And that's the Way it was
By: Rachel G.
Drip-drop, drip-drop, gurgle, drip-drop, drip-drop. Those were the typical morning noises to be heard at five in the morning in the quaint apartment located in London, England. An invigorating aroma of coffee would be wafting throughout the entire apartment, and the feeling of a new day present. But this morning, instead of the sounds of coffee brewing, the most prominent noise in the house was that of a clock. An incessant and loud tick, tick, tick, tick, assaulted the ears of all who were silent. Sherlock Holmes sat in his wingback chair, his eyebrow involuntarily twitching at each and every tick of the clock. His morning coffee sat neglected at his right and a three-hours-too-old newspaper at his left. Sherlock kept his middle fingers pressed into his temples, trying to think past the dreadful din. Coffee and tea fueled his thinking engines throughout the day, but right now the engine starter (of sorts) was causing trouble. A quiet awakening and a good cup of coffee in silence is the absolute best way to start the thinking engine. But now Sherlock's pattern of life was being jeopardized by a stupid wall clock; he felt aggravated on a number of levels.
After a few more moments of the constant ticking, Sherlock had enough. He swiftly pulled out his hand gun from the table-stand drawer and cocked the hammer.
"Don't do it!" A groggy interjection came from the bedroom.
Sherlock did not react, nor turn to face his colleague and flat mate, Dr. John Watson. Instead, he decided to take advantage of the scenario. He dramatically aimed the pistol to his right temple, his finger on the trigger ever so slightly.
"I can't take it anymore, John!" His voice was terse, and he somehow managed to get his body to shake as if he had been sobbing for some time.
"Sherlock." John was apprehensive. He was used to Sherlock's antics; the serious, and the not-so-much. "Sherlock." He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, but the instant he did, Sherlock was on his feet, and turned to face him solemnly. John was surprised to see the despair and agony on his partner's pale face.
"Sherlock! You… you can't do it! There's so much for you to live for… I know your superior intelligence can become burdensome, but we need you, the world needs you… I need you."
Sherlock set his jaw tightly. "It's time to end it, John." His voice shook with emotion. The detective's finger began to tighten around the trigger but John was too quick (in other words, he was right on cue.) The muzzle of the gun was shoved behind Sherlock's head before firing off an awfully loud BANG! Watson breathed a sigh of relief as he let go of his colleague's arm. Sherlock never missed a beat as he walked directly over to the now shattered and broken wall clock. "Excellent shot, Watson. Perhaps from now on we should revise our target practice stances to ones with more…imagination!"
John Watson stood aghast for a moment but then recovered his composure after he realized his mouth was hanging open. "You..." He began.
"I couldn't stand that dreadful clock any longer, John! It was driving me insane! I can't stand… noise; it was pounding in my head! Never! Going! Away!" He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand for dramatic effect. He finally sat down and sighed. "I'm sorry John, but it was time to end it."
Watson was still a little perturbed from the recent event, and needed to recover. He cautiously sat down in the wingback chair adjacent to Sherlock's. "You know…" John began apprehensively. "It wasn't even there for twenty-four hours." "It was eleven hours too long." Sherlock groaned, reveling in the relief. "I thought we didn't need to shop at charity stores, anyways. Why didn't you tell me we were out of money?"
"It wasn't a charity store," Watson deflected. "I bought it for two quid at a car boot sale. I like buying from car boot sales, okay? You never know what treasures you might find." "Or abominations from hell." Sherlock quipped, hiding his smirk. He quickly changed the subject. "You're not sore from last night, are you?"
John shifted in his chair uncomfortably and fibbed, "Just a bit, I'll be fine." A full minute of awkward silence passed before Watson tried to speak, "Look, about last night I-"
"You what?" Sherlock interrupted rudely.
"I… I don't know what to make of last night." Watson hated confrontation, but he continued, "If that is going to be a regular thing I'd..."
"It will never happen again." Sherlock was adamant, but made sure not to come across as apologetic.
"Good." Watson nodded, still feeling awkward. Unable to leave it at that, he continued, "It's just that… if something like that ever does happen again, I'd like a little bit of a warning, you know?"
Watson's cunning companion looked at him quizzically. "I posted a warning on the door; didn't you see it when you returned home with that ticking-gizmo from Hades?"
