"People feel emotions. Emotions lead to mistakes. Mistakes lead to pain. You cannot be human without either."
So you've clicked this one, and I guess you are waiting for a thrilling story that would keep you flipping the pages? I hope I will not disappoint you.
Declaimer.: Does my name pop up during the opening credits of your favourite TV drama? No? Therefore I am not in ownership of Sherlock, but of this story I am.
A is for an alphabet,
which we are going to play
B is because today is the day,
C is for crime, cold and so bitter,
stirring the story, making it grittier
D is for both Deduction, Detective;
things that make him so awfully
Effective
F is for failure, which will come soon after;
G is for gore and grief that will accompany with laughter.
H is for Holmes, brothers or one,
I is for me, the hero and swine.
J for Jokes that are in that statement woven,
K for knowledge, which we praise as our own.
L stands for Laughter, my dearest bliss
M is for me, murder and miss.
N is for the never, with an elongated hiss.
O for the look on your face
P is for manner, time and place.
Q are the questions, the ones without answer.
R is for rescue, which makes him a dancer.
S is for him, the great detective.
T stands for truth, always deflective.
U between the I and the O.
V is for very as in "miss you so"
W for the warning, like a big red
X!
Y is for you- as you're next
Z is for the finale, already grand and planned.
And I cannot stop smiling, because everything rhymed!
0.0
The Water Tank
-Detective-
The doors behind us lock with a jolt. So cliché!
He is going to trap us here? In this small, metallic room; well, that would explain the crates above our heads. I look around trying to find anything suspicious, but the room is clanging with nothing but air vents on the feet level and knit of thick, metal bars two meters above our heads...
Or maybe he will let us stand here and wait for starvation.
"Sherlock." Mutters John, he is now pointlessly trying to push the further wall, as if expecting to find some sort of a trap-door. The wall! It gives everything away; it is coated with creaking layer of rust and trails of something looks like liquid.
"It is a water tank." I breathe out. Yes, fits. The air vents are the water taps, crate above us is just for the psychological torture. He's going to drown us.
"Jesus Christ!" John cries when realising what I have on mind. But no, he won't kill me that way- it's anticlimactic, not his cup of tea. Mortiarty is an ace with quizzes and riddles. It's a puzzle! It must be! Now, how to solve that one?
"What is that noise?" John says in the background. "Have you heard that noise?"
And I did, it came from the vents, created by flushing water, which is now gradually climbing towards our shoe soles. John isn't keen on keeping his profanity, and swears stammer out when the centimetres of water reach all of the four sides of room.
Think, it is a puzzle; There had to be something on those blueprints- a pattern- of the water railings maybe? I tune out- tracing the images flashing faintly in my head. No. No. Nothing, he had to give something- number or word. Strings of verbs and numbers and motifs appear in my head- but I cannot find a linkage or an application to them.
"Sherlock."
This has to be a puzzle! He won't kill me other way! Or am I lying to myself? He surely can. What a disgraceful and pointless murder, but, would surely put a smile on his lips. I die out of my stupid mistake, out of my own stupidity. I should've taken a perceptive step or something, but I bashed inside like a daredevil.
"Sherlock."
The water now climbs up my shoes.
I can hear my internal clock ticking- judging by the water volume and discharge, comparing to the measurements of the room we have two minutes until running out of breathing space.
"Sherlock."
I dreamed of going off with a bang, heroism, but this closure will be slow and sloppy. Moriarty drew a line under this one- imagine Mycroft's face. It is over and it does hurt.
"Sherlock."
But I won't give him that satisfaction. I will break out; crack this code even if it is nonexistent.
"Sherlock."
But how? The crates? Are two meters above my head- metal is unimportant- I won't be able to dislodge them. Block the water flow- come on- even Graham would've known better; Or Grayson or something. Unimportant!
"Sherlock."
Cameras- there have to be cameras. Moriarty would love to see me struggle, but everywhere I look I see nothing.
"Sherlock!"
The water is now ten centimetres above my waist, soon John will have to swim to keep afloat. Then the water would push us at the crates. We would cling to air but will be unable to touch it. Maybe if we make a straw long enough- straw are you serious?
