Chapter Ten, in which the adventure in the Safe House continues.

Beta: Pilikia18

John's POV

When I wake up, roused by the sunlight slithering through the crack between the curtains, the opposite sofa is already vacant. No surprise here – the house is too fascinating for Sherlock to waste his time sleeping. Can't blame him for that – those few safes we already saw and cracked were really interesting.

The only downside of Sherlock's enthusiasm with solving each and every puzzle in this house is his usual disregard of his body's needs. The backpack, which I left on the table near my sofa in the evening is missing, so I can safely assume that my friend has already opened the door in the office – the one with the incomplete digital lock.

Speaking about the body's needs – I finally become aware of... ahem... the nature's call and sit up, swinging my legs onto the floor. Deciding that the breakfast can bloody well wait until I sort myself out, I spring up from the sofa and head to the office. Considering that yesterday during our explorations we haven't spotted a loo or a bathroom – at least, not in an accessible part of the house – I find myself hoping that Sherlock has already found it.

When I get to the office a couple of minutes later, I discover that the room behind the door with the digital lock is in fact some sort of a workshop, and it has three safes: two small ones on the worktable at the left, and one mounted into the far wall.

So, three safes to play with, and Sherlock is preoccupied with only one of them – the one in the far corner on the left. He's sitting in front of it, carefully pressing the buttons and making notes in the writing pad.

"Good morning, John," he says thoughtfully, not turning around. "The door that you are looking for is to the right of the built-in safe."

I locate the door immediately and cross the room towards it. "Thanks, Sherlock, and good morning to you too. See you in a couple of minutes."

He hums in reply and jots something down, before pressing the next button and repeating the process once again. Pulling the door open, I step inside a small loo and close the door behind me.

Sherlock's POV

My sleep during the night is restless and fitful: this house conceals too many interesting things, and wasting my time on sleep is totally ridiculous. It takes five hours of tossing and turning on the sofa for me to finally give up and, carefully raising to my feet, I reach out and retrieve the backpack from the table near the opposite sofa. My friend stirs slightly and murmurs something, and I stop in my tracks, afraid to wake him up.

A few moments later John rolls over and settles again, burrowing deeper into his pillow and pulling the blanket tighter around himself. I wait a little more, clutching the backpack to my chest, and then tiptoe out of the room and into the small corridor. It's only when I get into the museum that I finally drop my conspiracy act and continue into the office, not fearing to disturb my resting companion.

John had already pried the cover of the electronic lock open, so all I need to do now is put missing pieces of equipment into their respective places.

So, what do we have here?

Unzipping the backpack, I fish for small items and arrange it on my left palm. Then I pick up the resistor and plug it into the empty slot next to the other two vertical resistors. The transistor goes to the left of the yellow round one, and after that I connect the remaining two circuits.

As soon as I finish, the lock beeps shortly and the door starts opening, revealing the workshop behind it. Stepping inside, I look around with curiosity, locating three safes in different places and a door in the far right corner of the room, on the right of the medium-sized build-in safe.

Considering that yesterday evening John expressed his desire to find the kitchen and the bathroom, I decide to check the door first. Judging by the layout of the house, it's doubtful that it conceals the kitchen; so it is probably the bathroom, or, more likely, the loo.

Pulling the door open I discover a small loo; rather in time, I might add, because right at this moment my body decides to remind me that I'm a human, after all. So, after the inevitable short break to satisfy the demands of my flesh, I finally turn my attention to the opportunity of feeding my starving mind.

As I have already mentioned, there are three safes in this room; but, after short inspection it becomes apparent that only one of them deserves my attention at the moment. The built-in safe requires another pass card, and the safe on the left has a complicated laser-controlled three-digit lock. With two safes temporarily unavailable, it leaves me with only one option: the red one with the dangling keypad, which is obviously out of order. But at the same time, there's a post-it note on the door of the safe, which reads: '5841'; so the keypad should be functional to some extent.

Time to find out, where the catch is.