"Yes, but it could have been a bit more clear. 'Quiet; important scientific experiment in progress' didn't exactly warn me for the surprise in my bed." Watson changed his apprehensive composure to a curious one. "And, by the way, how did you manage to obtain a wild boar, and hide it in my bed without Mrs. Hudson hearing or seeing anything?"
Now Sherlock's mind felt amusingly stimulated. He loved to show off; Watson's complaining could get annoying, but he secretly loved to explain just how he pulled off an ingenious stunt.
Watson leaned forward and listened very carefully to Sherlock's explanation.
"While you were at your day job last week I spoke with the butcher (a simple man, but brutal; I found him unpleasant, I didn't speak to him for long.) I purchased a hog from him for fifty quid, and yesterday I went to pick it up. I drugged it with some of your meds you keep in an unlocked drawer in your desk. You really should lock up your medicines, John, things do happen. I shoved the beast into a trunk, took the cab home, and lifted it through your window with a rope and pulley. You might notice there is a board missing in the top of your window frame; I overestimated the weight capacity the first time. You may want to get that fixed. The drugs wore off by the time you got home and popped into bed and-"
"And that's when I got rammed." Watson interrupted.
Sherlock smirked and gave a small nod.
Watson started to sigh but stopped when he realized just how tender his ribcage was. "You… you spent fifty quid just to pull a prank on me?"
"Don't flatter yourself John." Sherlock was being short, as usual. "I spent fifty quid on a test; that hog, by all medical standards was dead until the drugs wore off. Can you imagine what kind of diversion we could create with a savage, wild animal suddenly raising from the dead?"
"The same degree of a diversion we could create by cutting the power, Sherlock. You don't need to drag a hundred-kilo pig into our apartment to test out making a diversion! You're-"
Watson was suddenly interrupted by a small knock on the door. The small-framed Mrs. Hudson gracefully slid through the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt the lovers' quarrel, but, there's a young man here to see you. He seems very anxious; can I let him in?"
"Please, do." Watson answered for Sherlock; it was both of their flat after all, right?
The instant Mrs. Hudson left, John said quietly, "Another case? ...Good. We need one."
"No we don't John." Sherlock's speech became sarcastic. "We evidently have so much money you can spend a whole two pounds on a possessed wall clock at a car boot sale."
John was surprisingly quick with his mumbled reply, "Yes, and we're so busy that you find the spare time to drug a wild boar and hide it in my bed while I'm out."
"Ahem." A small voice came from the door. An even smaller young man stepped through the door hesitantly. "I… I was told I c-could… come up here, is th-that okay?" The boy stuttered intermittently and was visibly nervous.
"That's fine. Come in, please." Watson was polite while inviting him in.
The boy couldn't be older than eighteen years old, Sherlock observed as the young man sat down timidly.
"So, how can we help you?" Watson asked routinely.
"What?" The small boy started in surprise at Watson's every word.
"I mean, what seems to be the trouble? Do you have a problem that you need help with?" John started to fear the boy would pass out in a dead faint.
"Problem? Oh yes, I have several. I… have eczema... I…I stutter, I've had a horrid cough for months, and this rash it…"
"I meant-" Watson interrupted and the boy stopped. "I meant, do you have a case for us to solve, Sherlock and I?"
"Oh." The boy took a deep, nervous breath and slowly stuttered out, "N-no, I just wanted to…to meet you."
Watson sat speechless for a number of seconds. Sherlock simply smirked and tented his fingers absent mindedly like he always did.
The boy lost a little bit of his nervous shaking as he continued. "I've followed all of your cases on your blog, Doctor Watson, a-and the papers. I did a little bit of sleuthing myself and I found out where you live, and… h-here I am."
"So, in other words." Watson tried to clarify. "You're a fan. You admire our work, and you came here just to meet us?"
"Y-yeah. I hope I'm not wasting your time; I've really looked forward to this very moment. Just to… to be here is an honor."
Sherlock's smirk turned into more of a sly smile, but he still said nothing.
Watson didn't know what to think. This was the second time this morning that he felt flabbergasted, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
"And…" The boy continued bravely. "I was wondering if Sherlock would be willing to make an appearance at my school's commencement ceremony."
Sherlock almost choked on the coffee that he just started to drink.
"An appearance?" Watson asked on Sherlock's behalf (he was still recovering from the near coffee spill.)
"Well," the boy was hesitant. "It would more like, say… a speech."
Sherlock should have given up the idea of drinking coffee before his guest left, because it was nearly spit out in surprise again.
