A/N
Things are getting real guys! I hope you like reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
EllemichelleP I'm sorry! I don't want to kill you! Please don't die! The review section would get very lonely without you! ;-)
Katt96 Don't worry, they secretly love each other. The Holmes boys just don't like to show they do.
Sherlock quickly hailed a taxi for them and he ordered the driver to take them to Scotland Yard. He alerted Greg Lestrade they were on their way so from the moment they arrived, everything seemed to fold out in quick staccato movements.
Greg shoved a sheet of paper into Sherlock's hands as he lead them to what Kyrie assumed would be his department's main office. "This fax arrived an hour ago," Greg explained. Kyrie cast a quick glance at it and saw the awful words written on it. HURRY UP THEY'RE DYING! The word 'dying' was underlined. She tried the suppress a shiver.
"What have you got for us?" Greg asked them as they passed a few doors.
"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock told Greg as he handed him a piece of paper.
"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation... What the hell is this, chocolate?" he cried out in surprise as they entered the bullpen.
"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock explained.
Kyrie looked at the madness that was going on around her... phones ringing incessantly, people muttering and flitting about. She detected Donovan and Anderson in the bullpen as well. Two of her least favourite persons. She couldn't help but scowl at them.
"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?" Greg suggested.
"No. No, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk, chalky clay... that's a far thinner band of geology."
From the way Sherlock stared intently at what seemed to be empty air, she knew he was using his Mind Palace, or maybe in this particular instance it was more of a 'Mind Map' to visualise the information and help him form a conclusion.
"Brick dust?" Greg said.
"Building site. Bricks from the 1950s," Sherlock said softly.
Greg rubbed his face in helpless despair. "There's thousands of building sites in London!"
Sherlock sighed annoyed. He didn't like it when people distracted him from his thought process. It was much better to just leave him alone when he was in his 'thinking zone'. Unfortunately not all people seemed to understand this about him.
"I've got people out looking," he said quickly.
"So have I!" Greg sounded a bit insulted. Sherlock ignored his remark and started pacing impatiently, as if he was waiting for something.
"Homeless network, faster than the police," he said, still pacing. "Far more relaxed about taking bribes."
Kyrie smiled seeing the snide smirk on his face and seeing Anderson briefly looking up from his work to roll his eyes. Sherlock's phone started beeping and chiming, alerting them to several incoming texts. He brandished his phone triumphantly at Greg while the messages continued to pour in.
Smiling smugly, he scrolled through the photographs he'd received and compared them to his 'Mind Map' until one of them caught his attention. When Kyrie glanced at his phone, she saw a close-up shot of a purple flower.
"John," Sherlock showed him the picture. "Rhododendron ponticum. It matches."
Sherlock focused on whatever he saw in front of him, adding the last bit of information. It didn't take him long at all to come up with an answer. "Addlestone," he breathed.
"What?" Greg asked in surprise.
"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything! Kyrie, stay here, we won't be long." Sherlock turned around and left in a hurry.
"Right, come on," Greg ordered his subordinates, not even once questioning Sherlock's logic. "Come on!" he hollered when Donovan didn't seem in a hurry to follow his first order. That seemed to get her attention as she jumped up and hurried after him.
SSS
Kyrie stayed behind to let Sherlock and the police do their job. She hoped they would be able to find those children, preferably safe and sound.
An officer came to collect her and brought her to a small receiving area where she could sit and wait for the others to return.
Sherlock was wrong about not being away for long. But, it also didn't take quite as long as Kyrie had expected. When they did return, Kyrie worried when she noticed only a young girl was rushed inside, wrapped in a shock blanket... there was no sign of the boy.
She covered her mouth with her hand in surprised shock, but she didn't want to disturb anyone, or distract anyone by asking unnecessary questions. It would not help the girl, it would not help the boy. What would help, was to let these people do their jobs.