Dragging the three-legged stool over, I sit down in front of the safe and quickly key in the denoted combination. The digits light up on the screen and wink out a second later; surely enough, they are not the right ones, and I fetch the writing pad out of the backpack to note down the combination. Following a sudden hunch, I press the same four keys again and copy the new set of numbers. Repeating the process three times more, on the forth try I see the first wrong combination; so obviously each key, repeatedly pressed, can conjure up five different numbers.

It takes a few moments to cycle through four combinations again in order to reset the keys, and after that all that left is to complete my chart with the five remaining rows of five numbers.

I'm nearing the end of my task when I hear John's footsteps in the office. Considering that I skipped breakfast in favour of a new mystery, I'm most likely to hear a stern lecture quite soon, so I go for immediate distraction the second he steps into the workshop.

"Good morning, John," I say, keeping my eyes on the keypad. "The door that you are looking for is to the right of the built-in safe."

There's a small sigh of relief, which means that my suggestion is well-timed, and John bounds across the room, not failing to add that he'll see me in a couple of minutes. That's more than enough to finish the chart, and when John finally emerges from the loo, I'm immersed in studying the result of my work in order to prime the numbers.

My friend strides confidently to where I'm sitting, puts his hands on my shoulders and starts kneading my muscles lightly. "Any luck?"

John's gentle ministrations bring a sudden revelation that my shoulders have, in fact, become quite stiff. I close my eyes, tipping my head forward, and allow myself to enjoy my blogger's caring attention.

"Almost figured it out," I murmur, feeling the muscles in my shoulders start to loosen up and a welcoming pleasant warmth spreading through my body. "All I need is to find the right sequence, and after that we're off to find the kitchen."

John snorts and finishes the procedure by carefully rubbing my shoulders. "Very clever, Sherlock. But just to clarify: are you saying that you neglected your sleep in order to appease me?"

"More or less," I open my eyes and look at the chart again, immediately singling out the combination. "Alright, here we go."

I pinch the first four keys and, as I expected, the result immediately fades away.

John clears his throat. "Um, Sherlock..."

Silencing him with the impatient wave of my hand, I press the next four keys and the safe answers with a melodic 'ding'. Glancing over my shoulder, I lock gazes with John and he backs away, raising his hands in total surrender. Satisfied, I turn back and pull the door fully open, then reach inside and take the red magnetic card.

"The study," we say simultaneously, and I push myself up, turning around and making my way to the door.

John catches up with me a second later, carefully tugging the backpack out of my hands. I let him do it, but not before quickly pocketing the red card. My friend, upon noticing my actions, chuckles quietly and slings the strap of the backpack over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, I'm not going to rob you off your victory. It's simply a gesture of a proper squire, I guess," he remarks with a hint of irony, and I can't help but answer with a chuckle of my own.

"If you're going to admit that you're partial to my brother's idea of knighting me, dear sir, I will be forced to smite you at once," I utter in mock-threatening voice, causing John to falter in his stride due to a sudden attack of endearing giggles.

In such jolly mood, we traverse the mansion and finally stop in front of previously non-accessible door. Pulling the card out of my pocket, I slide it into a slot, and the red LED changes to green. Now all we need is to figure out the code.

"Did you notice the lighter keys, Sherlock?" John remarks thoughtfully, and I give a quick nod, already running the list of possible combinations in my head. Luckily for us, there are only three keys that appear to be frequently used: 3, 4 and 8. That gives us six combinations in total; quite an elementary task.

It's the fifth combination – 834, to be exact, that gets the door open, and we proceed into the new area with caution.

It's a small service room with two sets of stairs, leading into the basement and upstairs. There's another door ahead of us – open this time – and I can clearly see the corner of a table. It's a dining room, judging by the presence of a dumbwaiter to the right of said door.

I take a step forward, intending to inspect the newly discovered territory, but right at that moment John, emitting the triumphant cry, scales the stairs to the second floor, disappearing in a blink of an eye. Breakfast is clearly imminent, so I need to act quickly.

Unfortunately, I'm still not quick enough – John's demanding "Sherlock!" stops me at the threshold of the dining room, and I turn around to see my companion at the top of the first flight of the stairs, giving me a pointed look.

