The Hidden Photograph
I had received another infuriating text:
Out of tea. Do bring some. –SH
If Sherlock Holmes is out of tea, then he is also out of other things one needs to survive, not that he eats much. I had been in the habit of doing the shopping when we were flatmates. Since I had moved in with Mary, and Sherlock had come back from the dead, he was in the habit of finding ways to get me to shop on his behalf.
I was ready to read him the riot act when I arrived at 221B Baker Street.
"You are really a pain in the arse Sherlock!" I call as I haul the groceries up the stairs. "How is it that the world's 'Greatest Detective' can't manage to buy a pint of milk on his own?"
I open the door expecting to see Sherlock in his leather chair, wearing his suit or maybe his dressing robe. His hands together under his chin lost in his own mind palace.
"Need help with the shopping Doctor Watson?" I'm taken aback by a woman who is sitting in Sherlock's chair.
She is slender to the point of being nearly emaciated. Her long dark hair falls well past her shoulders down her back. She is dressed in skinny jeans with black boots, a tan jumper and a black coat. She has deep brown eyes. Her hallow cheeks make her eyes appear larger than they really are. She has to be in her mid-thirties and from her accent I guess she's American.
"Um no," I say. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Sharon Tanner." She introduces herself standing from Sherlock's chair. "I was told I could find Sherlock Holmes here. I am in need of his services."
"I'm guessing he's out right now." I say as I move to the kitchen and unload myself, "And if he's buying tea I'll nut him again."
I turn and look at the client. Something in my mind sparks. I've seen this woman before but I can't place where.
"I'm sorry, but have we met before?" I ask her.
"I'm afraid not." She replies. "I've not been to England in over a decade and I've never been to Afghanistan."
"You've been checking up on me." I challenge her.
"You and Mr. Holmes." She corrects. "I'm putting my trust in the two of you after all."
"Until Sherlock returns from God knows where, why don't you tell me what we can do for you?" I ask her.
"It's simple. I returned to my home in Oregon yesterday afternoon after a trip to the shops." She said nodding her head towards the kitchen. "I found my husband murdered and my children kidnapped. The kidnapper left this."
The cold manner in which she told me her entire life had been destroyed disturbs me more than the murder or even the kidnapped children. She's holding a folded paper which I take from her and open. The message left was very clear.
No police or your children die.
Get Sherlock Holmes.
"The kidnapper wants you to contact Sherlock but not the police?" I clarify. The whole thing is starting to become baffling.
"Those are my instructions." She affirms still perfectly calm. "It is undoubtedly a trap set for Mr. Holmes, but what else am I supposed to do?"
Her emotions finally start to come to the surface. She looks down for a moment and back up, her face set again.
"When did this happen?" I question.
"Twenty hours ago." She answered. "I grabbed the first flight to London I could get on. I've been traveling all day."
"You must be exhausted." I console.
"She will live." Sherlock's dark voice rumbles behind me. He's taking off his scarf and hanging up his coat.
"Sherlock." I start. "This is—"
"Sharon Tanner," He interrupts. "American housewife and mother. How is life across the pond, Sharon?" He puts his hands behind his back and saunters up to her the way he does when he's expecting a fight.
"I'm no longer a wife, my husband's been murdered." She coldly states back to Sherlock. "And I might not be a mother much longer either."
Sherlock's face falls.
"Yes," I say trying to hand Sherlock the kidnapper's note. He doesn't take it. "They are looking to trap you apparently, but why would they kidnap this woman's children on the other side of the globe to get to you?"
"You should know the answer to that John." Sherlock scolds me.
"I'm afraid I don't." I protest.
Sherlock just glances sideways at me like he does when he can't believe how stupid I am.
"I take it you didn't contact your local police?" He asks her.
"No." She answers.
"Think Sharon!" He challenges her as he strides across the room, hands steepled up to his lips, "was anything, anything at all out of the ordinary at your house?"
"Besides my dead husband?" she shoots back.
He stops pacing and stands still. He speaks with his back to her. "I am sorry for your loss Sharon. Charles sounded like a good man."
"Charles was an amazing man! And please, don't try to act human Sherlock. You wouldn't know a good man if he broke your nose." Looking over at me she corrects herself, "Well, maybe if he broke your nose. I think congratulations are in order Doctor Watson. You'll be married soon?"
"Yes," I answer. Still not clear about the situation.
"If you're ever blessed with children do not let Sherlock Holmes babysit." She looks back to him.
"Oh this again!" Sherlock exclaims.
Sharon grabs the collar of her jumper and yanks it down so as to show me the base of her neck. She had a two-inch horizontal scar.
"Thyroid surgery?" I inquire.
"In a manner of speaking." She is talking faster and with more rage. "When I was nine my parents made the unfortunate mistake of leaving me with Sherlock for an afternoon. He drugged me and attempted to remove my thyroid!"
"It was an experiment!" Sherlock defends.
"Why would your parents leave you with…" the spark in my mind is back. I do recognize her. There was a photograph I saw once of a woman and two children. But I would ask Sherlock about that later. My mind has also connected their relationship.
"You're not actually called Sharon are you?" I ask her.
"Veeeeerrrrrrry good John." Sherlock sighs sarcastically as he sinks down onto his couch.
She looks at me. "No, Sharon is only a nickname. It's short for Sherrinford. And with a first name THAT ridiculous my last name has to be…"
"Holmes." I finish for her. "Sherlock has a sister. Why do you never tell me anything?" I yell at him. "You don't tell me about your drug habit, you don't tell me about Mycroft, you were DEAD for TWO YEARS and didn't let me in on that either!"
"You thought he was actually dead?" Sharon asks me somewhat puzzled.