She looked out for John amidst the throng of people that rushed inside the back hall. She noticed Sherlock, as he stood quite taller than the others and Greg too. When she also spotted John, she quickly hurried after him.
She found them waiting outside one of the offices. Sherlock was pacing up and down near a water cooler, while John sat down, looking off in space, trying his best to ignore his friend. Sherlock looked utterly unapproachable. He had one of those looks on his face that seemed to scream 'Don't breathe near me, don't even think near me, it's distracting!'
"John?" she asked when she approached him. "What happened?"
He looked up at her with a sad smile. "He's a sick bastard, Kyrie. That's what happened. He... kidnapped the kids and fed them chocolates, wrapped in Mercury lined wrappers. He was slowly poisoning them. The hungrier they got, the more they ate..."
Kyrie didn't even know what to say to that. She just gasped and felt as if the wind got knocked right out of her.
"They've got the girl in there right now, under supervision of a councillor. The boy was rushed to the hospital."
The door of the office opened and both Greg and Donovan appeared from the room. "Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn..." Donovan didn't even try to keep the disdain in her voice to a minimum.
"Isn't it funny," Kyrie said coldly, turning to face Donovan. "How these amateurs were able to do your job, where you... the professionals couldn't? "
Greg cleared his throat a bit and Kyrie immediately held up her hands, signalling she'd back off. She couldn't resist sending Donovan a last nasty glare though.
"Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to..." Greg softly told Sherlock.
"...not be myself..." Sherlock finished his sentence for him.
Greg looked a bit uncomfortable, but could only agree. "Yeah. Might be helpful."
Sherlock turned around to look at John, and rolled his eyes in an overly dramatic way, just on the inside. He reached up and smoothed down the collar of his coat before leading John and the others inside.
Kyrie had to suppress as smile. She couldn't deny it, she quite loved it when Sherlock stalked about in his big Belstaff coat, his collar turned up, enhancing the mystery surrounding him and really making those cheekbones stand out. It was so him. The fact that he actually flattened his collar because that was not him, was oddly endearing.
Those thoughts disappeared the moment she heard the sounds of a little girl screaming come from inside the room. She immediately looked up, saw the door open and Greg practically pulling Sherlock away. "Out. Get out!" Greg hollored. The door slammed shut behind him, kind of muffling the sounds of the terrified screaming, but not by much.
Greg quickly guided them towards his office and Sherlock immediately walked towards a window with odd jerky movements. There was a hooded look in his eyes, one Kyrie had never seen before. Though they revealed little to his inner thoughts, Kyrie noticed that the little girl's screamed had touched a chord deep inside of him.
For a moment she thought to go to him, for a bit of mental and perhaps physical support with a gentle touch. One look at him made her quickly decide against it. In moments like these, Sherlock seemed to carry weight of the world on his shoulders and hell-bent on carrying that burden alone.
"Makes no sense," John told Greg. Kyrie looked up and saw Donovan casting glances in Sherlock's direction that she did not like at all.
"The kid's traumatised," Greg said. "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."
"So what's she said?" John asked.
"Hasn't uttered another syllable," Donovan remarked in a way that Kyrie liked even less. She looked at him in a really weird way, almost as if all of this was Sherlock's fault for some reason!
"And the boy?"
"No, he's unconscious. Still in intensive care."
"Well, don't let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room!" Greg said, trying to be funny to lighten the mood. "In fact, so do most people."
"I don't," Kyrie said softly. She knew Greg only meant it as a joke, but she also knew this was not the right time.
"No, of course not. I'm sorry... I didn't mean..." he started to stammer. He rubbed his neck with his hand and grinned a bit awkwardly. "Come one, let's just go," he finally said.
Sherlock finally turned around at those words. His eyes were pale blue and every hint of green and amber imaginable, as if his eyes couldn't settle on a colour. He still looked a bit dazed, as if he was replaying the events in his mind again.
With Greg out of earshot, Donovan suddenly stepped forward, glaring at Sherlock. "Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing."
"Thank you," he said in a rather subdued way.
