I think I've been praying
The lights won't go out
My blood is getting colder
As I follow this road down
-Ellie Goulding, The Ending
Chapter 11, Part 1- Sherlock
Eight hours, two minutes, twenty-six seconds
The alarm clock on the bedside table flashed 7:13 A.M. in neon green, and I cursed myself, realizing I had just wasted six hours by sleeping, of all things. I had slept away half of my remaining time to save myself.
To save John.
I sat up and attempted to gather my thoughts through the distortion of being barely wake. Irene had left hours ago. Her absence was all too noticeable even in the darkened room. I glanced down at my wrinkled clothes. I hadn't bothered to change the night before. What I wore to bed hadn't seemed to matter much at all.
Suddenly my mobile rang, making me jump. I stood and walked over to where I had left it on the desk where Irene had sat. I had gotten a text- from a blocked number, of course, Moriarty could never be too careful- and if the circumstances hadn't been so dire, I might have laughed when I read it:
There's a present under your pillow. Sorry that I couldn't stay for tea- XOXO M
I reached under the pillow- stiff, nearly flat, even by hotel standards, a good ten years old at least, coffee stain covering one of the sides- and, sure enough, my hand bumped into a small white earpiece. I put it on, and was rewarded by a crackle of static as it was turned on. But I was completely unprepared for the voice on the other end.
"Hello, Sherlock," John said quietly, choking on his own words. I started seeing red. Moriarty was using him as his puppet again. "Would you mind going to a certain address for me. I think I may have left something there. You might recognize the place- 221B Baker Street."
I should have guessed Moriarty would send me back there at some point. I forced myself to move out of the room, down the stairs, out the main door. A cab was already waiting for me.
I stared out the window, hardly noticing the people we sped past. It didn't seem possible that I had been abducted for the first time only the evening before last.
The drive to my flat from the hotel was an hour long, and John didn't speak the entire time. I wished he would say something, anything, just so I would know that he was still alive. I knew that was sentiment talking, but I couldn't quite bring myself to push the thought away.
The minute we pulled up to Baker Street I could tell Mrs. Hudson was out, though clearly someone had been here recently. I unlocked the door and climbed the staircase to our rooms, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.
I hadn't gotten a good look at the flat earlier when the medics came, but I had an odd nagging feeling that was different than it had been before. Papers and glass were scattered everywhere, my chair tipped over and John's full of bullet holes.
"Look at what you've done, Sherlock." There was too much self-disgust in my friend's undertone for me to feel relief that he was talking again. "Because it's your fault. All of it."
I scanned the room, searching for the camera Moriarty was no doubt using to watch my reaction. A low moan that seemed to come from every direction made me freeze. "Please…" Shivers went through me. I knew that voice. My search grew more frantic as I threw furniture and rubble aside, not bothering to hide my desperation.
After what felt like an eternity, I found her. She was lying on her back, paler than I had ever seen her, scarcely breathing, her coughing the only thing that really assured me she was alive.
"Mum," I whispered. I kneeled down next to her, lifting her limp body into my lap. Blood flowed from a large gash in her side. "No…"
Aileen opened her eyes, and my blood turned to ice as I saw just how much of an effort that little act was. "S…Sher-"
"Shh." I swallowed. Fighting back tears wasn't something I had had to do in very, very long time.
John finally spoke again, his breath hitching as well. "Your chip led me to her address. You can't expect me not to take advantage of that."
I didn't think anymore. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed the hospital. "Send an ambulance to 221B Baker Street. Do it quickly…please." I struggled to keep the panic out of my voice. I hung up before the receptionist could ask for my name. I knew Moriarty wouldn't tolerate me being here when the ambulance showed up, so I picked my mother up and laid her carefully on the somehow still whole couch. "I- I missed you, Mum." She squeezed my hand before sinking into unconsciousness. I heard sirens coming up the street, and I knew my time was up. I opened the window soundlessly and slid out, bracing myself for the impact as I hit the ground running.
And somewhere in the background, so quietly it was almost impossible to hear, Moriarty was laughing.