8:00 pm October 31st
John Watson had a nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong.
The feeling had begun sometime between the Scottish border and London and had been growing steadily stronger since. He had managed to ignore it at first, dismissing the feeling as a byproduct of the rather stressful case which he and Sherlock had closed the night before. It was no wonder that the events had left them both a bit unsettled, not that his flatmate would admit it; after all it was not every day that one nearly drowned in one of the worlds' most famous lochs whilst trapped inside a replica of its most beloved 'monster'. It was not an experience that John was eager to repeat.
He shivered as he recalled the bone numbing cold of the dark waters of Loch Ness. Of the near death experiences he'd had in his lifetime, including the one which had ended his military career, this had been one of the most frightening…perhaps only second to the incident at the pool, nearly two years prior, at the climax of the case which his blog now referred to as 'The Great Game'. Moriarty had not shown his face since that night; however his influence was still very much evident in the seemingly random workings of the criminal underworld…like a spider spinning a complex web, slowly and carefully, luring its prey into a state of calm before closing its trap.
Sherlock was no fool…a fact which John attributed to the reason that they were both still breathing. He knew that his friend suspected Moriarty's hand in the workings of their last case, and though he doubted that the man had been directly involved with the incident that had nearly claimed their lives, John had to agree that the elaborate plot had contained elements of the man's flair for the dramatics. He knew it was only a matter of time before Moriarty would show his face again; sooner or later he would grow tired of Sherlock's consistent interference…and if and when the two masterminds did meet again, John knew deep within his gut that only one would survive. He vowed to do everything within his power to make certain that one would be Sherlock Holmes.
John released a slow breath through his nose as he considered their parting at the station earlier that evening. The distant look in the detective's pale eyes had only served to intensify his concern, as did his distracted manner. Judging from the dark smudges beneath Sherlock's eyes, as well as the small collection of empty cardboard teacups left behind on the train, John doubted that the his friend had slept at all. Not that he blamed him. His rest had been uneasy as well…with dreams plagued by machine gun toting Loch Ness monsters attempting to drown him in an oversized vat of malted whisky. A small grin creased his lips at the thought.
A small part of him still felt poorly for abandoning Sherlock at the station, particularly in his present state of mind; though his offer to reschedule with Mary had been received with a thin smile from his flatmate, accompanied by both an assurance that he could see to himself and a request that he be left alone. With that Sherlock had bid him a good night, along with a half in jest warning to be on the watch for ghouls and goblins, before vanishing into the depths of the London Underground.
That had been over two hours ago.
A small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as John activated his smart phone. The empty screen stared back at him, mockingly. No new messages. His frown deepened. Despite Sherlock's acceptance of Mary's increasingly permanent role in John's life, the man rarely went for more than an hour without sending some sort of annoying text when he was not involved with a case…and yet there were none. John forced himself to set the mobile down and relax. With his luck the detective was probably caught up in some new experiment…something vile, most likely…and, with John's luck, difficult to clean up.
Sherlock's last round of tests had left long dark scorch marks, along with shards of glass, embedded in the ceiling of the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson had not been happy, to say the least, and neither had John as he had spent one of his rare free days assisting his flatmate in repairing the damage. Between Sherlock's experiments and the occasional occupational hazard, nearly half of the flat had undergone at least three major renovations and countless minor ones in the past three years. A small smile replaced the frown at the memories; he would miss the insanity when he moved out following his marriage to Mary that coming spring. Though there was a certain attraction to having the ability to open one's refrigerator without the concern that random body parts might fall out.
"What is so amusing?"
A warm smile slid across his lips as his fiancée set the large bowl of candy on the low coffee table before reclaiming her place beside him on the couch. He welcomed her with open arms, drawing her closer as he greeted her with soft kiss.
"I missed you." He murmured.
Mary's answering smile sent a rush of warmth through him, chasing away the lingering feeling of uneasiness. She had always seemed to have that affect on him; his ray of sunshine in a dark world...and he thanked the good Lord every day for the case which had brought her into his life. It seemed like only yesterday when he had walked into the Baker Street flat to find Sherlock in conference with a beautiful, but distraught young woman. He had barely listened as the detective had rattled off the facts regarding Miss Mary Morestan and her intriguing problem. One look into her cornflower blue eyes and he was lost forever. A family secret revealed, a treasure lost and eight months later he had asked her to be his…and to his relief and delight, she had accepted.
"I was only gone for a moment." She teased.
John grinned as he brushed a kiss against her jaw. "To a man in love, a moment is a lifetime."
She let out a soft snort at his remark, but surrendered willingly as he captured her lips once more. A loud buzz sounded from the table beside them, echoed by the melodic chime of the door buzzer. John groaned in protest.
