Thank you to MadThatter for today's word! It is quite Sherlocky indeed!
Also shout out to ME a guest (oh, and I meant for Christopher to change to a gun by the way, he realized a knife is not gonna beat John with a gun! :) ), Polish, Heroicalgal, and of course quotegilikay. Your continued support makes writing these so much fun. Thank you! Also thanks to all those favoriting and following!
I saw all the angst going on within the last multi-fic, so I thought we could use with some friendship fluff here. It's at the end, so don't be fooled!
*knocks on door*
Man: "Can I help you?"
Me: "Yes sir, I was wondering if you were interested in the fact I don't own Sherlock? If you buy that fact twice we'll give you a cheap toy that looks cool in a catolog..."
I'm done, enjoy!
The Sherlock Alphabet: K is for Kakorrhaphiophobia
(kakorrhaphiophobia: the fear of failure)
kakorrhaphiophobia = 18 letters =1,800 words
"I solved it, it was the maid, she poisoned Claire's daily tea with incredibly small amounts of arsenic throughout the day for months to make her real cause of death virtually undetectable-She was poisoned! Case solved!" John shouted desperately into his cell phone on speaker as he stood outside Claire Sanchez's luxurious mansion, along with Lestrade, Anderson and Sergeant Donavan. The other end of the line was momentarily silent, worrying the doctor. "Did you hear me, I SOLVED IT!"
"I will admit, that was quite impressive…" a feminine voice replied, "Even boss is impressed. Nice job."
"I did it. Keep your part of the deal…" John snarled angrily.
"Oh we will. Boss is a man of his word." The woman giggled teasingly, "Buuuut there is one more obstacle to overcome before your reward, Mr. Watson…"
John was becoming extremely frustrated and nervous. "Dammit, I've done everything you've asked-"
"Indeed you have-"
"I've solved three cases that are years old-"
"-Yes-"
"-I've given you every last copy of personal paperwork and record of myself there IS for your usage-"
"-you sure did-"
"AND I've given you an incredible sum of ransom money-all that I have and more-"
"-I liked that one…-"
"-and you are telling me after practically forty eight of nothing but your orders, I haven't done enough?!" John rubbed his face stressfully.
"Almost enough, Mr. Watson. Almost." The woman reassured.
"I…I don't even know who you are…or what exactly you want. What more do you need from me? What use is Sherlock to you?"
"I'm afraid that is classified, Mr. Watson."
"CLASSIFIED MY-"
"PERHAPS, Mr. Watson, you should go home and drink some calming tea, yes?" she hinted, "Boss will be waiting."
*Click*
"Damn…" John mumbled, his breath forming small swirling clouds in front of him.
Lestrade's eyebrows furrowed, "You really gave away your personal records? Even-"
"EVERYTHING…." John moaned. "I gave them everything…every last copy…they practically have my identity in their hands. Apparently not even fulfilling the ransom price was enough."
"What the Hell do they want?" Anderson blurted out.
"Obviously it has something to do with Freak, otherwise they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of taking him." Sergeant Donavan retorted.
"Well do we at least know who the Hell "they" are?!" Anderson shouted in frustration. "We've been at this for almost two FULL days, and they haven't given us anything to tell us where they took Mr. Brilliant! Hell, we don't even know if he's alive anymore, they could have-"
"NO!" John screamed, his voice echoing off the surrounding mansions. An awkward silence ensued, the three officers just staring at John. "They…they didn't kill him…they couldn't have…" he mumbled, more to himself rather than anyone around him.
"Then let's find him before that happens." Lestrade stated, walking over to the driver's side of his car.
"We know he was taken somewhere between Baker Street and St. Bart's Morgue. Should we visit the crime scene again?" Sergeant Donavan suggested as she and John slid into the back seat. "Maybe they left some sort of evidence to lead us to where-"
"Not evidence, a clue…" John corrected, trying to put pieces together. He hadn't slept for almost two days now, which didn't help in the slightest. This was because thirty six hours ago, Sherlock had been confirmed as a missing-(more appropriately, 'kidnapped') person. He had left that morning to go see Molly for experiment and testing purposes, but John knew something was not right when Sherlock hadn't returned that evening. He called Molly only to find out he hadn't made it to the morgue in the first place. That's when they called.
"Hello Mr. Watson…" a vaguely familiar woman's voice greeted.
"Who is-"
"We have who you're looking for. Boss is willing to make a deal for his release."
John was a bit suspicious. "How do I know-"
"John?!" Sherlock's out of breath voice caused John's heart to skip a beat.
"Sherlock?! Where are you?! What happened?!" he asked frantically. "Are you alright?!"
"I'm…I'm fine…just…"
"Sherlock, where are you?!"
"He's with us, Mr. Watson." The woman answered, "Now… about that deal…"
Two days later he was given a last task to get Sherlock back. He was prepared and willing to do practically anything.
John was deadly afraid of failing these people…if he did, Sherlock would be as good as dead…he couldn't fail…he couldn't…
What was that she had said about home…and…tea?
Home. Tea. "We need to go back to Baker Street…" John concluded.
Anderson massaged his forehead. "What good will that do us? It's-"
"The flat…something's there." John's eyes pleaded Lestrade in the rearview mirror. "Something important." Lestrade sighed and nodded.
"221B Baker Street it is…"
Xxxxx
"Have you found Sherlock yet, dearie?" Mrs. Hudson sniffed as the quirky group entered the incredibly cluttered yet somehow organized flat. She had been quite worried, by the looks of her red eyes and crumpled tissues in her hand.