"Unbelievable," she then added pointedly. That last comment made him stop in his tracks.
"You know what's unbelievable?" Kyrie suddenly said. "Your attitude. Whenever a case gets too tough for you to figure out yourself, the first person you come running to is Sherlock, my husband," Kyrie said through gritted teeth and putting a lot of emphasis on the words 'my husband'.
Donovan just stared at her, her lips parted in surprise.
Kyrie usually wasn't one to pick a fight, but when you messed with her family, you better not expect to be be able to walk away scot-free!
"He then does your job for you and you can't even manage a thank you. I was there, in the lab, watching how he meticulously executed test after test until finally the samples he took yielded the results he was looking for. What exactly did you find out? What did you do with your time, while two children were scared, alone and getting poisoned?" Kyrie continued her livid rant. Her biting remarks actually made Donovan physically back away.
"Cause Sherlock again did your job for you. And yes, he really did that from just a footprint. So, when you said 'It's really amazing,' you really should have stopped right there. Because it is amazing. He is amazing." Kyrie glared at Donovan with unbridled fury, warning her with one stare that she better not try and have another go at Sherlock.
"Amen," John muttered. When Kyrie whipped around, he stared at her a bit oddly. "You really don't like Sally Donovan, do you?" he asked carefully as they walked away.
"I really, really, really, don't," Kyrie seethed. "Why?"
"Nothing," John mumbled. "Just... your eyes... just then..."
"For heaven's sake, John!" she spat, "Not the eyes thing again! It's the heterochromia, get over it!"
"... could have sworn you'd freeze her over."
Outside Sherlock quickly turned up his collar again, still looking completely out of it. It was John this time who hailed an approaching taxi. For some reason, John didn't even find it odd that Sherlock hadn't done it. As the taxi came closer and slowed down for them, Kyrie had to know what was going through his mind.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" she asked quietly.
"Thinking," he said. "This is my cab. You get the next one." Sherlock walked up to the taxi that just pulled up at the kerb and opened the door.
"Why?" John asked him, puzzled.
"You might talk." With those words Sherlock got inside and closed the door. Kyrie sighed as the taxi pulled away.
"He certainly has his moments, doesn't he?" she muttered. "Can you get us another cab, John? They won't stop for me."
"Sure they will, just look at them the way you just stared down Donovan. Not a cab that won't stop for you," John said with a smile. They walked down the road while looking out for another taxi.
"What you said right there," John said thoughtfully. "That was pretty amazing too. I think it's good for him to know he's not so alone as he thinks he is. How come you have such a dislike for Sally? And Philip for that matter?"
"Who's Philip?" Kyrie asked puzzled. That made John laugh out loud. "Anderson?" he said.
"Oh, him," she muttered darkly, then she was silent for a bit, trying to find the right words. "Remember when you told me about your first case with Sherlock? The Study in Pink?"
John smiled. "Yes, I do... Ah!" he exclaimed as he spotted another taxi and hailed it for them.
"You told me that, the first time you saw Donovan, she called Sherlock a freak and Anderson too was a condescending prick towards him. And then that case 'The Blind Banker'. Remember Sebastian Wilkes?"
"Of course," John said as he walked up to the taxi that pulled up. He let Kyrie get inside first before he got in and order the cabbie to take them to Baker Street.
"You told me that he said that he and his uni buddies used to hate Sherlock, because even back then Sherlock was so clever and observant and smart..."
"Yes, he was a genius, even back then. I get the point."
"No, I don't think you do, John," Kyrie said seriously. "No child is born so detached from feelings as Sherlock is... What is the one thing he prides most in himself?"
"His ego?" John deadpanned. It made Kyrie smile but she still poked him in the ribs.
"No, try again."
"Fine," John conceded. "His intellect."
"Exactly. And, what does he do with his intellect when he's not too busy solving cases?"
"Oh, he's a drama queen, he likes to show off," John immediately answered.
