It was an unusually warm fall day for London. A yellow beam of sunlight woke me from bed. I had slept in longer than I had anticipated. Sarah was already gone for the morning, leaving a note on the bathroom mirror apologizing for having left while I was asleep.
I went about getting ready for the day as comfortable as if I had been back on Baker Street. I caught a breakfast of porridge and fresh fruit before I left. I realized I needed to spend more time here, with her.
I spent most of the rest of the day running around London trying to take care of the more mundane aspects of living with Sherlock.
It wasn't until about seven o'clock in the evening that I was finally able to make my way to 221b. As I headed up to the flat I was surprised to have passed Molly headed down. We exchanged pleasantries, though it was clear she was both somewhat flustered and oddly happy.
Sherlock stood next to the far window examining a stack of photographs in the light. From his look it was clear he hadn't slept much, if at all the previous evening. He wore the same set of clothes, and there were slight bags under his eyes. There were six darts sticking out of the wall in the shape of a circle. There was the faintest smell of pipe tobacco hanging in the air.
He waved for me to grab a seat without looking up from his photographs.
"Another experiment of yours?" I asked.
"More or less," he said under his breath. "About tonight John. I've gotten the address from the intelligence network, and three of the irregulars will start a disturbance out front of Pike's apartment when I give them the go ahead. The goal will be to rouse Pike from his sleep so as to keep him disoriented and frustrated enough to buy us time inside."
For the first time he looked up from the documents. Despite his appearance his cold blue eyes were alive. They cut through me to the core.
I still needed to gather a few remaining items for the night's excursion. Sherlock recognized my apprehension and left me to prepare – if I had to guess both physically and mentally.
I grabbed a small black duffel from my closet, and began packing it with everything we'd need – ski masks, eye black, an extra sets of gloves, two cameras, two hand torches, a hook and pick set, a few hand towels, and finally my Glock 17.
I sat on the bed with the packed bag next to me. I pulled Mary's letter from my pocket. Once more I was overcome by what I had read the day before. It all seemed like it was from a dream.
I don't know how long I played with the envelope, running my fingers over it. But I was drawn from my trance when Sherlock burst through my door. He was dressed in all black; opting to wear a smaller more form fitting jacket rather than his traditional trench.
"It's time. Let's go!"
I pulled the Glock from my bag a final time, checked the load and safety, and slid it into the back of my pants. I tossed him the open bag. I rose and slipped the letter into the top drawer of my desk.
"What's that?" He asked.
"A letter from Harry, sent while I was in Afghanistan. I found it while loading our gear." I feigned a smile.
I don't pretend to believe for a moment that he believed me. I changed into a more fitting black sweater and it was time to go.
The cab ride was relatively uneventful, and predictably quiet. Out the window the buildings changed from that of posh apartments to a mix of government run housing and industrial warehouses.
"Stop! Here!" Sherlock suddenly called.
"Where are we," I asked exiting the cab with our small duffel.
"Six blocks," he answered paying the cabbie.
We walked to the alley running behind Langdale's apartment; though it didn't sound far it took us significantly longer to get there than expected. A light shone through his second story window illuminating a small patch of puddled asphalt.
We crouched in the shadows, waiting, hoping everything would go to plan. The tall and lanky shadow of Langdale Pike passed multiple times in front of the veiled window, as if he were pacing.
After about two hours of waiting the lights in the apartment went out. It would be another hour and half or two hours before Sherlock would signal the irregulars to begin their distraction. The late night air was cold, chilling to the bone. It didn't help there was a rather stiff breeze funneling through the alley; eventually a slight mist began to fall.
After what seemed like an eternity Sherlock tapped me on the shoulder, motioning toward the duffel. It was finally time to start getting ready. We generously applied the eye-black before situating out masks.
Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen faintly lighting the narrow outcropping we had taken cover in. With a few quick taps of his finger he was done.
We didn't wait for the distraction before making our way up the old fire escape. The aging metal groaned under our weight as we climbed. We huddled each side of Langdale's window, Sherlock nervously checking his watch.
