Few. Sorry for the weight guys! But happy happy new year! 2015! WOW! (reminds me of Back to the Future) ;)
Hope you enjoy and please please leave a review!
John stared wide-eyed at the note.
Really? This was all he could share?
The Great bloody Sherlock Holmes, and this is all that's written?
Shakespeare. –SH
John figured it meant Walter E. King was still sticking the Shakespeare theme, but what clue had they been given at the last crime scene?
There was nothing, nothing indicating a resemblance to what he was planning next.
John felt utterly helpless and incredibly stupid. Was this how Sherlock saw him? Clueless, and oblivious, to the most prominent details?
No, John was sure of himself. He had seen nothing, acquired no such knowledge, to reassure the fact that WEK was planning to hold a constant MO to the English playwright. So…Sherlock Holmes was wrong? No. He couldn't be.
Though, he'd been wrong before. Charles Augustus Magnusson; he'd burned him into the ground, caused Sherlock to question himself.
And in the end, Sherlock shot him in the head. He deserved it, but that also told John something quite unsettling.
If Sherlock is wrong, he is not in a good mood right now.
Lestrade approached John slowly, reaching forward to carefully take the small slip of paper from John's hands.
"Sherlock must have dropped it then, ay? For us to find?"
John nodded to the DI, and then contradicted himself by shaking his head. "I wish he wasn't so bloody dramatic."
Lestrade chuckled and sighed, "I know, john." He placed a firm grip on the doctor's shoulder and smiled comfortingly. "But we'll find him."
John visibly swallowed and trudged alongside the Inspector, slugging his shoes through the green grass of Bryanstone Square.
"We have nothing else to go on, Lestrade. No evidence, no clues. Just the name Walter E. King, a man who uses-"
John stopped talking and blinking, processing all he knew about this criminal fraud, WEK.
His head flew upwards and a small smirk began to escalate across his features.
"John?" Lestrade called out, gazing at the doctor, and halting in his steps towards forensics, where Anderson stood diligently working on footprint samples.
"Greg, that bloke. That bloke that got arrested for a crime Walter was known for committing. What was his name again?" John questioned, eyebrows arched intrigue as he waiting for the DI's response.
Lestrade squinted as he thought back and then immediately held up a finger. "Jeremy Spring."
John nodded vigorously and flew forward, "I need everything you got on him."
Lestrade shrugged an okay, confused by John's anxious ramblings.
"He's our next stop." The blogger grinned widely and helped himself to Greg's car, climbing into the passenger seat.
The DI raised his chin in acknowledgement and jumped behind the wheel.
Sherlock sat uncomfortably; legs sprawled out in front of him, hands tied behind his back, as he waited for Walter's next misguided detail, something to tell him what it was he had planned. At one point, the man had left, for a few hours, leaving Mathews in charge of Sherlock's well-being, if you could call it that. Needless to say, the ridiculous "busboy" tossed him around a bit.
Few punches to the ribcage, across the head, eye.
When Walter King returned he didn't seem phased whatsoever by Sherlock's swollen, blood-covered face.
He still wore his coat, but it was dirtied now, and creased in the back, much to his displeasure. His scarf was god knows where, he'd lost it along the way, and his black suit and white shirt appeared rather disheveled.
He watched as his captor returned to where he sat, a mere few inches from the laptops Sherlock desperately wished to get his hands on, and called out to one of his "busboys", in this case the largely built, dark-skinned man, poised in a ready position, his machine gun at his side in a formal manner of sorts.
"Jay, go get the others, won't you? It's time we start discussing tomorrow's schedule."
His employee bobbed his head in confirmation and stormed off into the shadows of the deep, dark warehouse.
Mr. Mathews was at Walter's side, occasionally glaring irritably at Sherlock Holmes, the captive he so desired to sucker punch again.
So he has more men. Obviously, you idiot.
"I have questions." Sherlock's voice stirred both his captors, as they were preoccupied with other things, mostly sorting through plans, and typing on their laptops. Walter raised his head, with arched brows of suspicion.
Sherlock swallowed, adjusting his sitting position, his wrists sore from the metal chaffing. "Old questions. Questions that have long been unanswered."
Walter arched a brow and smirked widely, leaning back in his chair, and dragging his face away from his laptop screen.
"Alright, Mr. Holmes. Ask me these," He paused with a scoff, "questions."
His tone as he said the last word was enough to greatly silence any noise in the room, whether there was someone there or not.
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, "For one: Oliver and I, were we right?"
Walter narrowed his eyes, and Sherlock took a deep exasperated breath, "About the woman and two children. Did you know them?"
Walter's expression turned dark, darker than usual that is, and he grinned wickedly, "Oh yes."
