Two of a Kind

Chapter 11

*Sherlock's and Em's POVs*

Sherlock rode in the cab to Maria's flat, his mind swarming with information. Why haven't I seen it before? It was sitting right in front of me, giving me clues the whole time!

He jumped out of the cab, leaving money on the seat. He ran up to the door and hit his fist against the wood. Emily answered the door with a look of utter annoyance.

Sherlock walked in, ignoring Em's protest, and asked where Maria was.

"She's not here. Now, what are you doing here?" Em made him turn to her and crossed her arms.

"She's not…here?" He looked down at her, but not very much. She was only about three inches shorter than him.

"No. Now, tell me why you just suddenly barged in here." He didn't answer, and instead ran to the living room and looked through the papers, searching for a hint as to where she had gone.

"You can't just do that!" She tore away the paper he was holding. I have no idea what Maria sees in this thick-skulled idiot.

"The computer," he lunged for the laptop, dodging Emily's arm. He scanned the screen over, realizing what he was looking at was really bad.

"Just—is that…?" Emily stood beside him, looking over his shoulder at the screen.

"I believe so. Your flatmate just hacked into the American FBI database," he kept his eyes on the screen, searching for a clue to her whereabouts.

"She didn't…she couldn't...how did she do that?"

"I haven't got a clue," He got excited. His case just thickened more than he had imagined.

"Well, she looked at the screen and wrote an address. Is it on there?" Em said weakly.

"No…she probably got out of what she was on. No idea how to get back," he put the computer back on the desk and sat in the chair.

"So what now?"

Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a text. "Now, we wait."

*Maria's POV*

Rest up London Hotel, 172 New Kent Road, London, England, she read the address on the back of the paper. Room 012. Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it.

"Here we are," the cabbie told her. She paid him and stepped out of the car, looking up at the hotel. A woman about her size walked around the front of the building, wearing a maid's uniform.

Maria caught up to her and asked, "Can I have your uniform?"

"Excuse me? No you cannot," the woman, Beatrice (according to the nametag), looked bewildered.

"I need it to arrest some baddies," she flashed her detective badge. "I'll give you my clothes to wear until I'm done."

After another minute of persuasion, Beatrice finally agreed.

Maria stepped out of the gas station across the street from the hotel, wearing a blue and white maid's outfit and a bit of extra make-up. Tugging at the hem of the skirt, she murmured, "Dear Lord. The sooner I get out of this, the better". She had hid her overcoat in the storage room, taking her phone. After a text to John reading: 'I'm going to the guys that came in your apartment. Rest up London Hotel, 172 New Kent Road, London. Room 012. Come quickly, and don't tell Sherlock. —MC', she stuffed the phone in her bra (the skirt had no pockets).

She tugged her light brown hair into a ponytail as she walked right through the front door of the hotel. No one even acknowledged her existence; it was like she was invisible.

She found her way to an abandoned cleaning cart on one of the halls. Quietly, she wheeled it around, looking for Room 012.

Here we go, she took the hotel key off the cart and slid it through the slot. The light lit green and a lock clicked inside the door.

She opened the door slightly and spoke, "Cleaning Service. Is anyone here?"

She heard a gruff voice inside, welcoming her in. Wheeling the cart in, she saw all three brothers, each lying on a different bed.

"Sorry it's a bit dirty…'Tris" he read the nametag on her chest.

"It's perfectly fine. I've seen worse," Where the hell is John? Maria began tiding up the room, waiting for a sign telling her that he came.

Jim and Michael began discussing American football, while Damien kept staring at her. Pig. Can't wait for you to get too close. The thought of socking him in the jaw got her through the next few minutes.

Her phone vibrated. She excused herself―more politely than she usually would have―and read the text. 'I'm on my way. Please don't get yourself into any trouble until I get there.'

She walked back in and finished vacuuming the carpet. He had better come quickly. I freaking hate this.

"So 'Tris…I haven't seen you around the hotel." Damien walked to her and stood rather close.

"I've been here all week, sir," Maria kept her head down, praying that he wouldn't recognize her.

"Well, what do you say to having a few drinks with me later?" Too close. Way too close.

"Sorry, no. I'm married," she lied. "I keep the ring off while I work so chemicals don't get on it."

"He won't know. C'mon, only one drink," Step off, jerk.

"I said no," she made the mistake of turning to face him.

