John and I sit in silence in the cab as I think of what Donovan said. She thinks dad's fraud. She's always been sceptical of our reasoning but now it's almost as though she believes we were involved in the childrens' disappearance. The girl screaming must have only added fuel to that fire. All is needed is that little seed of doubt and then the whole house of cards come tumbling down.
Three gun shots echo through the air and the cab pulls to a sudden stop. I break from my thoughts as I see dad crouched by the side of the road, the receiving end of the gun shots lying dead beside him.
"Sherlock!" John calls, jumping out and running over. I reach him before John does and help him up.
The ambulance arrives shortly after ringing and I stand beside dad as the body is wheeled away into the back. He studies his hands fretfully as John walks away from the ambulance.
"That ... it's him," he says, slightly stunned and I frown in confusion. "It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us."
"He died because I shook his hand," dad states.
"What d'you mean?"
"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" He storms off and we follow behind him.
"Sherlock, wait!" John calls a little way down the road and dad's pace slows a little. "There's five of them in total - can't rember all their names. Four top assassins living in and around Baker Street, don't you think that's a little coincidental.
"No such thing," dad dismisses but by the look on his face it's clear he's processing it.
When we get back to the flat, he goes straight to his laptop which is still on the table from this morning.
"Four assassins living right on our doorstep," dad says, sitting down at the table while John looks out the window. I stand behind dad and look over his shoulder. "They didn't come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive. I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me ..."
"... the others kill them before they can get it," John finishes and dad grunts in agreement, calling up the local Wi-Fi networks.
"All of the attention is focussed on me," dad says. Judging by the strength of signal of each of them, all five are located within the flat. Five Wi-Fi cameras feeding back surveillance to the assassins.
"There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now," I voice and dad nods.
"So what have you got that's so important?" John asks but dad gazes into the distance for a moment before reaching the same conclusion as me.
"We need to ask about the dusting."
Dad goes downstairs and drags Mrs Hudson up to the flat. Judging by the fact she's wearing her nightdress and dressing gown, he caught her on her way to bed. As soon as he's escorted her up, he joins me checking for dust on all the furniture.
"Precise details: in the last week, what's been cleaned?"
"Well, Tuesday I did your lino ..."
"No, in here, this room," dad stresses. "This is where we'll find it - any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust." He lifts his dusty finger in the air and twirls it around dramatically in the air. "Dust is eloquent."
"What's he on about?" Mrs Hudson whispers and John shakes his head in equal confusion. I jump over dad's chair and start climbing on the furniture around the bookshelf so I can reach the top. I smile as I find one of the cameras and pull it from it's place.
"Cameras," I say, triumphantly, holding it up. "We're being watched."
"What? Cameras?" she cringes. Here? I'm in my nightie!" As she hurries out, the doorbell rings. John follows her down to get the door as we continue to look around for the other cameras.
I hear John talking with Lestrade downstairs before he leads him upstairs.
"No, Inspector," dad says as Lestrade walks in, not turning around and maintaining his focus as he pulls a second camera out.
"What?"
"The answer's no," he repeats, stepping down from his mounted position, camera in hand.
"But you haven't heard the question!" Lestrade protests.
"You want to take me to the station," dad says and my mouth opens subconsciously in realisation. Donovan must have brought her suspicions to Lestrade. "Just saving you the trouble of asking." He walks closer and Lestrade pulls in a breath.
"Sherlock ..."
"The scream?" dad interrupts.
"Yeah," Lestrade admits.
"Who was it?" I demand. "Donovan? I bet it was Donovan."
"Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping?" dad continues, ignoring me. "Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home ..." he reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Lestrade's forehead between his eyes, "... there."
"Will you come?" Lestrade asks, almost pleading, hoping not to make this more of a fuss than it needs to be.
Dad turns around and sits back down at the laptop, beginning to type. "One photograph - that's his next move. Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He picks up the camera again and studies it for a moment before raising his eyes to meet Lestrade's. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."
Sighing, Lestrade exchanges a brief look with John before turning and heading back down the stairs.
Dad brings the live footage up on the screen as John walks back across the room and moves towards the windows.
"They'll be deciding," dad says after a moment.
"Deciding?" John asks.
"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."
"You think?"
"Standard procedure."
"Should have gone with him," John sighs. "People'll think ..."
"I don't care what people think."
"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong," he challenges.
"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."
"Sherlock," John says, turning around angrily. "I don't want the world believing you're ..." He breaks off we both turn to look at him. Dad and John lock eyes for a tense moment.
"That I am what?"
"A fraud." John finishes and dad rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat, letting it go.
"You're worried they're right," I say in realisation, eyes wide.
"What?"
"You're worried they're right about him."
"No."
"You do realise that if Sherlock's found to be a fake that I'll be next, don't you?! That's why you're so upset. You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."
John turns away and looks out the window again. "No I'm not."
"Moriarty is playing with your mind too," I say before slamming my hand onto the table in fury. "Can't you see what's going on?"
John meets my eye for a moment. I can handle Anderson, Donovan - even Lestrade - believing we're fakes but not John. I thought John knew better.
"No, I know you're for real," he says, turning back to the window.
"A hundred percent?" I challenge.
"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time?" he says gesturing towards dad. Studying him for a moment and concluding he's telling to truth, I let out a small laugh.
"Fair," I grin.