Chapter 20: The problems of his future
John Watson was sitting on his bed, head shaking in disbelief. "He has a daughter. Now that is a surprise. I knew about his wife. He had told me the whole story about her tragic death but I wasn't aware of a daughter."
"Well, life is full of surprises don't you think?" Sherlock smiled at him.
"What are we going to do now? I will be leaving at 10 AM and you are forced to stay in bed for at least two more days."
"I will release myself tomorrow. There's a little girl who needs me."
His blogger was staring at him wordlessly.
"Look, I am fine. I can breathe and I can walk. That's all that's necessary at the moment," Sherlock tried again.
"You nearly died twice in the last two months. I don't want to lose you a third time." John looked at him with pleading eyes.
"I know that, believe me. The problem is Steven needs us right now. If we can't help him his career as a surgeon is over and I doubt he can handle any more drawbacks," the detective replied with a serious expression on his face.
John left the bed, walking around in an attempt to find a solution for the whole problem. "Why are we always getting these complicated cases? I really miss the easy ones."
Sherlock started to cough, "Easy cases? We never had easy cases."
"Let me think about it. 'The Woman In Prada', 'The Glowing Police Car' and of course 'The Burning Salt Shaker'," the blogger remembered.
"Oh, come on! 'The Burning Salt Shaker' wasn't an easy case. It took us five days to figure out how it was done."
"I still remember your face when you found out there were two salt shakers to kill the person," John grinned.
"For God's sake! Your face wasn't that different from mine so stop teasing me," the younger Holmes hissed.
"Okay, okay. Back to Steven. What are we going to do?"
"First of all, we need to know everything about Hailey. I want you to cancel your plans and instead visit him. Find out as much as possible about the girl and her daily life. We need to make sure she is watched by someone other than the police. If Moriarty's men find out about Steven, I am sure they will kill the girl."
"Do you want me to use my laptop to start a video conversation?" John wanted to know.
"I think this is something you can do better than I. We both know I am not good with such situations."
John just pointed his finger at the detective, "True."
"I count on you, John. I am sure if we can catch Hailey, Moriarty will show himself."
"You still believe he is alive, do you?" John asked sceptically.
"As long as I don't have proof otherwise, yes."
Later that day, John Watson and Steven Strange met at the interrogation room. The doctor was still handcuffed and the orange prison suit just worsened the sight of the broken man. Something was alarming the blogger but he couldn't name it. The two men were sitting at the table staring at each other.
John cleared his throat, "How are you holding up?"
"Don't ask. Just don't ask." Steven had lost every expression he once had. His hair was a mess, eyes surrounded by black circles from the lack of sleep as a surgeon. John could still smell the soap which doctors use to scrub their hands before an operation.
"I am sorry for all of this. We never expected you as part of this whole thing," John tried to apologize.
"If someone had warned me about Sherrinford before, I never would have worked there," Steven admitted.
"You have to be strong for your daughter. Hailey needs you and that's the reason I am here."
"Why should anyone help me? Just be realistic, I tried to kill a man. And it's not just an ordinary man, it's Sherlock Holmes we are talking about."
This is going to be a very hard mission, Watson discovered.
"Sherlock sends his greetings. I am here because of him. Believe me Steven he wants to help you."
The head surgeon started to laugh, "Nobody is able to help me right now. I am charged with attempted murder."
John was getting impatient. He needed information and Strange was lost in his own sorrow.
"Listen, I am sure you are here just for protection. We need to know everything about your daughter. Like a day schedule. We need every detailed hour, the places she likes to visit regularly and of course where she stays when you are working."
"It's too late to find her," the doctor cried.
"Why Steven? What else didn't you tell Sherlock?"
The doctor looked up at John. The tears were falling now and he started to sob. "They already have her…"
John couldn't believe what he was hearing. "How is that possible? You did what they told you to do."
"I was supposed to kill him. And that never happened. To be honest, I was hoping he would bleed to death. Everyone would have thought it was an accident but…"
"Yes?"
"I just couldn't. The first time I met him at the hospital he was clinically dead but he pulled through. The whole hospital staff was just talking about the surgeon who saved the detective's life. I couldn't ruin my name. It took me years of practice to become that good and now everything is falling apart because the truth is, I tried to kill a man and someone else will finish my daughter."
"Who has your daughter Steven? Who are they?"
"I don't know exactly. Men, hired by a guy called Moriarty."
"And how do you know they have Hailey?"
With his cuffed hands the doctor fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out of it. Carefully he placed it on the table. It was a photograph of Hailey. The girl was sitting scared on a chair, her body tied to it and her mouth covered with tape. She was full of tears and when John saw the picture he gulped.