"A speech?" Watson was incredulous. "Are you serious?"
The boy shrunk back a bit but nodded all the same.
"I'm sorry son," Watson sighed. "But Sherlock doesn't make public appearances like that; you're going to have to find some other… celebrity to make a speech for you."
Sherlock sat his coffee mug down. "You are a very interesting individual, Theo."
The young boy looked startled. "I don't believe I've told you my name."
Sherlock smirked. "Well you seem like an intelligent young man, you tell me how I knew your name."
Watson watched with intrigue as the boy stood there for a little bit and thought nervously.
"Well…" Theo started. "You've never met me before, so the only way you could have known about me is if there's something on my person that gave it away." He thought for just a second more before continuing. "It's my shirt isn't it? I mean, the pocket. It's a bit thin, and you can see my name spelled in sequins on the back of my mobile phone….Is that right?"
Sherlock still kept his smirk. "Or, I could have read your blog."
"His blog?" Watson felt out-of-the-loop.
"The blog in which he and three other fans of mine write about their own observations and detections. All amateur of course, but impressive." Sherlock nodded his head to Theo in acknowledgement.
Theo blushed at the positive recognition of his all time hero.
"I'll do it."
Watson shouldn't have chosen that specific moment to take a sip of his morning coffee; the wooden floor got to sample it instead. "You'll do it?"
"My dear John, you've made a mess." Sherlock looked at Watson with playful disapproval. "And yes, I will do the speech."
Theo looked like he was about to burst with all the excitement contained within his being.
With all the emotions and adrenaline rushing through his veins the pressure soon gave way to a very light headed feeling. His head felt suddenly very heavy and he was vaguely aware of his body floating gradually to the floor, although in reality it wasn't that gradual. Thwump.
"Oh dear God." John tried to catch Theo but only managed to fist the back of his shirt.
"Good job John." Sherlock sarcastically complimented. "You managed to save his shirt from falling to the ground."
"Will you stop making cheeky comments and help me get him up?" Watson almost shouted.
"Oh fine."
Watson secretly loved Sherlock's terse, reluctant attitude when requested to perform a common courtesy. Watson recalled the time Sherlock stated "Common courtesies are for common people with common minds." Of course he was never one for modesty.
Theo was soon lifted from the floor clumsily and laid down on the couch. The moment Sherlock let go of his end, he sat back down in his chair to resume his morning ritual.
John was, of course, not genuinely surprised that Sherlock sprung back into his routine so quickly, but he had to keep up his image, you know. "You're… Just going to… sit there? Act like nothing happened? Like a bloody teenager never walked in here, practically wet himself meeting you, asked a favor, and fainted in our flat?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He never did. Watson secretly loved it. John sighed, sitting down in the wingback chair, picking up his half-empty coffee cup and sipping it quietly. This was the stuff that helped Watson survive life with Sherlock. Although he fed off of adventure and adrenaline, he took the morning coffee as a time to digest everything; all the action and emotions. If it weren't for the times they began their morning with a quiet cup of coffee (or four,) John would never remember to keep his head in the right place. Naturally, when you live, and create a bond with a complete genius, who solves cases no one else can, and saves your life a few times along the way, it is not hard to develop a fancy for him. Morning coffee is also a good time to unwind from all of the chaos; to step back, and look at all the clues from a distance, as if reading from a story book instead of living in it.
It wasn't long before there was a noise stirring from the sofa. Watson looked to Sherlock for some kind of a hint as to what to do with the kid. Sherlock looked at his companion with a twinkle in his eye and broad, mischievous smile.
"Oh, no." Watson retreated under his breath. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Sherlock said nothing but kept his smile as the response.
"I can't believe we did this, Sherlock." Watson stood back to look at their handiwork for the past half hour. Sherlock nodded as he stood up from his kneeling position.
Watson shifted in nervous discomfort. "We seriously, seriously, did that to a poor, helpless teenager."
Sherlock scoffed. "Oh please; the kid lives and breathes to know more about me; he knew what he was getting into when he showed up on our doorstep."
"And if he didn't?" Watson was doubtful.
"Theeeeeeen we just stole his innocence. It's a small price to pay, considering the reward. Quite the story will be told over this, you know."
Watson shrugged, "True. You figure he'll be alright in there; he won't suffocate?"
