Notes: Thank you so much for the messages, reviews and for reading!
Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.
No warnings on this chapter.
Chapter 3
Abelia got up from the sofa and started pacing. She was too nervous to sit still, and had already managed to drop her cell phone twice. She looked at the screen of her cell phone again. Nothing. No calls, no text messages, no news.
"Sit down, dear. You're making me nervous." An elegant old lady said from an armchair next to the window, on the corner of the living room. "Besides, it's not good for the baby. You have to calm down. You know they say that unborn babies can feel their mother's distress? And this interferes with the babies' health?" The old lady said, adjusting her glasses, and working her crochet stitches.
"Jimmy said he would call me as soon as he had some news. I didn't hear from him since yesterday!" She said, while texting her brother "any news?" and pressing 'send', on her cell phone.
"Your brother will call when he finds anything, don't worry." The old lady said, looking through the window, when a black car parked in front of her house. "George got home early", she thought to herself.
"And you don't have to worry about your grandson, Mrs. Anderson. I'm sure he's not capable of feeling anything yet." Abelia said, still pacing.
"They say the first 12 weeks are the most critical. And please don't call him my grandson! You don't know if it's a boy, yet! It could be my granddaughter!" The old lady put down her handwork on the table beside the armchair and took off her glasses.
"I have this felling that it's a boy." Abelia said, stroking her belly.
The old lady raised her arms. "Come here, dear. Come sit next to me."
Abelia headed to the corner of the big living room where Mrs. Anderson was sitting. Taking her hands, she sat down on the matching armchair, on the other side of the window, with the round side table between them.
Abelia loved this living room. It was big and airy. Now, the room was brightly illuminated by natural afternoon light, coming from the many windows disposed on both right and left sides of the room, and filtered by the beige curtains. It was beautifully decorated with classical furniture, with a fireplace and a mantelpiece, where an antique clock and two candlesticks were disposed. A big comfortable sofa was located opposite to the mantelpiece, with two smaller sofas on each side. Some upholstered armchairs and classical chairs were disposed next to round side tables by the windows, or next to a chess table.
"I'm scared too, darling, but we need to have hope. We have to be strong and of good courage. 'Do not be afraid, nor be dismay, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go'. It says so in Joshua 1:9." The old lady quoted the Bible verse.
Abelia looked Mrs. Anderson in the eyes. She had beautiful ocean-blue eyes like her son. She saw that her future mother-in-law really believed her son would be OK. She believed God would hear her prayers and He would take care of him. Abelia herself didn't believe in God. And she knew people could be really evil.
"I wish I could believe your God, Mrs. Anderson." She said. "It's been almost a week since I last talked to David." Tears threatened to fall down her face and she quickly wiped them away.
They both turned to the double door, where an old man had just entered.
"Any news?" He asked both women.
"Nothing yet, honey." Mrs. Anderson answered.
"OK. That's it. I'm calling the police." Mr. Anderson said picking up his cell phone from his pocket.
"Please Mr. Anderson! David begged us not to! He said he would take care of this!" Abelia pleaded, getting up from the armchair, heading to him and holding his hand preventing him from making the call.
"My son is missing! Someone is trying to kill him and here we are doing nothing!" Mr. Anderson said angry and frustrated.
"We are doing something, darling. Abelia's brother knows people, he will ask, he will find something. Please be patient." Mrs. Anderson said from her armchair.
Mrs. Anderson looked at her husband. She had always been proud of her husband's appearance. George was always well dressed, independent of the occasion and, despite his age, he was very jovial and fun. But now that seemed to have changed. Her husband had aged years in a few weeks. He lost weight and he looked too tired.
"Honey, do you want a cup of tea? I can have Matt to bring one for you."
"I can't drink. I can't eat. I can't sleep." Mr. Anderson said defeated.
Abelia held him tight, trying to give him strength she herself didn't have.
They all heard the door bell ring. Mrs. Anderson looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. It was too early for the boy from the supermarket to deliver their groceries. She looked through the window and saw a taxicab parked behind George's car, but she couldn't see who was at the door from her spot by the window. She felt a cold fear grow in the pit of her stomach and looked at her husband who had the same fear in his eyes.
Matt, the butler, appeared on the double door. "A man named Sherlock is at the door. He wants to talk to you about David. And he says that it's urgent."
"Sherlock, we can't simply show up at this family's house and announce that their son is dead. We are not from the police." John tried to reason. John was exhausted and hungry. After they left the crime scene that morning, they visited about ten of the top quality jewelry store in London. According to Sherlock, the engagement ring they had found on the victim's body was unique, custom-made and expensive. The man probably chose the best jewelry shop in London and ordered the best ring they could make. This added to the fact that the fiancée's name was not common, Sherlock was certain that they would find someone who would remember the costumer and would give them the information they needed.
"OK, Sherlock good one." John had said. "But some shops have many jewelry designers. How do we know we are talking to the right one?"
"That man would not be attended by any designer. We have to talk to the managers."
And Sherlock was right once more. After visiting so many shops, getting in and out of taxis, taking the subway and walking miles, they had almost given up, thinking that maybe the man had ordered the ring from some shop outside London.
While they were eating fast food on the street, after John had begged and threatened Sherlock's life, since he was almost passing out from the lack of food in his system, they spotted a new Italian jewelry store that had opened not too long ago. Sherlock got excited and threw his and John's half eaten sandwich away, taking John's hand and running to the shop. The manager on the jewelry store recognized the ring and the name engraved.