"Yes. He uses his intellect to impress people. He's not so cold and aloof as everyone thinks he is. You know that, I know that... He likes it when he is praised and valued for his intellect. But in uni, that completely backfired for him. And after uni... it's people like Donovan and Anderson that try to make him feel he's unwanted or undeserving in some way... And that's why I really don't like them."
"You know, Kyrie. I've said it before and I will say it again... Sherlock is one lucky man to have you. I mean, seriously... he has no clue how lucky he is!"
Kyrie smiled fondly at him and then leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I'm scared, John," she admitted. "I can't help but feel that a storm is coming. I keep hearing something that Mycroft said to me when I talked to him in Dartmoor. 'The stage is set'. And recently I can't get this nursery rhyme out of my head..."
John wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently rubbed her arm. "Which one?" he asked.
"I don't want to say," Kyrie said. "You'll think it's silly."
"Probably, but tell me anyway."
Kyrie closed her eyes and sighed... "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men. Couldn't put Humpty together again."
"That is weird," John agreed. "And maybe not... I mean, we did retrieve that Reichenbach falls painting. It's been a while, yes, but... Reichenbach falls, Humpty Dumpty falls... I dunno." John laughed a bit. "I really don't know, but don't worry, Kyrie. You'll be fine, he'll be fine. We'll all be fine, okay?"
"I hope so," Kyrie said, pushing herself upright again. The taxi had arrived at Baker Street. They were home. "Thanks, John. For listening." She pressed a light kiss against his cheek before she climbed out of the taxi.
John got out of the taxi right after her when suddenly a gunshot rang out in the dark. They both turned their heads trying to locate the sound, when they saw Sherlock, not too far away, spinning around, doing the exact same thing. Both Kyrie and John broke into a run to reach Sherlock.
"Sherlock!" John called out as he skidded next to him.
It didn't take long before the police and an ambulance arrived on the scene. John had a comforting arm around Kyrie as they watched the ambulance crew wheel the body away. Sherlock stood back a bit, holding himself with one arm in a self-comforting gestured, while he slightly twitched his fingers of his free hand. He had his 'I'm thinking look' going on.
"That... it's him. It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us," John told Sherlock.
"One of the four assassins," Kyrie mumbled. She shivered a bit.
"By now I no longer even wonder how you know these things," John said. "Mycroft?"
Kyrie nodded her head.
"He died because I shook his hand," Sherlock suddenly claimed.
"What do you mean?" John asked him.
"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" And off he went, his coat billowing behind him. Kyrie and John shared a brief look before they sighed and went after him.
As they bounded up the stairs to their flat, Sherlock swiftly removed his scarf from his neck. "Four assassins living right on our doorstep," he started to explain. He marched into the living room and threw his scarf and coat on a chair. "They didn't come here to kill me. They have to keep me alive."
He seated himself behind his laptop on the dining table. "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me..."
John walked over to the window behind Sherlock and peered outside. "The others kill them before they can get it," John finished for him.
Sherlock grunted something unintelligible, but it was probably safe to say he agreed with John. His fingers flew over the keys on the laptop, as he navigated away from the website for St. Aldate's School and called up a list of local Wi-Fi networks. Kyrie looked over his shoulder and saw there were five of them. Sherlock checked their signal strengths and Kyrie noticed that all network names looked to be foreign.
"All of the attention is focussed on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now," he said quietly.
"But, what do you have that is so important?" Kyrie asked him.
Sherlock stopped and pondered the question for a moment, before he ran his finger along the table and then checked the results on his fingertip. "Kyrie, in the last week, what's been cleaned?"
Kyrie threw up her hands in defence. "Don't look at me. Last time I tried to clean something you threw a hissy fit. I don't dust, I don't clean up. Except for your clothes and any kitchenware you leave behind. Anything I do, I do it sneakily and behind your back, but not in the living room."
"Then we need to ask about the dusting. John, please fetch Mrs Hudson. She may complain she is not our housekeeper, but..." he didn't finish the sentence.
