Five potato, six potato, seven potato, more!
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Sherlock's phone vibrated and he glanced at it to see who was bothering. The phone said there was one new message from 'Oliver – new case'. Remembering the short, black-haired girl, Sherlock contemplated renaming the contact to her actual name, but it wasn't really important. He opened the message.
We think that Oliver might be hiding Cas at one of the abandoned buildings on the docks by the Thames. Just a speculation, but it might be worth a try, do check it out at your earliest convenience.
He almost snorted at the overly polite writing style. Besides, he already knew that's where Oliver hangs out. However, there were many possible hideouts there. They needed more clues. He could start out by scanning the territory. He would need back-up, though. His eyes moved to John – yes, John would suffice for now.
"Would you like to take a walk with me?" he asked him sweetly.
John eyed him suspiciously, "Where are we going?"
"Oh, here and there. It's a beautiful afternoon. We should go to the river. A breath of fresh air and what not," Sherlock waved his hand, already underway.
Alex put away her phone, giving up on the hope that Sherlock would text her back. Even a mere 'k tnx' from him would be acceptable. But no, he just ignored her. After she put so much effort in her message.
She sighed and sank deeper into her bus seat.
"The pompous ass not replying yet?" Dean asked gruffly.
She shook her head and pulled out her tablet, "Nope, we just have to wait and see."
"I don't like waiting," Dean grumbled and looked out the window. The sun was slowly setting; it would be night time soon. He could only hope that Cas was fine and that he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere. He couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault, even though he consciously knew that he couldn't have done anything. If only he had watched over Cas better, but then again Cas is a strong person, he can take care of himself.
Dean glared daggers at the passing cars and buildings. Alex was concerned for him and for Cas, fortunately she had faith in this junior detective consultant S.H. guy.
"Sherlock! Wait a bloody minute, why are we at the shittiest part of the docks?" John ran his hands through his hair. Being friends with Sherlock was frustrating sometimes.
"I told you we were going for a walk near the river!" Sherlock grinned like it was the happiest day of his life.
"Yeah, but I didn't think you meant this part of the town!" John said and kicked something that looked suspiciously like a dead rat. He shivered and gagged silently. "Why am I even here?"
"Because I needed back-up, and someone to keep me company so I don't get bored during surveillance." Sherlock stated in a calm voice.
"So we're not just taking a walk?" John accused with a hand on his hip.
"We're walking, aren't we?" Sherlock smiled cheekily.
"Bloody hell," John muttered and continued walking, only to be abruptly stopped by Sherlock himself. To be precise, it was Sherlock's arm smashing into John's chest that made him stop in his tracks. "What now?"
"Shhh," Sherlock shushed him and pointed towards a figure in the distance. "See that?"
"What of it? Some bloke is taking a walk. That's allowed," John said, squinting to see the figure better. The person was male, by the looks of it.
"Please," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "No one in their right minds would go for a walk in this neighbourhood."
"Sherlock, we are taking a walk in this neighbourhood!" John exclaimed, chagrined.
"That's different. Come on, we need to go on. I can't make out anything about him from this distance."
They tried to look inconspicuous and hurried after the mystery man. The man appeared relaxed, but his steps were purposeful. He made a turn to the right and Sherlock and John ran to the corner. When they got there, he was nowhere to be seen. "What now?" John asked, slightly out of breath. "Do you think he saw us following him?"
"Unlikely, but not impossible," Sherlock frowned. "Oliver, Castiel Roman, Richard Roman, Roman Enterprises, blackmail possible," he stopped and turned to John, "Did the kidnappers make the call? Did they call the victim's family?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
Sherlock groaned. He wanted to claw his eyes out. "Why do I even let you in on the cases?" he sighed and twirled on his heel. Then he changed his mind and turned back to the alley the mysterious man disappeared into. He took a few steps forward, when John called, "Come on, Sherlock, this is futile. You won't find anyone there. He's probably long gone."
"Who's gone?" a sleek voice from behind him made John jump out of his shoes. He turned around and came face to face with what could only be their mystery man. John's throat closed up. The man radiated bad energy.