"Show me the picture." Next to John on the table was his laptop, the detective silently had followed the whole conversation.
All of a sudden Steven jumped up and screamed, "You betrayed me! He was listening the whole time! How dare you! I thought I could trust you…"
John rolled his eyes, "Fantastic. Really fantastic, Sherlock," he whispered to himself.
Two guards entered the room and dragged the head surgeon out of the room. John returned to Sherlock, who was sitting in his bed, eating a donut.
"Are you serious? There is a man losing his mind and you are eating a donut?"
"My brain needs sugar to think right now. Stop complaining and show me the photograph," the detective forced, his voice muffled by the donut in his mouth.
The blogger sighed and held the picture in front of the camera.
"Green background. A flat or maybe a house. Slight traces of black at the wall. Looks like soot from a chimney. Scratches at the bottom of the wallpaper. This person owns a cat. The windows haven't been cleaned for a long time, so I guess we are talking about a male person here. I can see some sauce splashes on the wall as well. Probably a single man in his fifties."
"How can you say this man is around fifty?" the blogger questioned.
"Easy John. If this guy had a wife, this room would never look the way it does. The sauce on the wall is very thin. That leads to the conclusion that this man is using sauce powder which is cooked up with hot water. The splashes are spread almost everywhere, so the person we are looking for doesn't care about a lid on the pot."
"Look at you Sherlock. You are thirty-six now and your flat is a mess. If Mrs Hudson wasn't cleaning your flat from time to time, it would look like the one in the picture." John looked at the camera.
"I am not lonely John. There's a difference," the detective defended himself.
"Really?"
"Where did you get the idea of me being lonely?" the detective sounded hurt.
"Your flat looks like the one in the picture, so I came up with this deduction," the blogger shrugged his shoulders.
"Just because my flat is structured kind of chaotic it does not mean I am lonely."
"Let's concentrate on the case again. What are we going to do now?" John asked curious.
"I want you to bring me this photo. Try to put it in a plastic bag, so we can look for fingerprints later," Sherlock advised and closed the laptop.
The doctor sighed, stepped out of the interrogation room and tried to get a cab.
Later that day the two men from 221B Baker Street were sitting on the patient's bed, staring at the photo.
"Did you ask Lestrade for fingerprints?" the injured detective wanted to know.
"I did. Just before I left. Nothing. Just from Steven."
"You know what? I hate such cases. No trace, no evidence, just nothing to work with," the detective cursed.
"I am sure we will find the girl in time. Steven did nothing wrong and I am sure Moriarty or whoever is behind this knows," the doctor said calm.
"I really hope you are right this time. If this girl dies before we can find her, I will never forgive myself."
"Finding a flat with just one picture is nearly impossible," the blogger whispered.
"I know," the detective replied, swung his legs out of the bed and tried to get up.
"What are you doing Sherlock?"
The detective put on his morning dress and slippers, took his suction device under one arm and started to walk towards the door.
"Wait. You can't walk around yet," Watson tried to stop his friend.
"As you see I can," Sherlock replied with a triumphant smile and continued his walk.
Now the doctor was at his side, grabbing his arm. "Please Sherlock. The stitches inside you can re-open and that would mean you are going to bleed to death without noticing it."
"It's not going to happen."
"Since when are you a doctor, too?" Watson was getting desperate.
"I just need to visit the laboratory," the detective replied and moved on.
"What do you want there? I am sure they won't let you enter in a morning gown and slippers."
Both men stepped outside the room. A young nurse was the first to discover the detective. "Mr Holmes, you aren't allowed to move around yet."
"I know what the doctor said but this is important. Where do I find the laboratory?" the detective asked with an innocent look on his face.
"I can't let you go any further." Her gaze wandered to John Watson, who was desperately trying to stop the detective. "Aren't you a doctor, too? Why aren't you stopping him? He's risking his life and you don't care."
Now the soldier looked at her totally stunned. "I tried but he is stubborn like a child."
"At least look for a wheelchair," she advised.
John sighed and did as he was told. When finally, both men were ready to take a walk through the hospital, Sherlock instantly felt alive again. A smile formed on his face. "You have no idea how free I feel right now," the detective whispered.
"I can imagine it. It's still a miracle for me, how fast you are recovering from severe wounds," the blogger replied.
"I am Sherlock Holmes. I always recover that fast."
Both men giggled while waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened and John rolled the wheelchair inside, no one entered with them.
"Seems like no one wants to join us to the lab," John tried to make some conversation.
Sherlock just nodded, "They are scared of me." When the elevator doors opened, the laboratory was right in front of the two friends. John rolled the wheelchair out of the metal cave and rang the bell. A few seconds later a woman in her mid-forties was standing in front of the two men.
