Getting to the end of the great game arc. The end of Catlock. Let not your hearts be troubled though, Watsoncat still works on tumbler, and you can still find him on deviantart. If not, get in touch with Thecaptainsideways . She'll know what to do!


I sat still thinking rapidly. Then I searched the closet for a low lying air vent. There wasn't one. I sat and withdrew into my mind palace for a bit searching for a way out. To say the least I was frustrated, to say more I was almost ready to try and rip through the door with my bare paws.

Long story short, Adlercat finally unlocked the door with her nails, but not until four-thirty according to the glowing green numbers on Lestrade's digital clock. Baker Street wasn't far away, but we were running out of time.

I opened the window and then we were off. By about five we had reached the flat and were met with a grizzly sight.

Sprawled across the front steps to our flat was the female kitty that Watsoncat had left with that morning. Her tongue was lolled out and even from across the street I could tell she was dead.

I swore under my breath, realizing that she was a sign from our mysterious villain. She was our next note.

Crossing the street I christened the body and prepared myself mentally to analyze the crime scene.

"Lily, age unknown, house cat." I rattled off taking a mental note of each fact.

"Lily? House cat? Sherlock, who is she?" Adlercat said.

"She was Watsoncat's date this morning. Now it seems as though she is victim number four."

"So that means...Moriarty has your side-kick?" she gasped.

"It appears so. Watsoncat must be victim number five, unless we can hurry."

"Let me help." Adlercat said eagerly. "She's not a house cat, I know her."

I was startled. "How?"

"She's a stray, same business as me." she said approaching the body. With one paw the lifted the slack lips from the yellowing teeth.

"Swollen gums, rotten teeth; signs of malnutrition and a steady diet of garbage. Common among strays. Her name was Bordeaux, and she'd do anything for a meal."

I mulled over the information, committing it to memory. "So she was working for Moriarty. The entire day has been a plot to lure me away while our antagonist was free to do as he pleases with Watsoncat, but why?"

I analyzed the scene on our doorstop as faithfully as I would analyze any crime scene. Behind the stairwell towards the east was a pool of vomit, probably from our victim in her death throes. Partially immersed in this puddle of what appeared to be at one time tuna a simple photo lay face-down. The side facing up had writing in orange crayon, removing any doubt that the incidents were unrelated.

"1127" I read. "One thousand one hundred and twenty-seven."

I flipped the picture over and scanned it diligently. It was a photo of Watsoncat, curled up asleep on a foreign blue bed sheet, tail wound peacefully around his legs; content as though he were still safe inside the flat at Baker Street. As if I needed any more convincing that he was in danger, Moriarty had sent me a picture of him in his grips.

Other than the bed sheet the picture didn't reveal anything more. Save only that a cat had definitely taken the photo. The camera had been balanced on the bed, since a cat could not have picked it up and taken the picture at the same time.

There was no other request and no other hint. Whoever we were playing opposite wanted me to really work out the clues left only on the dead cat. It was the true test of the evening.

I would not disappoint. The cat's breath smelled of poison, or to be precise of metal that indicated poison. The cat herself smelled of sweet and poignant flowers, the kind usually associated with the tropics. So somewhere near tropical flowers, a park? No.

On the cat's front paws there were little chips of gray stone. These turned out to be concrete that she had stepped in that had dried while she walked. The only reason that she would not have noticed something as obvious and uncomfortable as sharp nuggets of concrete pressing into her feet would be because she was already suffering the effects of the poison. So there was construction nearby.

The cat's back paws were muddy with fresh red clay; the kind of silt clay that can be found directly south of Baker Street.

I summoned a map in my mind of London and plotted probable locations. After eliminating the impossible options I was left with one, somewhat more likely option. A hotel de Gateau or something that was located not too far away, within casual walking distance. I thought that 1127 must be the room number.

I started at a brisk walk towards the hotel and broke into a light jog as a worm of panic swept over me. I checked off clues in my head as I passed them. First I came upon the wet concrete from a sidewalk under construction. The concrete even had paw prints drying onto the surface; I was definitely on the right track. Next I passed an abandoned lot in between buildings that had been drenched by a broken fire hydrant. The whole street was coated in red mud. Finally I found myself outside the hotel, which was opposite a florist shop that displayed beautiful hibiscus flowers in its windows.

