Chapter Thirty-Six: Seventy-Nine Days Old
They stumbled through the door, both getting caught in the frame before squeezing through and stepping into the flat. Sherlock sighed rather dramatically and lifted the car seat onto the coffee table – which had been cleaned in his absence along with the rest of the flat, excluding his bedroom, the door was closed – and John dropped the bags onto the floor. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and through his hair.
Sherlock unstrapped and picked Maeve up, drawing her close to his body. "We're home sweetheart."
"I'll go and get the rest then."
Sherlock hummed absentmindedly in response.
"Prick." John muttered beneath his breath.
Sherlock either didn't hear or ignored him. John favoured it was the latter but wandered back downstairs to collect the last bag and the pram while his partner settled on the sofa. He placed Maeve firmly upon his lap in a seated position and retrieved his phone from his pocket, he started tapping away while his daughter looked out at the flat with bright interested eyes.
"That's all of it," John declared upon his return.
"Hmm, oh, yes, thank you John." He was too focused on his phone to hear him, responding to texts with one hand and using the other to support Maeve, holding her up against his body. She seemed quite content, eyes flicking up at the blonde and smiling; displaying her gums to him.
John smiled and knelt down, offering the infant his hand. She took it, taking two of his fingers within her small fists. He glanced up at Sherlock – still staring intently at his phone; brows furrowing and mouth contorting into a thin line – and then focused back on his attention back on Maeve.
"Is your daddy ignoring us?" He asked her.
She squirmed in excitement and kicked her legs.
"You," Sherlock voiced, still preoccupied with his phone.
"What?" John asked, confused.
"You, John, I'm ignoring you." Sherlock corrected. "Not her."
"That's lovely." Sherlock hummed again and John sighed loudly. "What's so interesting anyway?"
"Case." Sherlock finally looked up from his phone and blinked for a moment before looking down at John and Maeve.
"Interesting?"
"Promising."
John nodded in understanding.
"Do you think Uncle Greg will let us work the case?" Sherlock asked Maeve, tone instantly softening.
Maeve heard and felt her father speak. His deep voice rumbling in his chest against her back and searched around inquisitively for the source, she looked at John then craned her neck to get a look at her father.
Sherlock smiled at her and lent down to place a kiss on the top of her head. "Clever."
John looked up at his partner, "you working the case."
"It's only a matter of time."
"Greg hasn't asked you." John deduced.
Sherlock smirked – a proud smirk that suggested he was pleased with John and his attempts at deductions – and ran his free hand softly over Maeve's head. He told him, "Greg took the case over the Friday, he didn't want to disturb our weekend away, so it's only a matter of time."
"Wait," John picked up the newspaper from the top of the pile that Mrs Hudson had left on the coffee table, and pointed to the front page, "Are we talking about this case?"
"Yes."
"A serial kidnapper."
"Four victims held for ransom for the sum of five hundred thousand pounds."
"The parents are paying the ransoms." John skimmed over the paper.
"Of course they are, they're wealthy and would give the world to have their child returned to them safely."
"But he's been killing them."
"Three out of four."
"Why?"
"Why does anyone do anything?" Sherlock asked.
John stared at his partner. Sherlock revealed nothing in his firm gaze, so he guessed, "he's bored."
"Or…" he prompted.
"Or, he's…" the blonde considered it, "he gets off on it."
"A sadist." Sherlock nodded, lip pulling up into a slight smile and eyes twinkling. "The torture would suggest as much."
"How do you know this?" John asked curiously.
"The police and parents have revealed very little about the circumstances of the kidnappings, there is a lack of detail that is very telling, there are statements that collaborate that the ransoms were paid. If the ransoms were paid, the question begs, why did he kill them? He had a reason or an impulsion to kill, he's profited two million pound in the past fortnight, and again, why does he kill them? He wants the money but the urge to kill is overwhelming and without it, he cannot function."
"And he's just going to continue this?" John asked, horrified. "Kidnapping, torturing and killing kids?"
"Teenagers," he corrected, "all the victims were aged sixteen and above."
"That's hardly the point." John scoffed.
"But it is." Sherlock told him. "He does not favour a particular gender but sticks to strict age boundaries, sixteen and seventeen year olds from privileged backgrounds and exclusive schools. He will continue until he is sated or killed."