Kyrie looked on as Sherlock hurried around the room, checking for dust on all the furniture. Pretty soon John came back with Mrs Hudson in tow, dressed in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock asked her the same question.
"Precise details... In the last week, what's been cleaned?" Sherlock demanded.
"Well, Tuesday I did your lino..." the landlady, looking slightly frazzled, started to recount.
"No, in here. This room," Sherlock interrupted her quickly while still checking all the furniture. "This is where we'll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust."
Sherlock ran his finger along one of the small shelves in the corner near the kitchen and then twirled his fingers in the air. "Dust is eloquent," he claimed.
"Only you would think that," Kyrie mumbled.
Mrs Hudson looked over her shoulder at her and John. "What's he on about?" John just shook his head. "Whoever knows? He's Sherlock," Kyrie said. She arched an eyebrow when Sherlock started climbing on the furniture to have a closer look at the top shelves of the bookcase left of the fireplace.
"Cameras," Sherlock suddenly said. "We're being watched."
"What?" Mrs Hudson asked, sounding quite shocked and she actually cringed a bit. "Here? I'm in my nightie!"
Kyrie paled as well. If they were being watched, how long had that been going on? She gulped as she remembered one particular afternoon. She'd been in quite a goofy mood and had nicked one of Sherlock's white shirts, John's socks... and had done a little rendition of that famous Tom Cruise 'Risky Business' scene. She'd danced through the living room with the music of 'Old time rock and roll' blaring through John's laptop speakers.
"Don't worry, Kyrie," Sherlock said as he slid books from their place and back again, "I'm fairly certain no one saw you prancing about the living room in my shirt and John's socks, except maybe for Mycroft... who may have told me about it, maybe even shown me some footage. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone you secretly like to practice dancing. Your waltz is very good, your tango could use some improvement..." He stopped, suddenly realising what he'd said. "Sorry," he said with a smirk.
"Really, Sherlock? Now you suddenly decide to develop a sense of humour?"
Sherlock briefly turned around to face her, his lips curled up in a smile. The doorbell rang and Mrs Hudson scurried from the living room while Sherlock started checking the eye sockets of 'Billy', the human skull on the mantelpiece. Kyrie called it 'Yorrick' but Sherlock thought that was lame, so he called it 'Billy'.
Kyrie could hear several footsteps climbing up the stairs. If Sherlock heard it, or even cared, he didn't show it. He precariously stepped onto a few small tables that were near his armchair, both stacked with books. Balancing himself on the small tables, Sherlock checked the books on the top shelf of the bookshelves to the right of the fireplace. Kyrie couldn't see what caught his attention, just that something did.
She turned around when she heard people enter the living room. Greg and John just came in. Sherlock didn't turn around, he was still... looking at something.
"No, Inspector," he said.
"What?" Greg asked.
Sherlock carefully stepped down of the small tables. Now Kyrie could see he held a tiny camera in his fingers. "The answer's no."
"But you haven't heard the question!" Greg objected.
"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."
"Wait? What?" Kyrie started, "Greg?"
Greg turned away from her and it worried Kyrie he wasn't able to look her in the eye.
"The scream?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah," Greg admitted with a sigh.
"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan..."
Kyrie scowled hearing that name.
"Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart," Sherlock said in a low voice. "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..." Sherlock reached out his hand briefly pushed the tip of his index finger on Greg's forehead, right between his eyes. "There."
"Greg," Kyrie turned to look at him, her voice sending shivers even up her own spine. "Please, tell me that whatever is going on, is not what Sherlock says is going on?"
"Kyrie, it's complicated," Greg sighed. "Will you come, Sherlock?"
Sherlock turned away from him and sat himself down at the laptop again. "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 picked up the camera again and looked at it briefly, before looking up again, his eyes locking with Greg's. "It's a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play."
"If you go through with this, you do realise you are nothing more than Moriarty's hand puppet?" Kyrie told Greg.
