I wiped Mrs. Hudson's back gently , then stopped, standing up and saying
" You'll be ok. Just give it rest. " I walked into the living room, lying on the sofa in my thinking position. I thought about the case, and about who it could be creating this game. A man called fitted the bill. His 12 year old daughter had been beaten almost to death, and we refused to help. Which gave him the incentive. And he certainly had the methods. But to find him we would have to play along with his game. My thoughts turned to John. The moments of passion. The sharp intake of breath whenever I touched him. There was something else there, besides the experiment. He had inextricably and irrevocably changed me. I knew that much. But what were his thoughts toward me? There was something there, in him with every kiss and caress. But what was it? I heard the door click open. Mrs. Hudson was coming to check on us. I didn't bother to open my eyes. John was so confusing... He had so many girlfriends, yet doesn't object to my experiment. Quite the contrary, he embraced it. He would continue to puzzle me, that John.
John
I woke to footsteps. I didn't open my eyes.
" G'way Sherlock. M'sleepin. " I grumbled. I didn't hear a reply, but saw the glint of a needle in the half-light. I opened my mouth to begin to scream, but before a sound escaped my lips, a rough hand was clamped over my face. This was not Sherlock. I felt a stab in my arm. Even as I struggled, I felt my body stiffening and refusing to obey. It felt so, so heavy. There was a scratch at my arm, and I was unceremoniously thrown into a rough bag. My consciousness slipped away, and my last though was of Sherlock. I prayed that he would come rescue me.
Sherlock
I opened my eyes. It appeared to be morning. I thought for a while, then decided against going to see John. I knew we would get a message when we were ... summoned , as it were. I played my violin, got dressed and typed up some case notes before getting bored and pushing open John's door. It was a shock. His bedcovers , normally straightened, were strewn across the floor. There was a clear syringe lying next to the bed, and a red stain on his sheets. As I got closer, I saw that the stain was a message.
" Well done.
I have your lover.
Took you long enough.
Do not try and find him, only follow the clues I give you.
Otherwise he gets hurt.
Ben's waiting.
Tick tock! "
I growled." not my lover!" I sank to the floor, remembering his flushed cheeks, soft lips and smooth hands. All my fault... Somewhere along this my logical mind kicked in. I got up, grinning in spite of John's kidnapping. My brain began to work, and I ran out the door and into a waiting cab.
John
I blinked, taking in my surroundings. Right. Kidnapped. I saw a girl, staring intently at me. She looked about 12, with dirty blonde hair and the most startling blue eyes.
" You've woken. Excellent! " her voice was high and taunting. I began to think of Sherlock, running around London trying to find me. Or maybe he wouldn't... I worried.
" If your lover knows what's good for you both he'll not be looking for you. He'll be following my little game like a good boy." she smiled at me with her piercing blue eyes that gave the illusion of innocence. That was clearly not the case.
Sherlock.
I hurtled around London, playing out possibilities through my head. I only faltered a little, finding many more bodies and messages etched into them. This was all clearly done by the same weapon, and Mr. Loom had many men working under him, but was this all his work? As before, at 10:00 I got the message in my old home , to go and rest. This simply meant laying on the sofa or my bed for hours.
John
" I'm terribly sorry, you must think me quite rude. I haven't told you my name! I'm Valencia Loom, and this was my late father's home. " She smiled a twisted smile.
" Late father? So your mother looks after you?" I asked, curious about her past but wary of her.
" Oh no, she's long dead. And I killed my father. " she stood up. " Tea!" she yelled. I felt afraid of this tall, thin girl in front of me. She was so dangerous, and obviously clever. But I could be cleverer than a girl. Couldn't I ?
" Don't think of trying to escape. It'll be worse for you and your detective later if you do." and she just sat and smiled at me. " Photo! Stand up. This is for your detective, to give him a little nudge in the right direction."
" Why?" my voice was surprisingly loud. " Why kill all these people and why leave a trail for Sherlock?" I stumbled over his name.
" Because my mother died when I was born and it was all my fault. Because I was nearly killed for being too clever and my little puzzles. Because although my father pretended, he still hit me and left me. Because I deserve a father, or indeed fathers, who love me for who I am. Because I've been broken." she sat again, a tear sliding down her cheek.
Sherlock
I fell asleep in his room, lying sprawled across his floor. I wasn't sure how I could sleep, what with John kidnapped and Mrs. Hudson attacked, yet sleep I did . I thought about him again, and of my irrational reaction to John. I thought of how I had locked away my heart, not even made friends. Except John. I had never kissed anyone. Except John. I had never gotten out of control with anyone. Except John. John was my only exception . I got up, rushing to his bedside. On the bed lay a picture of John, looking confused as guns and knives were pointed at him. The inscription on the bed beside it read:
" he is safe. For now.
Every time you slip up, he gets hurt.
I warn you not to guess at who I am,
I am unexpected.
There are two bodies in London now.
Every hour there will be another murder.
Until you have solved all my puzzles.
