"So stupid," Scarlett muttered under her breath as she heard the door to 221B shut and she ran back off into the living room, moving everything that she could to see where he had hidden her clothes. She swore under her breath as she moved into the bathroom and then back into the bedroom, pushing things from their normal places before sighing loudly and then coming up with a plan. Surely he hadn't hid his own clothes. Scarlett flung the wardrobe which Sherlock had open and then her face fell as she looked at the empty railing and the note which clung to the golden tube.
You didn't really think I was that stupid, did you?
"Crap," Scarlett muttered and ran a hand through her hair. She stood still for a moment before thinking about what to do. There was no way she was running through the streets of London in nothing but a sheet and at the same time there was no way she was going to let Sherlock go off and maybe get himself killed. And then she remembered John. She called his mobile after finding hers hiding in the depths of her bag and she placed it to her ear before he picked up.
"John Watson," she said low and dangerously, "If you don't tell me where my husband is then I swear to God that will be the end of you."
"He's not here yet..." John simply replied.
"And could you be more specific about where 'here' is?" Scarlett snapped at him and he sighed.
"He had said you'd probably call me," John told her. "And that I am to give you no instructions as to where we are going because you would follow."
"And I wonder why I would follow," Scarlett rolled her eyes. "He's taken all of my clothes and I have nothing to wear and he intends to just keep me locked up here..."
"He's trying to keep you safe."
"First time for everything," Scarlett snorted and John sighed.
"He isn't being an arse about this," John told her.
"Mrs Hudson," Scarlett suddenly whispered and began to walk out.
"Don't bother," John told her and Scarlett stood still for a moment at the top of the stairs.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because Sherlock paid for her to go away for the weekend because well...of your wedding...and all that when you go home..."
"You mean he didn't want her ears damaged from our-"
"Yes," John interrupted quickly. "Keep your private life to yourself...oh crap...he's here..."
"If you hang up on me John-"
And then he hung up. Scarlett looked at her phone and saw the call had been disconnected. She flung her phone onto the bed and rested down on it, groaning as she went. Out of all the men in the world she had to choose the only consulting detective to marry.
...
"She's going to kill you," John told Sherlock as they walked along the quiet pavement of London to the known address the homeless network had given Sherlock. Sherlock chuckled lightly and rolled his eyes.
"She's faking it John," he informed his friend. "She would be lost without me. In the end she will realise that this was for her own good."
"And out of interest," John said, "where did you hide her clothes?"
"How do I know you won't call her back and relay the information?" Sherlock wondered, looking into his eyes and John shook his head.
"Because I don't want her to get hurt either?" he checked with Sherlock and the man just nodded in understanding, realising John was far too simple to read and so couldn't be lying.
"I hid them in your old room. I have been using it for my experiments and Scarlett can't handle going in there...she'd never find them anyway."
"Why wouldn't she?"
"Because the first thing which she will see if she opens that cupboard is the remains of a human body part...well...a severed arm and head. She'll scream and then run a mile."
"That's grim Sherlock," John frowned.
"It's an experiment," Sherlock replied. "I didn't think she would appreciate seeing them whilst we're in the middle of-"
"No!" John snapped and Sherlock grinned and raised a brow.
"I was going to say in the middle of dinner. You and Scarlett have terribly disturbing minds at times."
"We have disturbing minds?" John scoffed. "We're not the ones hiding body parts in cupboards!"
"Let's hope you never have to move back in then," Sherlock said and then stopped outside the flat. It was situated above a fish and chip shop as Sherlock looked up at it, wondering the best way to get in.
"I'm guessing we're not going to ring the doorbell then," John murmured as he followed Sherlock round the side of the building, managing to just jump over the high fence as Sherlock easily grabbed onto the top and hauled himself over with skill. John managed to get over, but on his descent he caught his leg on the wood and hurtled to the ground.
"Ow," he complained, standing up and rubbing the mud off from him as he saw Sherlock using his hands to skim the brickwork and looking up at the window. "I'm fine," John muttered. "Don't worry about me...no broken bones or anything..."