"I was just going..," I begin in placating tone, but John cuts me off.

"Breakfast," he says sternly, beckoning me towards him, and I have no choice but to submit, having previously on several occasions experienced the consequences of my own disobedience.

John leads me upstairs and parks me at the table near the window.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," John comments, busying himself with thorough inspection of cupboards. "And after that nothing's stopping you from solving the next puzzle."

"Fine," I answer simply. "But can you fetch me the writing pad first?"

There's an instant curious glance aimed in my direction; but nevertheless, a moment later the writing pad is placed in front of me.

"Thank you, John," I say, opening the pad and starting to draw a schematic map of the house. "I just want to keep track of unsolved puzzles, hence the necessity of the map."

"And what are the results so far?" John asks, keeping his eyes on the frying pan.

"Well, let's see," I mark all safes on my scheme and start encircling the solved ones. "The safe with T-shaped keyhole in the small sitting room, the fountain, the last panel in the museum and finally, two safes in the workshop. That makes five in total."

"So far," John comments, transferring the contents of the frying pan onto the plates. "And before you ask, the door in front of you is locked. It's the first thing I checked when I got here."

"Then we need the key," I comment, "which could be hidden in the dining room, by the way."

"As I said already, Sherlock, breakfast first, puzzles later," my friend says patiently, switching the boiling kettle off, pouring the steaming water into cups and then carrying my plate and cup to the table. "There you are, Sherlock. Have a nice breakfast."

"Not without your pleasant company, John," I contradict, and he laughs quietly, heading back to the stove for his own plate and teacup.

"Then I simply can't disappoint you, can I?" he seats across of me and gestures to my plate. "All of it, Sherlock, and then we'll continue exploring the house."

I nod and start eating, impatient to get up from the table as soon as possible. John frowns a couple of times at my obvious haste, but chooses to keep silent; my dear doctor knows me too well to grumble about the small details of his apparent victory.

John's POV

Sherlock hastily shoves the food into his mouth, chewing energetically and from time to time gulping tea from his cup. The doctor in me cringes in annoyance, but frankly, there's absolutely nothing I can do at the moment that isn't going to result in a loud argument and therefore rapid deterioration of Sherlock's mood.

So I keep silent and let my friend execute his meal in any way he deems necessary.

It takes less than three minutes for Sherlock to finish his breakfast, and after that he's up and across the kitchen in a flash, stopping to wait for me at the top of the stairs.

"Not so fast, Sherlock," I say, pointedly starting to gather up plates and cups. "I need to clean the table first".

The only indication of my companion's displeasure is a slight twitch of muscle under his right eye. Then he shrugs his shoulders and starts walking back to the table.

Halfway across the kitchen he stops, and I pause in my task, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

He hums and turns around, eyeing the dumbwaiter with obvious interest.

"The red light, John," he remarks thoughtfully.

"It's the dumbwaiter, Sherlock," I reply calmly.

"It's the safe house, John," he contradicts.

"Now you're sounding paranoid".

"No, just farsighted. Just carry on with the cleaning, John, I'll deal with it".

Taking him at his word, I busy myself with the task of washing the tableware and placing it back into cupboards. Speaking about cupboards – I haven't really had the time to take a good look around the kitchen until now, so I take time to correct this omission.

The kitchen and the service corridor are certainly different from the rest of the house: the walls are light green, the furniture is light brown, and the table at which we had breakfast really is a beautiful piece of art, with its wrought-iron legs and inlaid table top.

A huff of irritation on my right brings my attention back to Sherlock, and I turn my head to see my friend furiously assaulting "up" and "down" buttons in order to get the stubborn appliance to cooperate.

"Breaking it will definitely make the puzzle quite difficult to solve, Sherlock," I remark carefully. "You may want to calm down a bit".

Sherlock throws his arms in the air and whirls around to face me. "It's illogical, John. I can't figure it out, and it's absolutely frustrating!"

Uh-oh. Time for a swift distraction.

