but Sherlock grabbed his arm tightly and pulled him back.
"What does that mean?"
"I can't say. Please let go."
"Sherlock, go easy. He's just a kid." Then he turned his attention to the boy. "Please understand we won't hurt you but we need to know more."
The boy struggled under Sherlock's grip. "I don't know anything else. Some guys grabbed me off the street yesterday or… or the day before I'm not sure. They took me to some place and that man Moriarty told me what I had to say, and that once I'd said it I could go home. The guys dropped me here. That's all I know, please, I want to go home now."
"What place?" Sherlock demanded.
"Some swimming pool. I don't know where. I passed out in the car."
The swimming pool, of course! That's where this all started. Sherlock thought to himself silently.
"Please your hurting me let me go!" The boy pleaded tears now rolling down his cheeks.
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock was pulled out of his mind palace. "What?"
"Let the boy go! What's your name?"
"Zach." The boy responded meekly.
"Where do you live?" John asked gently.
"Stirling."
"You're a bit away from home."
"Where are we?"
"London."
"Please I have to get home. Mum will be worried sick!"
"Zach, I promise we're going to get you home but right now we need to call the police because a bad man kidnapped you. A bad man we need to find and put in jail. So please take a seat. Look here's my phone." John said as he struggled to hold the baby and rummage through his pocket for his phone. "Give your mum a call."
"John, call Lestrade. The game is on!"
