Protectors
Chapter Three
A/N- at End.
No beta.
No Britpick.
John had done as Sherlock had intended, he had left, and stayed away. It was what he had wanted from that conversation-argument-but that had not made the flat any less empty. He had not wanted it so much as he had determined it was the appropriate action to take. He had to move forward.
He drank more of the appalling protein drinks. He even ate some of the snacks and biscuits. It alleviated some of his guilt.
Moriarty would be in touch sometime today. Twelve to sixteen hours. He had his phone in his pocket. He was already dressed so he could be on Moriarty's tail the second he had a lead. Dozens of chess pieces were already in motion across London. The homeless network was everywhere, waiting to be given something to hunt.
Lestrade had extra men standing by. Mycroft was similarly on alert.
Sherlock had even managed to sleep for a time. With his Mind Palace cleaned it was easier to rest. It would make the next puzzle easier to process.
"Sentiment is a defect found in the losing side." He reminded himself, and meant it.
The deadline passed, and Sherlock's phone was still silent. His computer was still silent. Scotland yard was still silent.
Mary and Lestrade both texted. He ignored them. Mycroft called. He ignored it. He paced. He drank another of John's protein things. He realized John had certainly purchased them for him. He had another.
Hours passed. His homeless network was still passing the same message. "All's Clear." Once an hour they all checked in with the confirmation that nothing untoward had been spotted.
Sherlock could not sleep that night, despite his best intention and the full knowledge that he could wake up almost instantaneously
By the next morning everyone was tense. Although Moriarty had not hijacked the nation's screens since that first video, he had hijacked them individually throughout the attacks, often random offices at the Yard. Once the telly in the flat. Once every screen in a pub John had been enjoying. He always got in contact. It was always three days after the last attack.
Everyone involved in the task force and investigation was feeling the strain.
Moriarty was never late.
It only meant something new, and quite certainly worse, was on the horizon.
By noon Sherlock was in NSY, waiting for a few terrified officers scrambling for the police records he had commanded. Every report made in the last 96 hours in fact. Arms clasped behind him, wearing his Belstaff over his purple shirt, he knew he was using his manufactured media image to control the room. Always for the best when there were idiots about who might otherwise attempt to talk to him.
"Where's John?" Lestrade asked, clearly trying to fill the dead air. Met with silence, he continued, "With Mary then. Well thats good." Lestrade and John went to the pub last night. Lestrade left early, told John to go to Mary. Good. Mary hasn't messaged, John is still angry. Good. Mycroft hasn't commented beyond that one phone call. That isn't out of the ordinary.
"Hey boss, we have something."
"What?" Lestrade barked, chasing Donovan into an office with Sherlock just behind. "What happened?"
"There's a gap, boss. Eight hour window. Nothing. We've had reports come in during that time, but that's only when the report was filed. Everything seems to have just stopped during that."
"Stopped? Stopped how?" Lestrade said, glancing at the timeline the team had hastily thrown together. S
"None of the crimes that we have had reported occurred in that gap."
"Just within London? Does it go further?"
"Just London."
"Sally, what is the very last crime reported?" Sherlock interrupted.
"Uhm….here, these all happened within a few minutes of each other." She handed over a set of reports. Still sleeping with Anderson. Went to him last night, anxious about the case. She would normally take it out on me. What's different? No eye contact. No insults. Lestrade threatened her job if she was difficult during this case.
"Somethings changed." he announced.
"Yeah I'll say, every criminal in London took a good sleep at the same time apparently."
"No, it won't be all of them, petty crimes will have continued, though not too many I expect. It would seem that Moriarty halted all criminal activity though. Anything and anyone he has a connection to went underground for a time."
"For how long?"
"Irrelevant. It will muddle the search since all of the potential parties will have behaved out of character. The second point is to accentuate something, so the pieces are already there. We need to separate the immaterial from the crucial. I need the report on the first reported case after the gap, as well as anything else that happened in that first hour."
The reports then, and as the ones prior to the gap were already assembled, that was where he began. Ten within twenty minutes, then nothing.
Mugging. Car theft. Hit and run. Break in. Mugging. Robbery. Rape. Domestic violence. Arson. Break in.
Not enough.
Actress. Accountant. Stock broker. Green Grocer. Tourist. Flower shop. Train conductor and girlfriend. Bakery. Clocktower.
Locations? Street. Carpark. Street. Store. Street. Store. Park. Apartment. Bakery. Clocktower. No. Something else. What's the connection?
Ages? No. Clusters? No.