"And what's inside?"

Sherlock frowns, momentarily thrown off by my remark. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Inside the dumbwaiter. You were driving it up and down dozens of times now; surely you saw something already."

My friend's face regains its customary calm expression. "A pipe key, if you're so interested."

"A pipe key? What do we need a pipe key for?" I ask, perplexed.

"For some part of a puzzle, obviously," Sherlock turns around and continues pressing buttons. "If you're finished, John, would you mind checking the dining room? I'll try not to break it, don't worry," he adds, as if sensing my doubt.

I watch him for a few moments, and he takes a deep breath, stretching languidly. After that he returns to his task, but his movements are smooth and delicate now.

"That's better, Sherlock," I say approvingly, grabbing the backpack and heading for the stairs. "See you downstairs, then?"

My friend hums softly in reply and I descend to the ground floor, turning right and heading into the dining room.

It's quite big, and coloured in dark and light hues of blue, with a numerous paintings hanging on the wall to the left of me. There is a rectangular dining table in the centre of the room, with a dozen chairs around it and a green carpet underneath it; the upholstery on the chairs is also green and matches the carpet nicely. There are a couple of other tables in this room: an oval one in the far left corner, and a glass one near one of the windows. And, of course, there's a marble fireplace on my right with two vases and a clock on the mantelpiece. Classy and impressive, all that; but, to tell the truth, that table in the kitchen was far more comfy than this whole pompous room. No offense to the owner of the house, of course.

So, all in all, a nice dining room, except the fact that there is a red light under one of the paintings, which clearly indicates the location of the next puzzle.

"Good guess, John," Sherlock says right into my ear, causing me to yelp in surprise and stumble forward, almost tripping on the edge of the carpet. But Sherlock catches me easily and helps to regain my balance, giving a quiet snort of amusement in the process.

"Not funny, Sherlock," I declare, turning around to glare at him. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough to agree with you about the kitchen," Sherlock says calmly and reaches out, tugging the backpack from my hands. "And it's easy – I can write a book about your facial expressions, John. As for our next task – you're adapting my methods without even noticing it."

I frown at him, and he rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Oh?" he enquires, and I raise my eyebrows.

"Do I, really?"

"Absolutely," he confirms. "Now, about that red light – shall we take a look?"

"Sure. The puzzle must be about the paintings, I think," I report, watching as Sherlock places the pipe key into the backpack. "The question is, do we have any clues?"

Sherlock immediately sticks his hand into our 'treasure bag' and grins broadly, pulling out a photograph. "As a matter of fact, we do. Take a look."

I peer at the picture he's holding out for me, recognising the setting immediately. Something is off, though, and I look more closely, trying to spot it. Sherlock patiently waits for me to speak, his eyes studying my face with obvious amusement.

Of course, how could I not notice it right away?

Sherlock nods approvingly, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "The girl in the photo is Elizabeth, Duncan's daughter. The family ties are a bit strained right now, but..," he cuts himself short, and there's a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Anyway, I think you will need a hand with that, won't you?"

"That would be marvellous, Sherlock," I say quietly, watching as my friend turns and takes a few steps in the direction of the first painting.

"Instructions, John?" Sherlock prompts, taking the painting off its hooks.

"Okay..," I take a moment to collect my thoughts. Now's certainly not the best time to talk about family problems; maybe later. "This one goes to the far right."

Sherlock relocates to the right, hangs the painting and turns to look at me.

I check the photo again. "Now the middle one to the very left."

Another series of precise movements and a pointed gaze.

"Almost done. Swap the last two."

Sherlock nods, grabs the picture to the right, slides to the other one, exchanges them and returns to complete the set.

There's a soft chime the moment Sherlock hangs the painting, the light on the wall to the right turns green and the frame above it slides up, showing a niche with a sheet of paper inside. My friend crosses the room and takes the paper, reading it swiftly.

"8 nanometres under the upper limit of a Buttercup colour," he mutters, folding the paper and pocketing it. "John, we need to go to the workshop."

