Sherlock

"So, brother dear, any nearer to solving the code?"

"Oh, Mycroft, stop distracting me!" I replied irritably. My brother is the most insufferable man I know, and extremely impatient.

I began to run the code in my head:

P45 XK6 34GH TYR UG925 WI 185 HAN2 76N GA7NC

What does it mean? What does it mean? I need ideas, any.

"John? Any ideas?" I asked sceptically.

"Oh, brother dear, he went out. He's at work, Sherlock. He got a job. But he's not happy with it and finds it repetitive. Judging by his coffee mug..."

Ugh, I filtered my brother's waffle after that. Instead, I repeated the code in my head again. The more I did, the more I began to think it rang a bell in my mind. Something, a small something, was staring me in the face. Italian Mafia, an old code, used by a criminal gang... "Ah!" I exclaimed.

"What?" My brother asked, leaning forwards just a little.

"The code! I've got it! It reads 'Get the best man there is and make him dance.'"

"How do you read it?" My brother asked, clearly ashamed that I had got it, while he was still in the dark.

I took in breath to speak but was stopped as I heard frantic footsteps, flying up the stairs.

"Lestrade?"

Out of breath, he gabbled "It's John."

I was out of my seat and level with the inspector in a flash.

"What?" I demanded.

"Our CCTV picked him up going into an alleyway."

Normally, I would've made some sort of remark here but the tone of Lestrade's voice screamed trouble. Big trouble.

"He went in there over two hours ago. One of our men went to check it out. All we found in there was his jacket, a small piece of net and two large needles."

"Abducted." I said, my brain had slowed, where's John? Who's taken him? Immediately, I realised something. I was the 'best man' from the code, they're using John to make me dance.

"Seems so. We took the needles straight to Molly. She said its a compound. Strong stuff. One would be enough to take you out for hours, but two..." He trailed off, sensing the look on my face.

"Take me there." Was all I could manage before descending the stairs and getting into the back of the police car.

In no time, we were at the alley. Taking my torch, I ventured in, tracing how John must have walked, not so long ago.

About 50 metres in, I found where the struggle must have taken place. Like a book, I read the scene: John walked in and looked around for some reason, then two men came up from behind and used a...net, probably, to drag him to the ground. Here, John tried to break free but was held down, drugged and his limp body was dragged away.

I walked deeper into the alleyway, with Lestrade and about a dozen other officers close on my heel. As it got wider, I could see tire marks from a largish van leading onto a quiet back road and away.

Wherever John was, I knew he was in danger.

Further back, someone called my name, I pushed past the other officers until I got to the man, and he handed me a note.

"Was on the floor, like. Down over 'ere." He said.

The note read:

Sherlock Holmes,

Knew you'd come looking.

Your dear John is safe for now.

The drugs won't kill him, but they'll make him easier to keep captive.

Find us, find him.

Keep looking.

F. Verdi

"For you?" Lestrade asked from behind me.

"What? The note? Yes. Lock down the border. We may already be too late, but try it." I said. Almost certain John was already out of the country, far away from safety.