There was a moment of silence. "He won't ever be sated will he?"
"Sadists rarely are," Sherlock sighed. "They're desires grow and the severity of the sadistic act increases over time."
"So the only hope is to find him before he kills again?" John asked and Sherlock nodded. "But, why was one of the victims found alive?"
Sherlock shrugged.
"You don't know?" John asked, surprised.
Sherlock shot him a stern look, "I don't know everything."
"And you think Greg will ask you to work the case?" John asked, then sighed and continued, "of course he will. He'll want this whole thing dealt with as quickly as possible."
"Speak of the devil." Sherlock muttered and cast a glance at the window.
The front door opened and closed, and was followed by hurried footsteps on the stairs. Greg appeared in the doorway looking rather flustered and slightly out of breath, his eyes darted over John and Maeve, then settled on Sherlock. "The…"
"Kidnapping case," Sherlock finished for him.
"Will you come?"
Sherlock nodded and rose to his feet, holding Maeve against his body with one hand. She looked around at the movement, startled but decided that she was safe in her father's grasp and squeal – somewhere between delight and annoyance at being moved so quickly. Sherlock looked down at her and rolled his eyes (amused). "The last body was discovered yesterday." Sherlock said, he did not ask.
"Yes," Greg answered, nodding his head dumbly. "Hope Stewart."
"No DNA on the body, fingerprints at the scene." Again, it was a statement and not a question.
"He dumped the body there. In and out, nothing at the scene or on the body." he confirmed.
"Ten minutes." Sherlock told him.
"Will you be taking a taxi?" Greg asked.
"Waste of time," Sherlock shook his head, "he's escalating otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"Robert Innes was reported missing yesterday night, his parents received a call ten hours later, as per MO, the same amount of money. If he follows pattern we have eleven hours till we find his body."
"John." Sherlock said.
"The baby bag," John nodded and rose to his feet. He began rushing to prepare the bag.
Sherlock rushed into the bedroom and appeared a few minutes later with a freshly changed Maeve.
"Do you want to look at the body?" Greg asked.
Sherlock nodded.
The grey haired man picked up the carseat and walked downstairs, Sherlock and John followed. The grey BMW was parked directly outside the house with Sally in the passenger seat, on the phone, she looked up as they approached with a tight smile – forced because of the circumstances – and continued talking.
Greg put the pram in the boot and Sherlock strapped Maeve into her carseat in the middle seat, he and John climbed in either side of her. Maeve whined but Sherlock hushed her softly.
"You've got theories." Greg said as they pulled away from the curb.
"Sexual sadist, the torture he inflicts is pleasure to him, he's chosen to profit from it." Sherlock told them. "The choice of victims is telling; he chooses men and women between the age of sixteen and seventeen, the object of his rage or desires, in this case, would have been the same age when the fixations began. He may or may not have acted on this but there will be previous convictions of a violent nature."
"And sexual?" Sally asked, "Sadist enjoy inflicting pain on their partners, right?"
"Yes." Sherlock caught her eye in the mirror. "His partners may be consensual but the progression of his sadism would result in violent acts."
"And you're sure that he's a sadist?" Greg asked, eyes fixed on the road.
"There is no other explanation for his torturing the victims."
"Maybe he just likes torturing them."
"Nope, there is absolutely no possibility." Sherlock informed him. "Why else would he kill the victims despite the ransom being paid? He can't control his impulses, he gets carried away. Their death is his…sexual gratification."
"Right." Greg nodded.
"So, he's not going to stop." Sally confirmed. "Unless he's caught that is."
"No." John answered this time with a tight smile.
Sherlock looked down at Maeve and placed his hand upon her body. She looked at it and then continued to look around, squirming slightly in her seat.
"Ten hours, thirty-six minutes." Sherlock glanced at his watch and followed the grey haired man down the corridor towards the morgue. He held Maeve close to his body and stood outside of the door when Greg walked in to inform Molly of their arrival.
"I'll wait with Maeve," John said.
Sherlock wanted to protest but nodded and handed her to him. The blonde gestured to the other door, that lead to a viewing area and Sherlock nodded in understanding. He walked into the morgue and John round to the separate are; he held Maeve and watched through the glass as Sherlock stepped close to the body on the table. He could hear every word that they said.
