Disappearing Act 6
Argh! What is it with me and taking so damn long to write these chapters? I hope you guys don't hate me… IMPORTANT: GRAB A PIECE OF PAPER NOW BECAUSE I WANT YOU GUYS TO DECIPHER THE MESSAGE YOURSELVES! Please. It's not really all that hard. I give you the key and everything.
Sherlock Holmes and all related characters © Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss
Sherlock leapt to his feet, a wild, familiar gleam in his eyes. "Sherlock?" His mother tried, placing her hand on his arm. But he barely heard her.
Sherlock turned to John, excitement making him speak higher and faster. "John, I've figured out the message."
It took John a minute to realize what Sherlock was talking about. "You… you mean the one left with Mary?" he stuttered out. In truth, he'd rather forgotten about the message. Then again, with everything that had happened, can you blame him?
Sherlock nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see Mycroft calling for a car. Of course he knew exactly what was going on, but Greg and Mickey were still panting to catch up. Jaimey however, had the look of excited rapture most children reserved for Santa. This was Santa for him; He was watching his two heroes, his dad and Sherlock Holmes, in action.
Mycroft put his phone away and nodded at his brother. Sherlock nodded back and grabbed John's hand. Scooping Jaimey up, he pecked his mother on the cheek, and in a fit of absentminded affection, pecked Mikhail as well. "I apologize mother but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this night short."
John kissed Reva as well. "I promise we'll visit again soon." He said, squeezing her hands.
Reva smiled sadly but nodded. She recognized that expression on her son's face, and the twin expression on John's made her heart soar. Her baby boy certainly had found himself a perfect match. Still, she missed her baby, "Of course ma chérie."
Sherlock and John nodded to Mycroft and Greg before departing and Jaimey waved over Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock was out of the car and up the seventeen stairs to the flat before John and Jaimey had time to breath. By the time the Watson boys had stumbled through the door, Sherlock had the box of evidence out on the table and the photographs scattered over the scrubbed wood. The detective reached for each picture that showed the spirals, checking the description on the back before arranging them like they had been on that horrible evening. Sherlock pulled a white, felt-tipped parker and pencil from his pocket. On the back of one of the extra pictures he began the Fibonacci sequence. 1,1,2,3,5…
"Sherlock?" John asked tentatively. Sherlock blinked, snapping out of his Crimey-Wimey reverie. He looked up to meet John's worried gaze.
Sherlock stepped back to observe what he'd done so far and Jaime's head popped over the edge of the table. "These spirals." He reached for one of the pictures, "are perfect. Positively flawless because each of their spirals turns from the next at a ratio of 1.618 to the next."
"And the numbers?" John asked.
"One of the most famous uses for the Golden Number. It's called the Fibonacci sequence. The next number in the sequence is the previous two added together. But, take two numbers, say the ninth and tenth numbers, which are 55 and 89, divide them and you will get 1.618. Every time. With every two numbers."
"…Okay…" John said after a moment. "So what is your theory?"
"You see how the spirals are all the same design but that there is a different number of spirals?" John nodded. "If you count the number of spirals starting from the middle, you'll get a number in the sequence, which will correspond with a letter."
"So the first 25 numbers of the sequence correspond with the 25 letters of the alphabet?" John clarified and Sherlock nodded. "But the numbers will get into more than one digit. How do you tell them apart? I mean, you can't have a spiral that big."
Sherlock pulled an above-view photograph off the table and showed it to John. "It's hard to see, poor lighting imbeciles, but there is a minor gap between clusters of spirals. Larger gaps separate words."
John nodded understandingly, though he marveled at the ease and quickness that Sherlock's brilliant mind had discovered this. "So then what is the message?"
"Let's find out." Sherlock muttered and leaned down to finish his sequence, only to find it already done for him with every letter of the alphabet already write under their corresponding numbers.
Sherlock and John looked down at Jaimey, who was finishing the tail of his Z. He looked up when he felt their eyes on him. "Didn't I do it right?" he asked.
Sherlock looked down at the paper. The key, as Jaimey had written it, went as follows:
11 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144 233 377 610 987 1597 2584
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q
4181 6765 10946 17711 28657 46368 75025 121393 196418
R S T U V W X Y Z
Sherlock smiled and patted the small boy on the shoulder. "You did very well James. But how did you figure it out? I don't see any work."
"Well," Jaimey said after a moment, as if he was afraid he'd done it wrong. "I worked it out in my head. It wasn't that hard. Like you said, the last two equals the next one. Simple."