His phone buzzed.
Where are you?
JW
You aren't needed.
Stay there.
SH
Where are you?
What's happening?
JW
He ignored that.
The reports. Only the attacks on people? No, too generalized. Only the material? Car theft. Break in. Robbery. Arson. Break in.
Not the car.
Break in Robbery Arson Break in.
Grocery Florist Bakery Clocktower.
No.
On a map?
White City. Holloway. Lambeth. Stratford. No.
Too far.
White City. Holloway. Lambeth.
Break in. Robbery. Arson.
A grocer is vandalised. A florist is robbed. A baker is burned.
Connections. The owners? no. Workers. no. Patron, difficult to isolate but possible. Patron is the target? Patron is the motivation? Patron is a clue?
"Sherlock."
I need a map. It's a bit simple for Moriarty, but needs to be checked.
"Oi, Sherlock. This was just delivered. Marked for you. We can get it checked."
"It's not an explosive."
"How the hell do you know?"
"That would spoil the game."
He took the box out of Lestrade's hands. Turned it over.
Wooden box, factory made, floral shop. Balance of probability, the site of the robbery. Silk ribbon, poorly tied. Ignorant or hands shaking. Not sealed. Opens? Yes. Flowers? Purple, bell shape, columnar. Smell. Slight bitterness. Substantial Greens relative to flower. German Bellflower. Grown across Asia, Europe, now grown in England. Scientific name,
"Campanula Rapunculus."
"What's that?"
"These flowers, Campanula Rapunculus. The name was inspiration for the Brothers Grimm story: Rapunzel. Rapunzel it is the story of a baker, who steals from a witches garden to appease his wife's cravings for vegetables. His life is spared in exchange for what he held most dearly, his newborn child. For whatever reason the child was named after this particular type of lettuce, which does seem-"
No. Too obvious for him? Isn't it?
Sherlock set the flower sprig down on the case file.
Confirm location for M Watson
SH
Immediately.
SH
Confirmed
MH
Sherlock allowed himself a moment's relief. The Watson family was safe. Mary was confirmed and John was texting him.
?
MH
It's started.
Kidnapping.
SH
He quickly connected the triangle of locations on a map in one of the folders and circled the center. "I need all of the security footage between 630 and 830. Begin within that circle and expand outwards." He handed the sheet to a disgruntled sargent. They had the sense to go quickly.
"Whoever Moriarty kidnapped was taken within this area, most likely at or around 7:30 yesterday evening."
"Cameras won't have much. Heavy fog."
"Worth the effort. This will be high profile. Possibly an infant or very young child. Pregnant women near delivery. They will be related or connected to someone Moriarty believes he is re-paying for stealing from him."
"Hey, wait, Baker Street was at the center of that circle."
"Yes."
"So doesn't that make-"
"I've already confirmed their safety."
"Right, good, yeah. So what else do you have?"
"If Moriarty is once again drawing on a fairy tale and casting himself as the villain, as he did with the abduction of the ambassador's children, then we need to consider the entirety of the tale."
He picked the flowers back up.
"The Baker climbs over the garden wall to obtain vegetables for his pregnant wife several times. He is eventually caught, but rather than an immediate punishment the witch agrees to take the child in exchange for her stolen food. The child is locked away and raised to believe that the witch is her loving mother. When the child eventually meets a prince, the Witch attacks the girl, and blinds the prince in a pile of thorn bushes."
"Yeah, so?"
Phone. New message: Mary
Towers. In London.
Bramble or thorn bush nearby.
SH
He showed the text to Lestrade.
One hour
"Lestrade, we need several versions of the fairy tale both in English and in German."
"What if he isn't so easy? He isn't so literal?"
Sherlock rolled his head in a circle for a moment, allowing the suggestion to be weighed.
"Yes, good, very good Lestrade. Moriarty may be less literal this time. So, removing the standard trappings of the story what does it become? One man wrongs another-Moriarty in this circumstance. Rather than seek direct payment for the offense, Moriarty takes what is of greatest value to the original man. That thing, and it may not be a person: although the trends of his previous efforts indicate otherwise, that thing becomes a possession of Moriarty's. When anyone attempts to contact or reclaim it, all parties are punished, one attacked, the other blinded."
"You're the other man, Sherlock." I do not need to be reminded.
Confirm Location. M Hudson.
SH
Confirm Location. M Hooper.
SH
Confirmed.
For both.
MH
"Everyone of value to me has been confirmed." He said sharply as he berated himself for taking so long to think to confirm the last two. "Lestrade, this may be far worse than me as the target. I am not the only figure to have wronged Jim Moriarty."