He sat up straight and began to layout an explanation, "You see, I had quite the normal, ordinary as you would call it, life."
Sherlock didn't flinch, just listened intently.
"Until I found out my wife had been joyfully playing around behind my back." Walter scoffed and shook his head, "Found out my two children weren't my two children. Some bastard out there was their father, not me."
Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded, gesturing silently for the man to continue.
Walter smirked slyly, and went on, "I just got so mad, so angry and furious, so…" He laughed and shook his head with a shrug, "I killed her."
Sherlock groaned and nodded, "Obviously."
His captor scowled humorously, and let out a deep breath. "It was an accident at first, all of them were."
Sherlock glowered into a silent smirk of amusement, "Accident."
Walter King glared his way and cleared his throat, "Yeah," He bit back, "and then I noticed that I enjoyed it, so what do you know?"
He chuckled devilishly and shrugged his shoulders once more, "I decided to pursue it as an occupation."
Sherlock frowned and quickly rolled his eyes.
After a rather eerie moment of utter silence, even from Mathews, Sherlock grunted inwardly and approached a more important subject.
"But you let me live. Was I not good enough?" His words were words of mockery as he faked a pout, as if honestly disappointed.
Walter chuckled deeply and shook his head, "It is a card game, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock arched a brow.
"You were just the wild card. You were either a benefit or a mistake." Walter added with a smirk, and Sherlock eagerly stepped in, smiling a crooked smile.
"But now I'm forced into helping you. I'd say benefit on your part. Perhaps, you drew from a lucky deck."
Walter grinned and nodded intently, "I doubt it has anything to do with luck Sherlock, as I have to admit I originally thought you were one of my greatest mistakes."
Sherlock tilted his head to the side in interest. "How so, Mr. King?"
Walter E. King laughed softly and glared up at the consulting detective, sitting patiently in the seat before him, "Well, the one person I decided to allow to live, became a bloody detective. The enemy in my field of work." He shrugged with amusement and went on, "And you weren't very cooperative in that diner, now were you? I was beginning to sincerely question myself." He chuckled wickedly and continued, "So I figured better to be rid of you if you were no longer my benefit. Save myself the worry. Hence, pulling the trigger of the gun."
Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again, just as he had earlier, and scowled at his captor.
"How is that by the way?" Walter added with a smug expression.
Sherlock nodded, "Mm, fine. Bit sore." He shrugged, glaring genuinely at the utterly aggravating man.
"Right then. I'd apologize, but really I was aiming to kill you so…" He exhaled with an awfully kind tone of voice.
Sherlock stayed quiet, holding his intense and cold, blue eyes.
A few men strode up to the long, over-stretched table, where both Sherlock and his captor sat. One was the dark skinned man, another was tall and lanky, a long ginger beard hanging from his chin along with the same sort of hair, and another was rather dark looking with shoulder length black locks and a small black stubble. A female was also amongst the three men, her hair long and blonde, and her eyes glowing blue. Sherlock gazed at the crusade with raised eyebrows.
"Ah, good." Walter began, causing Mr. Mathews to get to his feet and hand every "employee" a stack of papers.
"Time to discuss our plans for tomorrow evening, my friends."
Each of the surrounding members grinned wickedly and sat at the long table, hands grasping their sheets of paper in anxious excitement. Sherlock tensed and leaned forward, prepared for the full on explanation. Something in the back of his mind told him it wouldn't be good.
Lestrade had acquired the needed information, and instantly left with John to visit Jeremy Spring in his small London flat.
It wasn't incredibly far from the crime scene, and before the doctor realized they were parking the patrol car and striding up to the doorway.
"What do we know about him?" John questioned in a hushed tone as if wary that someone would hear him.
"Well, nothing too important except for the fact that he is was put on witness protection a few hours ago."
John's eyes widened and his eyebrows flew upwards in disbelief. "Protection?"
They both swayed up to the front door, and Lestrade gently knocked, followed by, "NSY, nothing to be afraid of."
Jeremy Spring was at the door in a mere few seconds. He was rather small, with big ears, light brown hair, and a small goatee.
John narrowed his eyes, watching the man stand before them nervously, self-consciously trembling.
Lestrade glanced over at John and then back to Jeremy.
"Mr. Spring? We just want to ask you a few questions."
Jeremy nodded and led the two inside, smiling wearily their way. "Yeah, come on in."
His voice was hoarse and rather unsettled as he guided them toward a small table in the corner of a living room, of sorts.
"Nice place." John grunted, just trying to spark a friendly nerve so that Mr. Spring was willing to openly talk. Jeremy nodded his head, and shrugged awkwardly, sitting with both men at the table.