"It's extortion, that's what it is…giving the little monsters bribes." He muttered as he released her.
She brushed a kiss against the tip of his nose, before sliding off of the couch and collecting the bowl of candy on her way toward the door.
"I'll take care of the monsters. Say hello to Sherlock for me and thank him for returning you in one piece as he promised." She called over her shoulder with a cheeky grin.
John shook his head as he reached forward and retrieved his mobile.
"I'll do nothing of the sort." He called after her. "The man already has an ego the size of the London Eye. I refuse to feed it any further."
His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the number on the screen. It was unlisted…could be a prank, particularly on a night such as this. He activated the message in the off chance that it was his flatmate as Sherlock had a habit of 'borrowing' phones that did not belong to him. His smile faded as he read the words scrawled across the small screen. The uneasy feeling returned.
It is nearing the bewitching hour…do you know where your master is?
A second message followed…a video.
oOo
The room had grown perceptively colder…or perhaps it was only the sense of dread Sherlock had felt at Moriarty's pronouncement that made it feel so. He was not afraid to die. On the contrary, he was often amazed by the fact that he had managed to live as long as he had; a fact he attributed to his few, but loyal friends rather than by his own doing…Mrs. Hudson…Lestrade…his brother…John… A part of him wished that he had told them so when he'd had the chance. It was too late now. Sherlock swallowed tightly against the lump which had lodged itself in his throat. Even so…death was a part of life and he had long since made peace with it. It would do him no good to dwell on regrets.
He forced his features to remain void of emotion as a delighted chuckle echoed from the dark shadows which obscured his nemesis.
"Now, now, Doctor...such language." The man purred.
A white hot surge of anger swept through Sherlock as he struggled uselessly against the drug that held him captive. He was certain that he was going to die; however, he just as certain that Moriarty would not be satisfied with simply killing him. No…their rivalry ran too deep and had lasted too long. He knew the sociopath would not be content with anything less that his complete and utter destruction.
Body and soul…
The 'chance' offered was no more than a trap. John's fatal flaw was his loyalty…a characteristic which had put him in danger time and time again. John had a life and a future, and yet Sherlock knew his friend would risk it all in an attempt to save him. His friend would accept Moriarty's dark challenge, a challenge he could not win…and Sherlock was helpless to prevent it.
His thoughts were interrupted as Moriarty appeared beside him, the cold grin on the man's thin face confirming his fears.
"The good doctor has accepted my little challenge." His nemesis stated pleasantly as his long thin fingers leisurely traced the length of tubing to the contraption on the table. Moriarty paused at the small valve set into the top of the glass, and then with a theatrical flourish, he turned it. A large drop of crimson liquid hung for a brief moment before it fell to splatter against the bottom of the glass. It was followed by another…
and another…
Moriarty smiled mockingly.
"The game is afoot."
oOo
The windshield wipers beat a soft rhythm against the ever present rain, a soothing accompaniment to the steady drone of the low conversation between the two men seated in the front of the sedan. Inspectors Bradstreet and Hopkins, John recalled absently as he watched the world beyond the blurred glass with unseeing eyes. He had met both men a few times on various cases the Yard had consulted Sherlock on. Both struck him as good and honest men, like their boss. They had shown up on Mary's doorstep less than fifteen minutes after he had placed a call to Lestrade, informing him of Sherlock's abduction and the messages he had received.
Lestrade had insisted that John allow him to place both Mary and him under police protection. With Moriarty's involvement in the matter, they could not afford to take any chances. The sociopath had not shown himself to be a man of his word in the past; there was little reason to trust him to play even by his own rules. For the time being no one was assumed safe, least of all one Dr. John Watson. John had agreed for Mary's sake, though he lamented the loss of time. Time was something that they had too little of…as the message had made abundantly clear. He had wasted no time in forwarding the video message on to both Scotland Yard and Sherlock's brother. Lestrade had promised to have the Yard's tech team begin tracing the source at once, though there had been no response as of yet from Mycroft.
With no other place to begin, John had suggested Lestrade begin his search at the Baker Street flat as his friend had been seen last headed in its direction. A part of him wondered if his friend had even made it that far. His chest tightened as he recalled the video message…an image which was now burned into his mind. A heavy sigh slipped from his lips before he realized that he had been the one to utter it, as a feeling of guild welled up within him. He should have accompanied Sherlock back to Baker Street. He should not have left him alone.
A small hand slipped into his, drawing him from his thoughts. John brushed a kiss against Mary's soft blonde curls as she dropped her head against his shoulder. The guilt intensified as he gently freed his hand from her grasp and enfolded her in his arms.
"Sherlock will be alright." She murmured softly. "You'll find him, John."
