The pavement had ended at least 10 minutes ago. We were now hurtling down a foreign, dirt road, full of dips and mounds that rattled us to our core. We had long since stopped speaking, even Sherlock had shut his mouth, however, this was most likely due to the fact that if he were to open his mouth, it would be immediately clamped down by a violent lurch from the cab. He was simply sitting, arms folded, staring through the trees that had replaced the grandiose structures of London.
How much longer?
I pulled out my mobile phone.
2:45 p.m.
"We're nearly there, Doctor Watson." Ann murmured, watching the short stretch of road that was illuminated by the driver's headlights.
Ann was shoved between Sherlock and me in the back seat. She hadn't spoken a word the entire trip, she just stared pensively ahead. Her tears had dried up and now the only thing she seemed to find bearable in this silence was compulsively wringing her hands.
Sherlock had surely noticed.
She was getting nervous...
That feeling in my stomach had not left me… her vacant eyes, the compulsive fidgeting, the beads of sweat forming on her brow.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
"Here!" She blurted out to the driver, "Here is fine, thanks."
The car came to a halt beside a gravely path that lead straight into a dense wood. She paid the driver, and we stepped out into the vacuous night. When the roar of the car had faded behind the deafening sound of bugs chirping and the occasional bout of leaves skidding across the pavement, Sherlock finally spoke.
"Right," He said, gazing up the narrow path, "lead the way then."
Ann nodded and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. Without a sound, she trudged off into the solid black canvas, the soaked ends of her jeans scraping together only a few feet ahead. Sherlock made to follow her, but I grabbed his shoulder.
"Sherlock," I whispered, staring after Ann, wondering if she was perhaps watching us through the thick wall of pine trees, "I know I'm repeating myself, but... this just... isn't right."
"I don't need you to tell me what's right and wrong, John," Sherlock frowned, "As if you really think I haven't worked this out on my own."
He shrugged me off and continued on into the darkness.
Sherlock was a smart man, I had seen this proven time and time again, yet, sometimes he let his desire for intrigue dictate his actions. I didn't know whether he really did know what Ms. Pier's true motives were or if he was just enjoying the thrill of not knowing. I had my doubts; however, I couldn't ignore the fact that I always followed him. No matter the danger, I was there, and in an instant I was trotting along beside him once more. Perhaps, even I enjoyed the thrill of not knowing…
Right, now I've really lost it.
None of us could see each other properly in the night, only the vague outline from some unknown light. The noise from the crickets had faded and what was left was the dull sound of our footsteps on soggy leaves. The air held an icy ambiance and my jacket proved to be even more worthless then I imagined, although I hardly noticed the cold through my growing paranoia. In this kind of empty darkness, even the faintest of sounds can make your mind wonder. At the tiniest rubbing of branches above me or the snap from some far off twig, made my hair stand on end. Occasionally, I would brush the back of Sherlock's shoes to assure myself he was still with me; that I wasn't simply walking alone, lost on some unfamiliar path.
Then, suddenly, I was falling. The next step forward had plunged downward and I heard the sharp squeak of my shoes against metal, and then rest of me coming down and breaking them.
"John!" A voice shouted from above, "John, are you alright?"
I hadn't fallen very far- 8 feet, maybe less. The ground was some sort of vent in which I could hear the trickle of running water. Besides a slight scrape on my face and a gash on my side I seemed to be perfectly healthy, except for the prominent, forceful tremors coming from beneath me my feet. There was splashing from the bars below, different from the occasional gurgles in the water. Then, for a moment, I almost thought I heard a voice, a faint echo, bouncing along until it faded into nothing. I stood very still and listened, my hands feeling the sharp iron filter under my crumpled legs.
"John?"
"Yeah," I answered, disheveled, "I think I'm alright. Just pull me out of here."
A hand reached down, I latched on and in a moment I was back onto the slippery dirt floor. Sherlock and I stood up, brushing ourselves off while Ann's footsteps approached.
"Watch out for that," Ann said nervously, leaning over the edge of the hole. "There may be more."
"Oh, 'watch out for that' great advice!" I muttered sarcastically while we progressed further down the path, "I'll be sure to remember that next time I decide to fall into a ditch."
"Come now, John," Sherlock laughed, nudging me through his trench coat, "When did you become so pessimistic?"
"You're one to talk-"
"Here we are," Ann cut in, coming to a halt in front of an old house sitting in the middle of a clearing.
It was rather run down; the grey paint was chipping, exposing large patches of swollen wood. A single porch light gleamed in the darkness, illuminating an abundant amount of bugs swarming around it. It was a simple house, small and quaint, yet strangely vacant, as if no one had ever really owned it.
"Lovely," Sherlock breathed, "Now, since I've followed you all the way here without hardly a word, you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for me, would you?"
Ann turned on the spot, staring at Sherlock. "Won't you at least come have a look?"
"Of course." Sherlock replied, shortly. "We can talk while I observe." He strode past Anne and towards the front door, "This for starters... This light." Sherlock pointed up at the flickering, buzzing bulb.
"So?" Ann said defensively, folding her arms in front of her, "What about it?"
"So..." Sherlock scoffed, annoyed, "So, it doesn't really fit in with your whole, 'the lights went out' story, does it?"