"Is this the place?" Adlercat asked. I had truthfully forgotten that she was even still with me.

"Yes." I said.

"Are you prepared to face him?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter; whether or not I'm ready the time has come to meet this psychopath face-to-face."

"What if this is a trap?" She asked.

"It's clearly a trap. What else could it be?" I said. "You can leave if you want."

"You know me better than that Sherlock, the only reason I've been following you is revenge. I'm not leaving until I get back at that back-stabbing Moriarty." She said fiercely.

I laughed. "Somehow that suites you."

We entered the building through the front entrance (the back would have been better but it was locked) and darted beneath human legs until we reached a stairwell. At every floor there was a sign that told us what rooms would be on each floor. Thankfully ours was on the first floor.

We walked down until we found room 1127, then we stopped. I listened for movement from within, but heard nothing.

"It's possible that they do not know you're following me. You could run and perhaps they wouldn't find you." I said turning to Adlercat.

"Funny." She said seriously "I'd considered the same thing. But then I'd be denied my revenge, and where's the fun in that?"

"You could run now and be free forever, or you could follow me a bit further and run the risk of being killed again."

"I run that risk every day."

"I don't want your death to be on my head."

"Then I'll free you from guilt right now. Just wash your hands of me and you will have no blame in whatever happens."

"Women…" I rolled my eyes wondering why I had bothered to voice concern in the first place.

Adlercat opened the door to the small room, which turned out to be empty. It was a normal human environment with a small area for cooking and a white couch for sitting. Except that every white surface seemed to be mottled with black cat fur. It was everywhere; tumbling around our feet in little clusters, floating down off of the tables in chunks. Even Watsoncat didn't shed that much.

I began searching for signs of Watsoncat while Adlercat did… something else. I wasn't really paying any attention.

I caught some of his scent in a corner and followed it through the hotel room until it disappeared beneath the door to another room, and then I was forced to ask Adlercat for help.

"Happy to oblige." She said teasingly.

She opened the door and I only needed a brief glimpse to tell that it was definitely the same room that Watsoncat had been in. His orange fur was all over the blue bed sheet and it was the same bed sheet from the photo.

I walked in, trying to gather all the clues I could, but there was really nothing much else to say besides I knew that he was here.

There was some kind of packaging on the floor, but it was completely ripped to shreds. Chunks of cardboard and strips of clear plastic were scattered all over the room. Nothing on the packaging was legible and much of it had been chewed up.

"Bad news!" Adlercat cried from the kitchen. "Poison! And someone has eaten it!" I ran out to find her in the kitchen sink, covering her nose as though she had smelled something awful.

"That must be what killed that stray." I said. "I'm fairly certain that Watsoncat is still alive."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked.

"If he were dead, he'd still be here. No cat takes the time and effort to move a dead cat."

"What if they poisoned him and made him leave, like they did with Bordeaux?" she asked.

"Then what was the point in kidnapping him in the first place?" I cried.

A scream from the balcony of the hotel drew my attention to the sliding glass door. I had somehow overlooked a note written in orange crayon that had been taped to the glass. It stated simply: "Leap of faith." And nothing else.

Even I can open a sliding glass door, all one needs to do is lean their weight against it and push and it magically glides the rest of the way. In a flash I was on the balcony and I found the source of the scream. It was a burlap sack hanging above the railing, just like the previous victims, only this cat was awake and apparently in mortal terror.

"H-help! Mother!" It cried with a child's voice and I realized that it must have been only a kitten.

The construct that the sack was hanging off of was ingenious and unique. It was shaped like a sideways U with two bars connected through a series of gears and levers. The sack was tied to one of the bars and dangled dangerously off to the side while the other bar was just within jumping reach.

I tried to deduce what the gears would do if I jumped out onto that bar, but it is really hard to think when an annoying kitten is wailing pitifully. I just remembered the clue: 'Leap of faith' and I bound up to the railing and off the side of the building, reaching for the bar.

I grabbed onto the wooden handle and to my surprise the force of my weight and inertia made the gears move and the kitten swung to safety. I almost slipped but I held on long enough for the bar I held in my clutches to make a complete rotation and jolt to a stop beside the sack.