Sherlock looked down at the sea trunk that held a wild boar not too long ago. "Of course not. He's clinically dead, remember? He doesn't need that much air."
Watson rolled his eyes. "Right. Remind me why we had to kill him to do this?"
"Because," Sherlock thought it was obvious. "His blogger friends will be figuring out how he died, then before they know it, he won't be dead anymore. Oh I wish I could be there to see the look on their faces!" Sherlock was in a full grin by now.
John had never seen Sherlock so delighted over a prank. He guessed that is what happens when geniuses engage in friendly competition; he just wished it didn't involve anyone dying (even if it was only a temporary death.)
By the time the investigative companions found where Theo lived with his friends, it was almost noon. They quickly unloaded the heavy trunk out of the cab and onto the doorstep. The men pulled a classic move, as they rung the doorbell and immediately took off. John and Sherlock couldn't help but giggle as the cab drove away. "That was great!" John exclaimed giddily. "I wish I could see the look on their faces when he wakes!"
Watson then shook his head in awe; oh, did he ever love life with Sherlock.
August ninth rolled around quickly, and Watson had entirely forgotten about the commencement ceremony, and the boy, but Sherlock hadn't. Early in the morning, after practicing a new set of dagger throwing techniques, Sherlock stood staring at his dagger in thought. John came up from behind his partner and broke his concentration. "You know, we really should be off to see Officer Stevens, should we not?"
"What?" Sherlock asked with short patience, still staring at his shiny dagger.
"You know, Officer Stevens? We need to question him about the traffic citation he wrote our sus-"
Sherlock gave him no time to finish. "No need. I've already solved it, John."
"And, you've already solved the case." Watson sounded almost disappointed. "Alright, so how did he do it?"
Sherlock finally turned to face his discouraged flat mate. "He didn't, John. Mrs. Jenson was not robbed."
Watson listened intently; he was beginning to learn not to interrupt Sherlock's who-dun-it finales.
"It was the dog, John; the monstrous dog that would simply not stop barking when we were at the Jenson residence. There is very little chance that she fit that giant monster into the back of the cab she took to see her sister, and there is an even smaller chance that it wouldn't have killed an intruder! Unless the late Mr. Jenson has come back from the grave, I can only surmise that Mrs. Jenson faked a burglary so she can get the insurance money, since she received none when her husband died."
Watson frowned. "You know, just once it would be nice if you could wait even 12 hours after getting a case, before you have to go and pull out the grand finale. I would like a chance to catch up with you now and again."
Sherlock said nothing, he just smiled and headed for the door. "We can call Lestrade on the way."
"On the way to where?"
"The commencement ceremony, John! The commencement ceremony!" Sherlock's voice echoed through the stairwell as he sped down the steps, almost leaving John behind.
Half an hour later, John and Sherlock exited the cab and stood on the front lawn of a massive school yard. Sherlock had forgotten how perfect looking, and yet foreboding high school was. His breathing pattern became erratic, and so did the rest of his body; he looked nervous, irritated, and even a bit jumpy. John had never seen him so tense. As they walked down the shiny, waxed halls of the school, Sherlock looked like a walking stone statue; he remained expressionless, soundless, and outright sullen.
Watson wondered how on earth Sherlock knew where he was going; the hallways wove like a labyrinth gone wrong.
"Sherlock." Watson spoke up. "Sherlock!"
The man on a mission stopped. "What?"
"What is wrong with you? You look like someone died!"
"Do I? Oh. Sorry John; old memories. I never did like school."
"Did… something happen to you here? In school?"
Sherlock shrugged it off and continued his hastened pace down the hall.
The theater in which the ceremony was taking place was huge. All but a few of the seats were taken.
Theo, the boy from months before, sat in the front row along with his other classmates.
Sherlock did not hesitate to shamelessly march up to the front of the chairs and sit amongst the graduates.
Theo, who was obviously nervous, just caught a glimpse of Sherlock in the corner of his eye. His attention snapped to his left in unbelief. "Sherlock?" his voice echoed through the hall and immediately the room was filled with a cacophony of remarks. Theo wasn't the only one who thought Sherlock was a genius to be reckoned with.
Amid all the noise in the crowded hall, Theo blundered "I thought you ditched me! You did! You did ditch me!"
"Aw, look at that." Sherlock cooed mockingly. "The boy learned how to finish sentences. Congratulations. Welcome to the boringness of the English language."
Theo still kept his quizzical look.
