"If you are watching this, I am dead. I want to start by thanking my mum and dad, for-"
"Anderson what are you doing?"
Anderson jumped at the irritated voice of Detective Inspector Lestrade. Anderson hadn't heard him come in.
"I am, uh..."
Greg Lestrade sighed and pointed to the door. "Out!" He ordered. Anderson grabbed his camera and brushed past his boss, keeping his head down until he exited his office. Lestrade groaned and slumped into his chair. He had just closed a case involving an assassin called the Poison Giant; he had caught 'em, along with some...outside help. He yawned and threw back his arms to support his head. It had been along day.
"Sir." Donovan peaked in his office. "There was a phone call for you. Lestrade thanked her then began digging through the stack of papers on his desk. He was in no mood to call his ex; he'd find time later. Greg let out another yawn and reached for his coffee. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He re-positioned himself in his chair. He felt his eyelids growing heavy and his head grew hot. But what caused his heart to beat violently, was the pain in his throat and chest. He felt it getting more and more difficult to breathe; his breath becoming shallow and rough. He felt his legs give and he slid down in his chair. "Help." Greg called hoarsely. He fell from his chair to the floor and began crawling toward the door. A gun shot rang out from outside the door. He froze. He heard shouts and the return of gunfire.
The door was kicked open and man wearing a gas mask pulled him off the floor. It was useless to struggle; besides, he didn't have the energy. Before passing out, Lestrade watched the man join a group of other masked intrudes. Donovan, Anderson, and numerous officers lay unconscious across the department.
Sherlock Holmes pushed through a mass of media outside police headquarters. A dozen ambulances were parked outside. Inside, phones were ringing off the hook. Donovan was getting her head checked by a doctor.
"What happened?" John asked in a forcefully collective voice. Looking straight at Sherlock she replied in a shaky voice. "We were attacked. A dozen men in gas masks appeared. They-" She paused and drew in a rapid breath. "They took Lestrade.
"What?" John cried. He looked back at Sherlock who was standing absolutely motionless, his eyes closed. "Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock!" Sherlock eyes shot open. He turned to Donovan. "When exactly did this happen?" Donovan looked at her watch. "Seven minutes ago." She sounded unsure. Sherlock whipped around and ran into Lestrade's office. He shoved a detective out of his way and knelt down at the desk. He surveyed the top of it, scanning papers and looking for any clues. He grabbed lestrade's coffee drink and sniffed its rim. Drugged, incapacitating agent. A poison perhaps." He whispered to himself. "Have that analyzed," he ordered, placing the cup into the hand of the detective he had rudely pushed. "Umm that's not my job." The detective complained. Sherlock shot him a glare of pure disapproval, then continued his search. "Find anything?" John asked.
"Perhaps." Sherlock answered, now laying on his back looking up under the desk. "Well Leo is sending a team out to find Greg."
"Greg! That's it." Sherlock exclaimed. John rolled his eyes. Sherlock stood up.
"Now the question is-"
"Where is he?" John interrupted with a tone of urgency.
"No. The question is, John, why would someone take Lestrade?"
"He's the head detective." John explained, implying the answer was obvious.
"So what?
John folded his arms across his chest. "Sherlock. He's solved quite a lot of cases and had put away a lot of criminals. It's not strange for him to have enemies."
"No. Of course it isn't." Sherlock mumbled.
"Am I? Am I hearing this wrong or do you sound jealous?"
"Jealous? Don't be ridiculous John!" Sherlock laughed then returned to a serious face immediately regretting his question. "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?" A man walked in. "We got a lead on a silver car. It was seen leaving this street right after the incident and was heading down Abingdon St. Without a word Sherlock dashed out the office and towards the exit. John groaned and ran off to catch up.
Sherlock halted at a road crossing. John, panting, caught up to him and bent over to catch his breath. The sun was getting low in the sky "Why have you stopped? Is this way?"
"I'm not following the car."
"What?"
"You go. See if you can find anything."
"What? Where are you going?"
Sherlock ignored him and took off down the darkening street. John sighed, straightened his back then jogged away. Meanwhile, Sherlock was on a mission. He ran street to street looking for the address he had memorized minutes ago off one of Lestrade's files. He stopped under a street lamp, outside a flat. He buzzed on the intercom. "Hello."