And his grumbles did indeed fall onto deaf ears. Sherlock continued to walk down the side of the building until he came to the small back shared yard which was scruffy looking with paved slabs and bits of rubbish. Before John could even speak anything else Sherlock had jumped onto the dustbin and then he reached for the ledge which went around the back of the house. He used his hands to cling onto it before hauling himself up, trying not to slip on the tiles. John watched in awe as the detective found the correct window which was slightly open and he managed to pull it open all the way. John quickly then jumped onto the bin and then onto the ledge, losing his footing slightly before he followed Sherlock through the window. Once inside, they both gasped at the vile smell before walking down the small corridor, keeping quiet, knowing someone was inside one of the rooms. As they walked, John kept his hand on his gun as his feet caused the floorboards beneath him to squeak as he went. Sherlock remained graceful, fumbling around in the dark until he heard the smashing noise from a room in the hall.
"Did you hear that?" John asked Sherlock in a whisper but before he could reply there was the sound of a gunshot and light illuminated the building. Sherlock ducked down as they saw a man run down the corridor and into the main living room and they followed. John managed to rugby tackle him to the ground whilst Sherlock dove onto the sofa they were near and reached for his discarded gun. John tussled with the man on the floor as Sherlock stood up and fired the gun, stopping the two of them from fighting.
"What the hell is this?" the man asked as John stood up and backed over to Sherlock, still holding his gun.
"I could ask you the same question," Sherlock replied, looking at the gun in his hand and then at the man's greasy features. He fitted the description Scarlett had given him. Slowly, the man stood and then smiled.
"Sherlock Holmes," he whispered. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you."
"And why not?" Sherlock wondered.
"Because I'm just the messenger boy...not held high up..."
"And apparently you killed someone earlier this morning," Sherlock said and he shrugged.
"I was told to...is that why you're here?" he asked him and Sherlock raised a brow.
"Why did you think I would be here?" he quizzed him although he already knew. The man's smile on his face grew and Sherlock felt slightly disgusted at the sight of it.
"Because I had words with you Mrs. earlier on today..."
"I am aware you did," Sherlock spoke, trying to keep calm.
"Truth be told I felt slightly bad doing it...I could think of much more inventive ways to feel her wriggle under my body-"
But he was cut off from finishing his sentence as Sherlock placed the gun into his blazer and quickly threw a punch across the man's jaw, knocking him back slightly. Before John had a chance to warn his friend to not do anything stupid Sherlock had picked the man back up straight and had punched him again, but this time he was much more prepared and he flung his fist back at Sherlock who was hit in the neck. The two men tousled and John tried to pull them apart, but as he shoved Sherlock, the enemy reached for the gun in his pocket and the greasy looking hit man pulled back and pointed it at the detective who was straightening out his jacket. John looked on for a moment and watched as he raised the gun at his friend and without giving a second thought, John fired a shot straight into the greasy man's chest. Sherlock watched as the man fell backwards and he dropped to his knees, looking on as blood seeped out.
"Who are you working for?" Sherlock snapped at him but he received no reply and Sherlock shook his head.
"Who sent you?" he demanded from him again. "Tell me now!"
"Good luck..." he croaked out. "You'll need it..."
...
"You psychopath!" Scarlett yelled at Sherlock as he walked back into 221B and she adjusted the sheet around her body. "Who the hell keeps body parts in a cupboard?"
"And if you looked further back in the cupboard you would have found your clothes," Sherlock grumbled and Scarlett looked at him for the first time.
"You've been bleeding," she noted the dried blood on his chin and she grabbed his hand and lead him into the bathroom. Sherlock took a seat on the side of the bath whilst she grabbed cotton wool and wet it slightly, dabbing it onto his chin.
"What happened?" she asked him.
"The man who attacked you was some kind of hit man...he's dead now," Sherlock spoke in a monotone fashion.
"You killed him?" she raised a brow.
"John did," Sherlock stated. "He was going to shoot me."
"So you found nothing out?"
"No," Sherlock said. "Nothing at all."
"You shouldn't have gone," Scarlett shook her head. "I've had to stay here...waiting...not knowing where you went. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"
"I was keeping you safe," Sherlock said, running a hand through his black hair. "How can you not see that?"
"Because you risked your own life...and..."
"I fail to understand why you're annoyed," Sherlock stood up. "I'm back now."
"You might not have been," she huffed. "Now go and fetch my clothes."
"You go and get them," Sherlock said.
"I am not going anywhere near a body part," she replied. "So I suggest you go and fetch them now or you'll soon be visiting Molly."
"I don't think she would want to see-"
"In a body bag," Scarlett interrupted and left Sherlock in the bathroom.