"What? Like, Royal baby?"
"Possibly."
"Aren't they out the country right now?" Sherlock gestured vaguely, and Lestrade took his meaning correctly. It was something he needed to check into. Trivialities. Mycroft surely has the entire lot well protected.
Your protectees?
SH
Confirmed.
MH
I have the feed from NSY
MH
Sherlock took only long enough to sneer at the ceiling for half a breath, then turned back internally to keep thinking.
I need more data. What else? Back to the box. Nothing. No note. No message. Almost certainly taken from the florist shop. Dead End.
Fine, the cases. What else is there?
Why won't you answer me?
JW
Please Answer.
Where are you?
JW
Shut up John! Stay with your wife and stay alive! He ignored the messages again. One of the endless, nameless Yarder's placed a stack of papers in front of him.
"Original German and an early translation, sir." Sherlock dropped into a chair and started scanning through the german text for any hint.
Though it was behind him, and the room was thoroughly loud, he noticed the change immediately. He turned instantly to the TV on the wall as it went to piercing static.
"What is this? He giving us more clues? A second case?"
"Shut up Lestrade"
Sherlock rose and approached the screen as the trademark static faded. Yes, new victim. Taken approximately 40 hours earlier, currently unconscious, no not unconscious, intoxicated. With what? Drugs? Alcohol? Common practice in torture cases, weaken a person's brain to break them faster. Why was this one tortured? Was this one tortured? The others were press ganged into suicide bombings. No torture required. This man is something new.
He waited, the picture cleared, he moved closer.
"That's not a kid, Sherlock."
"Nor a pregnant woman, clearly."
"So then why-"
"Is this everywhere?"
Damn, the image isn't fully clearing. Fine. Fine. The man first: clothing is not his, was changed into it after being taken. Well muscled but not a young man. Left shoulder currently dislocated. Both arms twitching erratically. Heavily drugged. Right hand attempting to grab something unseen, Severely intoxicated? with what? No. Hallucinations? Sleep deprivation? Not enough time for sleep deprivation. Chemically induced more likely.
He'd been beaten at least twice since being taken. Again just before this.
"No, it's just this screen." Lestrade came up next to him.
Face covered by fabric, unlikely we will identify him that way. Seems to be muttering but we have no audio, and mouth is not visible. Why just send it here? Targeted? Clearly. For who? Someone at Scotland Yard? Possible. Lestrade? No one close to him matches description. Me? No, Mycroft confirmed. This is none of my more distant relatives.
Nothing in sight except the man bound to a chair. White room. No external light. No data, no clues. The man again then. There had to be something. Left hand. Ring. Married. Married recently. Video still unclear, no details visible.
Something new. Red light at chest. Sniper.
Irrelevant.
He won't be killed without making it clear who he is and why. What is missing? What what What.
He knew his fingers were dancing in front of him, tiny gestures to observations, filing them or discarding them with flicks back and forth. His mind was in a maelstrom of theories, ideas, observations, all of them useless. Ten seconds of video. Longer than expected. Captive's head rolling to the side, neck and jawline now visible. Not enough to identify. No. Stop. Familiar. Known. Royalty? Celebrity?
His mental marathon intensified as it looked for the connection.
This has to be high profile, they're connected to Moriarty's Rapunzel bit. This will be the Rapunzel character. Atypical characterization but is being used to fill the role. This isn't a random citizen.
His mobile sounded with a message. Brought it up to eye level as he continued to stare at the television.
Message from John.
Mine now
xxJim
His mind abruptly ground to a halt. His mind palace shut down. He had no thoughts hovering, nothing except for the echoes and one word that stood like a monolith.
John.
The fabric on the captive's face fell away, and the office went silent. The video cut off.
Sherlock sat down.
It had taken Mycroft Holmes an entire forty seven minutes to bring Mary Watson from the underground bunker where she had been staying to the New Scotland Yard. She walked across the open desk area of the Yard with more intensity than they had thought possible from a woman nearly seven months gone with child.
Not a single person spoke to her.
Most because they had no notion of who she was until she passed, when one of the knowledgeable would lean in and begin to swiftly mutter. Those who knew her stayed silent for another reason: if she had walked through with an AK-47 and a grenade launcher should could not have seemed more dangerous.
Little do they know, she thought as she saw Lestrade crossing to meet her.
