Chapter 22: Unexpected Surprises
When Dr. Allister made his rounds in the ICU, his mood was far away from good. During the nightshift three patients had died and no one was smiling. It was to be expected, that most every night a patient dies in the ICU but he was the kind of a doctor who couldn't accept it. Every life was worth fighting for. Maybe he was kind of selfish in thinking that way but in a lot of cases he was proofed right. It was never a loss of time to fight for a life. Steven was different. He was a very well-liked colleague and that made it even more complicated for Allister to make the right decisions.
Miraculously the head surgeon had survived the night, which surprised not only Keith but all of the other staff members from the nightshift. When the doctor entered the room where Steven was kept under with the help of narcotics and relaxants, he sighed. The head surgeon was looking like a ghost, thanks to the massive blood loss from the cut wrists. After checking Steven's vitals, Keith Allister sat down for a moment and sighed.
"I really don't know why you did it but if you were that desperate, it has to be for a reason. Just wish I could help you."
The beeping of the heart monitor and the clicking of the respirator were the only sounds emitting from the bed.
"At least your vitals didn't worsen. It's something to start with."
The surgeon stood up and left the room to take care of the other patients, who were fighting for their lives.
At 11:17 AM, Sherlock and John were standing in front of the microscope, waiting. A timer started to blink and Sherlock suddenly got very excited. He pulled away the foil, which he had stuck on the touchscreen of the tablet.
"Now we will see John if I am right with my theory."
The blogger watched as his friend poured some undefined liquid over the foil.
"What's that for?" John wanted to know.
"It's a liquid that makes fingerprints visible," the detective explained calmly.
Both waited another minute, then very slowly the first signs of fingerprints could be seen.
"Very impressive," Watson whispered.
Sherlock didn't react. Instead, he grabbed the photo and the foil, turned round to a big scanner and placed both on the glass. When he closed the cover, the machine started and on the screen right next to it, the picture of two fingerprints appeared.
"Now let's see if we have a match," Sherlock said tense and pushed the button to compare the two fingerprints. The computer program began its work and after thirty seconds a short jingle informed the two men that the search was over and the result could now be seen. Sherlock looked at John, "You ready?"
"Yes, I am."
Sherlock clicked for the results and on the screen the word 'Match' could be read.
"Unbelievable," John said totally speechless.
"It is, John. Now we have the proof that Hailey is still alive. On the other side we still don't know who is behind all of this."
"I hope we will find out before it's really too late," John worried.
"I am Sherlock Holmes and I will solve the case."
"How can you be so sure of it?"
The detective grabbed his coat, put the evidence into his pocket and replied," Because I know."
Chief Inspector Lestrade once more was standing in the cell, where Steven Strange had tried to end his life. The blood had dried and all that remained were the outlines of the body, where Steven was found. A team of forensics had searched the room for sharp things but mysteriously nothing was found. Greg didn't know why exactly he wanted to see the room a second time but something told him to look again. The inspector looked around. Strange had cut both of his wrists so he had a few more seconds, before slightly sliding into unconsciousness. The room was equipped with a bed, chair and table, a little wardrobe, security cameras and a toilet. Lestrade sighed. He was sure something was missing. Disappointed he let himself think, while sitting on the bed and stared at the wall in front of him. He took his mobile phone and started to look at the last recordings of Steven in his cell. The poor man was sitting on his bed, then stood up and fell to his knees. It looked like the man was crying. Greg stopped the video a few times but nothing suspicious caught his eye. The video continued and Lestrade watched as the crying man was suddenly falling to his side, the pool of blood around him increasing fast. Greg stopped once more, looking closely.
"When did you do it Steven and what did you use?" the inspector asked himself and played the scene in front of him forward and backward. It was perfectly hidden from the cameras, how he did it and Greg was getting desperate. There was a little girl missing, an innocent doctor was fighting for his life in the ICU and unfortunately it seemed like Moriarty had arisen from the dead. Lestrade sighed and wiped his bloodshot eyes. While he did so, his mobile phone accidently fell on the ground and the flashlight was activated. When Greg bent down to lift up his phone, in front of him at the wall, something reflected the light of his phone. Lestrade stood up and walked to the spot on the wall where he had seen the reflection. He once more bent down and then discovered the blade of a scalpel sticking in the wall. Blade and wall had the same colour, so if you didn't look closely, you would most likely overlook it. Lestrade put on a pair of gloves, pulled the blade out of the wall and sighed, "Now that's something to start with."