"Yes, I know that your parents and Mycroft and you all knew about it but I didn't!" I didn't want to go over this again. Every time I thought I'd made peace with it he did something that brought it all back up. In truth, Sherlock was lucky I hadn't broken more than his nose.
"I wasn't in on it either." Sharon corrects me. "We don't speak much, but honestly, it was plain as day that his suicide was a fake. How did you miss it?"
"That's the cross I bear Sherrinford." Sherlock breaks in.
"Shut up, Sherlock." Both Sharon and I scold. Sherlock gathers his feet up on the couch and lies down.
"Look," I need to bring us back to the subject at hand. "Your children have been kidnapped. All we have to go on is this note. We need to figure out who took them before we can find them."
Sharon looks at me incredulously, "I already know who took them Doctor. But I need Sherlock to get them back."
"I'm going to regret this, but how do you know who took them?" I ask her.
"The note." She replies. "The note!" She urges, motioning to the paper in my hand.
"That's not going to help Sherrinford." Sherlock says in his most bored voice.
"That's not ordinary paper, Doctor" She explains so much like her brother that it might as well have been coming from him. "It's a special blend of wood pulp and cotton. The pulp is that of the English Silver Birch." Out the corner of my eye, I notice Sherlock sit straight up as if he's been hit with an electrical charge. She finishes, "There is only one place where you will find paper made of that wood and cotton."
"And where is that?" I ask
"Oxford." Sherlock states with a note of urgency in his voice. "The graduates receive their diplomas printed on that particular blend." Sherlock stands up off the couch. His gaunt face has lost a little of its color. I start to worry.
"What is it Sherlock?"
"I have known this was coming for some time." He walks over to the window and gazes out on the street below. "I'm sorry he came after you, Sherrinford. I…" he stops.
I can't believe my ears. Sherlock Holmes is crying.
"I thought you were safe, there in America. He couldn't get to you. But maybe I should have known. I should have realized." He squares his shoulders and gains his composure. "He blames me for the death of his son. I have no children of my own, so he comes after yours. It's my fault your Charles died."
"You're damn right it is, Sherlock." She chokes out, her emotions starting to get the better of her. She swallows. "And you're going to fix this."
I catch Sharon's gaze, who instantly knows the question on my mind.
"Professor James Moriarty," She said to me. "The father of Sherlock's greatest enemy."
"James Moriarty! Oh God." I whisper breathlessly. Jim Moriarty was the psychopath who strapped a bomb to me. He was the man who turned everyone against Sherlock and forced him into jumping off Bart's bloody Hospital. He was so ruthless he took his own life there on the roof to make sure Sherlock took his fall.
Now it seems his father wanted into the family business. He's got Sharon's kids. A thought I don't welcome runs across my mind. If they're still alive.
"What do we do?" I ask Sherlock.
"What can we do John?" he asks as he goes for his coat and scarf. "Professor Moriarty has Sherrinford's children and will trade them for me. I'm going to make contact and set up the exchange."
"Don't be ridiculous." I implore him. "We can't just hand you over to this madman!"
"We can for my children!" Sharon exclaims. She is right of course. Nevertheless, I find myself standing in the door so Sherlock can't leave.
"Wait, just wait." I say. "We need a plan. We need some backup."
"You're my back up John," Sherlock says as he pushes past me. "First we need to take Sherrinford somewhere safe."
"I'm coming with you and stop calling me Sherrinford!" she pushes past me just as he did.
I'm standing alone for the moment still trying to wrap my head around the situation.
"Honestly," I mumble out loud, "how did it take me so long to figure out they are related? She's just Sherlock in the form of an American woman."
I pause. I'm glad the others are outside where they can't hear me. "There's a sentence I never expected to say." I whisper as I close the door.
Sherlock has hailed a taxi by the time I meet up with them on the street. He instructs the cabby to drive us to Molly Hooper's house.
"Why are we visiting Molly?" I ask.
"We will need her help John." He responds. "It never hurts to have a backup."
"You said I was your backup." I remind him.
"Then a backup backup. You yourself wanted a plan. This is the plan."
"Who is Molly Hooper?" Sharon asks.
"She's a friend." I assure her. "She's a medical examiner and a forensic scientist."
"She'll have some supplies we'll need and you're going to stay with her while I contact Professor Moriarty." Sherlock explains.
"Absolutely not!" Sharon shrieks.
"Sherrinford!" he scolds.
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" She shouts back.
"Please!" I break in "Look, I know how hard it is to get along with your siblings," I had plenty of experience fighting with my sister Harry. "But if we are going to get your kids back we need to be working together. SO STOP IT."
They sit quietly for a moment. Sharon is looking out the window.
"Do you have any idea Doctor Watson," She asks me, "Any idea at all of what it's like to love somebody, build a life with them and then lose it all in one afternoon?"
"I've had devastating loss before," I shoot Sherlock another dirty look. "But I don't pretend to know what you must be going through right now." I offer her as much sympathy as I can.
"It's not even real yet." She continues. "I'm fortunate that my genetics allow me to slip into an abyss of cold reason where I can be protected from the horrors of the past day. I go into 'Holmes Mode' as I call it. I can, for a short time, stop feeling. But unlike my brother, I can't do it forever. If I don't get my children back I don't look forward to what hell will greet me when I start feeling again."
"We will do whatever we can to get them back." I assure her. I look over at Sherlock. His cool stare betrays nothing. I nod to him, urging him to say something to comfort her.
"Sharon," he states, "If the Professor really is looking to kill me, he's not going to harm your children. They are his leverage."
"I know." She says closing her eyes and resting her head on the cold glass.
A moment later we are pulling up to Molly's house. There is a black sedan parked in the street.