"How can I help you?" she asked very rudely.
"Hi, I am Dr John Watson and this is detective Sherlock Holmes. We would like to use your laboratory for some examinations," the blogger explained.
The woman with the name Roberta Mangiapane looked at the two men, like she wanted to kill them. "I've never heard of those names before," she mumbled and was about to leave, when Sherlock replied, "We are here to help Dr Steven Strange who is in a lot of trouble right now."
Now her expression changed, "You are here for Steven? Please come in but make it quick. Strangers aren't allowed in this area."
"I thought everyone knew me already," the detective said with a smile of victory on his face.
When the three entered the laboratory, Sherlock discovered that this one was twice the size of Barth's. "Amazing. Medical care must have been very important to Culverton Smith. This is indeed the biggest laboratory I have ever seen."
"If you tell me what you need, we would be even faster," the woman stopped and waited for the detective to answer.
"Maybe we start with a microscope and I need a set of tests to trace any substances on this photo here," Sherlock showed her the photo.
"What exactly are you searching for? Human DNA, chemicals or something else?" Roberta kindly asked.
"Everything you can offer me is appreciated," the detective gave her a thin smile.
The woman nodded and showed them a place in the last row. "This place offers you everything you can dream of. You can stay as long as you want. I will make sure no one disturbs you."
When Roberta left, Sherlock grabbed the photo and looked under the microscope.
"Sherlock, Lestrade already looked at it. This is a waste of time," Watson muttered.
"It's never a waste to look twice," the younger Holmes replied and started to adjust the lenses of the microscope. "Now that is something to start with," he said satisfied.
"What did you find?" John was curious to find out.
"Just look for yourself John. It's amazing as always."
The doctor cleared his throat and bent over the microscope. "Looks like a dandruff."
"What else do you see?" Sherlock asked excited.
John looked further and gasped. "Jesus. Someone seems to know you pretty well."
It didn't seem to bother the detective. He was still smiling.
"This watermark wasn't seen by Lestrade's men," the blogger said irritated.
"I know."
The question mark on John's face grew even bigger. Sherlock noticed it and laughed, "Oh John. It's just simple. It wasn't there before."
"Wait? What do you mean?" The doctor was confused and Sherlock was getting amused.
"This watermark reacts to plastic substances. I bet Lestrade looked at the photo before it was put in the plastic bag, am I right?"
John just stared at his friend with an open mouth.
"Thanks for the proof," the detective whispered and looked again at the photo in front of him. The watermark had the shape of an apple and inside the letters 'I' 'O' 'U' could be seen. "Always one step ahead. Only Moriarty was that clever. Is it really possible he faked his death?"
"You faked it, too, remember? It looked very real to me," the hurt in John's voice was still present.
"How many more times do you want me to apologize? I faked my death, yes. I took the beating because of Mary and still you are still kind of angry at me. What else am I supposed to do?"
The blogger looked at him sadly, "Sorry. I didn't want to re-open old wounds. I was just saying… You know…"
"John, it's okay. Don't worry about that. The only question I am asking right now is, how has he done it? How was he able to shoot himself and survive?"
"I am sure we will find the answer. Is there anything else in the photo?" the blogger asked excited.
"No. I will do some more tests but I doubt we will find a clue as to where to search for Steven's daughter," the detective replied slightly disappointed.
The blogger rubbed his nose, "I feel sorry for him. He was blackmailed and therefore sits in a cell now."
"Believe me John, I am as upset as you. I really hope we find Hailey in time, so we can solve this puzzle and help him get out."
Five days had passed and still no word of the little girl yet. Steven was still in prison and wasn't talking anymore. Greg really wanted to help the doctor but without a conversation, his hands were tied. A meeting was set today with Sherlock and John at 221B Baker Street to talk about the case.
When Lestrade entered the flat of the two famous men, he instantly saw that the detective had released himself too early from the hospital as always.
"I hope you aren't going to collapse again in this flat," he said with a grin.
The detective looked up; his face still very pale from the massive blood loss he had sustained. "Don't worry. John is taking good care of me."
The inspector looked at the blogger, who was preparing tea for all of them.
"It's true. He is doing better than I expected. He even stays in bed and rests, can you imagine?" the doctor asked with a satisfied smile.
"Five days and still no news about the little girl. Tell me you have something to work with, Graham," Sherlock whispered.
"Nothing. Steven hasn't talked to me since the day you two left. I tried every day but he is not aware of the world around him right now."
"He's traumatized. I don't blame him for that," John replied.
"Do you have anything new for me?" Lestrade asked hopefully.
"Nope. Just the watermark on the photo and some hints about the person, but it's not enough to trace the kidnapper," the detective informed calm.