Sherlock knelt down beside the boy. "You are a brilliant kid, you know." Jaimey beamed.
"I'll make some tea." John said as Sherlock pulled the first picture towards himself, "I can already tell it is going to be a long night."
XXX
And it was. It was three a.m. before Jaimey nodded off against his father's shoulder, and dawn was creeping over the horizon before John managed to nudge Sherlock up the stairs, into his pajamas, and under the covers, "But John," Sherlock grumbled as John tucked him in, "The message is only a little deciphered. Besides, I'm not even tired."
"Too bad." John said as he slid in next to the genius. "I am and I refuse to leave you down there to our own devices. He last time I did that, you managed to work out a way to fake your own death." John sighed contentedly as Sherlock rolled over and cuddled close to him, resting the endearingly unruly mop of hair gingerly on John's injured shoulder. Yes, Sherlock Holmes was a cuddler, shut up you think it's cute too.
"Have I apologized for that yet?" Sherlock murmured into the soft cloth of John's old army tee-shirt.
John smiled and closed his eyes before running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "Many times Sherlock."
"It doesn't feel like it." Even sleep-befuddled as he was, John could hear the pout in the detective's voice. "I love you John." John felt Sherlock's head shift to rest his chin on his doctor's shoulder and he knew, even without looking himself that Sherlock would be staring up at him with that silver gaze. John opened his eyes and felt his smile grow and heart swell. He craned his neck just enough to brush his lips across Sherlock's forehead.
"I love you too, you mad, wonderful man."
XXX
The day after New Years, Jaimey started school. John and Sherlock both took Jaimey by cab and they met Mycroft, Greg, and Mikhail at the school entrance. Mickey promised to make sure Jaimey made it to his classroom before heading to the Secondary School. After hugging their parents goodbye, Mikhail took James's hand and were soon swallowed in the crowd. There followed a brief moment of lumps in throats and even the brothers didn't quip at each other. Then Sherlock made a joke about Mycroft's diet, eyes were rolled, Greg and John made plans to go for a pint the next day, and farewells were exchanged.
As they climbed into a cab, John could tell Sherlock was anxious to get back to Baker Street. This was a break in the case and Sherlock wanted to track it as fast as possible before the trail went cold. Considering how long it's taken us to get this far, John thought as they sped towards the flat, it might already be cold. So far on the message they had: 34, 8, 121393, space, 6765, 75025, 121393, space, 233, 11, 17711.
The beginning was worrying enough but they'd slept away most of the day before and John had ushered them both out for dinner at Angelo's. Sherlock had acted almost like a junky in need of a fix, but John ignored him and once they got home, Jaimey asked if they could do an experiment with his new chemistry set. Sherlock had agreed and, after a disdainful glance at the activities that came with Jaimey's kit and some suspicious scrounging around in his room, Sherlock produced a metal container of dry ice that he'd obtained from Molly for body parts. John had then, stupidly, left the room to go check the laundry down stairs. The resounding BANG! that had echoed around the flat shook the walls. John rushed up the stairs two at a time and he'd silently thanked every deity listening that Mrs. Hudson was at Bridge Club. That noise would have surely given her a heart attack. As he slid to a halt outside the kitchen, John had found the room, and his boys, covered in a clear liquid and smelling strongly of vinegar. A large plastic Tupperware lay sideways on the table and was steaming slightly.
"What the hell did you two do?" he'd shouted. Sherlock and Jaimey had glanced at each other before promptly busting out laughing. John threw up his hands in disgust and went to go get the cleaning supplies to leave with them, He was not cleaning up that mess. They did eventually clean up and John found out they'd decided it was a good idea to mix dry-ice, vinegar, and baking soda. He decided then and there not to ask and to never, ever leave them alone with chemicals and their sets again.
Now, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, Sherlock was positively shaking. He had the door openand was up the stairs and into his Mind Palace before John had finished paying the driver. John made tea and watched the message unfold:
34, 8, 121393, space, 6765, 75025, 121393, space, 233, 11, 17711, 4181, 55, 6765, 10946, 987, 610, space, 21, 11, 4181, 5, 8, 610, 6765, space, 2, 4181, 55, 75025, 10946, 987, 610, space, 6765, 987, 17711, 610, 5, space, 13, 11, 377, 55, 233, 55, 11, 4181? – 11, 46368
John and Sherlock stared at the message. "Oh, not again!"