He looked at the little metal blade in front of him. It was definitely from a scalpel.
When John and Sherlock arrived at 221B Baker Street, everything was quiet. When walking up the stairs, a letter lay in front of their flat. The detective bent down and immediately recognized, that this letter wasn't delivered from the postman. He sniffed at it.
"This scent… I have smelled it before."
Sherlock entered his flat, sat down on his chair and sniffed once more.
"It's the perfume 007," John replied while walking into the kitchen to pour some tea.
The detective looked at his blogger in surprise, smelled once more at the letter and then sighed, "How did you know?"
"I remember Mary talking about it. She had smelled it on a patient in the hospital and wanted to know about the scent. The patient told her it was the new 007 perfume. She took me to the drugstore and tested it on me. I still remember that scent, that's how I know."
"Not too bad John. I agree, it has to be the 007. But where did I smell it before?"
"Don't know. You are smelling all the time, so no wonder you can't remember," Watson said dryly.
Carefully Sherlock opened the letter. The scent was increasing.
"He used his wrists to efface the perfume at his neck. When this person wrote the letter, the wrists with the perfume still on were sliding on the whole paper while writing. Interesting," Sherlock whispered.
The detective pulled out the letter inside, unfolded it and froze. "John?" was the only word that escaped his lips.
The blogger put the pouring water aside and stepped back into the living room. "What is it Sherlock?" His eyes were scanning the letter, which was lying on the detective's lap. Sherlock didn't react, so he took it and unfolded it.
"Jesus!" The doctor looked at Sherlock, totally stunned.
The detective grabbed the letter once more and stared at the photo, which was attached to the letter. The letter was just an empty sheet, but the photo attached to it was enough to make both men shudder. It was a picture of Hailey, who was showing a photo of Moriarty in the camera, the words 'Did you miss me?' clearly visible on the man's shirt…
"The letter smells like him, the picture Hailey is holding looks like him and the words on the shirt kind of feel like him. But I saw it, John. He shot himself in the brain. There was blood on the ground and even little pieces of his brain were floating around."
The detective looked at John, "What did I miss?"
John didn't know what to say either. He just stared frozen at the picture.
"If you say you shot him, then I believe you. Why would you lie to me?"
"I am lost at the moment John. I am really lost," Sherlock whispered and folded his hands under his chin.
"Are you going to tell Lestrade or Mycroft?" John asked curious.
"Not at the moment. We have to keep it a secret. We don't want to risk a mass panic in London."
"So, what are we doing now?"
The detective looked at his friend and sighed. "I hope, someone is soon sending me an invitation."
Chief Inspector Lestrade was sitting at his office again, the blade from the scalpel in front of him. There was blood on it but it wasn't necessary to take a sample to find out who it belonged to. The door opened and Agent Donovan entered with a sigh.
"You are still thinking about Steven, aren't you?"
"Of course, I am. He's a good man and I was supposed to protect him from further harm. Instead, I drove him to the point where he saw no other option as to end his life."
Donovan patted his shoulder, "It wasn't your fault. You did what was best for him. Who knows what would have happened if he wasn't taken here? Maybe someone would have shot him right in front of his house. Who knows?"
"I know you are right, but it doesn't help me right now. I just can't stop blaming myself."
"We have to stay positive. Right now, he and his daughter are still alive. There is still the chance, they will see each other again," the agent replied with an encouraging smile.
"He was planning his suicide before prison. That man must have been very desperate."
Donovan grabbed the plastic bag, where the bloody blade was shining through.
"Sometimes I really hate my job."
"Ask me," Greg whispered and looked at her with a look, she never saw on her boss before.