He said nothing, not trusting his voice, as he hugged her closer for a moment. He wished that he was as certain. It was a dangerous game which had begun. She should not be involved, and yet she was. As long as she was with him, she was a potential target as well. John had explained the dangers as best he could early on in their courtship…and yet she had remained with him, determined to be with him…for better or for worse. Sherlock was not the only one at risk if they failed…John had little doubt that Moriarty would end his 'game' even if his adversary perished.
"We're coming up on Baker Street, Dr. Watson." Hopkins announced quietly, as the car made a slow turn and the darkness was broken by alternating flashes of blue and white.
Lestrade himself emerged from the open doorway of 221 as the vehicle eased to a stop, opening a large umbrella against the ever present rain as he quickly crossed the distance to the curb. He held it over the rear door as Hopkins pulled it open. John emerged first, followed shortly by Mary. He wrapped an arm securely around her, placing her between himself and Lestrade as they made their way toward the building. John could not help but note the strong feeling of déjà vu which crept over him as they ducked beneath the police line which held back a small crowd of curious onlookers. This was not the first incident which had occurred at 221 since their arrival, nor was it likely to be the last…at least he hoped not.
His arm tightened around Mary, drawing her closer to him as his eyes swept the scene for hidden dangers, lurking in the dark shadows beyond the reach of the blue and white strobes. A pair of jack-o-lanterns grinned eerily at them from the neighbor's stoop. John's mouth tightened into a hard line as his eyes shifted from the glowing smiles. His grandmother had believed that the presence of the grinning vegetable could shield the inhabitants of a dwelling from harm intended upon them by evil spirits. As a child, he had believed it to be true…before he had learned firsthand that there were greater evils in this world than goblins and ghouls. He had witnessed more horror in his lifetime than he cared to remember, both in the hot desert sands and among the dark, wet streets of London…horrors caused by evil in the form of flesh and blood.
John shoved the thoughts back into the dark recesses of his mind as they entered 221. He felt a small sense of relief as his eyes lighted on the empty space by the door which usually held Mrs. Hudson's boots and umbrella, grateful that she was safely in Bristol. As proprietor of the house, she had of course been notified of the suspected break-in; however she had not been informed of the full extent of the events which were unfolding…namely Sherlock's abduction. John was grateful that for once she had accepted his reassurances that he would handle everything in her stead. Dear lady. If she knew the truth, there was nothing that would prevent her from returning. The further she was from London, the safer she would be.
"The bomb squad swept the building from attic to cellar. It's clean." Lestrade stated as they paused at the foot of the stairs to allow a pair of constables to pass.
The inspector's dark eyes softened as they paused briefly on his friend. "Welcome back, by the way."
John nodded with a slight smile. "Thanks. It's good to be back."
He watched his friend with a doctor's practiced eye as Lestrade offered Mary a weary smile and a nod, which she returned with a warm one of her own. The man looked as bone weary as John felt, but his eyes burned with an intense fire which John had come to associate with instances where threats had been made against those the inspector sought to protect. John had once heard Sherlock describe Lestrade as a bulldog…loyal, stubborn and unshakable…loyal friend and a formidable adversary. John felt a small margin of tension release at the affirmation that he was not alone in this fight. If he fell, there were others who would take his place…and protect those he loved.
"I've pulled in everyone I could get a hold of to assist in the search. Not an easy task as the majority of the Yard has been temporarily reassigned to assist with security for the American Ambassador's masquerade ball, which is being held in honor of the PM."
His eyes met and held John's briefly, the message was clear. The timing of Sherlock's abduction had not been random but in fact had been perfectly planned to coincide with a time when assistance would be limited and response delayed. It also potentially explained Mycroft's unusual lapse in response.
"The rest of us have had our hands full with reports of small fires and assorted acts of mischief which have been popping up all over the city." Lestrade continued as led the way up the stairs. "I really hate this time of year."
The small smile, which had found its way to John's face at his friend's muttered comment, faded as they stepped through the doorway and into the flat he shared with Sherlock. The investigative team was still hard at work taking photos and dusting various pieces of furniture around the room with fingerprint powder. Sergeant Donavan glanced up from her notebook from her place beside Sherlock's cluttered desk; a laptop sat open beside her, its screen facing away from the doorway. Her eyes softened as she nodded briefly before calling her boss over.
Lestrade nodded in response, his hand staying John from following. "Wait here for a moment."
John nodded and began to sweep the room with his eyes, feeling the need to do something. Little had changed in the time that they had been away…as far as he could tell at least. The furniture seemed to be in the same place, as did the teetering stacks of books and papers his flatmate had left littered around the room. A tight smile creased his lips briefly as his eyes swept the mantle of the fireplace. Sherlock's skull was missing, probably Mrs. Hudson's doing as there was also distinct absence of dirty dishes in the kitchen and dust on the furniture in the sitting room. Despite her claims that she was not their housekeeper, she still seemed to take it upon herself to look after them…though the dear woman had not gone near the refrigerator since the incident with the head. Not that John blamed her.