"So, all we can do right now is sit and wait?" The inspector couldn't believe it.
"Until we get a new clue, yes." Sherlock was not satisfied with the progress of this case. That much was obvious.
Lestrade walked around restlessly. "The girl could already be dead."
"For God's sake! Do you think I don't know that?! I searched the internet, I checked the photo in every way possible and I even asked Mycroft for help but still nothing. Are you getting it now? I am as alarmed and worried as you, because if this is Moriarty's work, we are in big trouble," the younger Holmes screamed in anger.
John and Greg looked at each other. Sherlock was nervous. Something he didn't show often. It seemed like the detective was taking this case personally.
Lestrade let himself sink in the black chair and sighed, "So, all we can do is sit here and wait?"
John and Sherlock nodded, faces full of worry and concern.
Greg was about to take the first sip of tea, when his mobile phone started to ring and when he answered it, his face grew white. "When did this happen? I see. Will be there as fast as possible." He ended the call and looked at the two men in front of him. "We need to hurry, now!"
"Where are we going?" Watson asked alarmed.
"St. Mary's Hospital." The inspector took a deep breath, looked at the two stunned faces in front of him and said, "Steven tried to end his life." John and Sherlock jumped off their seats in shock. Sherlock, normally not lost for words, didn't say anything. Instead, he put on his coat in total silence, tied his scarf around his neck and hurried down the stairs. When John and Greg reached the street, the detective was already gone.
The detective was pushing the cab driver to maximum speed. Normally the ride to St. Mary's took 15 minutes, Sherlock made it in seven. When he jumped out of the cab, he paid fifty pounds and left, without waiting for the change.
As always, the hospital was full of action. Visitors were walking around, flowers or chocolate in their hands, doctors heading for the canteen and nurses chatting with the relatives of the patients. Sherlock hated clouds of people but this time he didn't even notice the loud noises in the corridors. All he wanted was to reach the emergency room to find out about Steven Strange, who had decided it was time to leave this planet. The detective hurried down the floors of St. Mary's hospital, finally reaching the big doors, which led to the war zone. When he entered the battlefield, he immediately knew where to find the broken man. Instructions were echoing through the halls and Sherlock followed them like in trance. He stopped in front of the trauma room six, looking through the windows. There on the table lay an unresponsive Steven Strange, the blood from his bandaged wrists dropping to the ground. Doctors were trying everything to stop the bleeding.
"He was found in a pool of blood at the scene. Must have been nearly two litres he lost there. He's going into hypovolemic shock and his blood isn't clotting anymore. The blood is already soaking through the bandages," informed the doctor who had accompanied the patient in the ambulance.
Sherlock, still in shock about the tragic events, stood there and prayed for the young doctor to pull through.
"His BP is dropping and his stats are falling fast. We have to stop the bleeding now, otherwise he's beyond help," a doctor screamed, the panic in his voice not mistaken.
"Let's intubate him. Hang another unit of blood, I am trying to clamp the torn veins of his wrists," a second doctor instructed.
The team nodded and when everything was set in place, the bandage was removed and the blood was spurting out in all directions. The doctor instantly jumped into action and soon the bleeding slowed down. The second wrist followed and after forty minutes the head surgeon was stable enough to make it to the OR.
When the doors burst open, the detective pushed himself to the wall and when the trauma room was finally empty, he entered it. The floor was covered in blood, the bandages lying in the middle of it. The detective stepped closer and bent down to grab the prisoner's suit. He was about to search it, when John and Lestrade came running in.
"Jesus! How much blood is that?" Lestrade asked shocked.
"I would say at least half a litre and I don't want to imagine how much blood is left in the cell," John replied gulping.
Then both men looked at Sherlock, who was still searching the suit.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" the blogger asked calm.
"Searching," came the short reply.
"Searching?" Watson repeated.
"Something must have drawn Steven to his limits and I want to know the reason."
"You really believe there was some kind of - trigger?" Greg wondered.
The detective, his hands still exploring the suit, nodded, "I am sure we are soon going to find out the cause of this." He continued his work and when he finally found a little tear in the suit, he knew he was right. The younger Holmes put his fingers inside the tear and finally came up with a photograph.
"Unbelievable. What's in the picture?" the inspector wanted to know.
Sherlock wiped away the traces of blood and showed it to the others. There in the picture was Hailey, her body laying lifeless on a bed. Her eyes were half opened, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"No. Please God, no. Don't let it be," John whispered, his voice full of pain.
Lestrade was just staring at the picture, no word was coming out of his mouth.
Sherlock wasn't saying anything either. He looked at the photo for a long time, then left the room without saying a word to his friends. With the picture in his hand, he just walked away. No one knew what was going on in the genius brain of the famous detective right now.