Chapter 9

Help Me

The dark clouds over London were making the day almost as dark as the night. Soon the clouds would break and cover London with their tears. Rumbling anger from thunder and furious flashes of lightning would throw themselves down upon the world. Most people would shut themselves inside their houses, keeping themselves nice and warm and try to forget about the terrible raging storm outside as they waited for it to pass.

The thing about a thunderstorm is that it's a waiting game, waiting for the calm to signal the storm, waiting for the rain to fall, waiting for the lightning to strike. Those who don't expect it will be the ones who will suffer from the storm. And who knows when the storm will pass?

John Watson's feet thudded loudly on the pavement, he glared down at them as if they had personally insulted him. The anger was clear in his eyes, he could feel it burning inside him.

He had never known a man to be as selfish as Sherlock Holmes, to be so uncaring. There weren't very many people who wouldn't be concerned about the welfare of a lost child, but Sherlock seemed to be one of them. He acted so infuriatingly calm all the time; the only thing that seemed to cheer him up was a body lying in the gutter. The only other person who would act like that would be the one that was responsible for putting the body in the gutter in the first place.

Storming off down the street, John wasn't sure where he was going or how long he had been walking, all he knew was that he needed a walk, it would eventually it would burn off his anger, and then he would be able to calm down.

John didn't know what time it was, but it was getting dark very quickly. He gazed up at the grimacing sky, and shivered. He suddenly decided the sooner he got somewhere where it was warm and, most importantly, indoors, the better.

It was then that John realised he actually had no idea where he was. He wasn't such an expert with London as Sherlock was. He had taken too many sharp turnings down narrow passageways and empty streets to be able to retrace his steps. He wasn't walking by the main road as he had been doing a few moments before and he was no longer walking along a busy street. This street was empty, and, so it seemed, were the houses that lined it.

Cursing, John kicked an empty can that lay by his foot, and watched it clatter unsteadily down the road. Knowing full well that it wasn't Sherlock's fault for getting him lost, he blamed Sherlock anyway. He should act like a better person more often and perhaps he might just be bearable to live with. John gazed around at the street he was in, it reminded him of the area where they had found Garrison's body, perhaps he was near the area where the murder had actually occurred. John considered turning back to try and find the main road again, or perhaps a map. At least find somewhere where there were people.

"Can you help me?"

The light, high-pitched voice rang out through the silence and bounced off the walls of the houses on either side, stopping John in his tracks. For a few moments he thought that he had been imagining it, that it was in his mind. Then he heard it again:

"Please, can you help me?"

John turned around to find himself face-to-face with a small girl, probably no more than eight years old. She had white-blond hair; large eyes and it looked like she had been crying.

"Can you help me?" The girl said again.

There was a short pause, in which John stared down at the little girl. He had not expected to run into the very person he had just been arguing about with his friend. Perhaps he should have been more suspicious, but right now his concern was with the child.

"Are you the one who's missing?" John asked, he wasn't sure if this was the right thing to ask, but he couldn't really think of anything else to say. He knelt down so he was at the same level as the child.

The little girl nodded, looking down at the ground, afraid of him, but her eyes looked desperate.

"What's your name?" John said gently.

"Lucy," the little girl replied.

"Where do you live Lucy?" John asked, doubting that the little girl knew, probably the best thing to do was to take her to the police station, wherever the nearest police station was.

But Lucy shook her head; tears began to build up in her eyes. "I can't go home yet," she told him in a whisper.

"Why not?"

"I want my teddy first. He says I can't go home until I get my teddy."

"He?" This wasn't making any sense, surely the girl would want to do nothing but go home?

"Please can you help me find my teddy?" Lucy asked again, it seemed to be the only thing she could say, or think to say in the situation. John wasn't sure what to say either.

"All right, I'll help you get your toy, and then I'll take you back home," he said, straightening up, there didn't seem to be much else he could do. He didn't want to cause any more distress for the child by forcing her to go home, and then he'd be the one in trouble. "Where is it?"

Lucy gave a small smile, relieved that there was someone that could finally help her. She took John by the hand and led him off into the dark.

It looked like an old warehouse or factory of some sort. It was getting so dark now it was hard to tell, all that John knew for certain is that no one had stepped in there for a very long time. The letters spelling out the name of the building had fallen or eroded away many years ago and the place was deserted. Lucy lead him into a huge room with no lights, broken windows and spider webs filling the darkest corners they could find. There was nothing in the room apart from two doors at either end and a smell of damp in the air.

They had been walking for about ten minutes, further and further down darker passageways. John had kept on trying to ask the little girl how she had managed to find such a place, how she had become so lost. But she didn't reply, perhaps she didn't even know herself.

"How did you find this place Lucy?" John asked her again, a little more firmly. But Lucy didn't reply, she was becoming more urgent, pulling John along.

"Look," she said, pointing upwards towards the ceiling.

Hanging from the ceiling by a thin piece of string, illuminated by a thin shred of light from one of the broken windows, was a teddy bear, the piece of string tied to its foot as it swung in an invisible breeze. It was too far up for Lucy to reach. John stretched up and pulled the bear off the string.

"How did it get up there?" John asked, trying not to sound worried and suspicious as he passed the bear to Lucy. This was getting more and more peculiar.

"He put it up there, he said I couldn't go home until I got you to come and get it." Lucy explained, taking the bear and hugging it close to her.

"Who's he?" John demanded. "Did someone want to bring me here?"

Lucy said nothing; she just hugged the bear close to her chest and stared at John with her large eyes. She looked as if she wanted to tell him something, but didn't know what it was, or perhaps she was too scared.

This was getting worse by the second.

"Lucy you have to tell me who put your bear here, who wanted to take me to this place?" John knelt down beside Lucy and stared deep into her eyes as if he was trying to read her mind. "You have to tell me."

"He did." Lucy pointed behind John into the darkness.

Before John stood up and turned around, he knew who it was. The sounds of the footsteps walking towards him sounded normal, and yet were unmistakable. John had heard them before.

The footsteps of a dead man.

"Hello Johnny boy," said the highly amused voice of Jim Moriaty. "Long time no see, have you missed me?"

Outside, it began to rain.


The weather was meant to be a build up suspense up to this moment, I'm just not very good at doing it…and now I've ruined it completely by having to explain it! But I didn't want anyone to start thinking "why is she so obsessed with clouds?" haha. And that was also my attempt at a cliff hanger!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway! Please review! :)