Chapter III
"When we get home, you will blog to tell him I know it." Sherlock was thinking in a way to put Moriarty acting faster.
"Okay, and if he appears?"
"It's the purpose of the post."
"You're playing with fire, Sherlock!"
"I want to finish with his stupid play. No more victims. If he wants to contact me, do it. Come visit me." Sherlock was serene.
John wasn't.
"Sherlock, I don't think it's a great idea… remember… I was …"
"I know John; you were almost killed the other time, but not this time. This time will be different, I promise you. No more victims. I swear."
"I'm not convinced… Moriarty is a sadist…"
"I don't care; I only want him to stop with this charade!"
John silenced. The rest of the trip was made in silence. When the cab stopped in 221B, John paid the taxi driver while Sherlock opened the door and left. John followed him.
"Go on, John." Sherlock said looking at the John's laptop.
John sighed and turned it on. Minutes later he was blogging and Sherlock was searching in the internet.
"I did it." John said.
Sherlock rose and went to read the screen.
Another crime this day. This time no one got killed, but a woman was wounded. Someone used a knife to cut her chest, upon her heart. The dead man was stabbed on his heart. Who is perpetrating these actions? A lunatic? A maniac? A crazy man or woman that wants to make us thinks it as a passion act? Love hurts, does it? Stay aware, for love is in the air. Close your hearts and your doors. The maniac is here, hold your breath. Hide and seek, Mr. Hyde, where are you? A monster? A horror figure? A bomb maker? Where are you, Mr. Hyde?
Sherlock smiled.
"You have a poet inside you."
"Is it good?"
"Not bad, not bad… stay aware, for love is in the air. You need a woman John!"
John laughed.
"Now, let's rest." And they went to sleep.
By morning, Mrs. Hudson called them.
"Boys! It's a package for you in the hall!"
John appeared.
"Good morning Mrs. Hudson. Who send it?"
"Good morning John. It's not for me, is it?" and laughed, leaving him with the package.
John carried it to their place and opened it.
"Wow... what the…"
A knife was lying on the package end box.
"SHERLOCK COME HERE!"
Minutes later Sherlock left the room.
"Sherlock, the knife is here…"
"Moriarty's knife?"
"Hum hum…"
Sherlock ran to the package and looked.
"He red the post… he will stop making terror. Now he will come…"
John rolled his eyes.
"It's not a joyful thing, isn't it?" he asked.
"Don't be sarcastic John! Let's wait."
John sighed. "I will get the bread and some stuff on the supermarket."
"Okay, bye."
John dressed his jacket and left. Sherlock went to his laptop, searching something and thinking.
"What do you want, Moriarty? What do you want… you bastard?"
The time passed. It was time to lunch and John wasn't at home. Sherlock was turning impatient.
"Where are you John? Come on…"
He went to the window. No signal of John.
He tried to eat something, but he was too impatient.
"Damn, where are you…? Moriarty, what have you done…?"
He was convinced John was in trouble. But he couldn't do anything… so he waited. It was seven o'clock when his phone rang. A SMS.
Come to me, come to me
Where am I? Come at the haunted house, come and find me…
I'm waiting for you
Waiting …
"You bastard!" he ate some food, put his gun on a pocket and left the apartment, calling for a cab.
There was only that house in London. Everyone known its story, only a fool would enter there at night. The driver glanced at Sherlock by the rearview mirror, but the client was silent and calm.
"Okay, sir." And they went. Some minutes later they were in front of a decrepit Victorian house, with windows broken and boards on them. The door was ajar. Sherlock paid the ride and dismiss the driver. Now he was alone with that maniac. He didn't call for Lestrade.
He crossed the pavement, transposed the gate and walked to the door. He opened it and entered, with a lamp on his hand.
The house was dark and full of terrors. There were lots of mirrors in the halls, covered by dust and dirtiness. The floor was in the same state. No light, except Sherlock's lamp, was there. He looked around him and discovered some rooms and stairs to another floor.
"Where are you? Moriarty, I know you are here!" he called.
A subtle song came from the second floor. It was a creepy melody and Sherlock knew he needed to follow it. So he went upstairs. The wood was creak beneath his feet and the melody was letting him nervous. He wasn't afraid, but it was not a good situation.
When he got in the second floor, he saw a hall with a corridor full of door. Which room were hidden John and the creepy melody?
"Moriarty?" he turned.
The melody turned to a strong tune, even creepier. It was coming from the fifth door in the right, so he walked to it and opened the door.