"It looks like they are done with the kitchen. I don't know about you two, but I could do with a cup of tea." Mary said with a small smile as Lestrade returned.
John returned her smile. "Make sure you only use the tins in my cupboard…and only the sealed ones at that." He warned as he released her, watching as she made her way into the kitchen before turning his attention back to the inspector.
"Any luck in tracing the video link?" John asked softly as he glanced over at the computer on the desk.
Lestrade shook his head slowly. "Nothing yet. It is fairly sophisticated. The lab boys are tracking it but the signal has been bounced off a number of receivers. It is going to take time." He hesitated a brief moment before voicing the question in his dark eyes. "How much time do we really have?"
John let out a slow breath through his nose as he considered the question that had plagued him since the moment he had received the second video link…which had included a time clock. "I think we should assume that we have less than we were given." He glanced at the face of the watch which adorned his left wrist. It was nearing nine o'clock. "He's lost nearly a pint of blood already. After two he will begin to show signs of hypovolemia. As the blood continues to drain, the stress will increase on his heart as it struggles to cope with the decrease in blood volume. If not stopped, in four hours his heart and his major organs will begin to shut down. After five…" His voice trailed off for a moment. John cleared his throat and continued quietly he raised his eyes to meet his friend's. "I would say we have three hours…at the most."
Lestrade nodded tightly. "Right then, let's get you up to speed, shall we?" He gestured a hand toward the doorway to the room. "Sherlock made it at least as far as the flat. His overnight bag and laptop case were found beside the sofa. It is likely that he may have even been taken from here though we are still in the process of attempting to determine how exactly. No one other than Sherlock was seen either entering or leaving the building since early this morning, though the patrol on duty was distracted a short time around noon by a report of a tripped alarm a few streets away."
He pointed toward the windows. "One of your neighbors, a Mr. Johnstone, reported seeing two men carry a large rolled rug out of the building next door roughly an hour after the patrol reported seeing Sherlock return, which they placed into a large white paneled lorry. The building has been under renovations so he thought little of it at the time. He was able to give us a description of the van as well as its license number, which we confirmed from images retrieved from the traffic camera on the corner. I issued a notice regarding the van, but by now it could be anywhere."
A small frown crossed John's face as his blue eyes brushed over the room. "Have you heard anything from Mycroft or his men?"
Lestrade shook his head slightly. "Nothing. Though we did find two cameras, complete with listening devices in the sitting room, as well as one in the downstairs hall and one in the rear of the building. They appear to be working but we were unable to find anything in the feeds." His dark eyes met John's. "Not a thing…including Sherlock's arrival."
John's eyes narrowed. "Tampered with?"
Lestrade nodded. "This was well thought out...and in advance." He knelt for a moment beside the low table and retrieved something off of the floor. "There is something else you should see." The inspector said quietly as he held out his hand.
John took the small particle carefully, examining it closely. "Drywall dust?" he asked. "From where? Mrs. Hudson isn't planning any renovations that I know of and it has been nearly two months since Sherlock last damaged any walls."
Lestrade beckoned John to follow him as he moved through the door and into the hallway. He led the way up, past John's own room on the second floor to the unused and closed off portion of the third. The door to the room John had not seen in many years stood open. Bright flashes and the low murmur of voices came from beyond as the men made their way to the landing and stepped inside. John paused in his tracks as his eyes lighted upon a neatly cut square in the wall which separated it from the flat next door…the flat under renovation.
"The men with the rug?" he asked tightly as he moved closer to the hole.
Lestrade nodded as he joined his friend. "We believe so."
John leaned forward, poking his head through the hole. It would have taken a great deal of time and skill to cut through not only two layers of dry wall, but a double layer of fire proof wall as well. The room beyond was dark and silent. He could make out stacks of boxes and a few pieces of what looked to be furniture, draped with heavy dust clothes.
"The owners of the house are in Canada on holiday and have been for a month or so. We are still attempting to track them down."
John closed his eyes briefly as he attempted to put an order to his muddled thoughts. Why go through the trouble of cutting a hole in the wall? At least it cleared up the question of how he had vanished from the building. Though it gave little evidence as to where he had been taken after…
He slid a hand into the pocket of his jacket as his phone vibrated signifying a new message. His eyes narrowed in tightly controlled anger as he read the words.
One pint down and four to go. Tick, tock, Doctor…or should I say drip, drop
Author's note: Mary Morestan is from The Sign of the Four. Thank you for reading!
