"Trust me, John," Sherlock breathed. "Something's going on. Elizabeth is keeping something from me, and Mycroft is helping her. I have to find out what's going on. Will you help me?"
John glanced up at Sherlock. He almost couldn't see the detective's face in the dark and shadows. What he could see told him that Sherlock was very worried. He was convinced that Elizabeth was in some sort of trouble. And what made it worse for him was that Elizabeth was apparently confiding in Mycroft and not him. His brilliant mind was running through the worst possible scenarios at the moment.
It was these moments when John saw his friend as he truly was, not as he pretended to be.
Sherlock claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath. He was adamant that emotions were not his area.
But here he was.
Sherlock was scared. He was worried for the wellbeing of another person.
"Of course, Sherlock. I'll help you."
John stuck close to Sherlock as they trailed Elizabeth. He was worried too, but he knew that he needed to stay calm for the sake of the detective.
John knew Elizabeth. He knew that she was honest, respectful, and kind.
So whatever this was... It was big. He trusted her enough to believe that. Whatever she was doing, she had a good reason, and he hoped that Sherlock realized that as well.
The big question was: why was Mycroft involved?
Had Elizabeth gone to him? Had he found out through a camera or surveillance? How long had this been going on? Why did they not tell Sherlock?
John was a bit afraid of the answers.
They tracked Elizabeth to the Diogenes Club. There John and Sherlock were forced to hide in the shadows a few yards away. They couldn't get any closer running the risk of being seen.
"Does it matter if they see us?" John asked.
"Not really, Mycroft already knows that we suspect them. Skull cam and audio and all that," Sherlock replied. "I was hoping that he would just tell me, or at least warn me to stay away. But he hasn't been in touch at all."
John nodded, "So what do we do?"
"We go in," Sherlock pushed off of the wall and walked to the door of the Diogenes. John followed him inside.
The Club was deserted at this time of night, but a small strip of light was visible under the door to the Stranger's Room. When they reached the door, Sherlock attempted to open it, but found it looked.
John could hear distinct rustling and hushed voices coming from inside. Sherlock lost it at that moment and began throwing his shoulder against the door. The voices became louder and more frantic, but John still couldn't recognize any of them.
Sherlock finally burst into the room.
It was empty. Sherlock swore and raced to the window, which was wide open. John ran over and peered at it. Outside, there was a fire escape and ladder to the ground. He searched around the darkness, but he saw no one.
Elizabeth raced through the streets. Lestrade, Anderson, and Norman were just behind her, panting with the effort of running.
She hated keeping this from her father, but it was what He had demanded. He had allowed anyone else but Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to know and assist.
He was playing a game with her, she knew that. Obviously He was someone Sherlock had had dealings with before, and the detective had most likely beaten Him. So now, He was taking his frustrations out on Sherlock's family.
They felt safe enough to stop running when they were ten blocks away.
"That was too close," Lestrade huffed. "We'll have to find another location."
"Are we sure they didn't see us?" Anderson asked, eyes wide.
"I think you're all safe," Elizabeth said. "But they definitely know I'm involved somehow."
"I wish we still had the cams in your flat," Lestrade muttered. "We could find out how much they know."
"I can't put them back online without running the risk of him hacking them," Norman reminded him. He ran his hands through his longish brown hair, sighing.
"It's been six days," Anderson said matter-of-factly. "How are we even sure he's still alive?" Lestrade punched him in the arm, and he glared at his boss.
"All we have to go by is His word," Elizabeth snarled angrily. "That has to be good enough. But when I get my hands on Him..."
"Agreed," Norman nodded.
Lestrade turned to Elizabeth, "What are you going to do? You can't go home now. Sherlock could probably deduce everything in a second now that he knows something's up."
"I know," Elizabeth sighed. She wished she could go home, but she knew that she couldn't. This was going to destroy Sherlock's trust in her. She couldn't wait until they solved this, and then she could finally tell him and get him to understand.
"You can stay with me," Norman offered. "I live in one of Mycroft's many safehouses. It is totally secure."
"Thanks, Norman," Elizabeth smiled.
"If you don't mine, Norman," Lestrade said. "My flat is on the other side of London, and it is getting pretty late..." Norman nodded, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Elizabeth, but I don't really know this guy. Didn't even know he existed until this all started."
"What about tomorrow night?" Anderson asked. "Where are we going to meet?"
"What about Scotland Yard's secret evidence warehouse?" Norman suggested. "It is fairly secure."
"That could work," Lestrade nodded. "And actually, there isn't much traffic during the day. Now that Elizabeth doesn't have to keep up appearances for Sherlock, Norman, she can work with you all the time. And that means too, Anderson, that Sherlock is going to be on high alert. He might not take our cases, but if he does we have to be ready to fool him."
"Wouldn't be better to not ask for his help until we get this finished?" Anderson questioned.
"He would think something's up," Elizabeth answered. "He already assumes that Mycroft is involved, but he doesn't know in what capacity. If the police suddenly seem more competent than usual, he'll think that you know something."
The men could see the truth in her logic. She would know Sherlock's thoughts better than anyone.
"Alright, everyone," Lestrade went into boss-man mode. "Anderson, have a good night. Meet us in the warehouse at nine tomorrow night."
Anderson nodded and poked his head out of the alley. Then he walked out and down the street, disppearing into the night.
"The safehouse isn't far from here," Norman led them down the street, opposite from the direction Anderson had taken.
"How much longer do you think this will go on?" Lestrade wondered aloud.
"I don't know," Elizabeth sighed.
Mycroft Holmes has been held captive for six days.