"Let the children play"
Watson was reading the morning paper, trying to not notice the dark mood of his companion, who was pushing himself to exhaustion for he was working at a very complicated case but had not come to a conclusion yet. As usual, he had not slept or eaten properly since the case had started. When John joined him for breakfast that morning, he muttered something unintelligible to him and started to pace the room like a lion in a cage.
"Holmes, would you please sit down and eat something? Please?" the doctor asked him quietly.
"I don't need food, Watson! I need to think and right now I cannot do it. I need some stimulation!" he retorted, in an angry tone. He was wearing the same clothes of three days ago, and since then he had not shaved or had a bath, and as a result his aspect (and his smell) was not so good. He could had been mistaken for a homeless by who was not used to see him in such an altered state. Watson did not like his position at the moment, but he was a physician, after all, and he had to try, at least, to help him.
"I think that if you put something in your stomach, Holmes, then you'll think better." he added, hoping to ease his temper.
"I don't need you to tell me what do I have to do, Doctor. Keep your advices for your patients or, at least, eat your damned breakfast and leave me alone!"
Watson had had enough of Holmes' moods. He had lost that little patience he had left with the detective and, at his outburst, could not maintain his calm and steady approach. He took the newspaper and the toast he was eating from the tray and headed for the door of the living room.
"As you want, detective. But don't knock on my door when you will need my professional help, this time!" he stated, and slammed the door behind him. He consumed the rest of his breakfast in his bedroom. After a while, the anger he felt before for his mate started to fade away to be replaced by guilt. Why should I feel guilty? He is the one who is incapable of feelings for other human being, why do I have to feel sorry for him? No no no, John, this time you'll just leave him alone, as he suggested!. He resumed to read the newspaper: on the third page there was a short article about the disappearance of another child in London; the article said this was the fourth child to vanish, but since they were all orphans or children who had lived in the streets, there had been no official inquiry. He thought this was very sad, just because these little creatures did not had important surnames, no one had tried to search them.
He left Baker Street one hour later to go to his office, Holmes was already gone and did not tell him where, but he did not care. He spent the evening visiting patients, while in the afternoon he had a few home care assistance to attend. The last one was in a suburban quarter of London, far from the centre of the city. It took him a while to reach the place and since there were no cabs around, he asked to the diver to wait for him. Unluckily, the visit was longer than he expected, for the man was seriously ill and Watson had to assist him and then instruct his wife on how his husband would had been treated; when he had finished, the cab was gone. He waited for a while, but the area was desert and he supposed that people who lived there did not use cabs usually, so he started his long walk to home. It was late and surely Holmes would had wondered what happened to him, in the distant possibility that he had notices his absence.
The streets seemed all the same, and if not for his good and developed sense of directions, he would had got lost. The buildings were old and shabby looking, here and there he could see small lights inside them, but most of them were abandoned. This is the perfect place to be mugged, or worse! he thought. The unnatural silence and the total absence of life, for he had not met a single man since he had started his walk, made him nervous. So when he heard a small cry coming from the old building on his right, he was not sure if he had heard it for real or it was only in his mind. He stopped and waited, but no more cries came from the inside and he decided to quicken his pace. But then his ears caught another small sound, shortly followed by heavy steps and a thud, other steps, heavier than before, as if someone was carrying a dead weight, maybe a person. Someone was in there, in danger, he did not think about it and went to search the main entrance of the building. It was an old structure with three floors, it was very imposing, with deep walls made of bricks; the main façade had many big and very tall windows with gratings on the outside, so it was impossible for him to enter this way, and a big wooden double door at its middle. Watson tried to open it but it was closed and too heavy for him. He resumed his walk and found, on the far corner, a smaller single door: this time he had to put just a little pressure on the old wood to broke the rusty mechanism of the lock. Luckily, the sky was clear that night and there was a beautiful full moon; between the moon and the lighting of the street, he was able to see, even if he did not have a lamp with him. Once inside, he was assaulted by a heavy stink of decay: the pavement was covered with bodies of dead animals, mostly birds and cats, feces and other disgusting remaining of once living creatures that he could not identify. He felt he was going to threw up and he quickly put his handkerchief upon his mouth and nose, to avoid the smell of death. The room was not too large, and he could see only the bare walls of it, for there was nothing in there, except for the corpses: it could had been a kind of waiting room. On the wall in front of him there was a door, he carefully opened it hoping the rest of the building was in better shape. He found himself in a larger room, with many windows that overlooked on the inner garden; there were tables and chairs covered with dust and dirt and a yellowish thin powder, coming from the ceiling where the color had gone away. The place seemed desert but he had the very strong feeling to be observed; his heart was pounding in his chest and his breath was labored. His thoughts went to Holmes, what if he had died in this place and no one had ever found his body? Nobody knew he was there, he had been crazy to go in the building alone in the night! You're not making any good to anybody if you have a panic attack here, Jonh! Calm down! He took a deep breath and tried to think how Holmes would had behave in his situation. Observe! Think! On the left wall, a slit led to a dark corridor with many doors; on the right one, trough another slit, there was a kind of portico, then a flight of stairs. He decided to remain in the light and ventured to the stairs. Each step of the doctor on the broken and dirty floor produced a small crack.
Watson made it to the stairs, feeling his courage had gone away the moment he entered the second room. He had left behind the only exit he knew of the building, his instinct screamed to come back with the police officers with the daylight to search for any sign of living person; that was the right thing to do. Again, he thought of Holmes and the way he left that morning, what if that would had been their last conversation? This is not the place and the time, John, have a look around and come back home. He was almost on top of the stairs when he saw another long corridor with windows on the side of the garden; from his elevated position, he understood the building had two twins garden, separated by a low channel.
Before going away, he stood in silence to detect any sound he could had missed but heard nothing. He was relieved. He would had returned home to Holmes and made sure he was alright, and he would had take care of him if he needed. He resumed his pace but stopped abruptly when he felt the coldness of a knife pointed at his throat and a sharp voice in his right ear.
"Don't try to move or to shout, or you'll be dead before you know it!"
Watson did not expected the attack, so he stayed still waiting for the man's next move. The knife was pressed painfully to his skin and he could not move, anyway. Then he felt a sudden thud when the man hit him with a heavy object at the base of his head, he felt himself falling and being lifted in strong arms, then passed out.
It seems the poor doctor has put himself in a dangerous situation again, will Holmes be able to find him and rescue him in time?
The building I have described really exist, it is an abandoned mental hospital in my town. It is a really scaring place.
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