Author's note: So here is the last chapter of episode three, hopefully you have enjoyed it so far and welcome to all the new readers! As ever, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think because t helps me become a better writer! Enjoy guys!
The Back-to-Front Case, Chapter Eight; The Lonely House in Mitcham
It was quiet in the house, mostly due to the fact that nearly all of the police were currently out in the small backyard digging it up. The four of us moved silently through the sitting room towards the back of the house, our eyes attempting to take in every detail that could lead us to the ten year old girl.
"Can anyone else smell that?" I asked quietly referring to the smell in the house; Sherlock instantly looked around to me nodding.
"Someone has been painting recently, probably three days ago." He told me slowly and I noticed Donovan shift uncomfortably.
"It wasn't your fault," I said quietly to her as Sherlock gave a barely audible tut and she looked at me sceptically.
"What's the girl's name?" Sherlock asked as we walked into the kitchen.
"Scarlett Lewis," Dimmock said, pulling out a piece of paper out from his overcoat pocket. "Ten years old, left for school three days ago but didn't show up."
I looked out of the kitchen window to see the backyard crawling with police, some with shovels and others with torches. My eyes fell onto Lestrade, who was covered in dirt himself as he stood, looking exhausted, next to a shallow gave beside a cement path.
"Let's try upstairs," Sherlock said and we followed him back through the sitting room to the stairs in the hallway, which he slowly walked up hunched over, looking for some trace of the young girl.
"Find the painted wall," he instructed once we had reached the top of the stairs. "Foster was a builder so he could have created a false wall to hide the girl behind."
We each took one of the rooms on the top level, mine being at the end of the corridor. As soon as I opened the door I was almost knocked back by the strong stench of paint and as I coughed slightly I noticed that the dimensions in this room didn't quite add up with the rooms downstairs.
"Sherlock," I called and moments later, Sherlock joined me in the foul, unventilated room.
"This wall," he whispered quietly moving over to it and placing both his hands onto it. "It's at the end of the house; there should be a window…"
As Dimmock and Donovan walked into the room too, Sherlock knocked several times on the wall which made a hollow sound.
"We need to break down this wall," he said turning back to us and Donovan quickly left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a rubber mallet and Lestrade, who stood in the doorway once Donovan had handed the mallet to me. I somewhat reluctantly took it and swung it at the wall, creating a small hole. With our bare hands, Sherlock and I managed to pull the majority of the wall down which revealed a small empty space, only about half a metre wide.
"Red herring," I murmured disappointedly and I heard the three police officers all sigh in impatience and failure.
"No," Sherlock said with a slight smile. "There's a man hole."
I looked up, seeing the square man hole in the roof above us as I heard Lestrade yell for a ladder, hoping against all odds that the little girl was still alive. Sherlock moved past me with a tall ladder moments later, which he promptly began to climb and I grabbed hold of it to keep it steady. I watched as he lifted the man hole out of his way before lifting himself up into the attic. The four of us waited with baited breath for what felt like an age before Sherlock yelled "I've found her; John get up here!"
"Call an ambulance," I instructed quickly before climbing up the ladder and lifting myself up into the dark, stuffy attic.
It was cramped and dark with boxes surrounding me and my eyes slowly started to adjust. I called out to Sherlock to see what direction he was in and he told me to head straight ahead. I crawled forwards on my hands and knees, hearing the unnerving sound of rats and mice scurrying to get away from me, but moments later I came to where Sherlock was bent over beside a tiny figure beside a small, round window.
"Sherlock," I said as I continued to crawl over to him and the young girl and he looked up to me once I had reached him.
"She's alive," he said quietly, and I noticed that he had a tight hold of the girl's left hand.
"Scarlett," I said gently as I reached over him to take her pulse. I could see over Sherlock's shoulder that she was pale and very still. "Scarlett, can you hear me?"
The young girl opened her small, blue eyes to look fearfully past Sherlock to me.
"It's okay, we are here to help you," I said soothingly, trying to reassure her as Sherlock tried to move out of my way as much as he could. "Are you hurt?"
Scarlett shook her head slowly, but remained silent until tears began to form in her eyes.
"Where's mummy?" she asked me, her voice husky, almost as though it were strained from screaming, which was something I tried not to think about.