"Mary," He said, and gestured, leading her towards the room she sought. He didn't need to ask. He was the one who had contacted Mycroft. He had sent the message faster than she could get her guard's attention. She nodded to him as she reached her goal, sparing only a moment to really look at him. He's had two cigarettes in the last half hour, and has a patch on his arm: he is trying not to panic out loud. No comment was necessary, after all, she wasn't Sherlock. Mary Watson was perfectly content in having the knowledge locked away for her own use.
She stepped into the room alone and locked the door behind her.
Sherlock Holmes sat in a chair, so still he could have been dead, with eyes wide and back straight. His Belstaff collar was blocking part of his face, but she could see he had taken the trouble to hit expectations before coming in this morning.
With Moriarty breaking pattern, his normal arrogancy would have been an everyday comfort. I'm sure he was only too happy to oblige. Brilliant arrogant sod.
Her eyes travelled around the room as she set a bag down. First she closed the blinds over the window in the door. Out came a small gadget with speakers and microphones on it. A moment's fiddling produced a quick beep. She set it down and turned a dial on the side. Now emitting a hypersonic noise to interfere with any recording devices in the room, she walked to the ceiling mounted fish eye camera and simply shoved it through, hiding it within the ceiling tiles. Then she crossed to the television, disconnecting all the cables from the back with a jerk. Finally, she dragged a chair in front of the detective, and sat.
Mind Palace, definitely. Well, he better bloody come out bloody soon.
Her daughter disapproved of the way Mary was sitting, and took to flailing against her bladder and spine causing her to alternately need to pee or cry. Too bad little one. Daddy needs us, and so does Sherlock.
Rubbing her stomach caused her daughter to squirm, moving the pressure and allowing Mary to stay where she waited. Her eyes went back to Sherlock's. Yes they were open, and she knew, to use the cliche, that someone was home. However, that someone was deep in the basement and wouldn't hear if she knocked. Fine. Greg said he has been here since the message was sent. She glanced at her watch, fifty-one minutes. John said the record was over four hours. God I hope not, I'll just shove him off his chair if he goes another twenty.
Her husband always complained that everyone he knew was a psychopath, but tonight, that would play in his favor. Moriarty had not taken him without a grander purpose. Jim does nothing without a grander purpose. There were very few people who could stand toe to toe with the consulting criminal, but she was sitting across from one of them. The problem being that Sherlock worked best with a second, with a back up. For all his protestations about needing to be alone, he worked smoother with John behind him.
John was unavailable.
She would have to do.
John'll kill me for this. He didn't like me moving the furniture around, and I'm going to go chasing criminals with his best mate. Too bad. He's the one who got bloody kidnapped again. He's Bloody Princess Peach. Every time Moriarty's people get involved, John gets taken. Sometimes even if it isn't Moriarty. How many times has he had a bloody gun at his head to keep Sherlock in line? But I'm the one who had to be in an underground bunker. Idiots. Stupid protective sexist idiots.
Not that Mary was unaware of why everyone always targeted John. If they took Sherlock, the highest they could aspire would be to kill him. When they took John, they got to manipulate Sherlock. They got to control him; and Sherlock was a powerful tool.
It was an absolute blind spot in the detective's defenses. He would not acknowledge how irrational he became regarding the defense of her husband. Don't argue with it. It's going to be how we get him back. I can't be John, but I can keep his mind on track, not locked in guilt.
But we have to get to it.
She was done waiting; she jiggled his knee and called his name.
After a few seconds, Sherlock's eyes lost some of their distance. He brought himself back to the world and out of his mental escape. He glanced for one moment around the room, specifically to the clock on the wall. When he looked back at her, she could tell he had set aside Mary Watson and was speaking to the woman he knew she had been. There was no other name to use though.
"Mary."
"Sherlock."
"John."
"I know."
His eyes flickered to the side.
"Mycroft?"
"Moriarty."
"Mary I'm so tre-"
He was looking at Mary Watson again.
"Not now. What do we know?" She cut him off. He hesitated, "Talk, Sherlock."
He blinked once, twice, and obeyed.
"Taken yesterday at approximately 7:30, almost certainly off the street, but the CCTV footage is being reviewed now. Heavy fog so we are not expecting much. After he was taken, his phone was used to continue sending messages. I received seven, all some question asking where I was until the eighth." He held up his phone so she could see it.
Mine now
xxJim
"We were contacted with approximately fourteen seconds of video. While his face was initially obscured, at the end it was moved and we could identify him. He has been beaten three times in the last day. He is being drugged. His shoulder is dislocated. None of his injuries have been tended, but the way his arms were tied down was not putting excessive pressure on the joint, so they do not intend to kill him in the immediate future. He was muttering throughout, but the video cut before I could attempt to understand it."
