Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to the BBC and Steven Moffat. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.
John had begun to think that he had a sixth sense. A premonition – if you will. Because it seemed that every time Detective Inspector Lestrade would begin walking towards him, a solemn expression on his taught face, John always knew exactly what he was about to say.
And this time was no exception.
The subject, of course, was no exception either; Sherlock.
They had been at that Baker's shop for almost five hours. Five hours that John knew, now, that had been taken out of his time to find Sherlock. Because Sherlock wasn't there. Sherlock had never even set foot in that Baker's shop.
And DI Lestrade was not an unintelligent man. He knew that John knew – John always knew. So instead of letting the words fall from his mouth as he had planned to let them do, he just exhaled deeply and shook his head at the slightly shorter man, and peeled off his gloves hesitantly.
John nodded just once in response, before peering around the Detective and into the crowd of Forensics and photographers swarming around this one little Baker's shop in the middle of Baker Street. He saw Anderson, slacking off as usual, and had the sudden urge to do Lestrade's job and shout at him to get on with what he was being paid to do. But a fat load of good it would do, he knew, because Sherlock wasn't there.
Sherlock is never there.
He let his head hang loose; so much so that his chin touched his chest. His eyes dropped to his feet and he squeezed them tightly shut – no tears were going to fall today. Not here. Not now.
Sensing the man's grief, Lestrade knew that he had no words of comfort for the Army Doctor, so instead, he just silently turned away and back to his team.
In the darkness, beyond all the commotion of chatter, flashing photographers and humming of police cars, John heard one voice amongst all others. "Alright, people, let's finish up, here." Lestrade.
Lestrade had given up. But John never would.
His sense of Army pride kicked in now, and his mind clicked into overload, as he stood up as straight as humanly possible, arms firmly at his sides, and he held his chin up high. Finally opening his eyes, they were immediately drawn to something a few metres away from him.
It wasn't Lestrade. It wasn't Donovan – or Anderson. It wasn't a human, in fact. It wasn't a police vehicle, either, or anything to do with... anything, for that matter. It was just a simple sewer-hatch in the road. A sewer-hatch he hadn't noticed before because a certain DI had just been standing directly on top of it.
John had the biggest urge to dive onto the ground and shield it from any harm, and to scream out into the crowd to fetch him a crowbar.
There was a reason for this strange behaviour. A reason John didn't even know about. But all he knew was – he was going to look under that sewer-hatch tonight. And he wasn't going to tell Lestrade.
It took John all day to get prepared. Not physically – no, physically he had everything he needed. One crowbar; check. One scarf to cover his airways, borrowed from Mrs Hudson; check. One torch; check. What else did he need? Other than – possibly – a pair of wellingtons? No. He had to get prepared emotionally. He had no idea why he was so drawn to this own sewer-hatch in the ground, and it excited him just as much as it confused him. He promised himself, however, not to persuade himself that Sherlock was down there. He didn't know what was down there.
He knew for definite it was something to do with Sherlock, but possibly not Sherlock himself. Maybe it was his coat – or a shoe? He wanted anything right now, anything at all.
Well... Anything but a dead body.
But so far – that was all he knew. And the answers to all his questions was in the shape of a metal bar, grasped firmly in his left hand as he walked down the cold, wintery street of London. Baker Street.
His heart was hammering in his chest again, even more so than it had been when he went to meet Moriarty.
Huh. Moriarty – the answer to everyone's problems. Sherlock's 'fan'. He was even the answer to John's problems; and he knew Sherlock would never admit it if they ever found him, but Sherlock's hero, in a sense of the word.
John almost didn't want to admit it either – but at that moment, he was thankful for Moriarty. He was thankful that he had given him the picture of a random Baker's shop. He was thankful of his rivalry with Sherlock; otherwise, would John have known where to go right now? Definitely not. But all in all – he was thankful that he was a criminal mastermind.
No sooner than he had stepped out of 221B, John's phone vibrated in his pocket. Faltering slightly to fish it from his jeans, the Doctor quickly opened it up and read the text message. The name staring at him from the screen cried, 'Moriarty'.
Well done, Johnny boy. Took you long enough.
–M.
John could have laughed. Really, he could have. The irony of it all was so superb he was surprised Moriarty hadn't won a criminal Nobel Prize.
Well... come to think of it, maybe he had?
Despite that, John kept moving, his pace quick and confident, faster and faster down the five-minute walk to that Baker's shop he'd visited earlier in the day. Crowbar braced in his hand, he wasn't afraid who saw. He knew no one would see him – it was dark, well past midnight, and for some reason most of the street lights had began to dimmer. There was barely an orange glow around him as he stopped inches away from the sewer-hatch.
Inhaling deeply, he fished into his coat and brought up the scarf he'd borrowed from Mrs Hudson and secured it tightly around his nose and mouth. Even the sewer-workers didn't like the smell of sewer.
As he did this, he could smell the smells of war. The smells of blood, grime, sweat and dirt, all mixed into one stale, horrific smell. The smell of death.
He could smell death.
John pushed this thought into the back of his mind as he knelt down, positioned the crowbar on top of one of the bolts holding the cover to the ground, and forced all his weight down onto it, twisting harshly until he heard a slight click that indicated that the bolt was loosening.
He could have cried with joy. It had all been a shot in the dark, this crowbar stuff – and it had worked. The bolts slowly began loosening one by one, until they were loose enough for him to slip the crowbar into a gap between the road and the cover and lift–
The hatch broke away without effort.
But it took all of John's effort not to gasp at what he saw.
Because instead of seeing a shallow hole with filth and pipes streaming through it – he saw a ladder. And the ladder just faded into darkness. He thanked his common sense for bringing a torch and fished into his coat pocket to bring it out. Clicking it on, he shone the light down the hole.
He saw the dust reflect in the light like tendrils of mist that left his mouth whenever he exhaled. But all he saw at the bottom of the ladder was a stone, tiled ground. And it was relatively old, aswell. So this must have been here for quite some time.
In that moment, John found it strange that he kept wondering why the council hadn't found this hole and covered it up years ago?
Just to reassure himself before he let his mouth break into a triumphant smile, he reached into the same pocket in which his phone was in, and brought out the photograph Moriarty had given him.
Yep. There it was – the sewer-hatch, only just in the frame of the picture.
Clever, clever Moriarty; not wanting the police to find out. John was almost impressed.
Hastily putting the picture back, John slid his legs down the hole until his feet found a rail on the ladder. Slowly bringing the rest of his body in, he put the torch between his teeth and carefully led himself down into the darkness below...
Little did he know that in his hastiness to stuff away his photograph, his phone had fell from his pocket and was sitting peacefully on the silent road.
The screen lit up and it began vibrating angrily.
Sherlock, the caller ID said.
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up here, but I have been swamped with school stuff. I hope you still are able to keep up with the storyline. I hope you enjoyed this evil cliffhanger..^^
Review?
Kelly xxx