"For the love of God, Sherlock!" Sharon roars at him. "Tell me you didn't text Mycroft!"
"He's your brother, I assumed you would want his help as well." Sherlock seems confounded by her reaction.
"It says NO police! So you go and tell the bleeding British Government!" Sharon and Sherlock dash out of the cab as soon as it stops. I'm left to pay the fare.
I let myself into Molly's house. She's standing in her entryway with the door to her sitting room closed. There is a proper row going on. Sharon is giving Sherlock hell for bringing Mycroft in on the case.
"Who is that woman?" Molly asks me in a trembling voice. "And why did Sherlock tell Mycroft to come here?"
"That is Sherlock and Mycroft's baby sister." I tell her expecting a big reaction.
"Oh, that's Sherrinford is it?" She asks, a wave of relief coming over her face.
I stop. She knows about Sherrinford. "When did he tell you he had a sister?"
"When he was, you know, dead." She replies. "Right after he jumped of Bart's he needed somewhere to stay while he figured out how best to take down Moriarty's network. He stayed here in my spare bedroom. It was nice."
I give her a scowl. I guess I haven't forgiven her yet either.
"I'm sorry John." She apologizes. "He asked me not to tell you, not to tell anybody. I gave my word."
"It's okay Molly." I stop her. "And so you know, she goes by Sharon, and her children have been kidnapped by Moriarty's father. He's looking for vengeance."
"Oh my God." Molly breathes out.
The shouting had stopped. The door to the sitting room flies open. I'm looking into the hard expression that sits permanently on the face of Mycroft Holmes.
"Would you care to join us, Doctor Watson? Miss Hooper?" Mycroft has a way of making people feel like intruders in their own homes. I could tell Molly was feeling that way right now.
We enter the room to find Sherlock standing and Sharon sitting with her head resting in her hands. He's whispering something to her I can't hear. She nods her head and looks up, her face expressionless.
"This is a rather nasty business." Mycroft starts. "The number one priority is to get the children back alive. Second priority is Sherlock's safe return. However, Sherlock is expendable for the lives of the children. Are we all agreed?"
My stomach sinks. Sherlock had only come out of hiding a few months ago. I have a hard time imagining what it would do to me if I lost him for good now. I look to Molly. She's thinking the same thing. We both nod. Sherlock for the kids, it has to be that way.
"In that case, Watson will accompany Sherlock to Oxford immediately. We know Professor Moriarty will be in his office for the next 3 hours. Set up the exchange." He looks over to Sherlock. "And do be careful brother; we could be playing right into his hands."
"May Sharon stay with you for the night?" Sherlock asks Molly.
"Of course." Molly agrees. "Whatever you need."
A few moments later Sherlock and I are speeding up the M40 towards Oxford in Mycroft's car. The trip should take about 90 minutes but the way Sherlock is driving we will be there in half that time. I had called Mary as we left Molly's house to tell her we were on an important case and I would be late tonight. Something in my voice must have betrayed the seriousness of the situation because Mary knew we were in danger. She didn't argue with me or ask me not to go, she simply told me to keep an eye on Sherlock and an eye on myself while I was at it. It's what I needed her to say. She always knows what I'm thinking. Mary is far more clever than most people know. It is not lost on me that I seem to surround myself with people who are cleverer than I am. I might like that it makes me feel safe. I might like the punishment that comes from being "the slow one". I'm not too sure.
But that is a question for another time.
"Tell me about these kids," I ask Sherlock. "I don't know anything about them."
Sherlock swerves around a lorry as he starts rattling off statistics. "Two children. Older child, girl, seven years of age named Kylee. Ginger hair and wears glasses for a stigmatism. The younger, boy, five years old named Cannon. Brown hair, tall for his age."
"But what are they like?" I prod.
"Don't know, I've never met them." He admits.
"Your only niece and nephew and you've never met them?" I'm a little surprised.
"Even you should have noticed that their mother and I don't get on." He snaps.
"Why is that Sherlock?" I ask adding, "And if she's your sister, why does Sharon have an American accent?"
"She's been there for 25 years. My parents sent her to live with our cousins shortly after the thyroid incident. She was educated in America and it's only natural she would lose her British accent." He is talking like he's reading it out of a newspaper.
"She grew up in the States, met and married Charles had two children and you don't care to be part of her life?" I ask.
He tries to stop me by reminding me, "You don't talk to your sister."
"Harry and I talk." I tell him. "And if she had children I damn sure would want to know them."
"John, don't let's start." He interrupts. "Mycroft and I don't get on, Sherrinford and I don't get on. That's it."
"We get on!" I say louder than I intended. "And it took your niece and nephew getting kidnapped for me to find out you have a sister!"
"If I don't tell you everything about my life it's either that I'm trying to protect you, or that you don't need to know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was still alive but I was trying to protect you!" His expression is set.
I can tell when Sherlock Holmes doesn't want to talk anymore.
Arriving at Oxford we locate the office of Professor James Moriarty. We walk towards a looming stone building. In the dark the historic university has a rather sinister quality. I look up at the rooftops and in my mind's eye I can see Sherlock falling from them. I shake my head trying to get the images out of my mind. I pat my jacket pocket to remind myself that I have my gun. Whatever it takes. I tell myself. We will get Sharon's children, and if I have anything to say about it, Sherlock will walk out of this alive.
The hallway is cold. I'm fighting the cold inside myself. Sherlock strides forward like there is nothing to fear. I'm comforted by his steady manner. Even when Sherlock doesn't know what to do he remains calm. At last we stand before a large wooden door. The plaque sends a chill down my spine.
Prof. J Moriarty
"Should we knock?" Sherlock asks with a slight smile. He grabs the doorknob and we walk in.
