"What did I say about hurting him?" asked John.
"I couldn't help myself. They were begging to be said."
"Beaten by a few thoughts. Huh. I thought you'd be stopped by bullet, not by a pigheaded comment."
John left to see Mary, leaving Irene alone. She sighed and called Sherlock, planning on apologizing.
He didn't pick up.
She took John's phone from the table where he left it.
He didn't pick up.
She ran out the door, but he was nowhere in sight. She called again, and texted.
No answer.
"John! John come quick!"
"Ir- Edith, what's the matter?"
"It's Sherlock. He's missing."
"I have been unconscious," drawled Sherlock, coming to, "far too many times."
"With the bombshell you're keeping, I imagine so."
Tied up. Meager lighting of what appears to be an abandoned factory. Voice behind me. Intent is to hide face. Table with mostly empty knife block. Ah.
"You're my killer."
"Correct."
"Sherlock!"
The man chuckled. "The ever loyal Watson is coming to your rescue, Holmes the Younger. What do you think of that?"
"You are a dreadfully unlucky man when he catches you."
"That may be true." There was a pause, then, "Well? Aren't you going to ask?"
"Ask what?"
A barking laugh preluded his talk. "Why I killed those five people. You're Sherlock Holmes. I know you want to understand me. I imagine you know how I killed them?"
"Yes I know how."
"No, no, that's not how we play this game. Now you have to ask why."
"Why?"
"Well," he placed a cold hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Because they deserved it. Did you figure the colours out yet?"
Blue for the man frequenting the strip clubs. Yellow in the stock trader. Green across the blogger. Orange for the chef. The other knife just in the unemployed's apartment. Blue in the lustful. Yellow for the greedy. Green for the envious. Orange for gluttony. Lighter blue for the lazy.
Comprehension dawned on Sherlock's face. "I see. Each color responds to one of the Seven Deadly Sins."
"Bravo!"
"It was rather clever staging the bartender as the killer at first."
"Mere luck that he tried to blow up his own club the night my mark was there. I take my opportunities."
"Sherlock!"
John was getting nearer. And another pair of footsteps was with him. Lestrade?
"You won't escape. You're done at five."
"Six," replied the man as he pulled the red knife from the block. "I myself have given in to anger, to wrath." He set the knife down and pulled out the purple one. "Or perhaps I am more a deserving of this knife? Believing myself worthy to judge others. Thinking my intellect the greatest, unbeatable, infallible. Ignoring the counsel of my friends."
The man drew closer to his bound captive as John and another stumbled around the corner.
"The 7th sin is pride!" he hissed into Sherlock's ear and stabbed at him.