"Why?" I ask, but he's already on the move, and I have no choice but to follow him. "Sherlock!"

"The laser safe, John," he explains briefly, breezing through the house. "The key is the correct wavelength. Upper limit of yellow colour minus 8. More or less."

"More or less?"

"Margin of error. 590 nm if the manufacturer is precise. Otherwise..."

"So that makes... 582?"

Sherlock glances at me briefly. "Good, John. Very good. Care to check?"

Right at this moment we step into the workshop and Sherlock gestures towards the safe, stopping near the doorway and leaning against the wall.

I move forward and start to press buttons until the display shows 582. Nothing happens, and I turn to look at my companion.

"Margin of error, John," he says calmly, crossing his arms on his chest. "Try going downwards from 590."

I readjust the setting, and follow Sherlock's advice. On 584 the light at the top of the safe turns green, and it unlocks, exposing two keys inside: a small gold one and a T-shaped one.

Sherlock is near me in instant, eyeing the keys intently. "Looks familiar."

"Which one?" I enquire, taking the keys and holding them out on open palm.

"This one," my friend's elegant fingers grasp the T-shaped key. "Do you remember where the matching safe is?"

I close my eyes, trying to remember the list of unsolved safes Sherlock made not too long ago. Two in this room, one in the museum, the fountain and...

Bingo!

"The small sitting room!" I announce in triumph, and Sherlock graces me with one of his warmest smiles and then winks at me conspiratorially.

"Not too far away, then," he drawls, and disappears in a flash.

"Typical," I mutter, then raise my voice. "Sherlock!"

"The small sitting room, John, hurry up!" he calls back, and I roll my eyes...

Sherlock's POV

Not waiting for John – he'll follow anyway – I rush through the house and skid to a halt in front of my destination. Despite the fact that there are three safes still remaining unsolved on this level, it somehow feels as if we're past the crucial point in our adventure. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm aware that we haven't seen the whole house yet and frankly, I'm waiting for a wealth of intricate puzzles on the second floor. But I'm certain of one thing: Mycroft is going to lose.

"Well?" John's breathy voice brings me back to reality, and glance at him over my shoulder. His eyes are shining, there's a faint blush on his cheeks, and I take a few moments to savour this wonderful view. He catches my gaze and averts his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Um, Sherlock..."

"The safe. Yes," I turn away, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, and slide the key into the lock. John inhales deeply, and I turn the key.

The safe has three sections inside, and I step back to allow John a clear view of the middle one. My companion shakes his head emphatically and starts backing away with his arms raised.

"No way, Sherlock," he says firmly. "No way in hell. Think again."

"I clearly recall you saying something about the duty of a proper squire. Does it mean that you're about to cancel our agreement, dear sir?" I say, adapting an expression of wounded dignity.

John smothers a giggle behind his palm and unsuccessfully tries to remain stern-faced. "Sherlock..."

"It's a piston, so logically the only mechanism it can be fit into is a water pump. Water pumps are usually placed in the basements. Ergo, the hardship would not be long," I point out, and John gives a sigh of defeat, unzipping the backpack.

"I hope you're right, Sherlock," he says, noticing as I struggle to lift the heavy plunger. "I'm not so thrilled about getting a back strain because of this damn thing."

"I'm willing to help, John," I assure him, depositing my burden into the backpack and helping John to pull the straps onto his shoulders.

He grunts, staggers slightly and rights himself. "How exactly, Sherlock?"

"We can take turns carrying it."

John snorts and shakes his head, squaring his shoulders resolutely. "Lead the way, Sherlock, and try to make it quick."

I close my eyes for a second, pulling up a mental map of the known part of the house. Forward, right, forward, right again, forward, to the left of the fountain, across the main sitting room, through the study into the service corridor and down into the basement. The shortest path.

"Sherlock?" John asks hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm absolutely fine, John," I open my eyes and start moving. "Follow me, John, we'll take the shortcut."

"Whatever you say," John mutters, falling into step behind me. A relatively quick stroll through the house – and we're in the basement, stopping in front of a complicated light switch. John immediately shrugs the backpack off and lowers it onto the ground, then stretches his back in obvious relief. "That was really quick, Sherlock, thank you."