"Does Lestrade have a record?"
"Yes." I need to see it.
"What else?"
"I received a box with bellflowers in it. Their scientific name is an allusion to the Grimm brother's tale of Rapunzel. Additionally, a few minutes before we believe he was taken, crime in the city ceased. It began again after a few hours, but Moriarty ordered this to do three things. One, prove that his network is no smaller than it was three years ago. Two, make it more difficult to find unusual behavior from any criminal we might observe, because everyone had unusual behavior that night. And three, he was pointing out his theme. There were several crimes committed immediately before he was taken. After eliminating the refuse, it is another allusion to his fairy tale. A baker, a grocer, a florist and a clock tower were the important data points. At the center of the triangle of locations is the flat."
Sherlock grimaced slightly, it certainly wasn't a smile. "He seems to have foregone subtlety this time."
Mary nodded, processing. "What else?"
"At the moment, nothing."
She arched her eyebrows at him. "Then we need to try harder."
"Mary, this-"
"Not now."
"Very well."
"We need to go over the footage again." She was up and across the room at a speed that she knew raised his deductive interest. She could feel him thinking as she opened the door and said sharply, "Greg, Sherlock needs a recording of the footage, on a laptop as soon as possible, as well as all the records and information he asked for an hour ago."
The door nearly clipped Greg's nose. He's had another smoke.
Sherlock was turned in his seat, still deducing away. Like her husband, Mary didn't mind Sherlock's deductions, they were, if nothing else, excellent at keeping her in practice. She had the added pleasure of knowing that she had entirely fooled him once, so he tried even harder.
However, she was not masking anything today.
Just as she had at the start of the Magnussen affair, she allowed him to see what she had been. John never wanted to know this. He had burned the memory stick. Sherlock, she was certain, knew all of it.
Instead of commenting on his deductions, he nodded to the device on the table. "Hypersonic emitter to interfere with listening devices. How large is the radius?"
"Twelve feet. Don't worry, there's one in your box of presents." His brow furrowed." Under your bed at the flat. I placed it there months ago Sherlock."
"How did you manage that?"
"Don't ask stupid questions, Sherlock. You'll like it, all kinds of great toys."
"And you had not given John nor I these kits earlier because you try not to flaunt your past in front of him."
"Yes."
"And now, that matters less to you."
"Yes." It was obvious when she dropped back into the familiar persona. She stood differently. She breathed differently. Protrusive stomach notwithstanding, she was a different person. Sherlock was busily observing, categorizing, and planning his next line of questioning.
What he was about to ask next she never knew, because Greg knocked. She returned, at least partly, to being Mary Watson. Detective Inspector Lestrade set down a laptop and a stack of folders. "The boys are still going over the CCTV, haven't found him on any of them yet."
"It is unlikely they will, Lestrade, but your people should look for anything out of the ordinary within that area."
"Yeah, that's what I've got 'em doing. I'm not an idiot, Sherlock."
Mary's lips quirked up for a moment. They fell when the laptop opened.
There was no sound attached to the video file. She regretted that for the lost information, the lost clues for Sherlock to notice, but was more grateful she wouldn't have to hear her husband's pain. For he was definitely in pain.
His arms were twitching against the bonds around him. They had used flat canvas strapping to restrain him. Difficult to untie, almost impossible to tear without a blade. His arms were against his sides. By the tensing of his neck she knew he was resisting, but there was little evidence in the rest of his body. He was utterly immobilized.
Her appraisal was efficient and professional. She had shut off the emotional response to seeing her husband.
Sherlock had the video looping as they both watched, seeking out any clue.
"Mary, if you need to step out, get water, you know, I'm sure Donovan would be happy to get you what you need." Greg said softly. His tone was what the police were trained to use with relatives of victims.
"I'm fine."
He was startled by her vehemency, but said nothing else.
The video played through again.
"Wait, Sherlock, look at his knuckles when they turn forward again." Both of them waited, and they paused the video as John turned the back of his hand towards the camera. There were small cuts and large bruises over the knuckles of his first three fingers. They were just visible in the slightly blurry footage. Mary caught Sherlock's eye, and they shared a brief moment of pride. The video continued to loop.
"The front of his shoe." Sherlock said quietly.
"And the bruise at his hairline." She replied.
"Fingernails of both hands."
"Different times?"
"Almost certainly."
Greg reached over to pause it. "What are you two on about? What are you seeing?"
