"So you got the same message I did?" John asked Lestrade, eyes darting from the inspector to Sherlock, who was sitting by the window, plucking at his violin apathetically.
Lestrade nodded. "As did everyone in my division."
A quiet chuckle from Sherlock.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sherlock..."
"I'm just trying to put all the pieces together."
"And how is that going for you?" John asked, mildly irritated by his friend's attitude.
"Very nicely."
Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Are you planning to tell anyone what you've come up with? Perhaps within the next few years?"
But as Sherlock was about to reply, there was a chime from his phone. He glanced at the screen. It proclaimed that there was one new email waiting for him from a blocked sender. He frowned and opened it.
Dear, dear Sherlock Holmes,
I'm watching you. If you say a single word to John about this, it's all over for the both of you.
Sherlock's eyes widened and he scrolled down further.
So I have your attention now, eh? Good.
I know that Lestrade and his little paper people have all gotten emails just like this one, but trust me- this one is different.
Because you deserve to be treated differently, Sherlock.
I know that because so do I.
Now.
You know where you have to be and at what time.
And believe me when I say that if you are a second late or breathe a single word of this to any other living soul, your John Watson will live for many weeks as I torture him until his death. I'll take my time. And I'll enjoy it. So. What do you say?
Ha. As if you had a choice.
I shall see you then, Sherlock.
"Sherlock?"
"What?" Sherlock asked, eyes unfocused, as he looked up at John's concerned face, remembering where he is.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine," Sherlock said and rose unsteadily from his armchair. "I'll just- I'm going out- be back later."
"Wha- Sherlock!"
Sherlock closed the front door behind him and darted into an alley. He knew London better than anyone- no matter how hard they looked, they'd never find him if he didn't want to be found. And being found was the opposite of what he wanted for himself and for John.
Now.
To the mystery.
Focus, Sherlock, come on. Emotions are a disadvantage.
Who could have sent that email? He recognized the style. But it couldn't be him- it couldn't. He was gone. Not dead- not yet- but gone.
And just when you think they've left you alone...
He had to tell John.
But he couldn't.
And for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes felt lost and confused and didn't know who to turn because this was all so new for him.
And the one person he could trust would be put in considerable danger if he told him anything about this.
Therefore, it was time to do quite a lot of very serious thinking.
***
"I don't understand. Why these people?"
Moriarty smiled. "Let's just say that they have valuable connections."
"What sort of connections?"
He smirked and turned away. "I said. Valuable ones."
In no mood for games, Crowley frowned and clenched at the air with his fist, sending out energy that started choking the other man and pinned him against a wall on the other side of the room, gasping for air. "Explain." When Moriarty, wincing, didn't respond, Crowley tightened his grip and was rewarded with a gasping wail. "You're taking too much time on this city. Time that, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have." He loosened his fist and Moriarty collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving as he gulped at the air.
"They- Sherlock- I need them to- I-" He started coughing and could not continue for a few more minutes. Crowley waited patiently for him to catch his breath- these humans, so weak- and then asked again.
"Why have you singled out these people and taken up altogether too much of our limited time?"
A pause. Moriarty slowly raised his head and started to laugh quietly. "So is this how it's going to be, Crowley? I'm your little slave, and the second I stray from the plan, you torture me into submission. That's how it works?"
Infuriated, Crowley slammed him against the wall again. Spitting out blood, Moriarty was unfazed. "Well, then, Your Royal Highness of Hell, I can tell you that it's not going to work that way at all. Anything you can do to me, I've had worse."
"Oh, I doubt that, Jimmy." And even though Crowley knew that he was the one in power here, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the other man's anger as Moriarty glared at him. "So tell me. How is it going to work, then?"
"I'll tell you why I need these people now and then you will leave me alone to do whatever I think is best for this operation. Deal?"
Crowley smirked. "Seal it with a kiss?"
Moriarty rolled his eyes, stood up, hands in pockets, and started to walk away. "Most of them are connected to a man. Sherlock Holmes by name. Calls himself a consulting detective, the only one in the world." He paused, searching for the right words. "He has a mind unlike any other man- well. Except me. And we need him alive because we need his mind. And getting to these people gets us to him. Is that all you wanted?"
"What about the others?"
Moriarty turned back around. "What, the Jones girl and her family? And the Nobles?" He smiled. "Ask the Cybers about that one."
