Chapter 1
A man in his mid thirties stands outside the door immediately to the right of Speedy's Snack Bar. He lifts his hand to knock on the door but hesitates and drops it. He swallows and scrubs his face. Unconsciously, he rubs along his forearm following some of the faint white lines running parallel to the length. He glances up and down the street and up at the windows belonging to 221b Baker Street. He swallows again and presses his finger against the middle doorbell. Removing his finger from the button he grabs at the railing to the side of the doorstep. As he waits for someone to answer the door it feels like every passing second is actually an hour. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he hears footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. He pulls himself together just before a very fashionable elderly lady opens the door. She smiles at his obvious bemusement. 'Are you looking for Sherlock Holmes?' The young man nods mutely. 'Don't worry; you've got the right address. He lives upstairs.' His bemused expression leaves his face earning himself another smile.
'If you don't mind my asking, who are you?'
'His landlady, Mrs Hudson.'
'Is he in?'
'Not at the moment, but he'll be back soon.' Mrs Hudson steps back from the door. The young man steps in and Mrs Hudson closes the door behind him. 'Go on upstairs. He won't mind you waiting in the living room. I'll bring you up a cuppa and some biscuits. You look like you need it.' Mrs Hudson bustles into her flat leaving the young man staring after. He shakes his head to clear it and slowly climbs the seventeen steps. He opens the door to the living room and takes in the cluttered flat. He smirks and remembers the detective as a young man. The rooms are complete opposites from the other. He sinks into the armchair facing the window, leans his head back and closes his eyes relaxing for the first time since finding the note. He listens to the sounds of the street below, the rustling of Mrs Hudson's clothes and the chink of a cup and saucer onto table in between the chairs. He smiles to thank her. 'Sleep if you need to. I'll keep an eye out for them and warn them.' She whispers to him before walking quietly out closing the door behind her.
The next thing the young man heard was Mrs Hudson walking up the stairs with another pair of feet behind her. 'John, dear you will be kind won't you?'
'Yes Mrs Hudson.' John's voice is patient with their not-housekeeper.
'He's awfully tired and stressed. Poor thing hasn't slept in days. He's asleep now. He's got a cup of tea but it's probably cold by now.'
'You don't need to worry Mrs Hudson.'
'He's here to see Sherlock you know.' The young man can tell that they are just on the other side of the closed door.
'Yes, Mrs Hudson, I'm sure he is.'
'He's terribly polite.'
'Mrs Hudson, I can take it from here. You go and rest your hip. Coming up here will have put extra strain on it. Doctor's orders.' The young man listens to the footsteps of Mrs Hudson retreat from the door before it opens and the footsteps of the man enter going straight through to the kitchen and depositing shopping bags onto the kitchen table. 'Sherlock.' John growls. 'You and your ruddy experiments.' The young man snorts. 'Refill?' the young man opens his eyes and twists in his chair to look at Dr John Watson.
'How did you know I was awake? And yes please.'
'Apart from your snort, your breathing pattern was too rugged.' John brews the tea and carries two mugs into the living room. He sets one by the cup of cold tea and sits himself in one of the desk chairs. The young man glances at Sherlock's armchair before returning his gaze to John.
'Why-'
'Why am I not sitting in the other chair? Simply because Sherlock will kill anyone who presumes they can sit there. Mrs Hudson is the only exception to the rule. Even his brother follows it. Mrs Hudson, we love her to bits but she can be overwhelming.' John looks at him. 'You didn't give your name.'
'Matt.'
'Right Matt, do you want to get whatever it is off your chest or wait for Sherlock? The very basic info will be fine for me. It's better if I brief Sherlock when we've got a client and he's nowhere to be seen.'
'The very basic?' john nods.
'You don't have to.'
'My fiancé was kidnapped and a cryptic note was left. I can't read it.' John nods sympathetically.
'You don't have to say anymore.' Matt grins weakly. 'I know how hard it is to have someone you really care for go missing.'
'I read your blog before coming here.'
'Really?'
'But a friend told me to come and see Sherlock.' John's phone beeps
'Excuse me.' he looks at the message. 'Sherlock will be here in about ten minutes. A small warning, Sherlock can be very gruff and abrupt.'
'I know.' John raises his eyebrows.
'How?' Matt scratches the back of his head. 'Matt. He's spoken of you. Although he wouldn't admit it being delirious at the time.'
'What did he say?'
'I'm assuming you're Matt Ryding who used to work at Elmhurst.'
'Yes.'
'He called for you. Cried for you actually but of course.'
'He wouldn't admit it.'
'Or remember.' The two of them sit in silence until the door to the street bangs open and shut and footsteps stamp up the stairs. 'He's in a mood. Probably Anderson.'
'Sherlock!' The shrill voice of Mrs Hudson floats up the stairs after the consulting detective. The detective ignores both of the men in the living room preferring to go straight into the kitchen and sit at his most recent experiment.
'John. Bags. Tea.' John pulls a face.
'Sherlock, client.' Sherlock glances at John.
'Basics.'
'Kidnapping. Cryptic note. Old friend.'
'I don't have friends.'
'Pull the other one Sherlock.' Matt says from his seat not turning around. Sherlock's head jerks up. He stands and strides into the living room.
'Matt.' Matt grins at him. Sherlock sits in his chair.
'Sherlock. Doing well for yourself.'
'I owe a lot of it to you.'
'I heard that you don't do gratitude.'
'I don't. However, you, John, Claire, Sarah and James are the exceptions.'
'Not Greg?'
'Why should-'
'He doesn't have to let on his cases Sherlock. And he saved your life.'
'What can I do for you Matt? There will be no charge.'
'My fiancé Jason Horatio Nelson has been kidnapped.' Matt retrieves an envelope from his pocket. 'This note was left on my kitchen table.'
'When?'
'Day before yesterday.' Sherlock stares at Matt. 'I wanted to know what it said and the only person I could think of who spoke Greek was James Harrison so I rang him up.'
'You knew I spoke Greek.'
'I wasn't sure how to contact you. I heeded your warning about Simmonds. I didn't know about this.' Matt waves his hand around at the room. 'He keeps an eye out for you.'
'Sentiment.' Sherlock scoffs. Matt and John smirk at each other both knowing that Sherlock didn't actually mean it.
'Anyway, he translated the Greek part but he didn't know the bottom bit.' Sherlock removes the note from the envelope and scans it.
'It's been scanned.'
'I scanned it to send to James Harrison. He thinks it's Babylonian.'
'Close but wrong. This is Sumerian. Same time but it was more Eastern. Mesopotamia or modern Iraq rather than modern Syria and Saudi Arabia.'
'James Harrison said that the Greek bit says: We have Jason. Do not go to the police. You know what we need and you will give us everything.'
'He's right it does.'
'Go on Sherlock you're dying to tell us what does the last bit say?' John intercedes
'You know who we are, you will obey or he dies.'
