Chapter 7: Kidnapped!

Holmes came to slowly, like a drowning man swimming to the surface. He became aware of aches in his body, especially his ribs At least one broken rib, he thought, perfect. Awareness of the noises of his surroundings came next. There was an odd metallic clanking coming from somewhere above him and a high-pitched whirring sound coming from the right-hand side of the room. So I am no longer in the biodome. Finally, he was able to force his eyes open, completely regaining consciousness. The room was dark and he could barely make out the forms of old boxes surrounding him. In the right-hand corner stood a large machine, the source of the whirring noise. He could not make out anything above him that would cause the metallic clanking sound. Either it was too dark to see or it was actually coming from the room above. I must be in a basement of sorts. He thought, and tried to stretch his aching body.

It was then he noticed that he was tied. Strong cords wrapped around his chest, tying him to the back of the chair. When he tried to move his arms and legs he found that these, too, were tied, both together and to the chair, making any form of movement impossible. He could only turn his head from side to side in an effort to find clues in the darkness, not that he needed clues to tell him who had done this.

He strained against the bonds, trying to loosen the ties that bound his hands. If I can only get my hands free, I shall be able to untie the rest. A voice from somewhere above stopped him.

"No use struggling, Holmes, the cords that bind you are made of an alloy infusion, titanium and plastic, both strong and flexible. You cannot cut it and it will not come untied, so do not waste your energy."

"I am disappointed Moriarty, I expected something more creative from you. Villains have been tying captives up in basements of warehouses for centuries."

"Why try to re-invent the wheel, Holmes? If it worked for Al Capone, it's good enough for me. You think I keep you here for my own amusement?"

"Can a selfish, arrogant man such as yourself need any other reason?"

Moriarty clenched his fists and Holmes could hear his teeth grate together. Good. Anger will cloud his judgment. There may be hope yet.

"Careful, Holmes. You tread a very fine line. Yes, I shall enjoy having you in my power," he chuckled to himself manically and Holmes felt his blood run cold. "But that is not the only reason you are here. I pride myself on the fact that I underestimate no one. You have become too great a threat to me, so I have decided to keep an eye on you until my plans are complete."

"Your plan is clumsy and will fail. Do you honestly think you can create an army of robots large enough to defeat the New London military? Your robots won't know what hit them."

"Despite all your cleverness, Holmes, you have no idea what I'm doing. You are trying to goad me into revealing my plans, but I will not take the bait. I believe its time for another nap, my dear Sherlock." Moriarty snapped his fingers and Fenwick appeared in the doorway behind him, carrying an oblong box.

"A powerful tranquilizer. It should keep you out of my way for a few hours. Haha!" Moriarty left through the door, leaving Fenwick to administer the tranquilizer.

Fenwick came down the stairs and into the room quickly, taking out a syringe from the box as he went. Holmes tried desperately to loosen the bond enough to be able to fight off Fenwick, but Fenwick merely laughed at him.

"No escape for you now, detective slime. It is time for your nap." The syringe was full of an amber liquid and a part of Holmes' brain reviewed his knowledge of tranquilizers to figure out what he was about to be injected with.

Fenwick grabbed his right arm, tied to the chair behind his back. Holmes felt the prick of the needle. His arm tingled and suddenly felt very heavy. Fenwick stood up in front of him slowly, laughing. He observed Holmes's face silently for a moment as Holmes fought the tingling sensations that had spread to his legs and chest. He was having difficulty holding his head upright.

He felt Fenwick pat him on the head as darkness overtook him. "Sleep well, Sherlock Holmes."

Part II

"So they just disappeared?"

"There were traces of the struggle, a dent on the wall, scuffs on the floor, some broken glass, but no signs of anyone leaving. No blood traces on the floor or near any of the doors. Nothing."

I sat in an armchair in 221B with my head in my hands. Watson stood by the fireplace, clanking his various parts together and looking concerned and agitated. I suppose we were both concerned and agitated. If Holmes were here he would know exactly what to do, I thought. But then, if Holmes were here, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

"Think, Lestrade, were there any signs that they may have escaped by another route than the front door? A back entrance?"

"All the other doors were locked with no signs of tampering. They just disappeared into thin air."

"Even in this advanced age that is impossible. Are you sure you didn't overlook something?"

"Of course I'm not sure! Sherlock Holmes disappears into thin air and you expect me to be calm and rational? It was all I could do to keep from panicking. I'm not a machine or even a person that thinks like one. All I could think of was where the zed is Holmes."

"I understand my dear. I am as anxious to know what happened as you are. It disturbs me that they have vanished so completely. I suppose I am an over-zealous detective. In the course of my investigation I have neglected my client."

"Oh its all right. This whole business has me shaken. We'll work through it together. On the bright side, there was no blood on the floor, so he can't have been badly hurt in the struggle." Or killed a small voice inside my brain said. Oh god, please don't let him be dead. Again.

Watson merely nodded a mute agreement and the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. After a minute or two, Watson spoke

"Perhaps we should alert Scotland Yard and the irregulars.

"It will be difficult to explain our presence in the biodome to Scotland Yard. And I'm not sure the chief would care very much if Holmes did go missing." I took up a wide-legged stance, imitating chief inspector Greyson's voice, "You mean that deceased detective has gone missing? Well that's great news! Get out of my office asa-immediately, Lestrade, this calls for a celebration."

Watson laughed. "Well, perhaps informing the chief inspector wouldn't be a wise course of action. But the irregulars will surely want to know."

"I think it can wait until morning, Watson. I'm exhausted. It'll be easier to solve this after a full night's sleep, or as close to it as possible." It was almost 4:30 am by that time and I felt like I had been up for a week.

"You do look tired, Lestrade. Yes I believe a few hours of sleep will be extremely profitable. Would you like to take Holmes' room for the night."

"Holmes' room?"

"Well he won't be needing his bed tonight, and perhaps you'd be more safe staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

The argument certainly made sense, but a part of my brain refused it. Somehow sleeping in Holmes' bed seemed like a violation of his privacy. It was an awfully long drive home, though. I was tired and Watson was right, it would be more safe to stay at Baker Street. Exhaustion and prudence won the internal battle.

"Yes, alright. I'll stay here for the night. In the morning we'll call the irregulars first thing."

Watson nodded and moved brusquely to Holmes' bedroom, clearing some clothing from the floor and changing the sheets. I followed him and stood in the doorway hesitating. "There you are," he said when he had finished. "Sleep well."

Watson left, closing the bedroom door behind him. I realized suddenly, as I stood there, that I had never been in Holmes' room before. It looked exactly the way I imagined it. Every surface was covered with papers and mementoes from his cases, though the floor and bed were immaculately clean (this was probably more Watson's influence than anything else). The walls were covered with pictures of famous criminals both from Holmes' past life and his present one. I found among them several whose faces I recognized. There were several pictures from the Yard's most wanted list, as well as an old photo of Colonel Moran, a tiger hunter who's use of an air rifle had made him very dangerous in Holmes' past life. In the centre of the wall were two photos of Professor Moriarty, Holmes' arch nemesis in both lives.

I removed my shoes and laid down in the bed. The pillow smelled very faintly like pipe tobacco and I wondered if Holmes had been sneaking smokes. I drifted off to sleep with the image of Holmes bent over a pipe in his bedroom, concealing the smoke from Watson. Perhaps my half-asleep brain thought you'll wake up and he'll be here demanding to know why you're asleep in his bed.