Sherlock fully grinned this time as he answered, "John's been fighting back."
"And that's a good thing? Isn't that just going to get him beat on longer?"
He doesn't get it. A glance at Sherlock showed him thinking the same thought. Greg Lestrade's life held more danger than the masses, but he had now sense of what it was really like.
After watching and re-watching the clip for another twenty minutes they were certain there was nothing more to be noticed. They stopped it and turned to the other files. Sherlock to the cases, and Mary to the stories. His only instruction was to "Start in the German."
She was grateful he wasn't treating her like spun glass. It wasn't out of desire to prove her resiliency. After all, she had stared down and surmounted far more trying circumstances than she currently faced. She had seen-she had caused-more pain than John was in now. They were not actually trying to kill him yet.
That would come later.
Lestrade walked out to confer again with Donovan.
She turned back to the fairy tale.
Two versions in German and three in English later, and she had no more idea of how to proceed than she had before reading.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm? Oh, you're done, anything?"
"I've nothing useful from the story."
"And in general?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"If John gets wrapped in bombs in three days or not." She caught the flicker of his eyes when she said that.
"Assume he will not."
"Then Moriarty will attempt to break him. Either entirely and rebuild him with delusions. Or his goal will be more classically Stockholm syndrome."
"How long?"
"Three months, maybe four."
"And if this plays out in the next three days?"
She didn't say anything to that. They both already knew that answer.
"CCTVs please. Lestrade has them accessible from the laptop."
She opened a dozen camera feeds and set them all to simultaneously play starting at 7:20. Most, if not all, of the footage had been reviewed by the fine men of the Scotland Yard. I'll do my own reviewing, thank you very much.
There were hundreds of feeds to go through.
"Mary, phone."
"Where is it?" She wasn't going to waste time arguing. She had seen this game before.
"Your phone."
"What for?"
"You said Moriarty told you about John not Mycroft. He texted you, likely from John's phone. As you did not contact me inquiring about John's location prior to Moriarty's contact, then the appearance of John's continued freedom must have been maintained. You and John traditionally text between twelve and twenty times a day. Therefore, Moriarty texted you. I need to read them." Nodding, realizing she should have brought it out when he showed her the message he had received, and cursing her stupidity, she handed it to him.
"There, that's the last message I got before we think he was taken."
Stay safe. Love you
JW
"And the messages after, there was nothing in them that seemed out of character?"
"No."
She watched him flick through them. Once, twice, then back up and he read again from the even earlier texts. She felt a flare of outrage at his reading the more intimate comments, but quashed it. Won't help to deny him data. He returned the mobile and agreed, "Nothing far enough out of character for it to cause alarm, though with hindsight, he was taunting you."
She nodded.
She continued to watch the video feeds.
Most of the texts had been nothing of consequence, the normal affirmations of health, safety and love between a newly wed couple under government protection and the threat of an international terrorist. Maybe not so normal after all. A few stood out now that she knew when John had ceased to be the author.
Def a danger night.
JW
Won't see you for a while.
Maybe I'll send pictures.
JW
Maybe you'll send some too?
JW
I wish you were here too.
JW
Then, the last one. The same as had been sent to Sherlock. The messages had seemed frustrated to her, but still John. It had seemed like he and Sherlock had been fighting more than usual, but given the pressure on both of them, she had thought nothing of it. And now that sick fuck has him. No, CCTV, keep looking for clues. She allowed herself to shut out everything except the screen full of security cameras, eyes flicking over to any movement. Time dragged forward, and she found nothing.
Finally he spoke.
"Baker Street."
"The flat?"
"Yes, no. Not the flat. Come on, we're going to the pub. We need to find where they took him. Come on!"
Mary swept the case files and everything else into her bag. By the time Sherlock had swept out of the room, she was just behind him. He glanced back just before they reached the horde of Yarders in the main office.
"Look distraught."
Easy enough.
A/N- ok, this chapter was not as easy to write, entirely because of Mary. I know that almost everyone hates Mary, I know that it is really easy to hate Mary, but I just don't. I think she's a BAMF. I think she's a force to be reckoned with, and I am going to make you like her. Anyway, I reworked this many times, and am finally willing to post. I didn't say happy, just willing to post.
In other news, I know that this is currently happening in a very compressed time frame, but it will open up a bit in later chapters.
Also, I finally got the last third of the plot worked out and outlined. Huzzah! Now I really can just write instead of constantly going back and changing things.
Thanks for reading, as always, it makes me feel all warm inside when I see that.