Chapter 11 - Progress

Sherlock and John sprinted up the stairs, Mycroft and Greg following only slightly behind, cursing Sherlock as they ran in an attempt to secure the black folder. And the envelope.

Sherlock had snatched both when the older Holmes was distracted- 'gathering information', with Greg in one of the hotel's cafes.

He had conveniently also stolen the keys to both their rooms, so it was a race to see who could get upstairs first.

"Sherlock Holmes, get back here now! This is simply childish, Sherlock. You're wasting valuable time!" Mycroft tried reasoning, but Sherlock just laughed, noticing his brother was getting out of breath, and sped up, dragging John behind him.

They reached the door whilst the other pair was still at the top of the stairs, and Sherlock opened the door, pushed John inside, and locked it behind him.

Then he promptly collapsed onto the floor, and started hurriedly sorting through the file.

"We have five minutes before he has another key into this room. Come here and help." John did as ordered, reading over Sherlock's shoulder.

Not that there was all that much point, because Sherlock had the file closed and a map out in front of them before John had had the slightest chance to process the information.

And he was drawing on it in a bright pink permanent marker, circling places that met a criteria of which John had no idea.

"Um, Sherlock?" The brunette turned to face him, confused expression in place, them remembered that John hadn't a clue of what they were searching for.

"Obvious, John. Ever met the theatrical types?" John refrained from replying that Sherlock himself was very much the theatrical type, and turned his head slightly, motioning for Sherlock to continue.

"This is, assuming of course, that we are correct, the end of his plans. Therefore, everything before will intersect at the point of his last scene. Which means we have all the clues in the original picture, notes, and other crimes."

Sherlock started writing a massive grid on the wall of the hotel room, and John shrieked at him for the blatant vandalism.

"Sherlock! This is a hotel! You're not actually allowed to do that? Besides, what if someone sees it?"

"It's Mycroft's hotel, I don't care if we're allowed to do this." John gave an indignant snort at 'we're', but Sherlock continued as if we had heard nothing.

"It doesn't matter if anyone sees this. No-one except Mycroft and Lestrade will be allowed in whilst we're still in here, and it doesn't matter once we're gone."

"Cleaners, hotel staff. Anyone of them could just walk right in here."

"Nope, I'm sure Arrabella wont let anyone help her. She's the only person allowed near us whilst we're here."

"I thought her name was Anthea."

"Yes, well, it's not. It's not Arrabella either, but at least they both start with the right letter."

"Then what is her name?"

"A."

"Just A?"

"Yes. Mycroft hired her to help him five years back, when he started some of his less 'civilian' style businesses. She was an orphan with no memories, about to be let out into the world; they only keep them until they're 18. He took her in under the condition that she work for him. Stuck with him ever since."

"She did look very loyal."

"Yes, well." Sherlock nodded back towards the wall.

We need a place where there is something that would fit traits in each of us, seeing as we are most likely the targets, somewhere English, and somewhere private or abandoned within a five miles radius. There has to be cars, and something to do with music. There is three locations for those places, but nothing that would be significant for you or me."

"Yes, there is." John tapped a spot on the map. The old army base, built underneath an abandoned music school.

"Why didn't I see that?"

"Because you think we're the targets."

"We are the targets."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that he wants to kill us."

"Then why would he want us there? And what's our incentive to turn up, if it's not directed at us, something to beat?"

"The incentive would be his hostages. Sherlock, he has our fathers."

"Why would you assume that? It could be anything. He might just want you to think that."

"Sherlock, you said that all the clues were in the evidence. On the first day we met, you said 'he's in Tibet'. I didn't have the slightest clue what you were on about. But in the photo, my fathers badge and the Ox ring were both in the picture. Hardly coincidental, and well researched if he only wanted to make a point."

"Well done, Mr Watson. It seems Sherlock is rubbing off on you." The teenagers hadn't noticed the door being opened, and Mycroft and Lestrade had been watching for awhile, Lestrade looking a little scandalised by the pink and black that ruined the cream walls.

"Great. Mycroft, we need to get to the other side of town."

"Yes, I can see that, Shirley. But we don't need to go until tomorrow."

"I thought head-starts were supposed to be good things."

"And they are. You saw the dates and times of all the others. We have until eleven PM tomorrow before we even need to be there, Sherlock. We will be there by eight. Tonight, we will all stay here."

Sherlock turned sulky, but nodded his assent.

"If you two order room service, A will bring it up." Mycroft plucked the key for his room from the floor, and left the room, Greg following behind him.

John, finally realising that he himself had said, promptly fainted, making Sherlock jump up to catch him.

His father was alive. For now.