Three days later
Dr Keith Allister was making his rounds in the evening to check on his patients. Steven's condition had improved but he still was unresponsive. When the redhaired doctor entered, he didn't expect the patient to wake up. While checking the charts and monitors, Allister caught a quick glimpse of moving fingers. A smile formed on his face and he positioned himself next to the bed, so Strange could see him.
"So, you have finally decided to return to us?" the doctor asked in a lower voice.
Steven slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to face the surgeon who saved his life.
"Why am I here?"
"You don't remember anything?" Keith asked alarmed.
"Everything is still blurry inside my head," the head surgeon whispered.
"We can talk about that later. Just rest for now. Are you in pain?"
"My throat burns. Guess I was a critical patient," Strange started to examine himself.
"We thought we would lose you. The massive blood loss caused a hypovolemic shock. We could stop the bleeding but by the time we had finished, your vitals were already in the basement. I don't have to tell you, what that means," Keith said with a deep sigh.
"I remember now and it's okay if you can't understand my reasons."
"We don't need to discuss this right now," Dr. Allister said calm.
"I need to speak to Detective Holmes and John Watson, please."
"If you promise me to stay in bed, I will call them."
A slight nod from the patient and Dr. Keith Allister stepped out of the room.
Outside he stepped to the nurse's station, took the phone and dialled the detective's number.
Fifteen minutes later the detective and the blogger stood at the head surgeon's bed.
"Sorry for calling you that late," Steven apologized.
"Don't be. It's good to have you back," the detective gave him a slight smile.
"Did you find the body of my daughter?" the weak voice asked.
"Steven…," the detective started.
"She is dead, isn't she? My daughter. Hailey… She's dead!" Tears were starting to form on Steven's face.
"Just listen for a second, Steven. Hailey is still alive. She's not dead," Sherlock whispered.
"But the photo…"
"It's a fake. A really good one if you don't look closely," John said calm, his eyes fixed on the monitors.
"Are you sure?" Strange couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Believe me," Sherlock assured, while showing the desperate man the second photo of his daughter. Strange couldn't believe it, took the picture with his bandaged hand and looked at it.
"She's alive. My daughter is still alive? Oh my god." Steven couldn't hold back his tears anymore. All the pressure was falling from him now. While the doctor was still crying, Sherlock and John looked at each other.
"Maybe it's better we leave him alone for a moment," John whispered.
The detective just nodded and the two men stepped outside.
"What do you think of him?" The detective asked directly, his face full of worry.
"I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling. He is mentally unstable and I am worried he will be doing something dumb again," Watson confirmed.
"He knows something," Sherlock let out.
John looked at him surprised," Why do you think so?"
"There is something, John. Don't ask me, what it is. Something doesn't fit here."
Both men stepped back into the room. Steven had calmed down and was now staring blankly at the wall in front of him.
Sherlock took a seat and positioned himself next to the doctor.
"Steven, we need to talk. I know you are under pressure and all you want right now is Hailey, but I can't find her without your help."
"I want to help you, but I can't," the doctor replied weakly.
"I know you can Steven. I need to know right now, what are you hiding from me?"
Caught by surprise, the doctor just looked at him.
"Nothing. I don't know anything."
"The phone Steven…"
"Which phone?"
"The one which is under your blanket."
The head surgeon was white as a ghost now.
"How…How did you know?"
"When I left the room, you were suspiciously moving your right hand under the blanket very fast. From the tension of your muscles I would say, you were holding something very thin and light. You were getting a text message, I saw it on your skin which was slightly moving to those vibrations, so I guessed you were still holding it. The vibration of the mobile phone caused you discomfort – most likely stress, I assume. The sweat on your forehead wasn't there when we first entered and the slight tremble of your whole body tells me you are very nervous right now. So, I guess I am right, am I Steven?"
Dr. Strange wasn't saying a word. He was just staring at the detective with wide eyes.
"The mobile, now!" Sherlock forced and finally the right hand came back with the phone. The younger Holmes took it and looked at it.
"This can't be," he whispered.
John was alarmed, "Sherlock, what is it?"
The detective turned round to look directly at John, "This phone belongs to Moriarty…"