The room is rather large. The main lights are off and the only illumination comes from a lamp on the desk. In its light I see a small and aged man. He's mostly bald but what hair he has is white and sticks up wildly in every direction. He has a white beard that looks little more groomed than his hair. He wears thin glasses and has a sickly pallor. If I didn't know how dangerous he was, I might try to take him to the hospital.
Sherlock walks right up to his desk and stops. I have my hand in my jacket pocket. Moriarty is writing in a leather bound journal. He hasn't even looked up at us yet. I say nothing. Sherlock waits.
Moriarty finally finishes his writing and closes his book. He looks up at Sherlock. He reaches into his vest pocket. I grab my gun a little tighter. Moriarty produces a pocket watch and opens it.
"You are 45 minutes earlier than I predicted Mr. Holmes." He says with a soft but eerie voice. "Traffic on the M40 must have been favorable."
"Very," agrees Sherlock. "Let's not play games Professor; you know why I'm here."
"Indeed." Says Moriarty as he stands. I can now see the resemblance to the young man who tried to kill me.
"First I want assurance that the children and alive and well." Demands Sherlock. "After we can discuss arrangements for a trade."
"I will give you no assurance other than my word. They are alive and unharmed." Moriarty states.
Sherlock quickly responds, "You will forgive me if I don't believe you."
"You have no choice but to believe me Mr. Holmes." Moriarty sneered back. "As for a trade, it will be done my way, or it will not be done at all."
The Professor seems very disinterested in Sherlock and me. He shelves his book and pulls out a second that he throws onto his desk. It lands with a heavy thud.
The Professor starts to walk towards his door.
"Then what are your terms?" asks Sherlock getting annoyed with the situation.
"Four hours from now at exactly midnight," Moriarty explains in an ever softer voice "You and your brother Mycroft will meet my associates and myself on the main floor of the Pitt Rivers Museum. If all my conditions are met, Mycroft may leave with the children. If they are not, the children, you and your brother will all die."
"I also want to bring my associate John Watson." Sherlock says looking to me.
"Doctor Watson has no part in this." Moriarty says as he opens his office door. "The stars are in favor of Doctor Watson and your sister's children. But not you. You were not supposed to survive that fall Mr. Holmes. Mycroft helped you live when you should have died. You will pay, and eventually, he will pay. Doctor Watson may live if he will agree to stay out of it. But you Mr. Holmes, you die tonight."
Sherlock considers for a moment. I've had enough of this man. "Your son tried to kill me too you know, with a big bloody bomb."
"No Doctor Watson." He says to me. "If my son had tried to kill you, you'd be dead."
"He was a total psychotic." I taunt. "Jim blew his own head off, that's his fault, not Sherlock's!"
I see some emotion play across The Professor's face. That got him.
"My son," he breathes, "was a genius!" I can see where Jim got his mental illness from.
"Watson will not take part in the exchange" Sherlock says.
"What? Sherlock, no." I protest.
"Four hours. Keep to my agreement or the children die." Professor Moriarty gathers his coat and hat and leaves.
As soon as the door closes, Sherlock spins around and opens the book Moriarty threw on the desk. It is a journal that has been filled with pictures, hand-written entries and newspaper clippings.
"Look at this John," he slides the book towards me. "He was keeping a scrapbook of everything his son did."
"Here's the bombing on Baker Street." I say pointing to one newspaper article.
Sherlock turns through the pages quickly as he names the cases involved.
"The cabbie, the forged painting, the woman," The next several pages were covered with various articles about Sherlock being a fraud, and how he committed suicide in disgrace.
"He was certainly proud of his son's, uh, accomplishments." I say.
"Most assuredly John." He agrees.
"He's every bit as mad as his son."
"Let's hope he's not as clever." Sherlock says as he finds a lose paper in the journal. He reads it.
"What is that Sherlock?" I ask
"It's the names of all the people in my homeless network who helped me fake my death."
"He's going after everyone who helped you?" I start to feel a little sick.
"Yes, and he's already started." He hands me the list. About a third of the names had been crossed out.
"You don't think," I start.
Our eyes meet. I know that the names crossed out mean people are dead.
"We should call Lestrade." I suggest.
He shakes his head. "After we retrieve Sherrinford's children."
We end up back outside leaning against Mycroft's car. The night air is chilled and I find myself wishing I had a heavier coat. Sherlock hasn't said much since we left Moriarty's office. He'd called Mycroft who would be arriving by helicopter soon. I look at my watch. We only have 3 hours until the exchange.
"Tell me you have some kind of brilliant scheme to get out of this Sherlock." I beg him.
"What on Earth are you talking about John?" he asks me.
"Moriarty means to kill you tonight." I remind him. "So let me in this time. How are we going to rescue the kids and have you get out of this alive?"
"It's not that simple." Sherlock states as he gazes off in the distance. "Professor Moriarty is no less thorough than his son, but in that case I had warning. I knew what Jim Moriarty was up to. Mycroft and I had plenty of time to plan contingencies; this time I had no warning, no time to plan an escape."
"The Professor chose the Pitt Rivers Museum very specifically. The main floor is exposed to the second and third floors. Anybody standing on the main floor will be an easy target. He'll have men on the second floor ready to fire on anyone making the exchange. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. If anything out of the ordinary happens it would be easy to take out Mycroft, myself and the children."
"I'm sorry John," he finishes. "I know you would love some kind of clever idea, but all we can do this time is trust each other, and trust that the plan will proceed without any variation. It's the only way we can guarantee success."
"But we can't guarantee anything Sherlock!" I yell, "We can't trust Moriarty! This plan is ludicrous! For all we know, you're going to walk in there and he'll drop you before you have a chance to even see the children! We don't even know if they're still alive!"