"Kyrie, I'm really fond of you, you know that, but please stay out of police business!" Greg snapped at her.
"He is my husband!" Kyrie seethed at him. "Like it or not, that makes it my business! You go tell Donovan to back off already! Tell her to get a life, preferably with a new career to go along with it!"
"Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan," Sherlock told Greg, a small smile playing on his lips.
Greg pulled his hand through his hair and sighed, exchanging a brief look with John. He then left them alone without saying anything else.
Kyrie was shaking with anger. When she turned around, she found Sherlock calmly looking at the laptop screen. He had linked the camera into the computer and had pulled up the live footage. John walked over to the window and peered outside. Soon she could hear the sounds of a car starting and driving off.
Sherlock briefly looked at John. "They'll be deciding."
"Deciding?" John asked in surprise.
"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."
"You think?"
"No, they can't!" Kyrie cried out.
"Of course they can. It's standard procedure."
"Should have gone with him," John suddenly said, surprising Kyrie with his words. "People'll think..."
"I don't care what people think," Sherlock interrupted him.
"You'd care... if they thought you were stupid, or wrong," John disagreed.
"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."
Kyrie knew he meant it. He really didn't care about what other people thought of him. Because he didn't care about 'other people'...
"Why would you want Sherlock to go with them?" Kyrie asked. "It's a load of horse shit!"
"Haven't you heard Sherlock, Kyrie?" John said angrily. "One photo, that is Moriarty's next move. Guess who will be coming back here soon to arrest him? Guess what photo will then be taken? I don't want the world believing that he's..."
"That I am what?" Sherlock asked him coldly, daring John to say the word.
"A fraud."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance and leaned back in his chair.
"You're worried they're right," he said softly.
"Of course not!" Kyrie said indignantly while John asked 'What?' at the same time."
"You're worried they're right about me, both of you are."
"No!" Kyrie cried out and she shook her head vehemently.
"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."
"No, I'm not," John said and he turned away from Sherlock to look out of the window again.
Sherlock leaned forward and stared at them intently. "Moriarty is playing with your minds too."
Suddenly he furiously slammed his hand on the table, the unexpected outburst made Kyrie jump a bit. "Can't you see what's going on?" Sherlock cried out, a bit of a frenzied look flashed through his eyes.
And there it was. In truth, Sherlock did not care about what other people thought of him, it was of little interest to him. But, he certainly did care what either John or she thought of him. He was just lashing out at them because, she thought, in a way he was scared.
"Sherlock, if you really think that me and John would think such a thing of you, even for a moment..." Kyrie turned around to coldly stare at him. "Then you don't know us and never have. We know you are real."
Her words seemed to calm him down, just a little bit.
"A hundred percent?" he asked.
John slowly turned around to face him again. "Of course we are sure, Sherlock. Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."
Sherlock didn't say anything. Though he didn't quite smile, the corners of his lips did twitch with a ghost of one. John looked away again, but Kyrie stared at him for a while longer. She tried to silently tell him, with a single glance, to never again question her belief in him. His slight nod told Kyrie he understood.
With slow and deliberate movements, Sherlock left his seat at the laptop and went to sit in his armchair, a pensive look etched on his face. Kyrie went to sit at his feet. She knew he disliked emotions and felt uncomfortable with human affection and intimacy... well... most of the time, but somehow she felt she should make the most out of this situation.
Time seemed to slip through her fingers... She couldn't grasp it or slow it down. Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall... She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his knee. When he let her and didn't pull away, Kyrie knew something was up and she could feel tears start to sting her eyes.
John suddenly switched off his phone. He'd been talking with someone but Kyrie didn't recall who. At the moment she didn't care.
"So, still got some friends on the Force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs. Every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."
Kyrie was too tired to even glower at John, she just pressed her face even tighter against Sherlock's leg. Sherlock said nothing, he just stared off in space, twiddling with a lock of her golden hair between his fingers.