"I gave you my word, Theo." Sherlock finally answered Theo's exclamations. "And when I give my word, I keep it."
"So you'll do the speech?"
"Yes." Sherlock sighed as the words came out of his mouth; he still had no idea what he was going to say up there (but of course he would not let anyone else know that.)
"Oh thank God!" Theo let out a melodramatic sigh.
"I wouldn't." Sherlock mumbled sarcastically.
"I had my speech only half written. The last half w-would have been a disaster!"
Sherlock sat wide-eyed in silence; the eminence of the upcoming speech sinking in.
Before Sherlock had another moment to think, a large man in a robe spoke into the microphone. "Good morning, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to the McMellan's School for Gifted Young Men's Graduate Class of 2012." The man's voice was enthusiastic, and stereotypically British. It would not be surprising for him to burst out in a 'Tally ho!' after each sentence. "To start, we have Father Orrison to lead us in an opening prayer."
The rest of the ceremony went like a muted blur for Sherlock; he was still trying to come up with just one thing he wanted to say to the people. One thing that he wanted to tell the graduates that they can walk away with for a lifetime. He had no more time however. Before he knew it, his name was called from the stage and he felt his legs moving automatically to the stairs leading to the podium. His mouth went dry and his tongue turned into a sofa cushion.
"Hello…" The word came out a little shaky at first, but the second it left his mouth, a fire sparked. Words, messages and phrases all gushed to his mind and started filing into a plot. Within a span of two seconds, Sherlock's look of shock turned into that of a cunning fox. He knew what he would speak on after all.
"Sherlock!" John's voice shouted after the detective rushing out the door. "Sherlock!"
Holmes paid no mind to John's cries and marched on towards the curb to flag down a cab.
"Sherlock." John begged as he approached his close friend.
Holmes looked at his friend in acknowledgement but didn't say anything.
"What the hell was that?"
"What the hell was what, John?"
"Oh you know bloody well what, Sherlock! Your speech! You have just let down the entire gifted class of 2012; and their parents. What the hell was going through your mind? Talking about the futility and mortality of humans? How each and every one of us is miserable and destined to die? Not exactly an appropriate motivational speech for a commencement ceremony."
"No one said it needed to be motivating, John. They just wanted me to give a speech, and that's what they got."
John rolled his eyes melodramatically and groaned.
"In addition," Sherlock added. "I did redeem the ending."
"Oh yes." John's persona became exaggerated. "'We can all make our miserable lives on earth better by doing what we call making a difference in the world! Scientific discovery, charity, exploration and success make life less miserable, and that is why we have a natural desire to pursue it."
"Are you trying to mock me, or recite me? Because you're doing a horrid job of both. Besides, I was the one who was asked to do a speech, not you."
John sighed, and followed Sherlock into a cab. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I suppose I should have seen this coming."
"Absolutely," Sherlock agreed dryly.
"I mean, I couldn't expect you to give a motivational speech, what with you being depressed half the time, and obsessed with yourself the other half."
"Couldn't agree more." Sherlock responded to Watson again but really wasn't paying attention. He stared off into nothingness, as the cab drove to Baker Street.
Immediately after Sherlock ended his speech and left the stage, Theo felt awestruck. He had never met such a brilliant man as Sherlock, and had never met a man who truly did not care what other people thought. As people filed out of the room, Theo felt a sudden foreboding sense overcome him. He didn't know why, but he stood stark still in the room while the sea of people milled about. In fact, he didn't move an inch until everyone was gone and the lights had dimmed in the theater. Theo's breathing became erratic, his pulse quickened, and he broke into an inexplicable cold sweat. He thought it may just be his imagination, but he felt a cold drift sweep across the floor and into his graduation gown. Theo suddenly felt like a fool wearing the gown and cap and took it off in frustration. Now it was evident that the cool breeze was not just imagination. It felt like the alley entrance to the stage had flung open. Detective instincts tingling, he felt himself stepping towards the staircase without much control over the action. The breeze got stronger and colder as he approached the open door. It took some determination to close the door against the wind, and the moment he did, he thought he heard a noise behind him. Before Theo could react, a mysteriously overwhelming lightheadedness caused him to pass out. Darkness.
