Two days left. That was all we had. Forty-two hours, two thousand five hundred and twenty minutes, one hundred and fifty-one thousand two hundred seconds. Now the countdown had really started. And that was already counting the twelve hours that the poison had to attack the body. First it attacked the immune system, making the body vulnerable and weak. Soon it moved on to the cells themselves, changing and almost mutating. Before long it started to infect the brain cells, leaving the body brain dead long before it was actually dead.
I knew all this, yet I still had no idea what this was. I could only assume it was some sort of compound that the culprit had created from a mixture of various components. Either way, it was still very, very deadly.
I really had hoped it wouldn't have to come down to this, but I was running out of options… and time. Frankly, I was desperate.
I started ransacking the flat, looking for John's gun. He was with Lestrade, like he had been everyday avoiding me. In his defense, I was avoiding him as well. I jumped when I heard the door open, it was early afternoon and John had rarely returned before dark recently.
"What are you doing, Sherlock?"
"Why are you home so early, John?"
"I asked you first." John tossed his jacket aside.
"I asked you second." I stood up straight.
"Stop with this. Don't be such a child. What are you doing?"
"I'm looking for something. How did things go with Lestrade today? Anything new? Good news perhaps?"
"No, and what about you?" John asked professionally. That is what this had become, a business deal. It was just another case similar to before we were a couple. But even that was better this. This was just plain uncomfortable.
"Nothing. What are you looking for?"
"Something."
"Well what is something?"
"Something is a noun. It means some indeterminate or unspecified thing." I replied.
"Sherlock! Can you be serious for once?"
"John, where is your gun?" I said, giving up and turning around to face him.
"Why?" John's hand hovered over his jacket. No wonder I couldn't find it, he had started carrying it on him.
"I have a plan. It's sort of a last resort… But we are running out of time."
John took the gun out from jacket without another word. "Alright, I trust you. But you have to let me know if there is anything I can do to help you."
I took the gun slowly. "Thank you, but I brought this on. I need to fix it myself. I'm going to bring our son home.
John smiled a bit and I reached out to him. He all but melted against me. "John, I'm really sorry."
"It's okay… It's been really hard avoiding you the past few days."
"I know. It's been rough on me too." I kissed the top of his head. "But I've got to take care of this now, alone."
John nodded. "Okay. But if you need me, please call. Where are you going exactly? You didn't say."
"You do not want to know." I said quietly.
John stole his gun back from me. "You can't have my gun if you don't tell me."
"You really want me to risk my life even more by not taking a gun with me?"
John flinched but didn't say anything.
"Fine. But you have to promise me you won't come chasing after me. Don't come after me unless I tell you to."
John just glared at me and I sighed. I knew there was no stopping him. If he ever thought I was in danger, then he would be right behind me, trying to save my arse as always. Ever since the first day I'd met him, he'd had my back. On the second day I had known him, he killed someone to save my life. Who knew what he would do after a couple years of marriage? "I have a good idea about who took Hamish. It's a dangerous plan, but I have no other choice but to go after him."
John looked worried for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. "Okay, I believe in you." He looked strangely at the sofa for a moment and pointed. "What is that?"
"A sofa?" I asked, confused.
"No, no." John rolled his eyes and walked over to pick up Hamish's new jumper. "This."
"Well that is a jumper. Which is a knit garment intended to cover the torso and arms, popular with men, women and children of all ages. It is often worn over a shirt, blouse, T-shirt, or other top, but may also be worn next to the skin. Jumpers were traditionally made from wool, but can now be made of cotton, synthetic fibers, or any combination thereof. Jumpers are maintained by washing or dry cleaning, and the use of a lint roller or pill razor. In America they are known as sweaters, in other places they are known as pullovers. You constantly wear them. Shouldn't you at least know the proper name?"
"I do! And you know you don't need to spout off like that. Despite what you might think, you are not a walking computer…"
"Clearly I'm not a walking computer. I'm made of flesh and blood, whereas computers are made of plastic, wiring, and other technical things that I really don't have time to get into. Also, the last time I checked, you're laptop doesn't get up and walk itself to the charger. That statement was purely illogical."
"Stop being a smart arse." He unfolded the jumper. "It's so little…"
"Yes, well, you see… Little people wear little jumpers."
John's eyes teared up a bit. "Go get him, Sherlock. I want him home."
This chapter was somewhat not needed..
However I enjoyed Sherlock's smart comments. c: I hope you did as well.
Sorry I haven't been uploading much... I'm afraid that I'm currently slightly addicted to watching Doctor Who.
Halp me. xD Just kidding, I don't want your help. c:
Let me know what you thought of the chapter!
There will probably be one or two more... Not entirely sure.
Love you guys!