"She is going to be with you soon," I said, taking Sherlock's small torch that he held out to me. "Can you look into my eyes Scarlett?" I asked, shining the torch into her eyes briefly before giving her a quick once over to make sure we were safe to move her.
"She is severely dehydrated, not to mention she hasn't eaten anything in three days." I said quietly to Sherlock, who nodded.
"It smells like she's been sick too," he added glancing around us.
"We need to get her downstairs; she could go into shock at any moment."
Sherlock pulled off his overcoat as I help the girl sit up so he could wrap her in it. Together we somehow managed to get the girl back down from the attic to be greeted by the other three, who all looked as relieved as I felt. Once I had gotten down from the attic I took Scarlet back off Lestrade and asked if the ambulance had arrived yet, to which they replied that it should be there at any moment. I carried her, still wrapped in Sherlock's overcoat, down the stairs, out the already opened door and into the dimly lit street towards the ambulance that had just pulled up. As the two paramedics rushed over I quickly gave them a run-down of everything I knew.
"Her name is Scarlett Lucas; she is ten years old and is the victim of a kidnapping and possible beating." I explained quickly as the two men motioned me towards the back of the ambulance. "She hasn't eaten or had anything to drink since at least zero-eight-hundred hours three days ago and is conscious yet probably about to go into shock, so you will need to put her on a bag of saline immediately."
"And who are you?" asked the taller of the two men as they opened the back door.
"Dr. John Watson, former Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," I said as I placed Scarlett down on the bed and the two paramedics quickly got to work, firstly removing Sherlock's coat to give her a closer look.
"Any known injuries?" the taller paramedic asked me.
"Not that I could tell," I said as Donovan appeared at the back of the van. "We've only just found her."
"Thank you, Dr. Watson, we'll take it from here."
I grabbed Sherlock's coat and got out of the ambulance and made my way over to the others, who stood on the pavement.
"Have you contacted her mother?" I asked, handing Sherlock his coat.
"She'll meet Donovan at the hospital with Gregson." Dimmock told me, sounding exhausted.
"And the victim in the backyard," I pressed.
"We found her just after you guys got here." Lestrade said slowly, he too sounding tired.
"You cannot release to the press who killed all of these women," Sherlock said slowly. "It'll play right into Foster's need for attention."
"Yeah, we know Sherlock." Dimmock said nodding. "He'll never be allowed back onto the streets again, don't you worry. I'm just thankful that you and John were here to help, otherwise that little girl would have been stuck up there for God knows how long."
"You would have gotten there in the end," Sherlock said awkwardly.
Dimmock exchanged a glance with Lestrade and me, all of us wondering if they would have managed this time without him, considering even I had never felt so out-of-depth before.
"Well anyway, thanks for your help, both of you." Dimmock continued, shaking my hand firmly then hold his hand out to shake Sherlock's, who glanced down to it before accepting it with a small smile. "We owe you a lot."
"You're welcome Detective Inspector Dimmock," Sherlock said, and I truly believe that he honestly meant it.
- O -
The moment we entered Baker Street I collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted from the last two days and even Sherlock sunk wearily into his chair beside the unlit fireplace in silence. I didn't know what to say; what Sherlock had managed to do had been incredible, even for him.
"That was ridiculous," I managed to say, still lying on the sofa.
"What was?" he asked quietly.
"You; working out all of Foster's victims with hardly any information to go on at all." I told him honestly. "It was brilliant!"
I saw a small smile form on his tired face.
"Dimmock really appreciated you help, you know." I added and surprisingly his smile widened at this.
"No," he said, pausing slightly before adding in gentler tones than I had been expecting. "He appreciated our help. You should get some rest, John."
I watched him for a few moments, feeling good about what had just been said before Sherlock's phone rang. I watched as he stood and began pacing the room, listening to what the caller had to say before he spoke.
"I am going to need a one hundred and fifty kilogram pig delivered to St. Bart's and a harpoon!"
I closed my eyes, giving a long, tired sigh as Sherlock ran into his room, his tired eyes now full of excitement.
Author's note: As you might be able to tell, this chapter leads directly into The Hound Of Baskerville (Series two, episode two) which I will not be going into, it sort of serves as a bit of a time line.
Next Time: A police officer working under DI Lestrade goes missing in very strange circumstances, especially when Sherlock's younger sister comes into things asking questions, leaving John to wonder what it is that Anthea Holmes does for work.