"Is he alright?" Sally asked on the car journey to New Scotland Yard. She glanced in their rear-view mirror at Sherlock – he was still and staring out of the window with his hand resting on his daughter, both of her hands resting on his – and then to John.
"He's thinking," John explained.
"Does he do that often?"
"Think? Yes. Ignore everyone? Yes." John answered with a long sigh. "He ignores me daily."
"And you're fine with that?" She asked.
John snorted, "He's put me on mute."
"Mute?" She asked with a small smile tainting her lips.
"Yeah, like he's pressed a button in his head and can no longer hear me." The blonde explained. "He does it to Mrs Hudson on a semi-permanent basis and Greg almost all the time."
"Explains why he doesn't listen to me." Greg voiced.
"If you had something interesting to say, perhaps I would listen," Sherlock informed them in a velvety tone.
"You manage to pay her attention," Donovan seemed impressed.
Sherlock hummed, uninterested. "She does require my constant attention but is far less work that the rest of the population. Besides," he sighed, "she helps me think."
"A conductor of light." John added.
"Exactly."
"The missing boy -" Sherlock asked.
"Robert Innes." John supplied.
"His parents are where?"
"They're down the hall," Greg answered.
Sherlock was stood with his arms over the table, leaning forward with his attention on the photographs from the locations where the bodies were discovered. He had abandoned his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. "I need to speak with them."
Greg nodded and gestured to him to follow. Sherlock paused and plucked his daughter from John's arms, she was fed and burped and followed the DI down the hallway, John following behind with Donovan. The grey haired man knocked softly on the half-open door to alert them to their presence, then stepped in with a small smile in greeting at the man and women sat against the furthest wall. They were well off, that much as obvious from their appearance (not to mention to victims MO) and sat, their hands resting atop of each other on the wife's knee.
"Mr and Mrs Innes, this is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson." Greg introduced. "They're consulting on your son's case."
"You're the consultant," Mr Innes said, recognition dawning on his face. "The one from the papers."
Sherlock nodded and took a seat to the left of them, angling his body towards them and keeping Maeve fixed firmly against his chest. "You're paying the ransom."
Mrs Innes nodded eagerly. "We just want him back."
"How long will it take for you to get the money together?"
"A couple of hours." Mr Innes said.
"And the call, he called you directly, the man responsible?"
"Yes," Mr Innes answered, "we've gone through this all before."
"Yes, but I prefer to hear it from you and not second hand."
"He used some sort of voice thingy."
"To disguise his voice, did it make it deeper?" Mr Innes nodded. "And, what did he say?"
"He said that he knew Robert hadn't come home and he knew why."
"And his instructions." Sherlock prompted.
"Five hundred thousand if we wanted to see him again."
"You are aware that three of the victims were killed, yes?"
Mrs Innes nodded and started sobbing. Mr Innes rubbed her hand gently and answered. "They told us that it depends on the time and the faster we get the ransom the more likely we are to get him back." He left out 'alive'.
"The man responsible for this, the man holding your son," Sherlock cleared his throat, "he would have been watching your son, that means you may have seen him at some point, I'd like you to think back and inform one of the PC's of anyone that strikes you, anything will help, and if we can get an accurate description then we may be able to ID him."
Sherlock rose to his feet and Mrs Innes stood up at the same time. "Mr Holmes."
Sherlock focused on her, "yes."
"You'll bring him back for us," she pleaded, eyes still full of tears, "you understand, you're a father yourself, you must understand."
"I will do my utmost to bring your son back to you," he promised with a forced smile.
They left the room and Sherlock released a breath. John placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed gently.
"You did good." John told him and the taller man nodded. "Want me to take her?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I need…" he looked around and lowered his voice, "I need her close."
"Ok," John responded, his voice matching his partner's in volume. "What do we need to do?"
"We get the ransom here and when he calls, I need to speak with him."
John nodded and glanced at Greg, he nodded in agreement.
"And now?" Sally asked.
"I need to look over the files again."
She nodded and followed him back towards the room they were using as a base for this case.
"Nothing." Sherlock snapped. He threw a file across the room. A few sheets of paper flew out but the majority of it hit the wall with a resounding thud before it fell apart and the papers floated towards the ground like autumn leaves falling from the tree.
Maeve jerked at the sound.
"There has to be something." Sherlock cried out in frustration. He placed his hands on his hips and looked around the room, everyone though use to his antics had stopped and looked up at him.
