The echo of running steps bounced off the arched walls of the otherwise silent and dark underground corridors. A heated chase was underway and the drowning sound of heavy panting lead the way through various twists and turns of the sewer's tunnels. For well over half an hour Sherlock and John had been caught up in a sprinting race to catch a man suspected of holding a position in the notorious sex ring operating beneath the streets of London.
While Sherlock had made the leaps and bounds over various obstacles in their path look easy, John was struggling just to keep up behind him. Sherlock was so heavily caught up in the thrill of the case, that he could not look back to check and see if John was still following behind. So instead, the detective made a point of calling out to his blogger every few minutes as a way of keeping tabs on his location. A simple exasperated yell of "John!" or "This way!" sufficed enough to where the gasping doctor could respond with a "Here!" and "Right!" to ease Sherlock's mind into not worrying about his whereabouts.
This man was quick, far too quick for the duo to keep up with him for much longer. He knew every twist and turn of these pathways, and that gave him a significant edge in the chase. Before long, he seemed to have lost the two by using the darkness to his advantage. Making a sharp left turn, he pressed himself up against the bricked wall and covered his mouth with a hand to silence his heavy breathing. His trick seemed to have thrown Sherlock off, as the detective had stopped short just out of view from where the criminal was standing in wait.
Not but a few seconds later, John had reached Sherlock and began looking about the series of paths with him. "He could have gone anywhere," the defeated blonde chimed. While the doctor had bent over to catch his breath, Sherlock was busy turning every which way; visibly frustrated that he lost the perpetrator. Hissing through his teeth, he ran a gloved hand through his curly dark hair, ruffling it in a sudden fit of aggravation.
In silence, the man in hiding caught a glimpse of a hand reaching out for him from his peripheral vision. His brown eyes widened in a sudden wave of terror as he turned to defend himself, but before he could utter a noise, a rag doused with chloroform covered his face. Slowly he tapped out of consciousness; allowing his attacker to wrap his neck with a thick cloth before snapping it. Just as the killer had came, he then so vanished back into the shadows.
Hours later as the police were conducting an ordered search the sewer's corridors, they discovered the body sprawled out in the same spot it was left to rot. Lestrade had called in Sherlock to come and examine the body and to identify if this was the same man he had engaged in a chase. One glance at the man's face was all Sherlock needed to confirm that it indeed was the very same man. Crouching down to the body's level, he began his examination.
First thing to stick out was the obvious; the broken neck. Since the body was found not far from where Sherlock and John had stood in search hours before, he concluded that the murder had happened shortly after they had lost sight of him. Since he and John did not hear any noise or cry, the detective noted that it was a sudden death, and the fabric still tied around the neck had muffled any noise of breaking bones. Giving a split second squint, Sherlock moved to dig in the man's coat pockets; pulling out train tickets and a few waded up receipts. The tickets were scheduled for a train to Paris leaving tonight. Jogging his memory, an instant flash of realization lead Sherlock to note that when they had first engaged the man in the chase, he was attempting to wave down a taxi in a direction headed for the station a few blocks away.
Deducing quickly that the man was trying to get out of London was an easy feat, but the extra ticket for the same time was a bit more of a challenge. Though it was not one a challenge that could stump a Holmes for long. "He was leaving London," he explained to John and Lestrade, both of whom had been staring at him the entire time. This man was trying to take someone else out of London as well, but the question of why had Sherlock puzzled. Organizing his thoughts, he drowned out the sound of voices around him and numbered three possible reasons in his mind; quickly eliminating two scenarios and leaving him with the possibility that he was trying to take a woman with him. Unfolding the receipts, Sherlock found a list of items on one adding up to 65 pounds for an outfit for a female while the other receipt was conformation for two rooms in a motel on the outskirts of Paris.
"Ah," he mused; his lips curving slightly at the sudden realization. "This man, he wanted out. He was dragged into this ring by force. It was never meant to go this far- perhaps he was dragged into the smuggling of kidnapped women and children somehow..." As he brought the details to light, Sherlock carefully stepped around the body; his hand gesturing every so often as emphasis to his explanation. "Something made him finally attempt escape. Or rather, someone. There are two train tickets to Paris here, and a receipt for women's clothing."
Lestrade furrowed his brows, needing more detail as he was suspicious of the accusation. "How do you know he wasn't taking a girlfriend away on holiday? I buy my wife things all the time," he shrugged; folding his arms.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and held back a scuff of disapproval. "No no, he is involved in a sex ring Lestrade. The way he dresses, how unkempt his attire and hair looks- he doesn't have a girlfriend. No, he wanted to get a girl out of a terrible fate. But why..." Pausing for only a moment, he went on to give more detail. "These women, they don't have proper clothes. In order to take her out in public he'd need to get her dressed in something other than the rags they put her in. She'd need to look presentable in order to not draw suspicion. He knew her dress and shoe size, this means she was familiar to him. Possible that she could have told him but unlikely that is the case. He wouldn't pick out just any random girl. He had to have known her in some way." Turning to face Lestrade, he inquired, "Did you run an identity check on him yet?"
"Dale Montgomery. He's been arrested before for petty theft, which is how his fingerprints ran so quickly. No family on record. At least, none that care to associate with him. But Sherlock-" Before Greg could finish his question, the detective had moved over to consult with John, ignoring what else the inspector had to say.
"John, I need you to confirm a suspicion. This man had heart problems, he's had a heart attack before. I need you to confirm this for me then inquire after his medical records. Molly may be able to assist you with that part if you cannot pull them up on your own. He has to have someone listed as emergency contact. A sibling, a friend, someone. When we find that link, we may be one step closer to finding out who this woman is," a command to which John acknowledged with a court nod.
As the doctor bent over to check for medical signs of heart complications, Sherlock had already removed his rubber gloves, tossing them into a bin as he turned to leave. There was something he needed to take care of. And that something was once again making use of his homeless network. Someone had to know this man, in the very least in some sort of passing. He could tell that this man had lived on the streets before, which is possibly why he was dragged into the ring in the first place, and Sherlock had to find out just who he was involved with.