"Thanks," He swallowed and turned to Lestrade, "What's it you wanna' ask m'bout?"
Greg cleared his throat and gestured to John with a flinch of his head and John took it as his queue, "Yes, do you know one Sherlock Holmes?"
John folded his hands in front of him, elbows resting his weight on the table.
The other man squinted his eyes and nodded again, "I seen 'im on the tele."
John sighed and held his breath for a mere moment.
"Some detective bloke, yeah?"
John smiled irritably, "Yes. He's missing."
Jeremy shrugged and cowered slightly, "Unfortunate."
John was suddenly highly 'ticked off' and, instantly, Lestrade took over.
"Mm, you see mate, he was taken by one Walter Evans King."
The man before them was suddenly shaking more violently, his eyes glistening over in worry, and his breathing picking up in pace.
John glanced at Lestrade and then picked up the discussion, "We realize you once worked with Mr. King."
Jeremy nodded, raising a hand to his disheveled brown hair, "Yeah, son of a bitch 'e was."
John bit his tongue and shut his eyes for a moment, nodding faintly, "Right, well, we were wondering if there was anything you know that could possibly help us to find our friend."
Jeremy looked up, realization dawning on him, that this wasn't just some random bloke in a case.
"I see." He swallowed and sighed exhaustedly.
John stepped in quickly, "We understand that you were recently put under witness protection?"
Jeremy bobbed his head up and down, "Of a sort."
John narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean?"
Jeremy cleared his throat and leaned inward to the two, talking in a faint whisper, "Well, I be in the market, just getting mi shopping when I feel this strange presence, ya know?"
John shook his head, feeling slightly awkward, as he didn't…actually…know.
"So then, I turn 'round, and 'e's standing 'ere, all high 'n mighty. Says ta me, Mr. Spring, I gots a 'lil job for ya."
John's eyes widened and he peered over at Lestrade for a moment before turning back.
"I says, I don't want none of his jobs. Last one, put me in a bloody cell."
John nods, and Spring continues, "And 'e says to me, at least lemme explain."
Jeremy turns red, and glances down at his hand, his finger winding around his wrists, "I let 'im explain after that."
Lestrade raises an eyebrow and Spring protests, "Oi, I don't 'ave much of a pay workin' at a bloody gas station."
John rolls his eyes and ushers the man on, feeling as though he was wasting precious time when he could be looking for Sherlock.
"So, I says to 'im, Okay." Spring states, "'e says there's this shipment comin' in. Over a million in pounds, 'e says, from over the seas. I tell ya, I was tempted." The man shrugged and cleared his throat, "But I says, sorry Walter, I ain't havin' nutin to do with your smugglin' business. And you know what 'e says back? Then I ain't want nutin to do with you."
John narrowed his eyebrows in a frown, same as Lestrade.
Jeremy nods enthusiastically, "'t's a death threat, mates. I know Walter King."
John swallows and licks his lips in annoyance. "Right. Thank you for your time, Mr. Spring."
Lestrade glances over at John in confusion. John storms from the small flat, lunging into the door and out into the cool London breeze. He soon hears Lestrade following, and throws a hand over his face in exhaustion as the door closes behind him. Greg is standing right beside him, both staring blankly up at the darkened sky.
It had been a day and half. And nothing from Sherlock. Not a word. Not a sighting.
Only little notes so dramatic they barely aided anyone.
John sighed in exasperation and shook his head, causing Lestrade to turn his way. "John, this will all be okay."
John looked over at the DI with a scoff of saddened amusement, "He's gone and got himself in quite the predicament, Greg."
The inspector nodded and placed a hand on John's shoulder, "Yeah, but he's Sherlock Holmes. He probably has an escape plan and everything."
John laughed with a small nod, "How I Did It, by Sherlock Holmes." John chuckled, thinking back to the small book and skeleton Anderson had left to draw Sherlock to London. Sherlock had told John all about it not too long ago, bickering constantly about the increasing amount of Anderson's stupidity.
Lestrade bobbed his head up and down enthusiastically, realizing what John was quoting.
John's expression suddenly fell blank and he cleared his throat softly, "Greg, look into that job Walter might be planning, will you?"
John began to stride away, towards the curb, eager to hail a taxi.
"Where are you going? Need a ride?"
John smiled at the DI's offer, "I'm good, thanks. Just need some think time."
Lestrade was soon grinning and John peered over his shoulder, stopping in his tracks.
"What?" He asked when Lestrade swayed toward his car, chuckling faintly.
"You're just like him, John." Lestrade shrugged and slipped into his car.
John looked down at the ground, a smile fresh on his face. Maybe.