No triggers.

Chapter Thirty Five

At the appointed time, Sherlock was brought back into Moran's study and instructed to sit at the desk, in front of the laptop, with his back to a blank wall, the intention being not to give away any clues about the location.

'Now, remember, Mr Holmes, if you say anything untoward, I will end the session, immediately. Don't even imagine you can give them any clues as to where you are.'

'Why would I want to? Remember, I volunteered for this. No one forced me to do it!' Sherlock retorted, peevishly.

Moran stood to one side, from where he could see the screen but not be picked up by the laptop camera. Sherlock's ever-present guard stood behind the laptop screen, with his arms folded, looking detached and disinterested but ready to react, should Sherlock say or do anything ill-advised.

The consulting detective opened the Skype program and keyed in Mycroft's username, then waited for the connection to go through and for the screen to become live. When it did, it was John Watson's face that greeted him.

'Oh, John,' Sherlock drawled. 'Did you escape or were you sprung?'

'A little of both,' the doctor replied, noting his friend's mocking tone but guessing that this was all part of his cover story. 'How are they treating you?' he asked, genuinely concerned about the deadly game that Sherlock was playing.

'Like an honoured guest,' the detective answered, with a smug smile. 'I could get used to this level of comfort. It's certainly better than I've had to become accustomed to. But, enough of the small talk. Can we get on?'

'Of course,' John replied, curtly, showing his annoyance at Sherlock's dismissive attitude. He handed the mobile phone to Josie, who was perched on the edge of her brother's hospital bed, having operated the recliner mechanism to elevate the patient's upper body. She held out the phone so that both of the Brocklehursts were visible on the laptop screen.

'Josie, how nice to see you again,' Sherlock said, with genuine warmth. 'None the worse for your ordeal, I hope?'

'I'll be fine, Sherlock, thanks t' you. I can't thank you enough,' she replied, sincerely.

He waved his hand, dismissively.

'Oh, think nothing of it. I was doing myself a favour, actually. And, after all, it was my fault that you got involved in the first place. I should never have agreed to you coming along but John Watson's objection was too tempting to resist. He is such a bloody dinosaur. The concept of Feminism is lost on him.'

Josie glanced at John, feeling uncomfortable – even more so when she saw the hurt in the doctor's eyes.

'And, Arthur, what about you? You certainly look brighter than when I saw you last.'

'I'm OK, Sherlock, really. But listen, mate, I want you to know that I don't blame you for any of this. It's really not your fault.'

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words but he was determined to have his say, as he took the phone from his sister's hand and held it up to his face.

'Sherlock, I had no idea, mate, honestly. But I understand, now. I do understand the reason for all the acrimony between you and…him. If I had only known, I would have done something about it sooner. But I am going to do something now, as soon as I get out of this place. I want you to know that I'm sorry to involve you in this but I don't have any choice. I hope you'll forgive me.'

Arthur looked so sincere, as he made his declaration, and, when his voice cracked on the final sentence, Sherlock felt his growing sense of unease ratchet up a good few notches but he had to maintain his persona so he replied,

'I'm quite sure, Arthur, that whatever terrible thing you feel you have to do can't possibly be as bad as the things I've had to put up with for all these years so don't trouble yourself, old boy. Whatever you have to do, you get on with it.'

Sherlock smiled that irritating grin that he reserved for pissing people off and watched as the phone was suddenly removed from Arthur's hand and John Watson's face took up the screen space again.

'Sherlock, I don't know what you're up to but, whatever it is, you know who you're dealing with and that you can't trust him…'

'Oh, blah-blah-blah, John. Have I ever told you how boring and repetitive you can be? Honestly, you're worse than my mother! God! I think you are my mother, reincarnate! Look, it's been…interesting but this is the end of the road for me and you. I just have to do a little favour for my new friend and then he's promised to show me some really interesting Vatican Cameos. You know how much I love th…'

The connection was abruptly cut, as Moran snapped the laptop shut and grabbed Sherlock by his jacket lapel.

'That was a code, wasn't it? Do you think I'm an idiot?'

Sherlock looked up into the colonel's angry red face and said, as coldly as he could muster,

'If you persist in behaving like an idiot, one can hardly blame me for responding accordingly.'

The guard had come round the desk and now took hold of Sherlock by both his arms, from behind his chair, forcing him forward, from the waist, over the keyboard.

'What does Vatican Cameos mean?' Moran hissed, practically breathing fire.

'Where is the Vatican, Colonel Moran?' Sherlock replied, a little breathlessly, due to the constriction of his chest.

'In Rome,' the Colonel replied, cautiously, still suspicious of Sherlock's motives.

'Precisely. And where is Rome?'

'In Italy, of course,' the other man spluttered, beginning to feel rather over-exposed, especially in the presence of his underling.

'Do I need to draw a picture, or can you join the dots yourself?' Sherlock grunted.