"They're not here right now." Crowley smiled, too. "Now tell me."
Moriarty sighed. "Oh, you're ever so impatient. But fine. If you must know. Apparently, they're friends of a man. Called the Doctor."
"The... Doctor," Crowley repeated.
Moriarty nodded. "They say he's an old enemy of theirs- judging by their description, he's some sort of god."
"Oh, I've disposed of a fair share of those in my day. What's so special about this one?"
"Well, for one, the second you kill him, he comes back. Stronger."
"Same with us, though, right?"
Moriarty shook his head. "He's also some kind of shapeshifter. Changes his face, body, personality, everything." He took a deep breath. "The Cybers say he can travel through space and time. And that he has this effect on people, kinda like mind control, where they suddenly want to die for him or impress him or do anything at all for him after having known him for five minutes."
Crowley whistled. "They say how to stop him?"
"No."
"Well, then. Let's get thinking before he tries to stop us, eh?"
Moriarty nodded. "Now go. I have further planning to do. "
Knowing that arguing would be unwise, Crowley left.
And that is how the gears began to turn for the battle to start.
***
"Mum, pack your bags and get out of the country."
"Martha? What-"
"Just listen to me!" Martha half-shrieked through her tears, tossing a full drawer of clothes into a suitcase.
"I- all right," her mother said. "Are you okay, Martha?"
Martha laughed hysterically. "No, Mum, I'm not," she said, and hung up the phone. Another drawer into the bag, and she glanced, almost cowering in fear, at her laptop's screen.
On it was a photograph taken from behind a plant of some sort of her mother, brother, and sister walking through downtown London. It was unstaged, and very recent- Martha could see Tish's brand new orange manicured nails that she had had done last week. More chilling was the caption, threatening all of their lives if Martha didn't come to a specific point in the heart of London at 2:30 P.M. in two days.
Another sob wracking her body, Martha slammed the computer shut in an attempt to bar the image from her mind. She had no doubt that she would go to the appointed spot, because she knew that she had to protect her family, no matter the consequences. Family, now that the Doctor was gone, was the only thing she had in her life besides her work, and her work was no family to her.
The Doctor! That was the solution!
Hands shaking, she opened her cell phone again and dialed feverishly, praying to every deity in the history of time that he answered, just this once.
A click. She caught her breath.
"Ah- hello?"
"Doctor!" Laughing, crying, Martha collapsed onto a chair. "Doctor, it's me, Martha."
"Martha!"
She could practically hear his grin over the phone.
"Oh, but this is brilliant! Say hello, Donna!"
"Hello," came the muffled reply.
"Hi," Martha said, wiping away a few more tears. "Doctor, it's great to hear your voice and all, but I actually wanted to talk to you about-"
"You got one, too?" Donna asked, voice suddenly clearer.
"Yeah. It was- it was-"
"Horrible. I know."
A pause.
"So are you gonna go?"
"Of course I am. I-"
"Martha, Donna, no." The Doctor's voice was concerned. "This has to be a trap. I mean, we already know that Cybermen are involved, so-"
"Wait a second," Martha interrupted. "Cybermen? Like the things I thought you got rid of?"
The Doctor sighed. "They keep coming back. They always come back. No matter how much time passes and how much everything changes, they stay the same."
Martha frowned. "So I shouldn't go?"
"Martha, it's a trap."
"Doctor, this is my family we're talking about. I can't just assume it's a trap and not show up."
"Martha-"
"They could die and it would be all my fault."
"She's right, Doctor. I'm going, too."
There was a silence.
"Well, Lord knows I can't stop you," the Doctor said meekly.
"Thank you, Doctor," Donna said, quiet for once.
"Thanks."
"Okay, then, Martha- I guess we'll have to meet you there. Or do you need a ride?" the Doctor asked, familiar exuberance returning into his voice.
"I'll meet you there, I guess. I still have to pack all of my things and get my family out of London safely."
"All right."
Martha was about to say her goodbyes and hang up when the Doctor said, "Oh, and Martha?"
"Yeah?"
"Good luck."
She smiled. "Thanks, Doctor. See you around, Donna."
"You too."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Feeling slightly better, Martha hung up and, after a second, opened her phone again, dialing her mother's number, knowing that she had some serious explaining to do and dreading it.