Then I will show you where we are.
Good luck.
We're watching. "
I breathed heavily. This was getting tiring, as much as I hated to admit it. I ran down the stairs, almost flying over the steps. I threw open the door, watching the people. A crowd walking, a tramp... There. A young girl lying down, apparently asleep. I ran over, reading the writing on her stomach.
" North of the sun and east of the moon,
Run a little faster,
You'll get there soon."
North of the sun... That had to be the printing office block... And east of the moon... The pub. Then that took us to... Bond street. I ran along the streets, barging into people and knocking them over. I didn't care I was painfully aware of the time slipping away. I cursed. Wrong place. I ran to the right place, regretting it as I remembered their warning. I take the pride, John takes the fall.
John
She smiled sadly at me.
" I'm afraid he made a mistake. I'm sorry John. But rules are rules, and we must play the game. " she drew a knife from her belt. It was covered in intricate carvings, and was black with silver initials.
" My weapon of choice. Hold still."
She leant over and, slowly, deliberately, cut a deep wound into my back.
Sherlock.
The right place. But it had had been an hour, so I was behind. And this meant pressure. And pressure meant slipping up. And that meant John being hurt... I erased the image of his pain-stricken face from my brain. No distractions. That was the last thing I needed. The more I thought about this, the more I understood. This all fitted. It had to be Mr. Loom. I arrived at the next body. After reading the message, I wrote one of my own. They were clearly clearing up after themselves. Why not. Across the message that read :
"Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the game told him to."
I wrote :
" Stop now Mr. Loom." I then proceeded to the nearest zebra crossing. Nothing there. Again.
John
My back was bleeding. Quite a lot. I saw a small, sadistic smirk cross her face.
" Your Mr. Holmes is a naughty boy. He disobeyed, so you must take the fall. So it always is." she waved her hands and I was hit on the head by a couple of burly guards. Weakened by my back and foot, I couldn't struggle so could do nothing as I was tied up on a cross at the end of the room. The ropes binding my hands were tight, and I hung off the floor. My ankles were also attached to the cross, a little like Jesus. I began to panic when they brought out the whip. I prayed that Sherlock would come soon as the whip lashed across my face, my belly, my legs and my feet. My shirt was ripped from me, and I was turned around for access to my back. The whip stung, and began to almost break the skin in places. I bit hard on my lip as I was turned over to give my front an equal treatment. Then they stopped and left, leaving me hanging. I let a single tear run down my cheek.
" Sherlock. " I croaked.
Sherlock
When I reached the next body, my heart stopped. The message struck fear through me.
" Time is running out for you to follow.
John only holds on for you.
Every mistake breaks him and he knows.
Even he knows it's a little fishy.
There is one true and two false.
When you lose hope ,
look to the end.
Also, I warned you about mistakes."
My breath quickened. John was really hurt. I had to be quicker, better. I always knew I wasn't good enough. Never quite good enough. And John takes the fall. I sniffed. Fish. But which one? That took me back... I pushed away those images and memories. I followed my nose. I wasn't right again. All this pressure made me nervous. I tried again and again and again. Still no result. I finally found it, scared of what I might find written there.
" I'm going to put an end to this soon. You are falling to pieces, and we do want John alive.
Just.
Two Oranges, one apple. "
I swallowed my fear, and made it my aim to not get this one wrong. The apple store in the O2. Right.
John.
I was breathing shallow, energy gone from simply holding myself up. Then they came back, with a clear liquid, her knife and the whip. Without speaking, they began to dot the liquid over my body, and then took off my trousers. I recognised it as soon as it touched my skin. It burnt, so very very bad. Then she would get her knife and write on me from a ladder. She would smile sweetly while drawing on my chest, back and legs. Then she would whip me, drawing it across all my other wounds. After that, a dousing in water. Then it started all over again. An seemingly endless cycle of pain. I barely had the energy left to flinch when they left me alone. I had lost almost all faith in Sherlock. Almost.
Sherlock.
I could not forget John's confused face in that picture. I could not get rid of the feeling of his breath on my ear, of his soft lips, of his hair out of my brain. I was distracted, and began to run. Another body. I was there in time. Just. I decoded the message, found the instructions and ran. I ran so fast to come and get him, that I didn't notice the people behind me until I was already passed out on the floor.
John.
I needed food or water. I was not a machine. My lips were parched, my skin stinging from the flaying I received. I wriggled a hand. I had barely any energy, so the bonds were tight to me , but I was able to wriggle free. I didn't get very far before she was back, tutting and shaking her head.
" Cant have that, can we? " and she broke both my wrists in a single, fluid movement. I was strung up again, and the pain blinded me. I was seeing white and black circles encroaching upon the edge of my vision. I swallowed my tears. They could wait. Sherlock would be here soon. I gasped, in spite of the pain it brought. They carried him in. His shirt was crumpled, he was thinner and paler than usual and definitely unconscious. He would wake up soon, I knew it. He was resistant to most drugs. As I thought it, his eyes fluttered open.