The part of the basement we're in is illuminated by the scarce light falling from upstairs, and I squint into the darkness, trying to judge the size of the said basement. Meanwhile my companion shuffles closer to the light switch and studies it with obvious interest.

"Feel free to try," I say, reaching out and squeezing his arm lightly. "It's OUR adventure, so let's keep a fair share between us."

John nods and, after a moment of hesitation starts turning all knobs so they would all point upwards. There are fourteen knobs in total, each connected to a system of jumper cables which, in turn, are connected to seven LEDs on the left. By the time John finally touches the last knob, five LEDs are already lit up. Three turns – and the lamp at the end of the corridor comes alive, flooding the basement with yellow light.

Sighing, John bends to retrieve the backpack, but I halt him by taking hold of his shoulders.

"Wait here, John," I command, pulling him upright. "I'll take a look and get back to you right away."

"There's no point, Sherlock," he objects, pulling away and reaching for the backpack again. He shoulders it with a grunt and glances at me. "I can bear it a little longer, don't worry."

I look into his eyes, and he winks at me, then turns his head towards the other end of the corridor. Taking the hint, I start walking, and he follows.

We discover the water pump in a small store room, and John immediately puts the missing piston into its place, visibly relieved. Nothing happens, though, and we both turn our attention to the reservoir on the right. There's a panel mounted on it, with three indicators representing three pistons' capacities: three, five and eight marks correspondingly. According to the indication, the piston on the right is full, and there are also a set of lines and buttons, connecting all three pistons with each other.

"I think, I know what we need to do here, Sherlock," John says with confidence. "The goal is to fill the middle piston, so it would contain half of all water. I can do that. I actually did one of these at school, so it should be easy."

I take a step to the right and lean against the wall. "I'm not stopping you."

John takes a deep breath and purses his lips, then reaches out, murmuring softly. "Alright, here goes... Large to medium," he presses the button, and indicators immediately display the change. "Medium to small... small to large... medium to small... large to medium and... medium to small. That's it."

There's a familiar chiming, and the water pump comes to life. John turns to look at me, smiling broadly, and a second later the lamp goes out.

"Oh, for God's sake!" my companion mutters, and it's quite surprising to hear a slight tremble in his voice. "Sherlock?"

"I'm here, John," I take a step forward, and John's hand fists itself into my sleeve. "I think the light switch has a timed reset. Are you okay?"

"Not really," John admits, and his other hand joins the first, curling around my arm a bit too tightly. "Past experiences. Sorry. I'm not so fond of the combination of darkness and running water."

"Afghanistan?" I ask softly, touching John's hands with the fingertips of my right hand.

John takes a shuddering breath and loosens his death grip on my arm. "You have no idea."

"You're right, I don't," I agree quietly. "But unfortunately, we need to turn the light back on. Are you up to this?"

John's grip tightens again. "Me?"

When we were younger, Mycroft once told me that the best way to overcome your fear is to face it. Can't say that it's one of my favourite strategies in life, but then again, John is the bravest person I've ever known in my life. And more importantly, he's my friend.

"Problem?" I ask, starting to stroke John's hand again. It seems to calm him, and he disentangles himself from me.

"Not at all," he answers calmly. "Wait here."

"I have a better idea, John," I object, reaching out and catching my friend by his jumper. "The next puzzle is just outside, at the end of the corridor. There are some boxes near the walls along the way, but I think I can orient myself."

"How exactly?" John enquires, taking small steps and towing me along.

"Red light," I say simply as we edge out of the storage room. "Now we need to split up."

"Sure," my companion waits for me to let him go, and then marches in the direction of the light switch. "Back in a second!"

"No worries," I answer, making my way to the next – and obviously the last – puzzle in the basement.

It's a metal plate with LEDs, and only one of them is lit – the one in the upper left corner.

So what's the logic?