"Not yet, Mrs. Hudson, but we're close." Lestrade calmly reassured her as Anderson snorted at the bullet holes and smiley face on the opposite wall. John immediately searched the kitchen, then speed-walked back to the living space, having a pretty good idea of what he was looking for. His eyes practically lit up when he finally spotted the steaming cup of tea on the table next to the chair.
Sergeant Donovan sighed tiredly. "So what 'clue' are we looking for here? Did they just conveniently leave a note-"
"Yes, they did." John said, lifting the tea to find a slip of paper with a bright red bow snuggled around it to give it the appearance of a gift. John pulled the ribbon off and unfolded the note.
"Well bullocks, why don't we just send them a thank-you card, shall we?" Anderson blurted out, raising his arms and waving his hands in the air dramatically.
"Looks like I'll get the chance…" John sighed, his eyes scanning the rest of the note. "But I'll have to take yours for you…"
Xxxxx
The chilled wind whipped at John's already numbing face as silent snowflakes began descending from the gray clouds above. John gnawed at his lower lip and took the message from his pocket for the third time to make sure he had the address right.
Mr. Watson,
As a final exchange, it is required we finally meet.
1660 Carrington Road, Building 37, floor two.
Bring only yourself. No weapons needed, Mr. Watson.
See you then.
Yes, he had the address correctly. He had it memorized the first time, but he felt he needed to be sure. He was slightly confused at the fact there was nothing specific to bring to this meeting. Obviously they wanted something for this 'exchange', but John had given them practically anything any criminal of any sort would really want. And in all honesty, he didn't care. As long as it brought Sherlock back to Baker Street safely, they could have it. John glanced at the note once more.
No weapons needed, Mr. Watson.
John sighed. He took notice of his surroundings and abruptly stopped in front of his destination. Snow continued to drift downward, giving the silent, gray building an eerie look. It seemed abandoned, just like the nearby buildings. John had never explored this part of town. In fact, he had no idea it even existed in the first place.
"You better be alright, Sherlock…" John muttered under his breath as he pushed the heavy metal doors open. The building was empty, only gray metal walls, ceilings and floors. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and began walking up the nearby staircase to the second floor. "Hello?" he called out cautiously, observing the equally empty floor before him. "I'm here..." he added quietly, "What do you need?"
"Whatever you're willing to give." A woman's voice replied from the other side of the floor, its owner hidden in the shadows.
"Where's Sherlock?" John asked with bravery he was afraid he had left behind.
"Why does it matter?" she asked with a testing tone.
"Wha-Why does it matter?!" John repeated hysterically, rubbing his forehead with anxiety. "Do you not get that I will give anything to get him back alive?! Whatever you want, it's yours, where is SHERLOCK?!" he yelled, taking multiple courageous steps forward towards the mystery woman.
"He's after the test…" the woman replied coolly. "The test you've been taking." John's heart practically stopped. He had no idea of this apparent test, for all he knew he could have failed miserably. Failure meant Sherlock wasn't coming back. It would be his fault. "He's been watching too."
John felt anger boiling inside him. If they had hurt that consulting detective…"I swear if you have so much as touched him…" he seethed through his teeth, clenching his fists and stepping closer to the mystery woman.
A tall silhouette with a cane stepped in from the shadows and stood next to the woman. "He doesn't appreciate it much when we have any sort of physical contact. Can't say I disagree…" a familiar voice chuckled as the pair emerged from the shadows.
"M-Mycroft?!" John asked in disbelief, turning his gaze to the woman. "Anthea?!"
"You know that's not my real name…" she responded, taking her BlackBerry out of her pocket and texting as she descended the stairs.
"The Hell…" John muttered, shocked and extremely confused.
"It was a 'test', if you will." Mycroft explained, strolling over to the frantic doctor. "Congratulations. You passed." He smiled.
"A-a test?! You-"
"It was standard procedure, my friend. You are much more loyal than I previously thought, I must admit. In fact I have never known a soul that would give up as much as you would for my brother."
"And exactly WHY did we need to prove this through a test?!" John asked, frustrated.
"Mummy would never believe me if I told her you were a clever, skilled, case-solving individual willing to give any amount of money and his own identity for her youngest son unless I had proof." Mycroft's smile widened.
"So this was all to prove a point to your mother?"
"I do believe I have strengthened your relationship as well as accomplished a few other things."
John was about to reply when a sudden yelp echoed from the other side of the room. "John!" the tall detective jogged over to the doctor with a grin plastered on his face. "You've come to save me from the clutches of the most dangerous and unattractive gaffer in London." He sighed, pleased as Mycroft only smirked at the insult. "You can only imagine the horror it is spending two days in a confined space with-oof!" Sherlock was a bit taken aback as John uncharacteristically hugged him tightly. "Um…John…" he began awkwardly as Mycroft grinned.
"Sherlock Holmes," John chuckled, "You've officially given me kakorrhaphiophobia…"
You didn't think I would leave Mycroft out of this, would ya? I am really wondering what Anthea's real name is...But that's classified. Ah well!
Hope John isn't too OOC in this, really, I tried, it's just that after two days of thinking of all the horrible things that could be happening to his best friend, John needs to give him a hug. And come on, you enjoyed that. X)
L words anyone? Perhaps something unique and short for a little bit of a variety?
Reviews = LOVEEE!
I enjoy reviews...hence I enjoy love...why not do both?