"My little brother, sir," Sherlock piped in. "Maybe you've seen him? A year younger than me, shorter than me, black hair, blue eyes?" Sherlock listed, remembering the photo of Castiel that had Alex sent him. He watched the man closely, to see if there will be any reaction, and sure enough, the man's eyes narrowed slightly before he answered, "Never saw him. Kids don't hang out much in this area. Maybe you should go search some other places."
Sherlock nodded, "Thank you for your help, sir. But I won't stop looking for him until a find him. Have a good evening sir." He started walking away and John followed him.
"You've gone bonkers!" John hissed at Sherlock as the said boy tried to climb up the fire escape ladders.
"Come on John, where's your sense of adventure?" Sherlock finally managed to pull the ladder down and started climbing. "You with me or do I need to make you sign a contract first?"
John grumbled, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately- or maybe it was only around Sherlock.
They shimmied up the stairs until they reached the roof. Sherlock panted quietly and leaned against the door that leads into the building. He nudged it open with his shoulder, the hinges creaked and screeched.
John made a face, "Are you sure we should be doing this?" He asked, unsure as they entered the old warehouse of some sort.
"Oh, we absolutely should not be doing this!" Sherlock exclaimed and moved swift as the coursing river down the indoors stairs.
"Sherlock!" John growled and launched after him.
After several minutes of descending they reached a large room that held boxes of various shapes and sizes. Sherlock stopped John and motioned for him to be quiet. "The man from earlier," He whispered and pointed to a figure in the far corner of the room. "He's not alone; there are three more people with him. Two of them I don't know, but the short and scrawny character must be Oliver."
"Anything on the man from earlier?" John asked as they observed the conversation. The people were too far away to hear anything.
"He's relatively short, wears fancy expensive suit, probably Italian, and dress shoes- a businessman obviously in charge wherever he works. Silk tie, his wallet is very thick. An expensive watch, not his style- gift from a loved one, most likely wife. Earlier I noticed red and blonde coloured hairs on his suit jacket- one of which must be a daughter unless he has a son with long hair. Probably comes from the posh part of town. Intelligent and sneaky considering he caught us tailing him." Sherlock ranted on as fast as he could.
John nodded, "Okay so: he's a rich fat man with a family. Doesn't give him much of a motive for kidnapping."
"And yet here he is, talking to Oliver. We need to figure out which company he is in charge of and if it has to do anything with that." Sherlock turned around and headed back to the stairs.
"And his connection to Roman Enterprises." John added.
"That as well." He said.
They reached the roof and waited for the men to leave the building. They saw the mystery man leave in a hurry and get into his shiny car (Bentley, by the looks of it). The car stirred up a storm of dust as it rushed away.
Charles was feeling slightly nervous. He was the last one at the pick-up spot and nobody has come to get him in over an hour. Okay, maybe he was more than slightly nervous.
He looked around and checked his phone again, for the tenth time in the last 3 minutes.
Suddenly there was a sound of screeching tires in the distance as a black car rounded the corner.
He breathed a sigh of relief, finally. He got into the car quietly and looked at a distressed looking Mr. Crowley.
"I'm sorry I'm late, lad, the office kept me busier than usual today." The man said, somewhat irritated.
Charles nodded, "I understand." It was all he said, the ride back to the house was spent in awkward silence. This isn't suspicious at all, Charles thought to himself as he texted Rose about it.
Rose scrolled through Charles' texts with furrowed eyebrows. So Mr. Masters was an hour late. Why didn't he call his wife and get her to pick Charles up somehow? Or at least let Charles know that he would be arriving late. She texted those thoughts to Charles but he didn't have any explanation either. The Masters had Charles' (and Castiel's) phone numbers, and there was Naomi's Porsche in the garage next to Crowley's Bentley. Maybe Crowley just forgot that there was a foreign kid waiting for him somewhere in London. To err is human and all that.
Rose sighed. It was probably nothing.
Don't worry about it. The important thing is that you're home now, she texted Charles and then they wished each other good night. But Rose couldn't sleep. She had a queasy feeling in the stomach. She tossed and turned until she eventually fell asleep from mere exhaust.