Sherlock felt his mobile phone vibrate while he sat in the cab. It was a text. Something was unusual about this text though; it wasn't from his brother, it wasn't from Detective Lastrade, and it (obviously) wasn't from John. The mysterious text read "I've been captured and I'm tied up in the projection rm, PLZ HELP!" After a moment's thought, the detective rolled his eyes. That child will stop at nothing to get attention, will he? Sherlock thought to himself chastely. Sherlock shrugged off the distress message and glanced over at his partner John, who was staring at his cell phone with a quizzical look. "Sherlock, have you heard anything from Theo?"
"No, Why?" Sherlock lied.
"I just got a news update on my mobile phone; there's a hostage situation going on at the school we were just at for the commencement ceremony."
Sherlock was not often surprised, but this moment was certainly an exception.
"Turn the cab around!" Sherlock suddenly ordered the cabman. "Go back to the school."
Sherlock let John pay the cabman as he didn't waste a second when they arrived at the school. Lestrade had set up a barricade of police cars blocking traffic and by the looks of it, all the doors in the school.
Lestrade looked relieved to see Sherlock. "Oh good, you're here. He's asking for you."
"Who is?"
Lestrade didn't answer, he just handed the detective the phone.
"What do you want?" Sherlock was terse, and alarmed.
"Why Helloooo, Holmes!"
Sherlock stopped; his breath ceased, and his eyes went wide. He didn't recognize the voice. But whoever it was, was not scared, not threatened, and sounded like a certified psychopath. And that worried Sherlock. Most people who to take someone hostage are desperate, are insecure, and have little to nothing planned; Sherlock could have easily exploited the weaknesses and bring him down, but this…This would be a challenge. Sherlock secretly loved it.
"Who is this?"
"Ohhhhh… wouldn't you like to know! HA! My name, is Lucifer."
Sherlock cringed at the continuation of the man's voice. It was if he could feel evil oozing from the phone speaker. He was certainly not the Lucifer, but even that wouldn't have been too far a stretch of the imagination. The man sounded young, but experienced.
"What are your demands?" Sherlock asked sternly.
"Only that you watch, as I blow this school to smithereens."
"Is that really your plan? What do you hope to achieve?"
"Does a terrorist really need to accomplish anything but to place fear and insecurity into the lives of innocent civilians?"
"Is that what this is? A terrorist attack?" Naturally, after a comment like that, eavesdropping citizens and the police officers standing by became alarmed immediately.
"Yes, Sherlock, and you little boyfriend here will go with me!"
Sherlock gulped. This man meant business. "Is…" He choked. "Is there anything I could do to stop you? Change your mind?"
"Hmmmm…." The man pretended to contemplate. "If you have the guts to walk in here and meet with me, I might think about changing my plans."
Sherlock stared into nothingness. He looked like a deer standing in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "And if I refuse?" His tongue felt dry inside his mouth.
"The whole school is set to blow in a matter of minutes, and only I know the way to disable the explosives. Does that answer your question?"
Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath. "Can I talk to Theo? Please?"
The man on the other end growled, but then gave in. "Ohhh alright. Besides, I have something I should be doing. Talk to the little twerp all you want!"
There was a rustling, a light whimper and then Theo's voice squeaked, "Sherlock? You there?"
"Yes, I am here." Sherlock made sure to sound calm; this wasn't the first time he's spoken to a hostage.
"Oh God Sherlock I'm trapped! I'm locked in the projector room you've got to get me out of here! The mad man, he's going to kill me! He's going to blow up the school!"
"No Theo, you listen to me." Sherlock objected firmly. "He's not going to blow up the school. I'm going to stop him, but you have to help me."
"What can I do?" Theo sounded hopeless.
"You can start by telling me what he looks like."
"I don't know." Theo sobbed emotionally. "I'm hiding under a table; the maniac…he must have left somewhere. Oh Sherlock I'm so scared!"
Even Sherlock was beginning to worry. The psychopath he spoke with on the phone had no conscious to keep his word; he could set off the charges at any second. Was this one kid worth risking his life?
Bystanders had long cleared out of the area after overhearing Sherlock's phone conversation. Detective Lestrade and a few other policemen were the only people to be seen. Sherlock covered the phone speaker briefly to talk to the detective.
"He wants to meet with me; the hostile."
"Are you insane?" Lestrade hissed. "He'll kill you both! There's no use in having you dead too."
Sherlock's face went soft for a brief moment. "But I have a chance of stopping it. I have a chance to save the kid."
"We have experts, Holmes." Lestrade tried to persuade. "We have people on the way; trained to handle negotiating in hostage situations."