Moran knit his eyebrows then his mouth formed a silent 'O', as the penny finally dropped.

'You want them to think we're in Rome?'

'Tell your ape to let go of me or the deal is off!'' Sherlock snapped and Moran nodded to the guard who released the detective with malicious shove, which almost smashed his face into the keyboard. He sat up straight, shook his arms inside his sleeves and smoothed down his jacket lapels.

'Right, let's get down to business. I'm getting very bored with this game,' he huffed. 'The sooner we do this thing and I'm out of here, the better.'

Moran allowed himself an internal smirk, and nodded his agreement.

ooOoo

'John, are you OK?' Josie gasped, shocked beyond words by Sherlock's bizarre behaviour and by the horrified look on the doctor's face. 'Whatever's t' matter wi' 'im? Why is 'e actin' like tha'? And, Arthur, wha' are you on abou'? Wha' is it you think you 'ave t' do?'

'I don't want to talk about it right now, Josie. Just leave me alone, will you? Please, go away, both of you.'

John Watson looked at Arthur's drawn and haggard face and then turned to his sister.

'Come along, Josie. Arthur needs to rest. He's been through a hell of a lot. Let's leave him in peace for a bit.'

He helped Josie back into the wheelchair, after she had kissed her brother on the cheek – a kiss which he barely acknowledged except with a slight flinch – and wheeled her out of the ICU room.

'John, what does Vatican Cameos mean?' Josie asked, in a voice hollow with foreboding, once they were outside Arthur's room. 'It's a code, i'n't it? That's why they cut the connection, cos they knew it were a code!'

John argued with himself over whether or not to tell her but, in the end, he said,

'It means someone is going to die.'

ooOoo

'Come with me,' Moran ordered his guest, making an effort to be cordial once again, though failing miserably. The Colonel had fulfilled his part of the bargain and now it was the detective's turn to fulfil his. Sherlock could almost taste the other man's sense of desperate urgency. It was as though a timer was ticking, now, and a bomb was primed to explode.

With the guard in tow, Sherlock was led to a smart and tastefully appointed drawing room and shown to a chair. Moran took a second chair and the guard went straight to a flat screen TV, on a stand in the corner of the room, beside a Georgian fireplace. He switched on the set, then picked up a DVD box, opened it and fitted the disc into a slot on the side of the TV. He took the remote control and handed it to Moran, then went to stand by the door.

'Mr Holmes, I want you to watch this DVD very carefully. I think you might find it interesting,' Moran said, by way of an introduction and then pressed 'Play'.

Sherlock sat back in the chair and watched, his expression impassive, as the grainy images of Mycroft and his employees, engaged in various sexual activities, played out in front of him.

ooOoo

'Any clues as to where he might be?' Mycroft asked, after John had given him the gist of the conversation he, Josie and Arthur had just shared with Sherlock.

Josie had been returned to her ward, still suffering the after-effects of Sherlock's vicious comments about John, his closest friend, even though the doctor had assured her that it was all part of an elaborate game that the detective was playing with his captors.

'Well, 'e seemed deadly serious to me,' she declared.

'Oh, he is serious, Josie,' John assured her. 'When he gets into character, he lives and breathes that person. He meant every single word – but only as that character. The real Sherlock will be tucked away, in his Mind Palace, watching his other self, like a proud parent watching their child in the school play.'

'You make 'im sound a bit schizophrenic,' Josie exclaimed.

'Yes, he is a bit,' John had replied.

'None that I could detect, Mycroft, but the Vatican Cameos comment was clear enough. Once he has done what he has agreed to do, they intend to kill him.'

'We must assume that, now he has confirmed that Arthur and Josie are safe, they will expect him to deliver his side of the deal promptly. So we don't have a great deal of time in which to find him.'

'No, although I'm sure he'll find a way to stall them. And, Mycroft, Arthur's comments to Sherlock were very strange, even stranger than last night – though he obviously doesn't remember what he said last night.'

John went on to repeat, as accurately as he could manage, Arthur's weird declaration. Mycroft listened, unaware that he was rubbing his temples, and thus betraying the intense headache that was building behind his eyes.

'We need to concentrate on the two-tone lorry,' he said, as soon as John had finished speaking. 'It's the only lead we have. Miss Brocklehurst is about to be discharged. John, I want you to take her back onto the moor, to where she and Arthur were found – Richmond will drive you there. Take her through the whole experience and the release. She might remember something more.'

John was not comfortable with the idea.

'That's a rather risky strategy, don't you think? I mean, it was a very frightening experience. She may be horribly traumatised by having to relive it.'

Mycroft looked down at him, in full Iceman mode.

'John, if I have to choose between a traumatised sister-in-law and a dead brother, I would take the former option, every time. There are treatments for trauma. Death is rather more intractable.'

ooOoo

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