Joan opened her eyes and squinted at the bright light above her. She blinked twice and scanned the room, trying to remember where she was. The room felt stuffy and smelt musty, with the lingering stench of urine. Joan shivered, the room was freezing…she was freezing. She rubbed her arms to warm herself. To her surprise, she felt that her arms were bare. Joan looked down at her body and a small gasp escaped her lips. She was completely nude.
Joan stood up quickly and desperately searched for her clothes. When she couldn't find them, she searched for something to cover herself with. In one of the corners of the room a blanket was tossed carelessly on the ground. Joan covered her breasts with her arm and ran for the safety of the blanket. She reached for it and wrapped it around her naked body. Joan surveyed the empty room and made note of her surroundings.
Cement walls, cement floors, cement ceiling…cement was everywhere. It made Joan feel like she was trapped. She was about to call out for help, but she decided against it. Whoever had trapped her here clearly wanted her to squirm. They wanted her to be scared…almost like a cat playing with a mouse before the predator took out its prey.
Joan noticed a steel door on the opposite wall and cautiously made her way over. She felt the door for any sort of knob, but there was none. She tightened the blanket around her and quieted her breathing. The room was completely silent, except for the muffled whispers of unidentified men behind the steel door. Joan pressed her ear against the cold steel of the door and listened hard. She could hardly make out what they were saying, but managed to make out small parts of their sentences.
"Is…ready?" A deep, raspy voice asked what Joan deduced to be a group of men.
"We picked her up…in there now." Another man replied in a deeper tone.
"Good…good price…make a lot of money." The raspy voiced man added.
Joan closed her eyes and concentrated. She had to hear what they were talking about; whatever it was, it didn't sound good.
"What about…NYPD?…works…man named Sherlock Holmes." A new voice spoke to the group. Joan could tell that this man was younger than the rest because it wasn't as deep of a tone.
"No problem…get rid of him." The raspy voiced man demanded.
Joan gasped and pushed herself away from the door. Get rid of Sherlock? She stumbled backwards and found herself gripping the blanket so tight that her knuckles had gone white. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and she began to sweat. Whatever these men were planning to do with her and Sherlock, it wasn't good.
She had to get away…and fast.
…
Sherlock walked into the Brownstone with Detective Bell and Captain Gregson trailing behind. Sherlock escorted them to the parlor and offered them beverages.
"I have tea, coffee, soda…" Sherlock started to name all the beverages in his Brownstone kitchen.
"Coffee, please." Captain Gregson interrupted him. He knew that if he hadn't interrupted Sherlock, the consultant of the NYPD would name every drink possible. Who knows how long that would take…The young consulting detective had a reputation of not being able to shut his mouth after he started speaking. Sherlock probably would've switched from the different beverages in his possession to what he calls 'interesting facts' about them.
"Second that." Detective Bell added. He shot a look at Gregson that read 'thanks for making him shut up'.
Sherlock nodded and went to fetch their drinks.
"So, where is Ms. Watson?" Captain Gregson asked from the parlor.
Sherlock measured out three spoonfuls of coffee mix and piled them into the coffee filter. He placed the coffee filter into the coffee machine and hit the button. As the coffee brewed, he walked into the parlor so they wouldn't have to yell back and forth.
"She is currently visiting her mother in on Staten Island. Her brother Oren owns a flat there and the family is gathered for a reunion."
Sherlock leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
Detective Bell raised his eyebrows. "She left you here…alone?"
"Yes. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I do not need a babysitter." Sherlock left the parlor to check on the coffee as he talked. He took the coffee pot and poured the coffee into two mugs. He grabbed a couple of sugar packets and creamers before he made his way back to the parlor where his colleagues were seated, waiting for their coffee. He handed them the mugs and placed the sugar packets and creamers on the table between them. The NYPD officers helped themselves to the creamers and sugar as Sherlock took a seat on the couch opposite of Captain Gregson.
"When is she returning?" Captain Gregson asked, stirring his coffee.
"Sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning…I wasn't really listening when she told me. I was too engrossed with writing my Queen Bee monograph." Sherlock answered, reaching for his cell phone. He scrolled through all the texts she had sent to him every hour since she had left for Staten Island. His curiosity peaked when he noticed something peculiar. "That's strange…"
"What is it?" Captain Gregson leaned forward in sudden interest. Detective Bell also leaned forward, intrigued.