I laugh out of my stupidity and I hear Mycroft laughing his heads off too.
"Sherlock, stop playing those games!" John cries out. He actually thinks I have an answer. I don't. I don't, Such a Stupid boy.
"John." He looks me like at a saviour, his head sweaty as if he had just plunged under the water that coats his legs. He as well might've. I wonder what to tell him- last goodbyes? Assure it will be alright? Just cry? Or lie by saying that you know what you are doing? "I know what I am doing!"
He's so simple, he catches it. Sometimes it is such a helpful attribute of his, sometimes it might play as a dreadful aiming point.
"And that is?" He asks. Water now is on level with his chin, and climbs up my torso. It is cold and makes my clothes heavy and uncomfortable.
Mortiarty has to take our bodies' out- I can enter a state of hibernation- freeze my brain momentarily and active it as soon as the danger passes. Can John do that- no, normal people can't do that.
"It is just a hallucinogen-" I assure him- and the lie is so plausible- maybe because I want to believe it myself. "We have been drugged- try to relax- when it washes down we're going to be safe and back in Mycroft's."
He considers this option for a moment, his hands move to sides trying to swim as the water level is now higher than him. I can hear his brain sketching in the gaps of this statement, accepting the unaccepted- human brain is so easy to fiddle with.
"Trust me." I say. Great, my last words to John are lies. I can literally hear Moriarty spinning in his chair, and laughing like a maniac. Or maybe it is my head? I want to shout and cry and swear and laugh because it is all so stupid- everything in this goddamn world is!
Walls of my mind are so painfully white. I am running towards him -Moriarty, there, in my head- and planting a punch after punch but he doesn't budge, I cry and hit faster and fiercer, cracking my fingers and maiming my arms, but he just stares and laughs.
The water is now so high we both swim, and it pushes us upwards so that our hairs scratch on the crates above. We exchange brief looks. John seems relaxed, waiting for the effect of the imaginary drug to be over; he even shyly mouths to me something. I look relaxed, or I hope I do. As alarms in my head go off- one after another- and I do nothing but punch the antagonist.
We now cling to the railing and like fish, try to grasp the water from above. My arm waves in the air- trying to hold to air or helping ladder- just for assurance, just for an "as if".
John and I stare at each other under the water. I try to control my heart- I can if I focus enough- and to focus I need an aim.
John.
My brain slows down for a while, collecting momentum, then it hits with its highest frequency. I feel that every nerve of my body is pulsing with electricity and I have that awful feeling of knowing that I am in control of everything- my breath, reflections, even heartbeat.
I make a deep beats, calculated so that they can put my cells into hibernation. Heart is myogenic, but I still have chance to control it- something I cannot relate to Moriarty.
John now opens his mouth and water flushes inside him, through the gaps between the air bubbles. He's going to die remembering that I am a liar. Or maybe not, I am going to die remembering that I lied to him. Which is worse?
Concentrate.
Oxygen is minimal in my system. Now, Time to shut down.
My persona is locked in the mind palace, throwing itself on the doors that won't open, and water is coming closer.
I open my mouth.
Persona shakes the handles and kicks the wood- but the water is still coming, like a tsunami, with debris of files and notes.
The liquid now floods down the trachea and oesophagus.
And then there's nothing.
Day Previously
Now, how will they get out of this one?
And what would John think when getting to know the truth?
If he is to survive that is...
Be tuned up to see the next chapter- which would show how the characters had landed in this situation initially.
Now short "Did-you-know" ado. This story has a dual point of view lapse- one told from simple, emotional perspective of John Watson (Blogger), and second one from cold and calculative Sherlock (Detective).
As you might've noticed- Its title is also play on the words- which is frequently done by Steven Moffat himself, when the original Bow, changes into Vow in His Last Vow; or Doyle's Study in Scarlet changes tone when becoming a Study In Pink.
Vale of Tears originates from original Sherlock Holmes novel: The Valley of Fear. Initially I wanted to name it, Hallway of Fear, but then changed into Valley of Tears, then it evolved into Vale of Tears which is a Christian phrase referring to the tribulations of life that Christian doctrine says are left behind only when one leaves the world and enters heaven. How does this contribute to the story? Well, I leave you up to your deductions.