"Yes, I recognize this ring." The manager had said, looking to the photo on Sherlock's screen phone. "It is one of our most beautiful works. Are you two getting married too? I can't sell this model to you because it's exclusive, but I can design another ring as beautiful as this one."
"No, we are not a couple!" John had said annoyed at having to explain this again.
"We need the name of the man who bought this ring. And his address." Sherlock had said, businesslike.
"I'm sorry, but I can't reveal information from our customers." The manager had said, impassive.
"My name is Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock had said in a very commanding voice, showing Mycroft's ID. "As you can see, I work for the government. The man who bought this ring is in grave danger and it is imperative that we find him immediately. So, you have two choices. One, you give me the information I need and I'll do my job of saving this man's life so he can keep buying expensive rings in your lovely store, or two, you don't give me the information I need and I'll have to call my friends from the British Secret Service asking for their help with a stubborn witness. While we wait for them, the man dies and he'll never be able to spend one cent of his money here again. It's your choice."
John tried to keep any sign of surprise with the bunch of lies that was falling from Sherlock's mouth from reach his expression and looked at the man with the same hard look Sherlock was giving him. The man was so shocked that he didn't questioned anything and started telling everything he knew about his costumer.
And that's how they managed to get to the front door of the Anderson's manor, located in an elegant neighborhood in North West London.
A middle aged man in uniform opened the door. "How can I help you, sir?"
"We need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Are they home?" Sherlock asked.
"Who shall I announce?" The man in uniform said, politely.
"Sherlock Holmes. I need to talk about their son, David Anderson. It's urgent."
"Wait here please. I'm going to see if someone is available." The man said, leaving them on the porch.
"Did you hear what I said? We can't just tell them their son is dead." John said again.
"Don't worry, I called Lestrad. He is coming. Meanwhile we're going to try and find out something about this family."
They were led to a beautiful living room, where an old couple and a young woman were standing.
"My name is Sherlock Homes and this is Dr. John Watson. You must be David Anderson's family." Sherlock said shaking George's hand.
"I'm his father, George." Mr. Anderson introduced himself. "This is my wife Elisabeth Anderson and this is Abelia, his fiancée."
"Mr. Anderson, we need to ask you a few questions about your son, David Anderson." Sherlock said.
"Who are you again?" George asked.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes. I'm a consulting detective. I helped Scotland Yard solve some cases, like the arrest of Peter Ricolet, the number one on the Interpol list."
"I remember that. It was all over the newspapers. You are the detective that uses that silly hat aren't you?" George asked.
Sherlock looked disgusted by the comment.
"Why are you here? Why do you want to know about my son?" George asked genuinely interested.
"I have reasons to believe that he was trying to contact me but he ..., he didn't manage."
"What?" They all asked surprised, including John, that didn't have a clue on what Sherlock was talking about.
"Do you know why is he trying to contact a detective?" Sherlock asked. John noticed Sherlock's use of the present tense, as if David was still alive.
The family looked at each other as if deciding what they could tell.
Finally Mrs. Anderson decided to interfere. "Let's sit down, shall we? Matt, would you be kind and bring us some tea, darling?"
Matt nodded, leaving the room. Sherlock and John sat on the big couch, Mrs. and Mr. Anderson sat in one of the smaller sofas and Abelia sat on the other.
"My son is missing and we were going to call the police." Mr. Anderson said.
"How long he's been missing?" Sherlock asked.
"We haven't seen him since last month, but the last time we heard from him was last Monday. He called Abelia and told her he was OK. He used to call me or her every day. But since Monday he hasn't call us." Mr. Anderson answered.
"I don't understand. He wasn't in London?" John asked.
"He was hiding. Nobody knew where he was, including us. He was being threatened. They called him, e-mailed him, even sent him letters threatning to kill him. He was attacked on the street once. David was going mad and decided to find out who was doing it, so he told everybody he would travel on business. But he stayed in London to investigate without being noticed." Mr. Anderson explained.
"Why didn't he call the police?" Sherlock asked intrigued.
"He called the police after the first calls. But he thought it had something to do with our business. We are in a global economical crisis. Our company had to cut businesses with many companies. Some of our suppliers are small companies that can bankrupt if they lose us as clients. David thought if this hit the press it would damage the image of our company and further undermine our businesses. So he decided to leave the police out of this and investigate a few of his suspects by himself."
"And do you know if he's found anything?"
"He was progressing. He had a suspect and he was pretty sure about the identity of the man who was threatening him. But then on one of his last calls, he was really sad. He said he was wrong and that the investigation was a mistake. He was considering calling the police." Mr. Anderson said with a pang of guilt in his voice. "We should have called the police from the begining."
The bell rang once more.
John and Sherlock exchanged glances.
"Who may be this time?" Mrs. Anderson asked.
"I'm really sorry, but I think it's my friend, Detective Inspector Lestrad from Scotland Yard. They've found a body this morning. We think it could be David's body." Sherlock answered sadly.
"Are you telling me that my son is dead?" Mrs. Anderson asked incredulously.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock answered, while Abelia tried to get up from the sofa but fell on her knees and then to the floor.
Next chapter: The investigation continues and a name comes up. Sherlock flirts with a receptionist and finds an important clue.
Following chapters: John tries to help someone who is in grave danger and ends up missing. Sherlock races to find him before it's too late.