"I believe they are alive." He interjects. "Remember the Professor saying 'The stars are with them'? That building," he points directly ahead of us to one of the oldest buildings in the area, "is the former Radcliff Observatory. The children are being held there."
"Then let's go." I urge, "Let's go get them."
Sherlock shakes his head. "They'll be heavily guarded. All we would do is get them killed."
"Have you lost your mind or just your nerve?" I accuse him.
He grabs me by my coat and pulls me up to growl in my face. "I ruined her life John!" His normally hard and cold eyes have melted. His voice breaks as tears form and fall down his long face. "I was a bully, horrible to her when we were children. I was every bit a bully to her as Mycroft was to me."
He shoves me away. "I was so awful to her, our parents had to send her to another continent to keep her safe. And after all these years and all the miles that separate us, I've still managed to find a way to destroy her. No!" he paused while he took a few heaving breaths. "I will not risk rescuing her children when there is a possibility I can get them back by merely surrendering. This time, I will surrender. I owe Sherrinford that much."
He turns away from me and places his gloved hands on the hood of the car. He sobs a little. He breaths as he attempts to regain control.
I consider Sherlock Holmes for a moment. He is my best friend. I had been lost after returning from Afghanistan. I had met this mad, wonderful and terrifying man and he saved my sanity. Our adventures together had somehow healed me. Terror and chaos swirled around him like a hurricane but in its eye, I had found serenity.
Then he fell from Bart's and I couldn't save him.
I'd asked him for a miracle. One last miracle, for me. I pled at his grave, don't be dead. And it happened. Like a miracle, he was back.
There was no way in hell I was letting him die tonight.
In one move I take my gun from my jacket and strike Sherlock on the back of his skull. He crumples onto the car. I move him to the ground and gently lay him down. I force his eyelids open and check his pupils to make sure I hadn't caused too much damage to his head. "Sorry for this, mate." I tell him.
I'm satisfied that he will be fine and should be out cold for at least an hour. I check my watch. I have a little less than two hours to grab the kids, get Sherlock and get the hell out of Oxford. I know Mycroft could land any moment so I decide to get moving.
In Afghanistan I had been a fighting Doctor. I was with my unit right in the thick of battle. I still had nightmares about it at times but right now I am grateful for my training. My nerves are put down as my instincts take over. I slip through the shadows towards the former observatory. I notice the windows on the front of the building are dark. I want to get to the back side of the structure without being noticed. I circle around behind the building next to the observatory and approach from the right side. There is one window with light.
I press myself against the cold wall and inch my way towards the window. I hazard a peek inside. A rush of relief and fear washes over me when I see two small children gagged and bound to chairs off in the far corner of the room. There is only a single guard watching over them. He's armed and is wearing a bullet resistant vest. He's currently paying attention to his mobile. The girl looked to be asleep. Even behind her glasses I can see her eyes are red and swollen. No doubt she'd spent much of the last day crying. The boy is awake and looking around the room. He is only five years old but I had seen Sherlock take stock of a room like that before. I can tell this boy has the Holmes' intelligence and is trying to think his way out of this problem.
I crouch down. I do have a plan, but I have to admit to myself it's not a very good one. I'm sure I could just shoot the guard, but there is most likely one covering the hallway as well, and there could be even more throughout the building. I decide that stealth is my best option.
I peek in the window again. Excellent, I think to myself as I notice scrapes in the paint of the window sill indicating the window had opened and closed several times. It can in fact open from the inside. I crouch down again and search the ground for several small stones.
Stones in hand, I situate myself under the window, pressing against the wall as hard as I can. I put my gun on the ground just to my right so I can scoop it up if needed, but if all goes well I won't have to fire a shot. I take several deep breaths. It's up to you Watson. I tell myself, four lives are dependant on you. This is your chance to save him.
I fling a pebble up and over my head at the window. Nothing happens. I didn't expect anything right away. I wait for about ninety seconds. I fling another pebble. Still nothing. A swirl of wind and noise comes from a distance. I realize that Mycroft has arrived and I'm running out of time. I throw a third pebble.
The light coming from the window has changed. The guard has noticed that something is hitting the window and is checking it out now. He's standing there not able to see anything because I'm hiding directly under his field of view. I throw one more stone.
The guard opens the window. I look up. The muzzle of his assault rifle is first visible. I wait not daring to breath. He leans out a little farther to scan the area. My heart is beating so loud I'm sure he can hear it. He leans out just a little more.
I strike. Grabbing him by his bullet resistant vest I pull him out the window and throw him to the ground. The attack was so unexpected he didn't make any noise at all. I pull back my arm and punch him with all my force. He's dazed. I hit him again and put his lights out.
I stand and look into the window. The children are still there. No other guards have entered the room. I search the legs of my victim and located his tactical knife which I take from him. I grab my gun and pull myself up through the window into the room.
I put a finger to my lips and motion to the kids to be quiet. The girl is awake and they are both wide-eyed with fear or excitement, with this family I can't be too sure of what they're feeling. I use the knife to cut the plastic ties holding their arms and legs. I don't remove their gags right away. We still have to get out of here.
The three of us tiptoe over to the window. I grab the girl under her arms and lower her to the ground. I lower out the boy next. Finally I hurry out the window and close it behind me.
I grab them by their hands and lead them as fast as I can toward a small grove of trees behind the next building. I had noticed this area as I was making my way in and realized it would be a good place for the children if they needed to hide. There was a large thicket of bushes whose branches grew just high enough off the ground that two small children could conceal themselves without any problems.
Inside the trees I stopped and removed their gags. They said nothing but looked at me with their tired, swollen eyes.