"Hello?"
A woman, mid-40s with a note of anxiety answered. "Hello? Who is this?"
"I'm Liam. I'm terribly sorry to intrude but I'm from the, gas company and I need to expect this building's boiler room. Do you mind letting
me in?" The door buzzed and she met him in the hall.
"Now. Mrs. Cline, isn't it?"
The women was startled. "Yes?"
"Where is your husband?"
"My husband? I thought you were from the gas company."
"Answer the question." Sherlock ordered.
Mrs. Cline placed her hands on her hips. "He is at work."
"Show me your room."
"What?"
"I need to see it."
Before she could decline he threatened, "If not now, I can return with a dozens officers from Scotland Yard."
She let him inside the warm room, decorated with pictures of appealing landscapes and flowers. Sherlock turned around to leave. "It's not him."
"Excuse me?"
Sherlock ignored her and closed the door behind him. "Good day!" He shouted.
Greg lifted his head. He groaned, his hands suspended high above him. He'd always prayed he'd never find himself if this sort of situation.
"Who are you?" He asked, not expecting an answer. The man sitting in front of him was about 5'7, Caucasian, with a crew cut haircut.
"Right, let me guess. I, uh, put you in jail and you want revenge." Lestrade chose a satirical tone.
The man gave no reply other then a sickly cough.
"You're not going to talk to me?" He asked.
"Do you remember me?" The man retorted.
Lestrade scanned his face and sighed. "No."
The man slammed his fist on the side of his chair. "How about Daphne Bungard? Hmm? Ring any bells?"
The name did strike Greg as familiar, but he struggled to place it. Before he found the answer, the man told him. "She was murdered by Callum Turner.
Lestrade dropped his head. "Yes of course. Daphne Bungard."
"You let him off!" The man screamed, his voice echoing in the empty basement. "On a technicality."
"It's not my fault. It's the law-"
The man glared threateningly at him.
"Why am I not dead?" Greg asked, trying his luck. "You could have killed me instead of taking me. But you didn't." Greg paused.
"So what is it you want? To torture me first? Satisfy your hunger for revenge?"
"I have to say Inspector." The man leaned forward. "You are good at your job." The man didn't hesitate and struck Lestrade in the chest
with a tazer.
Back at the station things were begining to settle down. Officers from other divisions replaced those injured and at the hospital. John had returned and sat waiting for Sherlock to come back. He walked over to a desk where officers were busy on computers, searching for the car.
"Any luck?"
One man shook his head and John returned to his chair. Just then, Molly Hooper came limping in.
"Molly? What are you doing here?"
She shrugged and sat down beside him. Her eyes were bleak and her hair was tied in a messy bun. "You should go home."
"Oh no, I can't. Not like I could sleep or anything."
Molly put her hand to her mouth, nervously biting her nails.
"Oh dear, a nervous habit. You know they are very difficult to break."
Sherlock proclaimed entering the station.
"Did you find him?" Molly shot up from her chair and ran over to Sherlock. John joined them.
"Hmm? Oh Lestrade. No, haven't found him yet. Oh my, everyone should
stop worrying about him."
"You do realize he's been kidnapped." Molly clamored.
Sherlock ignored her, peaked into the missing inspector's office, then headed over to the computer.
He glanced quickly at the screen, then stumbled back into Lestrade's office. Following him like parents follow a toddler who just learned how to walk, Molly and John ran into Greg's office behind him. He spread out the files agian.
"I'm gone through fifty of his cases ranging from a years ago to about five months. Now I've cut it down to just a handful."
"How do you know it wasn't a recent case?"
"No this has been planned carefully for quite some time. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Sherlock continued looking over the files. He began growing impatient.
"There has to be something. Something I'm missing."
Sherlock yelled and swept the files off the desk angrily, causing Molly to jump.
"This case, it's just."
"Just what?" John asked patiently.
"It's too simple! I've solved hundreds of intricate cases and I can't solve a simple kidnapping!" Sherlock sat down. John shook his head and sat down next to him. "We will figure this out, okay?" Sherlock looked at him with a lack of confidence.