Sherlock shook his head stubbornly. "This man is a psychopath; he has no feelings, no guilt, and no weakness. Your people will just amuse him." He turned to talk on the phone again. "Theo?"
"Sherlock he's coming! He's going to kill me!"
"Theo! Don't hang up! I'm going to save…"
Sherlock was interrupted by a seething voice. "Too late, detective. Your little lover boy here is going to die."
"No he won't." Sherlock voice was authoritative. "You want to meet me? Now you'll get the chance. I'm coming in."
John Watson pulled on Sherlock sleeve childishly, as if he could really stop his friend from what he set to do. "John." Sherlock turned to him solemnly. John let go of his friend once he saw the dead-se seriousness in his eyes; there was nothing he could do to change his mind. "Sherlock?" John choked out. "You'll come back, yeah?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He only turned and walked into the school determinedly.
Sherlock had no trouble finding the projector room. He walked into the small room not fearlessly, but merely detached from emotion all together. He would not allow the gravity of the situation to get to impair his performance; especially now that his every action will determine the fate of both himself and Theo. What Sherlock found in the projector room startled him greatly. Theo stood at the end of the narrow room, with what looked like a bomb plastered to his bare chest with copious amounts of duct tape. "Sherlock?!" Theo's eyes went wide with shock. "You came! Hurry! I have a bomb strapped to my chest! Help me!" Theo's cheeks were streamed with tears, and he shook with horrified emotion.
Sherlock's detective instincts blared unusually loud in his head. Something wasn't right. The way the duct tape was fashioned around his body made it look like Theo wrapped it around himself. Theo quickly noticed Sherlock's hesitation. "Aren't you going to help me? Sherlock, the whole place is going to blow in minutes!"
Sherlock's voice was calm. "Theo, why are you doing this to yourself? Why blow up the school?"
Theo was incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about? The maniac must have duct taped this bomb to me and left me here to die!"
"Must have?" Sherlock was beginning to figure things out. "You don't remember?"
"I… I must have gotten knocked out or something! All I remember was waking up with a bomb strapped to me! Sherlock, please help me!" Sherlock acknowledged the boy's emotions and tears as real… So why on earth did it look like a set-up?
Sherlock wrinkled his brow. "I need to speak with the man in charge of this."
At those words, Theo's entire countenance changed. He was no longer shaking or crying. Now he looked sinister, and bitter. "You bastard." Theo spat. "You weren't supposed to figure it out! You were supposed to try to escape with the little twerp and get blown up! But Noooooo… You had go and be brilliant. Never read comic books as a child, did you?"
Sherlock took a deep breath, still refusing to feel emotions at the time. "I just wanted to let you know, that I walked into this building knowing that I'll never walk out."
Theo was smug. "That a boy. No use in resisting, accepting your fate is the best way to go, after all."
Sherlock stepped towards the maniac slowly. "Seeing that I'm going to die a few moments, would you let me talk to Theo one last time?"
The evil side of Theo smiled maliciously. "I don't see why not." He nodded towards the bomb timer in his hand. "You've got three minutes."
Sherlock witnessed the remarkable transition in Theo's composure. He quickly turned from a puffed up egomaniac to a shivering mess.
"Theo!" Sherlock hugged the young withering boy; something he barely ever did his whole life.
"Sherlock-" Theo began.
"Shhhh…" Sherlock hushed him calmly. "I'm going to get you out of here, right?"
"Thank you! Oh Sherlock thank you!"
"You just sit right down here, alright?" Sherlock sat Theo down in a nearby swivel chair. "Everything will be alright."
Theo hugged the detective, though Sherlock didn't reciprocate the hug this time. Theo shook with fear and emotion, but started to see a glimpse of hope at the end of the tunnel. Sherlock started feeling the guilt rushing to his conscience, but he tried to push it away with all of his remaining strength. He stood up from his crouching position, leaving Theo confused. "Wha-?" Theo wriggled his feet, but found he could not move them. "Sherlock?!" He tried to yank the duct tape bonds apart, but his body was so drained from the previous events that he had no strength left.
"I'm sorry Theo. I can't afford to be the hero; not today."
With that, Sherlock turned and ran out of the room as fast as he could. He had one minute to get out of there. The eminent countdown echoed in his mind as he sped to the nearest exit. As he skidded around a hallway corner, his vision going blurry from the sudden rush of adrenaline and lack of oxygen, Sherlock's mental countdown reached zero. Too late.