The lamps are finally switched on, and by the time John is back with me, by trial and error I discover that LEDs are actually buttons, and I need to press them on the 'next nearest' principle. John manages to catch up with me quite quickly, and even corrects me a couple of times. Working together, we press all needed LEDs and the plate slides up, showing another niche – this time with a GPS key card and a brass key.

"Dining room," I announce, but John shakes his head vigorously and crosses his arms on his chest.

"No. Kitchen and lunch," he contradicts.

"John..."

"Sherlock."

No-win situation all over again.

"Fine. But right after that we'll go to the dining room."

"Absolutely. But now I need your help with those boxes from the small sitting room."

"Whatever," I grumble, and John flashes me his trademark grin.

"No need to be so cross, Sherlock," he says encouragingly. "Take a good look outside. Even if we manage to find the front door key, we're still stuck here for the entire week."

"What do you mean?" I look at him, frowning slightly.

"When Mycroft says that it's going to be a week, it's REALLY going to be a week. We're on an island, Sherlock; a private island, for that matter. So slow down and enjoy your unplanned vacation, my dear friend."

Taken by surprise, I desperately search for something to say, and then the words just tumble out. "How can you know that?"

"I told you yesterday that I found some interesting books in the library. There were newspapers, too. Some articles about Duncan Adams buying an island for his latest entertaining project. There's no mention in the papers about the location, but logically..."

"I get the picture, thank you," I interrupt impatiently. "So, the boxes in the hall?"

"If you would be so kind," John says, turning around and starting to walk along the corridor. "I'll be in the kitchen."

John's POV

I can tell that Sherlock is not at all happy with my latest announcement, but since we can do absolutely nothing about it, he has no other choice but to accept the current state of affairs.

Doesn't mean he won't continue to grumble about it, though.

I climb two sets of stairs towards the kitchen and busy myself with preparing lunch while waiting for Sherlock to appear with boxes from the small sitting room.

It takes two trips for my companion to transfer all necessary stuff into the kitchen, and after that he wanders over to the table, taking a seat and placing his elbows on the tabletop.

"What are we having, John?" he asks, closing his eyes and resting his chin on his clasped hands.

"Toad in the hole," I say, placing a roasting tin into the oven. "Should be ready in half an hour."

Sherlock immediately perks up. "Really? If so, I can..."

"No, Sherlock, you can't," I say firmly. "In fact, we're done with puzzle-hunting for today. Let's find the bedrooms after lunch and have a quiet afternoon in the library."

"Boring," my friend replies listlessly. "But if you insist..."

"Yes, I do."

"Fine. Lunch, bedrooms, boring afternoon. Wonderful."

"If you're so irked..."

"I'm not."

"Good."

So we eat lunch in complete silence, then I clean up and we go to the dining room. Of course the brass key appears to be fitting into the keyhole of the door at the far end of the room, and behind it finally are the main stairs to the second floor.

A bit of exploration follows after that; we unlatch the door to the hall on the ground floor, and the door to the kitchen on the second floor. Sherlock finishes his map of the ground floor and starts another while we acquainting ourselves with the whole bunch of new rooms. Two locked rooms in the left corridor, a loo and a 'games' room with a billiard table and a game-playing machine. Actually, make that three locked rooms; there is another locked door in the 'games' room.

As for the right corridor: the dressing room with our suitcases in it (finally!) and two bedrooms – a blue and a yellow one.

Oh, and we need to solve another puzzle after all, because the door to the yellow room is blocked with rays of laser. We have no clue for the keypad, but the pipe key fit with the head of the bolt holding the cover of the keypad closed. So we unscrew it, and find four colour wires inside. Sherlock immediately notices that wires are overlapped and forming the numbers 2, 4, 9 and 3, with 2 on top and 3 on the bottom. Sherlock presses the correct sequence, and the laser switches off.

That's all I have to say about our second day in the Safe House, except maybe that Sherlock entertained himself with childish sulk in the main sitting room for the rest of the day, and I enjoyed a hot bath and an interesting book I saved for myself yesterday.

Two days down, five to go. Let's hope that we both remain sane, safe and sound by the end of the week.