"Where are we?" Greg asked looking around the large room. It was a basement with a high ceiling and a strong scent of mold and dust
that tickled his nose.
"Is this your house? Or where your wife was killed?" Greg guessed.
"No. I'm not that stupid." The man answered roughly.
"See, unlike most criminals, I don't want to get caught." He smiled. I don't leave clues or riddles or make stupid mistakes."
Lestrade prepared a comeback but he was interrupted by a phone call. The man pulled out his cell and spoke in a low voice as he turned and exited. Four minutes later, Greg strained his neck towards the left. There was no sign of his abductor. He took his chance. Lestrade threw all his weight to one side, sending the chair and himself over. He
landed hard on his shoulder and held in a painful scream. He felt around the back of the chair, his hands tied together. He stiffled a laugh. He had seen this done in movies but didn't think it would actually work. He grabbed the broken split of wood and began his attempt at cutting through the tape. Greg silently prayed the man would be gone long as he rapidly sawed through it. The sharp wood stung his hands but he continued. Finally he felt the tear was large enough and pulled his hands apart with all his strength. Once freed, he didn't waste time. He saw light coming from under a door and hurried towards it, carefully watching for any sign of the man. He exited into the bright sunlight wincing. He allowed his eyes to adjust for a few seconds, then took off down the road. As he ran he surveyed his surrondings. The house sat apart from others within eye-distance. It was old, with a low-to- the-ground, iron fence that had rusted. Lestrade continued running, holding his throbbing shoulder. As he came
upon another house he saw a man driving down the road. The driver slammed on his brakes sending the smell of burnt rubber in the air. "Hello I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade." Greg breathed approaching the man's window. "There. There's a man-"
"Are you okay? Calm down sir. I'll call the police." The driver spoke with a heavy accent.
"Thank you." Lestrade gasped leaning agianst the side of the 2005 Peugeot vehicle. The man hopped out and began dialing. Greg turned his head towards the kidnapper's house. Suddenly he was hit from behind. He fell to the ground unconscious.
"Jamie White. Age 38. Works as a teacher at Coal Hill School."
"Next!" Sherlock ordered.
John read off the cases one by one. Sherlock had told him it helped to hear the information aloud.
John flipped over the paper.
"Danny Bungard. Age 45. Works in an Advertisement Agency. Parents: both dead.
Wife:deceased. No kids. Only nearby relative is a cousin on his wife's
side."
Shelock sat up. "Where does the cousin live?"
"He's has a placed outside Archway. Want me to send a team?" Donovan
asked.
"No. Lestrade's not there." Sherlock replied.
"Its too easy, too careless."
"Mr. Holmes, Lestrade's parents are on the phone." An officer pointed
to the phone on Greg's desk.
"I'll talk to them." John volunteered getting up from his seat.
"No. I will." Sherlock picked up the phone. "This is going to be a
disaster." Donovan whispered.
"Hello Mrs. Lestrade. I'm a friend of Garret's." John waved his hands
at Sherlock and hissed. "It's Greg!"
"Greg's." Sherlock corrected. "Yes. Yes of course. Well, don't worry.
We will find him." Sherlock raised his head and smiled. "Why thank
you. Yes. Alright, goodbye."
He placed the phone on the reciever. The room was silent, everyone
look at him.
"What?"
"That went surprisinly well." Anderson said. "Right?"
Shelock brushed him off and started mumbling quietly. He
suddenly stopped. "Well. We only have one other option I suppose." He
pulled out his cell.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
"I am searching for his phone."
"Station's already tried that. Kidnapper must have disabled it's tracker." Donavon reported.
"Yes but not mine."
John raise his eyebrows. "You have Greg's phone tracked?"
"Of course I do John."
John hesitated then pulled out his own phone. "And mine?"
Sherlock looked at him. "No." he said carefully.
John pulled out the battery.
"John I promise your phone isn't tapped."
"Tapped? Who said anything about tapped?"
Sherlock looked down.
"I need a new phone." John exclaimed.
"No, you don't. Honestly John, there are no tracers."
"Too bad, I'm getting a new phone as soon as we find Lestrade."
"I do wish you'd reconsider."
John shook his head. "Nope."
"Well there goes my wedding present." Sherlock said under his breath.