"I'm a friend of your Mum's." I tell them. "I'm going to get you out of here but first I have to make sure it's safe."
I remove my gun from my jacket and take it off. I wrap it around both of them. "I want you two to stay under this bush. Don't make a sound, don't cry and don't move. Nobody knows you're here and they won't see you if you stay silent. I'll make sure it's safe and come back for you. Understand?"
The girl shakes her head yes. The boy whispers "Thank you Doctor Watson."
I am astounded although I shouldn't be; this boy is part Holmes after all.
I help the kids slide in under the branches and attempt to arrange the leaves to look more natural for good measure. Satisfied that they are safe I take off at full sprint back to the car. Mycroft will have found Sherlock by now. I look at my watch. It's only a few minutes until Midnight.
I make it to the car. Sherlock is gone. The Pitt Rivers Museum is on the next street over. I start running again. As I run down toward the next block I see a person on a motorcycle pull up to the museum. They are dressed in black leather and a dark helmet. The rider takes off their helmet and a cascade of dark hair falls down their back.
Sherrinford! I realize. "Sharon!" I scream at her as I continue to sprint towards her. "Sharon!" She can't hear me. She unzips a jacket pocket and pulls out a gun. She walks into the museum.
"Bugger!" I try to run faster. My mind starts swirling with possibilities. She doesn't know she's walking into a trap. The guns on the second floor are going to cut down all three of them before I get there. The Professor is going to find out the children are missing soon if he doesn't already know it. I reach the front door.
BANG
A gunshot rings out, but only one. I open the door and run in. I am faced with a choice. There are stairs on either side of me and a door right ahead. I go to open the door when suddenly; I hear Sherlock's voice in my mind. The main floor is exposed to the second and third floors. He deduced there would be gunmen on the second floor. I decide to go up to the third. I hurry up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I can manage. I reach the third floor gun in hand. I tiptoe over to the rail and look down.
My stomach drops into my feet at the scene before me. Sharon is holding Sherlock by his hair and has her gun to his head. He's not even trying to fight back. He looks defeated. The Professor is laughing and his henchman has an assault rifle trained on them both. Mycroft is…
MYCROFT! I silently scream. He's on the floor lying on his back, blood is pouring out of his chest. He's coughing up blood. He's been shot and will not live long by the look of him. Something doesn't seem right to me. Then it hits me, Sharon shot Mycroft. It's the only explanation when I consider where he is and how he's bleeding. I look at him as the life drains from his face. There is no way at this point I can save him.
I scan the second floor. I can see two more gun men. I'm trying to decide what I should do when Sherlock's voice brings me back to my senses.
"Sherrinford, think about what you're doing." He's frightened but trying not to be. "You can kill me but that's not going to get you your children back."
"I'm sorry Sherlock but it's the only way." Her voice is shaky but determined. "These are my instructions."
"Yes Mr. Holmes." The Professor says as he totters up to them. "I was never going to trade you for the children. I told you my conditions must be met and from the very beginning my conditions were with your sister. If she wants her children back she must kill you and your brother and the Hooper woman. You couldn't have survived without her help." He looks over to Sharon. "I trust you took care of her?"
"It was easier than I anticipated." Sharon said coldly. "Sherlock took me right to her."
"Oh God, Molly!" I whisper to myself.
I hear a scream. It was something I wasn't expecting. It was a deep, tortured yelp that sounded like a wounded animal. It was Sherlock. I've never seen him like this. The news of Molly's death has hit him hard. His eyes are wild. He grabs Sharon's wrists. "You're lying Sherrinford! I want you to tell me you're lying!"
"And I want my kids back!" Sharon jams her gun on the end of Sherlock's nose. "Don't try anything cute, brother mine."
For a moment, everybody stops. Sherlock is considering the gun in his face. He looks to his sister. His expression changes. He seems calmer. I can only hope he's not decided to give up. She forces him to his knees and presses the barrel of her gun to his temple.
"You see Mr. Holmes, I didn't just want to kill you," The Professor bends down and speaks softly to Sherlock who has closed his eyes.
"I wanted to destroy you." He continued. "I wanted you to watch your family self-destruct. I wanted you to lose your precious little network and your precious little girlfriend. I want you to die knowing that after he realizes you're dead, I'll personally kill John Watson. I will torture him until he begs for death. Then I'll kill his fiancé for good measure. You deprived this world of the brilliance of my son. There is no punishment fit for you, but I'll do the best I can."
He straightens up and nods at Sharon.
I'm starting to panic. My breathing is getting shallow. I remember those two kids hiding under a bush a block away. I had to survive this for them. But what about Sherlock? What about Sharon? She'd just killed Mycroft and Molly! I can't believe that a short eight hours ago I was shopping for tea, cursing out Sherlock for being so lazy. Now here I am contemplating shooting his sister and possibly watching him die again.
I close my eyes. What would he do? I think. Then I know. He'd be a distraction. I stand and locate the Professor's henchman on the ground floor. I fire. He goes down with my shot to his head. I throw myself backwards.
The room explodes in a hail of gunfire. I crawl along the back wall as the men on the second floor fire at me. And if they are shooting at me, they won't be shooting at Sherlock. I'm trusting him to take the opportunity to disarm Sherrinford and get himself to safety. I reposition myself about 75 feet from where I took my first shot. I crawl forward on my belly and peek between the railing. Sherlock and Sherrinford are nowhere to be seen. The Professor also is hiding or gone. The two gun men are still looking up trying to spot me.
I get my gun between the rails and I fire again. I catch the first guard in the neck and he goes down. Only one more. I encourage myself. I roll backwards again only to feel a white hot sting in my left bicep. I look down and realize one of the guard's bullets had found me. It wasn't serious. I had only been grazed. I start to crawl away as shots spray the room. Suddenly, it stops as I hear breaking glass.
