A/N: Part 14. -csf
The older Holmes had to haste to keep up with the fiercely motivated soldier.
John smirked. Clutter and creativity coupled with a fast paced mind aside, Sherrinford was nothing like his brother. Sherlock was focused and, most of all, Sherlock was instinctively brave and loyal. Sherrinford just didn't seem to have it in him, his brother's love of danger and thrill, and accompanying stamina to pull through. "Could be dangerous", Sherlock once texted John, nonchalant. It'd have petrified Sherrinford if John was to trust the trembling, hardly afloat man at his side right then. But John couldn't blame the Holmes in closest geographical proximity. He really couldn't. Sherrinford was a genius in his own way, brilliant and rare, and it really hadn't been either his choice or his fault the situation they were currently in. Upon being thrust into the unknown, Sherrinford was doing his best. John had confidence in him to help his brother be freed from captivity, full trust even. In whatever Sherrinford differed from his brother, John was ready to support patiently. Or, at least, as patiently as their time running out would allow.
They roamed the empty rooms and passages of the house, carefully hiding in the shadows, looking for any sign of the two men or Sherlock. Under the cover of darkness and near silence, John felt tempted to blame himself for not having arranged for a safe communication method with his best friend prior to their separation. Maybe he had relied on phone calls or texts, but there was no network service. And if in their lost wanderings John and Sherrinford hanged around long enough to get caught again, then all of the detective's efforts would crumble to pieces as well.
No, they wouldn't get caught. They'd find Sherlock and safeguard the object those men had came for, they'd catch the enemy and call DI Lestrade on it. Piece of cake!
'Sherrinford, is there a place from within the house that enables us to scour the grounds around the mansion?' Facing him, the house inhabitant hesitated. John particularised: 'Attic window, bedroom balcony, roof ending?'
The taller man looked blankly at the shorter one, before suggesting: 'How about Mycroft's cctv room?'
John blinked a few times in search of inner fortitude. 'There's a cctv room in the house', he repeated, flatly.
'Not per se. Mycroft adapted the pantry, I believe. Our brother is... slightly paranoid about security.'
John let his chin sag against his chest and sighed. 'So, there are cctv cameras indoors. How about alarms? Emergency communication systems?'
'Of course. This is a Holmes family property, after all. But the power cut has limited us. Undoubtedly it was meant to isolate us from the world. There's a backup generator, but it's old and it won't give out more than a couple of minutes' worth of power.'
The soldier nodded. 'So we check the cameras to see where the enemy is and we contact Mycroft for backup', he decided, methodic. 'Lead the way to the kitchen, if you please.'
Sherrinford hesitated. 'You want to do that now?'
'Yes, of course I do. And I also want to grab a bite, I'm starving already', John declared stubbornly as he pushed the elder Holmes sibling with him.
In no time they were in the old kitchen, a low ceiling room with a sturdy cooker and a long prepping table running under the wooden beams of the ceiling. The space felt cold and unused, and yet somehow it still preserved the echoes of an old epoch when the house was filled with children's laughter as they ran around. At a corner there were markings on a thin wooden door, at different heights. Someone had kept track of the kids heights throughout the years. John found himself touching those lines, trying to imagine the unfamiliar household, picture it such as it had been for his best friend as a child.
'That's the door to the pantry', Sherrinford commented, misinterpreting John's interest and swinging it open. Behind it was a set of multiple monitors, a humble desk and an old style desk phone. John held his breath sharply as he reached out for the phone receiver. The chord had been cut.
It was as useless as his own mobile phone.
'How did they know about this phone?' John wondered, baffled. Sherrinford ignored it, as he was already having a seat by the half wall of monitors and taping away at mysterious buttons.
The first sounds of a chocking up generator came to life almost twice as fast as the first blinking images along the multiple screens. John inched forward eagerly, trying to recognise places and people in the grainy images.
'It won't last long', Sherrinford warned, tense.
'It'll do', John said, hanging on to his optimism. 'The house seems clear. Can you back up?'
The other man nodded, applying himself to the enigmatic commands. Lines of disruption appeared horizontally on all the screens as time was rewound. Sherrinford stopped the process as the two men they recognised from the library were entering an empty dark car that then drove out of the property.
'They left', John commented, almost too stunned for words.
'That's good, right? Maybe they gave up, or they have already got what they came here for.' Sherrinford sounded relieved, hopeful. John's answer was bitter, in comparison:
'What they wanted was you and a mysterious object... Oh, Sherlock...' John shut his eyes tight, lowering his head to the palm of his hand. He was awarded further privacy when all the lit screens in front of them went off at once and darkness befell on them again. The plastic casing of the phone receiver fell on the floor by John's feet with a dull clunk. John hardly remembered holding it in his other hand, nor did he pay it any mind, as he fought that deep shiver down his spine.
What if his friend was hurt? Or worse?