"You were going to give me a new phone?"
"Mary too." Sherlock added.
John stared judging him. "You were going to tap them ,weren't you?"
Sherlock stuttered. "I. I. Uhh. Okay. Alright. You're right!" he began.
"Unbelievable!"
"John I bug all my friends' phones."
Molly looked down at her phone awkwardly.
John took a breath to calm down. "Ok fine. I'll kill you later. Did
you find anything?"
Sherlock checked his phone.
"He's within a five mile radius of Hainault."
"That's the best you can do?" Donovan complained.
Instead of giving her a witty remark, Sherlock just nodded.
"Aright then." She straightened her back. "Let's go get him."
Greg awoke in complete darkness. He felt his head, it was wet and sticky with blood. He groaned and sat up, cringing with pain. He stood up, now barefoot and felt around. He met a wall and felt around for any way out. The sound of heavy footsteps came from above him. He found a door knob and shook it; it was locked. The footsteps came more quickly.
The door knob rattled and Greg took a step back prepared to fight. "Come here." Danny started, opening the door. Quickly, Lestrade hit him hard in the gut and grabbed him around his neck. Danny fought back and managed to kick him in the leg, one of Greg's previous injuries. Lestrade fell to the floor, Danny swearing and spitting. His cousin Angus ran in panicked. "What happened?!" Danny motioned to Greg and Angus pulled him up. "That's it!" Danny swiftly pulled a gun from his pocket. Lestrade drew his hands up. "Right. Now look, you don't want to do this."
"Really?" Danny cocked the gun and aimed it at Greg, his hand shaking. Angus moved to the side nodding his head. "Danny let's wrap this thing
up. Just pull the trigger."
Greg looked him carefully in the eye. "Danny. I'm sorry about your wife."
He heard the gun fire, sending his ears ringing. He expected his hands to cover them but they instinctively went to his stomach. Confused, he looked down at them. In an instant he was falling, his mind frantically searching for an answer. He heard a scream, not aware it had come from his own throat. His back hit a wall and he slid down to the ground. Laying flat on his back, he stared at the ceiling; his eyes went blurry. He heard the sound of a dozen feet running around. He lifted his head enough to see a handful of officers handcuffing the kidnappers and some heading towards him. Sherlock led the charge and squatted down beside him. Greg couldn't make out what he was saying. His ears were still ringing and everything sounded muffled. He just nodded and tried to keep his eyes open. Next thing he knew he was being lifted onto a stretcher. He could feel he was losing blood, but it didn't seem too bad. He tried sitting up to look and a medic held him back down. He tried again, this time forcing the physician to
stick him with a needle. Within seconds, everything went dark.
Lestrade awoke to the hum of machines. He sat up slowly "Mrs. Hudson?"
The friendly woman turned around and clapped her hands. "You're awake!" She scurried to the side of his bed. "How are you feeling?" Greg ached all over but felt no sharp pain. "Fine I suppose."
"You've been in and out for a few days. Shame really. Missed a meteor shower the other night. I said to Sherlock, I said you best take pictures for him but I don't think he did."
Greg smiled.
Mrs. Hudson continued to ramble about the past few days giving Greg updates on every event. A knock came from the door. A few officers accompanied by Sherlock, John, Molly, Donavon and Anderson were crowded around the door. "Oh Sherlock, John, look he's awake." Mrs. Hudson announced.
"How are you feeling?" Molly asked warmly.
"Sore." Greg admitted.
"Well there's no surprise there. You were shot in chest; barely missed your heart. The bullet went just below your clavicle. There's a slight contusion to the apex and you lost almost two liters of blood." Sherlock reported.
"We'll work on your bed side manner later." John said patting Sherlock on the back.
Lestrade was met with hugs and greetings as he walked into his department. He shook hands with Donovan and turned the corner to his office. He opened the door and stopped.
"Seriously?"
Anderson turned around startled. "Sorry sir." He rose and reached for the camera.
"What are you even doing?"
"I don't know, I'm just... making a video in case anything, you know, ever happens to me."
Greg raises his eyebrows. "Anderson?"
"Yes sir?" Anderson asked anxiously, holding his camera across his chest. Lestrade looked at him carefully.
"Get out."