"JOHN!" It was Sherlock. Thank God.
I peek down the between the rails again. Sherlock had smashed the guard over the head with some ancient and most likely valuable pottery. He was okay. His white face was staring up at me from the second floor. I smile as I stand up. "Where's Sharon?"
"I don't know." He says. "Moriarty went out the back and she went after him. Did you find her children?"
"Yes Sherlock, I have them and they're safe." I reassure him.
"Thank goodness for that. This whole affair has been ghastly." Mycroft had sat up and was wiping off his face with his handkerchief.
"Alright then, Mycroft?" asked Sherlock.
Mycroft looks up at Sherlock and scowls. "Yes, brother, I am unharmed. These unsightly blood packs do hurt when they go off don't they?"
I nearly collapse. There had been a plan and once again Sherlock had left me out. I'll give him hell for it later. Right now there is still one more Holmes in danger.
"Let's find your sister." I yell down.
I thunder down the stairs as Sherlock joins me. We run across the floor of the museum and out the back door after Sherrinford and the Professor.
They are only a handful of paces from the door. Sharon has her gun in the Professors face. He doesn't seem that frightened.
"Ah, Doctor Watson, I thought it had to be you causing all that commotion." His distorted smile reminds me too much of his son. "Put down the gun Mrs. Tanner. It's obvious by the smell it's filled with blanks. I'm sure your brother Mycroft is alive as is Molly Hooper? Hmm? Well, I'm afraid Mrs. Tanner that my conditions have not been met. Your children will die now."
"No they won't Sharon." I tell her. "I have your kids, they're safe."
Her head turns sharply to look at me. Expressions of both grief and relief play across her lovely face. Her dark eyes are filled with tears. She breaths in sharply as her relief turns to rage. She clocks the Professor with the stock of her gun.
"That's for my daughter!" She seethes at him. He's bent over in agony. She drops her gun and grabs the Professor by the head. She smashes him in the nose with her knee. "That's for my son!" The old man falls to his hands and knees and starts spitting out blood.
I grab her from behind. "That's enough!" She wrenches my gun out of my hand. "Stop!" I yell.
It's too late. Moriarty has taken a bullet to the back of his skull.
"And that's for Charles." She whispers as she completely collapses on me. I fall to my knees as I catch her. She buries her face in my chest. I hold her as she weeps. I look up at her brother. His face is it's usual stoic with one small exception. His eyes betray his feelings. He wants to be there for his sister but doesn't know how.
I make a face at him. I motion with my free arm. GET DOWN HERE! I silently urge him. He comes over and kneels next to Sharon and me. He takes off his gloves and gently lifts her chin from off my chest. She looks to him.
"Sherrinford." He whispers.
"Oh, Sherlock I'm so sorry!" She flings herself into his arms. He cradles her head with his hand and his other arm holds her to him.
"No dear sister," Sherlock says as he breaks again, "I am sorry. I'm sorry for everything." His tears are few compared to hers. It doesn't matter. They both are starting to heal, and that's what's important.
Mycroft and the local police arrive a moment later. Mycroft's shirt is still soaked in fake blood. He takes notice of his younger siblings. "Sentiment." He states as he looks down at Moriarty's body.
"Your people can fix this Mycroft?" Sherlock asks.
"Indeed." Mycroft agrees. "It won't do for word to get out that we have a psychopath in the family."
I snort at this. Mycroft gives me one of those looks. "I'm pretty sure that word is already out Mycroft."
"I think it's about time we collected the children, don't you?" Mycroft asks raising an eyebrow.
A few minutes later Sharon, Sherlock and I are walking back to the thicket where I'd left the children. Mycroft had decided to change his shirt.
I approach the shrub. I kneel down. "Kids," I call softly. "It's Doctor Watson, it's all safe, you can come out now."
At first I don't hear anything. I start to get worried. I lift the leaves and peer under. My jacket is still wrapped around both kids. They are sound asleep holding on to each other for warmth. I look up to Sharon and smile. I wake Cannon first.
"Cannon." I say gently as I stroke his arm. "Wake up, your Mum's here."
He wakes and looks at me with his big brown eyes. "My Mom?' he asks. "Kylee!" he wakes his sister. "Kylee wake up!" They both start shifting out from underneath the shrub. They are dirty, hungry and exhausted, but they are all smiles as they come out and run to their mother. She sits right in the dirt as her kids find her arms. There are tears and kisses all around. Cannon starts to tell his mother all about their ordeal. Kylee is looking at Sherlock through her dirty glasses. She wriggles free of her mother's grip and approaches him.
He peers down at her with his usual gaze. I wonder if they are reading clues off each other. I admire these two kids for having the guts to be children in this family.
"You're my Uncle Sherlock aren't you?" she asks him.
"Yep." He replies.
"Did you really not know the Earth goes around the Sun?" She asks.
I laugh. I laugh enough that Sherlock shoots me a dirty glance.
"You've been reading John's blog." He accuses her.
"Oh yes," Kylee replies. "Mom reads it to us all the time. I just love your and Doctor Watson's adventures. My favorite was the Blind Banker. Tell me about how you saved the Doctor's life in the tunnel."
Sherlock smiles at her and looks up at me. Sharon is holding Cannon and starts walking towards the ambulance that has just arrived. Cannon protests. He might only be five but he sounds more like he's twelve. "Mom, put me down! I can walk there myself!"
Sherlock takes his niece by the hand and follows.
"You see Kylee, the mistake made by the Chinese assassins was that they believed Doctor Watson was in fact, me." He started.
She laughed. "That's silly! Why would anybody think he's Sherlock Holmes!"