"The lights did go out!" Ann shouted, quickly, "The porch light isn't connected to the same generator-"
"Exactly," Sherlock interjected with alacrity, opening the front door and examining it's shattered exterior, "So, what is it connected to? Perhaps a home security system?"
"It can't be," I said, joining Sherlock's side, while Ann stood quietly in the darkness, "She said the lights went out and then the intruders arrived. If that light and a security system were connected to a separate generator then an alarm would have gone off."
"Right you are, John," Sherlock muttered, crouching down and peering into the hole where a door knob should have been, "and surely someone kicking down a door would have been enough to set off any existing alarm. Except, the security system here isn't for the house, it's for the property."
"Then how come an alarm isn't going off?" I asked, searching the house for some sort of sign, "We came onto this lot and nothing has happened."
"Yes..." Sherlock murmured, excitedly, "Yes... that is interesting. I believe Ms. Pier can explain that."
Ann shuffled her feet nervously and muttered, "I don't know what you mean."
"Fine," Sherlock sighed, "I'll explain."
He vaulted off the porch and walked swiftly back across the lawn. My eyes followed his outline and the sound of his splashing footsteps.
"Watch closely," Sherlock said, pointing off into the thick forest.
I stared into the trees, squinting through the darkness, taking note of every sound and every form of movement that might be lurking within the night.
Nothing...
"Sherlock, I don't see anything." I said, feeling rather stupid.
"No, not yet," I could almost hear Sherlock's smirk, "Ann made sure no one but her could see this." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver. I could see it glinting finely through the opaque night as Sherlock held it high above his head. "But, unfortunately, she isn't dealing with amateurs."
There was a faint click, and suddenly, rising from the night, came lights. Small, red, lights, but extremely bright, scattered in a neat circle all the way around the house, sitting just beyond the lawn.
"They're sensors. If anyone comes in, these will be the first to detect it."
"How... did you..." Ann spoke weakly, her hands immediately going to her pockets and searching for the missing device.
"Oh, please," Sherlock sneered, turning towards her with displeasure, "With all your clinging and theatrics back at the flat it was quite easy to take this from you."
Ann opened her mouth to object, but Sherlock continued.
"The alarm is still active even when the lights are off," Sherlock muttered, illuminating the woods once more, "This tool is simply to let the user know where to step, but not how to disable. The lie about the power going out was a rather feeble attempt to make me assume that any security system you had was already disabled, thus how the assailants arrived undetected. However, in this case, there was a second generator containing the security system."
He peered across the sea of eerie lights and added softly, "The sensors are too close to maneuver three unknowing people between them. There must be space that only Ann, the user, would know about even without the lights being visible."
I scanned the landscape, perching avidly atop the porch, counting every single gleaming sensor, until I saw it.
"There, Sherlock!" I said, pointing into the night. "Back the way we came."
There was a small gap crossing a section slightly off the gravel pass, maybe a sensor or two missing, almost invisible among the tightly knit pattern.
"The pit..." Sherlock stated, plainly. "Of course there wouldn't be any, there would be no place to put them. You led us there on purpose."
Sherlock paused, "Which makes it equally odd that the alarm wasn't activated from the intruder before us. Don't you think? Unless the intruder already knew how to get past the alarm..."
Ann was silent, I could see her choked breath rising up like thick, billowy smoke. The next thing she did sent chills down my spine.
"Is that good enough?" She whispered, seemingly to herself, "You said he just had to say that."
I could see Sherlock tense at this and I could feel my own heart beginning to race. Something in her manner had changed, I almost sensed relief in her and yet a deep feeling of dismay. There was something dreadfully wrong.
"So, Sherlock Holmes," She breathed, her voice quivering with panic, "Tell me... who you're thinking of... who did this to me? Who broke into this house tonight?"
Sherlock did not speak, and with the growing silence I could see Anne trembling more violently.
"Please, tell me!" She begged, her voice breaking, every muscle quivering.
"Tell you?" Sherlock replied leisurely, with sudden culmination, "Or tell him?"
Suddenly, Ann collapsed, sobbing madly.
"I can go now, right?" Ann cried, desperately turning about for some invisible person, "You said that was all! Let me go... please..."
"You-" I shouted in disbelief, staring at the pathetic heap on the ground, "You brought us all the way out here... just to betray us?"
Ann was not listening. She was rocking back and forth, weeping pleas under breath, going forth into a crest fallen lament that was almost comical. I cringed with revulsion at the sight of her.
How dare she play us for such fools?
"John..." Sherlock muttered, gazing up at me through the darkness.
"What?" I spat, still seething.
"Run!"
Then I heard it, a sudden creak from the shadowy house behind me.
Before I had time to react, I was struck, hard, on the head. I didn't feel it at first, except a depressing force and the flash of bright sparks beneath my eyelids. Then, mind numbing pain. My jaw went slack and I could feel myself teetering on the porch, trying to blink away the stars. I thought I could hear someone far away shouting, I couldn't recall who. All was clouded by the slowly descending darkness.
Out of the blue, a figure came to my aid in front of me, grabbing hold of my arm while I hung limply off the side of some sort of edge.
"John..." The voice was foggy, entering my mind one letter at a time, "Hold on..."
Then there was a deafening thud above me, and the hand relaxed in mine. With my last ounce of consciousness my fingertips grazed his sleeve, frantically trying to grasp onto something to steady me, however, they were soon met with open air.
I was falling.