His eyes got wide. At that moment, John decided to come in with his pistol down and ready; a tall man with sharp cheekbones and curly hair was behind him.

"You're not―" Maria brought her knee to right below his stomach, knocking him on the ground. Jim and Michael took notice at this and brought out their pistols, aiming them at her.

"Another move and I fire," Jim threatened.

"Really? Well, that's boring," she inched her fingers to the gun hidden in the cart. She ignored the pained moans coming from Damien on the floor.

Sherlock spoke up, "Besides, you wouldn't fire. You can't just murder someone. You're too sane to do it,"

Damnit, Sherlock. You couldn't just stay home, could you? Jim whirled around and saw Sherlock standing behind John, calculating every move that he was making.

"You…I've waited three years to get to you," Jim turned the barrel to him, "Three years. Couldn't get you in the apartment. The cops showed up. But here, the nearest station is miles away."

Fantastic. Apparently, I don't count. John glanced at Maria, and she mouthed, 'I told you not to bring him!' Her finger found the handle of the pistol.

'He followed me here. I couldn't stop him.'

"Look, you don't have to do this. You―"

"I broke out of prison for this! You hear me?! Finally, revenge on the man that killed my big brother," he slipped his finger to the trigger.

In an instant, Maria pulled out her gun and fired at Jim's hand. Another shot rang out, and she saw grabbed her right leg in pain.

Red covered her vision, and all she could process was the bullet in her thigh. Somehow, she managed to stay upright, but got very dizzy.

"Maria, are you alright?" a man, she wasn't sure who, gently helped her down to the floor.

"I don't think Beatrice wants her clothes back…" she looked at the blood on the skirt.

"No, focus up here. John is calling the police, and I'm going to help fix your leg as much as I can," the man grabbed the sheet off the bed and tore a strip off of it.

"What about the three brothers?" Wow, I'm dizzy. Maybe I should lie down, she felt the floor and realized that she already was.

"Don't worry. We'll take care of everything. You just focus on not passing out," she felt something on her leg, and looked to see what it was, but the man stopped her. "Just focus on my face, nothing else." He kept his eyes on her wound.

Redness started to fade, and her vision got clearer. She made out pale skin, cheekbones, and dark curls.

"Sherlock, go help John with the three Stooges. I'll stay here and try not to make a big mess," Maria grabbed his hands and thrust them away, "Go. I'll be okay."

He hesitated, then left. She breathed through her teeth and sat up, looking at her leg. Blood surrounded it, and made her get a bit paler. "Just an experiment. It's just an experiment," she thought back to Sherlock's fridge, and the one she used to have that matched. She grabbed the strip that Sherlock had been tying around her leg, and finished the knot. "Get up, lazy," she muttered. Pushing herself off the floor, she saw Damien passed out on the ground, Michael cuffed to the bed frame, and Jim unconscious on the floor, a red liquid crawling out of his nose and hand.

"Dang…when did this happen?" She leaned against a table, careful not to put any pressure on her right leg.

"You need to lie down," John walked in and attempted to help her to the only empty bed.

"I'm fine. I just need to walk it off a bit," she didn't let him help her.

"You got shot." He said flatly.

"No shit. Now, where's Sherlock? We need to―"

"He's waiting on the ambulance. Let me at least take you outside," He slipped his left arm under her right, and helped her walk―well, hop―outside.

Multiple sirens wailed in the distance.

"Sherlock, the rest of the handcuffs are behind the TV," Maria tried to appear strong, but felt woozy and weak.

"John, she's not supposed to be standing. The blo―"

"I know. She insisted on 'walking it off'. Just cuff the other two and I'll wait for the ambulance," John sat her on a wooden bench outside and stood by her.

Sherlock looked at her with surprise, curiosity, and worry in his eyes all at the same time. He walked back in the hotel without a word.

By then, there was a crowd of people outside. Maria ignored the stares and focused on the siren, now extremely close. Within a minute, a red and white vehicle pulled up and two men jumped out of the back with a stretcher.

"I can walk myself into―" Maria was interrupted by John shouting at the men to come to them. "―the ambulance."

"Stop trying to act like it's not painful. I know what it feels like, and it hurts." John helped her onto the stretcher. The two men immediately tried to put an oxygen mask on her, which she promptly took off ("I'll just breathe natural air, thanks").

Before they pushed her inside, she got a glimpse of Sherlock running out of the hotel and through the crowd.

Then, a needle went in her arm and everything went black.