"Watson has texted me every hour since she left…but there have been no texts from her since noon…" Sherlock furrowed his brow. Joan was relentless when it came to checking in with him. Even after she had agreed to be his partner, she had been very adamant at making sure to always check in every hour or two. It seemed as though she still didn't trust him to be alone.
"That's," Captain Gregson checked his watch, "four hours ago…"
Sherlock squinted at the screen and began making possibilities in his mind of what could've preoccupied her enough to forget her 'responsibility'. For some reason, he could only think of one. She had gone out to a restaurant for a family dinner and met a man. She always forgot about her job when she met a man. The thought of her shacking up with some other male bothered him.
"Sherlock?" Detective Bell tried to get the consultants attention.
Sherlock continued to stare at his phone and think about Joan with another man.
"Sherlock!" Detective Bell raised his voice a little and waved a hand in front of Sherlock's face to wake him from his deep thought.
"Huh?" Sherlock snapped out of it and glanced from Bell to Gregson.
"Are you alright?" Captain Gregson eyed him suspiciously. Something was clearly bothering the consultant.
"I'm alright. I was just thinking about what preoccupied Watson to stop texting me." Sherlock's facial expression remained stoic so they wouldn't be able to read his worry for his partner. If he showed any emotion about the situation bothering him, they would assume that he really cared for her. Well, I mean, he did care for her, but they would assume that he was in love with her. Which he wasn't…really…
"Maybe she grew tired of not getting a response from you…" Detective Bell shrugged. To him, this wasn't that big of a deal.
Sherlock shrugged. That was a possibility…even if she had never stopped checking in before. This wasn't like her. Maybe something was wrong…
"Excuse me." Sherlock stepped out of the parlor and made his way upstairs. He entered Joan's room and rummaged through her drawers. He had seen her pocket a slip of paper with her brother's cell number on it. If he was correct, the slip of paper would still be there. He had done her laundry before, as weird as it sounds, and noticed that she had the habit of not emptying her pockets. Hopefully, Joan's forgetfulness would pay off and he'd be able to reach her brother so he could check on her. It was just a provision; he wanted to be assured that his associate was safe.
He pulled out her black skinny jeans and stuck his hand in the pocket.
"Bingo!" He pinched the paper between his fingers and unfolded it. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.
It rang twice before someone answered.
"Hello?" A male voice asked. Sherlock deduced that it was Oren himself speaking.
"Yes, hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I work with your sister Wa- Joan." He corrected himself.
"Oh, yes! Mr. Holmes, how are you?" Oren asked.
"I've been fine. You're sister has been terrific at keeping me on track to be clean and sober…"
"That's great. Joan has always been devoted to her job; there isn't one person she can't help. That must be why she couldn't make it to the reunion…"
"Did you just say Joan isn't there?" Sherlock froze. If she wasn't there…where was she?
"No, she didn't show. We concluded that she must've skipped out to deal with a case…Is there something wrong, Mr. Holmes?" Oren's voice faltered. Sherlock could tell he was getting worried.
"Um, well…Joan headed for your flat this morning. If you live on Staten Island…that's not that far of a drive. She should've been there by now…" Sherlock started pacing the room as he thought of all the horrible things that could've happened to her.
"She never showed…Are you telling me my sister is missing?" Oren began to get angry. If she would've just continued with medicine, she would've never met this man who constantly was surrounded with danger. She would've been safer as a doctor.
"I'm afraid so…" Sherlock hung up the phone before Oren could start arguing with him and demanding that Sherlock find her. He didn't have to be told to do what he was going to do anyways.
Sherlock ran down the stairs and entered the parlor.
"Sherlock, what were you-" Detective Bell started.
Sherlock held a hand up to stop him and began speaking when Bell stopped. "Joan is missing."
Detective Bell and Captain Gregson exchanged a surprised expression.
"Why do you say that?" Gregson asked.
"She never showed up at her brother's flat and she stopped texting me at noon…this would suggest that she went missing around noon." Sherlock began to work his deductive skills.
Captain Gregson stood and so did Bell.
"Get your coats; we need to head to Brooklyn." Sherlock grabbed his coat from the closet as the two NYPD officers dressed in their coats that had been taken off when Sherlock had been busy making coffee.
"Why Brooklyn?" Detective Bell asked when Sherlock began to exit the Brownstone.
Sherlock spoke without turning around. "I know who has Watson."
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