"John this is Inspector Gregson, he's going to ask you a few questions, bout Sherlock and your… erm… Mycroft."
John sat in shock looking over the book's cover.
What am I suppose to see?
"Mr. Watson is it?" DI Gregson asked flipping open his notepad. John sat still staring blankly at the book. "Mhm. Right then." He coughed. "When was the last time you saw your, cousin is it?" John blinked. He looked up at Gregson with a blank look on his face.
"A pound sterling…" John said mechanically. "A pound."
"The boy appears to be in a bit of shock, constable." DI Gregson said looking at John with concern. Greg walked over and put a hand on John's shoulder.
"A pound." John said handing the coin over to Greg. Greg looked it over.
"That it is." Greg said with a nod. He looked at the book in John's hand. DI Gregson reached out his hand and Greg placed the coin in his outreached palm.
"You believe it was the kidnapper who left this?" DI Gregson asked. John nodded solemnly. "Right." Gregson said smacking his lips. "Book as well?" John nodded. "Let us see." Gregson said reaching for the book.
"You're certain this is Moran?" Greg said squeezing John's hand. John nodded, deep in thought.
Why didn't I pay better attention in English literature?
Gregson thumbed through the pages. "Ain't a thing written on these pages… save the sonnets and plays. Not much of a ransom note, now is it?"
"Could it be a clue sir? A hint to their location." Greg suggested.
"Perhaps." Gregson said searching the pages once more. He looked at the coin in his hand. "And this was with the book?"
"In the book…" John said staring off into space.
"What page?" Greg asked. John groaned and put his hands to his face.
Oh no.
"It fell out." John cried. Greg patted his back.
"It's all right, we'll get this sorted." Greg said soothingly.
"Right, when's the last time you saw the boy?" Gregson asked tucking the book into an evidence bag along with the coin.
"Midnight, last night… I woke up and he was gone."
"And Mycroft, has he any relations to the boy?" Gregson asked jotting down notes.
"He's his brother." John said bringing his hands away from his face and looking at the floor. Greg gave him a stunned look. John went red in the face from embarrassment.
"So he's your cousin as well then?"
"No… neither of them are…" John shook his head. Greg stood up straight and back away. John didn't dare meet his gaze. DI Gregson gave Greg an odd look.
"Constable, you look like you've seen a ghost, you're as pale as a sheet my boy."
"M'fine… sir… just… need a bit of water… is all…" Greg turned and headed straight for the kitchen.
"Wonder what the boys at the yard will make of this." Gregson thought out loud. "A quid in a collection of Shakespeare. What's a pound got to do with a playwright?"
"A pound…" John repeated. "A pound of flesh."
"Excuse me?" Gregson said with a furrowed brow.
"The apple." John said jumping up.
"An… apple?" Gregson asked confused. Greg walked out of the kitchen to see John diving towards Sherlock's chair.
"Yes! The apple with the I.O.U.!" John shouted throwing the apple to Gregson who near fumbled it. "The apple with the key."
"What does a fruit got to do with this?" Gregson asked looking over the carved apple.
"I have no bloody idea!" John shouted with a laugh. "All I remember is a pound of flesh! Shakespeare! Something about some guy owing some other guy money and if he wasn't going to pay him back he was going to take a pound of the guy's flesh."
"Merchant of Venice?" Greg asked.
"Quick! The book!" John lunged forward towards the inspector. He withdrew the book and handed it to John. John flipped to the table of contents and scanned for The Merchant of Venice. He flipped through the pages and landed on the list of characters.
"Shylock?" John questioned. "A Jewish moneylender."
"Yes well… if I'm not mistaken… he's the one that wanted that pound of flesh from… erm… Antonio… I'm afraid it's been quite some time since I've read anything Shakespeare." Gregson said looking at the page over John's shoulder.
"This cannot be coincidence." John said skimming through the pages. "What are we supposed to see?"
Maybe it's written in invisible ink. No… then the pages would be distorted. This is a freshly printed book. The binding hasn't even been cracked. What is it about The Merchant of Venice? Shylock…
DI Gregson's two-way radio cracked. "Excuse me a moment." He stepped out on to the landing to talk over with the control centre. Greg walked over.
"When were you going to tell me he wasn't your cousin?" Greg said through his teeth.
"Greg… I can't right now."
"Now's as good a time as any."
"No it isn't. Sherlock's missing and I've got to find him." John held up the book. "And this is all I've got. Please… you've got to help me." John pleaded.
"He's a little boy John, what the hell were you thinking?"
"Please." John said with tears in his eyes.
"I… I don't even know where to start." Greg shook his head.
"He has both of them held up somewhere and I haven't a clue where. I've got a book, an apple, and a pound. Sherlock would have cracked this by now." John shook his head.
"Listen… I don't know what the hell is going on here… between you two… you three! For God's sake John. What have you gotten yourself into?"
"I don't know!" John cried. "Help me!"
DI Gregson walked back in. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes sir. Just going over some information." Gregson stepped back outside to finish his call. "Listen… we're going to need to go soon. I'll see what I can do. I just… I just don't know John."
John held back his tears.
"Don't go searching for them John. Let the police handle this. I'll call you if I get word of anything." Greg put a hand on John's shoulder. "Just sit tight and when all of this is sorted… you and I will have us a talk." Greg nodded. "All right?" John looked at the floor and nodded. Greg let go and walked toward the door.
DI Gregson popped in briefly to say good-bye and reassure John that they'd take care of everything. John took a seat in his chair and sat there, staring out the window.
He couldn't believe what had transpired in such a short amount of time. Both Sherlock and Mycroft were gone and now Greg wasn't going to be of any assistance because he knew John was a paedophile. Not that the police were ever of any use.
I'm going to lose both of them and go to prison… all in the same day.
John ran his hands through his hair.
Think… think… Scotland Yard is useless. I'm the one who has to solve this.
John steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips, a tear rolled down his cheek.
I'm not a Holmes. I can't do this. I can't bloody do this. I wish Sherlock was here. He'd know precisely what this all means. Oh, why'd I let him take the book? The pound as well! Shit!
John stood up.
Maybe he's left something else in the flat. Another clue. Anything.
John paced the floor.
He would have taken them somewhere symbolic. It'd have to be symbolic. Perhaps near the high-rise, perhaps not. A church… if not a clock tower… Yes, yes. That would make sense. He wanted me, specifically me, to find the book and the coin. He knew my mental limitations, he's a smart lad. He'd know just where I'd look.
John's eyes caught the manilla folder on Sherlock's desk.
Bingo.
John opened it up to find all of the old pictures of the clock towers that Sherlock had once tacked to the wall.
Now which one is it?
John laid the photos out on the table
Six… six… This can't be that hard. Now which one isn't it?
John threw out Elizabeth Tower and King's Cross along with Westminster Cathedral.
St. Pancras as well… another railway station… cannot be a high traffic area. That leaves us with two. Great Saint Barts… A possibility… Sherlock was looking at it with great intent when he came to the conclusion that Moriarty was behind all of this. This must be it!
John looked at the photo.
But what has it got to do with the clues?
John stared at it just as if he was Sherlock. He tried to make all the mental connections, but instead his head swarmed with non-sense. He put the photo back down, feeling defeated. He let out a heavy sigh and picked up the last photograph. He held it in his hands.
Saint Lawrence… Saint Lawrence… Where have I seen this before?
John opened up his laptop, opened up his browser and typed into Google Maps 'St Lawrence'.
"Holy shit!" John shouted. "Saint Lawrence Jewry!"
Right off of Gresham Street. By God I've done it.