"Why indeed." He agreed with her.
I stop. Bloody hell, it never ends.
Mycroft had made arrangements to get Sharon and the kids out of the country as soon as possible. We were taken to an air field where a private jet was waiting. The kids had been cleaned up and fed, and were now fast asleep. Sherlock and Sharon carried them on to the plane and made them comfortable.
I waited outside believing that Sherlock would disembark and the plane would leave. To my surprise they both came back down from the airplane as a second car approached me.
Mycroft and Molly got out. They had gone and fetched Sherlock's parents.
Sharon hugs her Mum and Dad. They all cry a little.
"I thought it would be prudent to send our parents with Sherrinford. She has a life to rebuild after all." Sherlock confides in me.
"Mycroft, Sherlock," Sharon asks. "Would you help Mom and Dad on to the plane while I say goodbye to Molly and John?"
They nod and take their leave with their parents.
Sharon hugs Molly. "Thank you for everything." She says. "There's no way we could have all survived without you."
"I didn't do anything." Molly giggles nervously. "Just made up the blood packs."
"And without them, I guarantee one of the Holmes siblings would've died tonight." Sharon informs her. "Molly, I know it's not my place to say anything, I know that you're engaged, but…" she stops for a moment. She faintly smiles at me. I know what she's about to say to Molly.
She sighs looks back to Molly. "Sherlock loves you Molly. He doesn't even know it himself yet. I'm not telling you to end your engagement. Sherlock would be hell to be married to. He'd be hell to date," she added, "but he's in love with you. It might take a very long time but one day he will realize it. If you're the woman I think you are, you know the right thing to do."
Molly looks likes she going to be sick. "Okay." She says weakly. "I'll, uh" She stammers. "Goodbye." She gets back into the car and shuts the door.
"I think you might have just stopped her heart." I joke to Sharon.
"John, I…" she stops and she looks deep into my eyes. I start to feel slightly uncomfortable. I'm engaged to Mary, the love of my life. But I must admit, if I'd met Sherrinford earlier, I might have made a grab for her. She must sense it too because she decides to start over. "Doctor Watson," she continues. "I cannot thank you enough for the lives of my children. There's a very real possibility they'd be dead right now if not for you."
"No need to thank me Sharon." I say. "I would have preferred to be in on the plan. It's just like Sherlock not to tell me that Mycroft would be wired with blood packs and you would have a gun full of blanks."
"Sherlock didn't know."
What? I think. I must look flummoxed.
She explains. "My instructions were to come to England, kill Mycroft and Molly Hooper and get Sherlock to Professor Moriarty. After you and Sherlock left Molly's house, I was going to do it." She stops. "But I couldn't. Not even for my children who I love. I couldn't kill my brother that I merely tolerate and I couldn't kill a complete stranger I didn't even know. I confessed everything to Mycroft and he came up with the plan."
A realization hits me. "Then when Sherlock told me he would give himself up for your kids, he meant it. He didn't have a way out, he was prepared to die."
"That's right."
"If that's the case, why were you holding him hostage when I got to the museum?" I ask her.
"I was buying you time Doctor." She smiles. "Mycroft said to buy you as much time as possible. He was right about you."
I'm amused. "What did he say?"
"He told me that Sherlock would go to the Professor and you would find my children." She did her best Mycroft impression, "One is always the distraction, Sherrinford, while the other is the hero."
"Oh brilliant," I say sarcastically, "I'm a distraction am I?"
"No Doctor," she says smiling "you're the hero."
She takes a step closer to me. One of her hands wraps around the back of my neck. I feel my pulse quicken slightly. She places a light kiss on my lips.
Sharon looks me in the eyes again, and leaves for the jet.
"There's a photograph," I shout after her. She turns and looks at me. "In all of Sherlock's possessions, there is only one photograph that he keeps in his night table. It has well-worn edges which means he looks at it often. He tries to keep it hidden. He doesn't think I know about it."
I take a breath, "It's a picture of you and your children at Christmas time. It's the only photograph he has that special to him."
She smiles at me brightly. I know she understands what I'm trying to say.
Sherrinford boards the plane. I reflect on the events of this day. Sherlock was going to die for a sister he barely knows. Mycroft helped her when she was going to kill him. For one terrifying moment Sherlock thought his brother was dead, but didn't lose it until he thought Molly was gone too. That's why Sharon stuck her gun right up to Sherlock's nose. I realize she was trying to let him know it was a trick. Everything was okay. My opinion of the Holmes family just changed.
Mycroft disembarks the jet followed by Sherlock who closes the door behind him. They come and stand with me. We watch it taxi away and take off.
"I do hope this is the last time I hear the name Moriarty." remarks Mycroft. "I'll take Miss Hooper home. I suggest you both get some rest."
He turns to leave. "Mycroft." Sherlock calls. Mycroft stops. "Thank you."
He looks back and nods at his younger brother.
Sherlock and I get into our car. "Are you alright?" I ask him.
"Yes. I'm still a little sore where you hit me with your gun." He gives me his sideways glance.
"You deserved it." I answer.
Mycroft's minion starts the car and we were on our way back to Baker Street.
"Do you think I can get the driver to drop me off at my place?" I ask. I'm not sure why but I have some need to fill the silence. Maybe I'm nervous Sherlock knows his sister kissed me. "I guess I can catch a cab from Baker Street. Yeah, let's just go there."
"John." Sherlock interrupts. "I owe you."
I say nothing. He looks to me with sincerity.
"Thank you, John. This isn't the first time you've saved me. One day I will repay you."
I nod at him in appreciation. I don't know if it's sad or funny but the way we carry on, I know someday he will. He'll have to save me from death or danger because he's Sherlock Holmes, and I can't live without him.