It wasn't long until we could hear the load yelling of drunkards making their way down the lane. It sounded to be a group of three to four men, all incredibly boisterous. The group stopped in front of Langdale's building, their yelling growing more intense. Insults and insinuations began flying back and forth. It wasn't long until the group and broken into a brawl.
We could hear car alarms begin to wail as the scuffle took a more violent turn. Lights throughout the complex began to turn on, shouting coming from windows.
From inside we could here Langdale shouting from his window followed by the slamming of his front door. Quickly we pulled our masks down over out faces.
Pressing our gloved hands against the window, we began to slide the window open. The window opened rather easily, but only for about six inches. My pulse rate quickened as we tried to pry the window open further, as I knew we were wasting precious and valuable time.
Sherlock diligently began to work on trying to clear the window's track. I knew we would never get the window open in time and took it upon myself to hurry our progress along. With a quick thrust of my elbow the window shattered. I knew once we were found ourselves safely back at Baker Street that Sherlock would lecture me on the dangers I had placed us in, but in this moment he ignored the noise and slinked through the window.
Once inside we found ourselves in the living area. He motioned for me to check the rooms to the right, and he would take the rooms to the left. There weren't many as it was, as I have noted a small apartment.
I ignored to check the bathroom, assuming anything of importance wouldn't be kept there, and made my way straight for the bedroom. Checking my watch we had already wasted two of our five minutes.
I took a quick survey of the space. The bedroom was small and rather bare. A small twin bed sat in the far corner, the sheets thrown aside. A pile of dirty clothes had accumulated in another corner. There was a small wooden desk next to the door, its top cluttered in stacks of papers.
I quickly made my way to the bed, pulling everything from beneath it. No satchel. Frantically I began to search through the dresser, throwing clothes all over the floor. Again the bag wasn't to be found. It was then that I heard the front door open. The living room light flicked on, the light creeping under the crack in the door.
Panicking I tucked myself into the closet, closing the sliding door behind me leaving just a small crack to look out. My watched showed seven minutes had passed.
I could hear the door slowly swing open, the creaking piercing through the night. My hand naturally rested on the handle of the Glock tucked into my waistband.
Through the crack I could see that Langdale was terrified. He had found and was carrying around a sort of make shift club. He made his way toward the closet and I crotched to ready to spring the moment he opened the door.
He slid his hand into the gap in the door and flung it open. Immediately I sprung jamming my shoulder directly into his sternum. Tackling him to the floor. My ankle remained tangled in something from closet floor. He howled wildly as we fell. Sitting on his chest I could see the terror in his eyes. I took advantage of my superior position and cracked him twice across the chin.
To his credit Langdale didn't give up and was able to throw me against the door blocking the entrance to the room. As I climbed to my feet, I noticed the satchel was laying on the floor where it had tangled around my ankle.
Thinking quickly I flipped the lights off, just as I took a strike from Langdale's club square in the back. In my pain and surprise he wrapped the club around my neck choking me. Desperate to get free I struck my elbow deep into his ribs, then slammed my head back into his nose.
He cried in pain stumbling backwards. Clutching for something to grab hold of he pulled my mask from my head. Gasping for air I pulled my pistol from my waistband and pointed it directly at him. My only hope at this point was the eye-black provided enough of a cover, while the pistol distracted his attention away from my physical characteristics.
Laying on the ground he held both hands where I could see them pleading I spare his life. Silently I bent down and grabbed the satchel from between his legs. To prevent him from trying to follow me, I swiftly kicked him between his legs, driving my foot deep into his torso. He squealed and writhed on the floor.
Climbing down the fire escape I could see Sherlock had remained behind waiting for me. Knowing the situation was dire we took off sprinting down the alley. I stuffed our remaining equipment into the duffel.
It was six or seven blocks before we stopped to try and clean up. We still needed to make it back across London.
"Did you find the bag," he asked wiping his face.
Out of breath, clutching my ribs, I held up the bounty.