Darkness.
Sherlock woke up to a bright white light, a bright white room, and a bothersome ringing in his ears. He squinted while his eyes adjusted to the light, hoping the blurry fog in front of him would fade away as well.
"Sherlock!" His dearest friend John stood up from the chair near his bed, alarmed. "You're awake!"
"Oh is that what I am?" Sherlock groaned. "Will someone dim those blasted lights?"
The chubby nurse shuffled quickly to turn down the lights.
"Ah, that's better." Holmes sighed with relief. "How long have I been here?"
"A few days." Watson put his hands in his pockets awkwardly.
"Blast. What have I missed?"
"Well, the school blew up-"
"No, no!" Sherlock started to raise his voice, but then realized just how bad his head hurt.
"I meant in London; What did I miss?"
"There was a homicide in Camden; Police have a few suspects."
"Lestrade?"
"Daft, as usual." Watson was quieter than normal, but Sherlock was too occupied to notice.
Watson stopped and sighed. "Sherlock, you look God awful. The doctor said you have a concussion, second degree burns to 30% of your body, and the distinct possibility of your retinas detaching."
"Is that all?" Sherlock was cruelly sarcastic. He paid no mind to how horrible his friend looked. Watson hadn't eaten or showered in days; he'd sat by Sherlock's bedside nearly the entire time, waiting for his friend to return back to him.
"No," Watson gulped, fighting tears. "That's not all. I thought you'd died."
Sherlock started to roll his eyes but Watson spoke even more forcefully. "I lied, Sherlock. You haven't been out a few days. You've been in a coma, for two weeks. Doctor said you might never come back. So I sat here, for two weeks, praying, waiting, and watching for you to come back! You know why?!"
Sherlock was silent.
"Because I believed in you! I believed that you wouldn't leave me here in this God forsaken city. I knew you'd come back."
Sherlock was, to say the least, awed and moved deeply by Watson's loyalty and endearment. For fear his smart mouth might get in the way of the moment, Sherlock just smiled weakly and nodded. He thought for quite a while before opening his mouth to speak. "You know Theo?"
Watson shook his head. "We don't need to talk about him, Sherlock. We know you tried to save him. I'm just glad you're-"
"It was him, John." Sherlock interrupted. "Theo was the menace."
John looked aghast. "What?"
"It was some kind of disorder; a split personality. He taped a bomb to his own chest and was going to blow us both up." Sherlock suddenly became upset; his pounding headache hurt worse now.
Watson looked off into nothingness, his mind processing it all. "For what purpose? I mean, there has to be more efficient ways to kill you."
"I don't know, John. But what I do know is that we haven't seen the end of this mess. Theo was just the beginning, and he most certainly not the mastermind of it. He was merely a pawn for a greater, more sinister cause."
John Watson leaned over Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his ghastly thin figure in a comforting hug.
Sherlock was first startled and perturbed by the gesture, but it soon transformed into a feeling of comfort. For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt safe and comforted in a warm embrace. For the moment, everything was okay, and somehow, it felt that is always would be.
A few days later, Sherlock checked out of the hospital with Watson at his heels. Sherlock finally felt like himself again. His head still hurt from time to time, and his vision was slightly diminished, but even that improved every day.
Sherlock felt a huge wave of relief as he stood on the doorstep of 221 B Baker Street.
Home at last He thought to himself.
Watson dropped the luggage in the doorway of the apartment and headed for the kitchen.
"I have a surprise for you." John called from the kitchen.
Sherlock raised his brow in curiosity.
John walked out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee and an eight-hours-too-old newspaper tucked under his arm.
"What's this?" Sherlock humored John's spontaneous antics.
"This," John sat the coffee on the table stand between the two chairs. "Is our morning coffee."
"It's four pm, John." Sherlock smiled, amused.
"I don't give a damn what time it is. I've waited almost 3 weeks to have morning coffee with you, and you're not going to spoil it."
Sherlock sat down in his chair obediently and picked up the mug of fresh coffee. It smelled heavenly; nothing like the hospital's scalded rubbish.
The two friends sat silently in their flat, sipping coffee and just enjoying the relative silence. City noises could be heard through the paper thin walls, but it was music to their ears. Sherlock and Watson; Watson and Sherlock. And that's the way it was.
THE END