Maeve's lip quivered for a moment and she began to cry.
"For goodness sake!" Sherlock muttered more to himself than anyone else. John went to get up but Sherlock held up a hand and stated, "Its fine."
The consulting detective quickly ran hand through his curls and swooped her up from her pram, cradling her head in one hand and his body in the other. He bounced her gently and whispered into her ear, "Shhh… you're fine, you are absolutely fine. Daddy didn't mean to shout."
He placed a kiss on a spot above her ear and didn't stop muttering to her until she had stopped crying, now only releasing the occasional sniff and worried breath.
"You should take her home." Greg told him tiredly.
"I need to be here when he calls." Sherlock said, exhale noisily.
Greg nodded knowing that would be the answer. "I could get someone to collect her."
Sherlock shook his head. "I need her here."
There was more emotion in his voice uttering that one short sentence than Greg had heard from the consulting detective over the course of an entire weekend – he was pleading, Sherlock Holmes was pleading – and Greg managed a stunted nod. "I understand but it would be-"
"I can't." Sherlock interrupted. His eyes flicked over the occupants of the room, Sally had lowered her head and was pretending (badly but with good intentions) to look at the case file while Anderson looked out of the window. "I can't imagine what these parents are going through, and, I can't, I won't be able to think if she's taken away from me."
"She shouldn't be here," was all Greg said on the matter.
"I will take her home the moment the phone rings and I talk to him, you can arrange the meeting points and ransom drop, and I won't come back until you call me." Sherlock promised, grey eyes unwavering.
"Fine." Greg sighed, speaking softly. "But the moment I say otherwise."
Sherlock nodded eagerly like a child that had bargained for an extra ten minutes at bed time and Greg reached out to touch the younger man's arm, running it over his bicep in a comforting motion before dropping his hand back to his side.
"Anything" he turned back to the room and gestured wildly, "has anybody got anything of any use?"
"The victims, what were they doing before they were taken?" John asked.
"They were out, at parties and Hope, was returning from studying late at a friend's house, she left at eleven." Sally told him, pausing only to look at files and clarify the information.
"I'm assuming they didn't walk," John thought aloud.
"They caught cabs," Anderson informed him, picking up the file of phone records, the last calls (to local cab companies) circled in yellow highlighter.
"Different companies," John said, annoyed with himself.
"Yes, but same circumstances." Sherlock pondered. "Let's assume that they were being followed."
"You expressed as much," Sally said with a nod.
"They called for cabs and what?" Sherlock looked over them expectantly.
"Waited?" Anderson guessed, unsure of himself.
"They waited," Sherlock nodded, "outside, alone."
"So he just walked up and grabbed them when they were alone?" John asked.
"He wouldn't have to," Sherlock answered. "If he had a weapon, which would have been enough to keep them silent and get them to his vehicle, assuming he had parked it close by."
"We need to get CCTV images, the last time our victims were seen." Greg instructed.
"We have eye-witness accounts," Anderson suggested.
"Nobody saw anything." Sally said.
"Start with Robert, he is our top priority. I want to see his last movements, where the party was and when he left, the surrounding streets. Then, the others, I want to see him and I want to see the vehicle."
Sally nodded and got to her feet. She left the room.
"He hasn't phoned, why hasn't he phoned?" John asked.
"Robert must not be playing," Sherlock articulated.
There was no phone call.
There was a text message.
Wildy & Sons ltd, fleet street. Put the money inside the bin and leave.
Sherlock was true to his word and five minutes later he and John were in a cab on the way to Baker Street.
"Everything ok?" John asked.
Sherlock put his phone on the bedside table and answered, his low as not to disturb his sleeping daughter. "He paid someone to pick up the money and leave it somewhere else, there was no description and it was done on a burner which he's dumped."
"He's got the money." John said in disbelief.
"And Robert."
"Are you sleeping?"
Sherlock nodded. "In a little bit."
Notes: Hello, thank you everyone for reading and the comments - I love the feedback that I get for this story! If anyone is interested I am on various platforms of social media: Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr - to which I post ideas, to do with this fic and others, along with snippets and spoilers for upcoming chapters. If this is something that you are interested in then please contact me, I can give you my username and I may also take prompts and stuff. I just like to hear from you all in general! Many thanks x