Sherlock And The Mysterious Holiday Case

Prologue:

Three weeks had passed since Sherlock Holmes had solved his latest case, finally able to bring Moriarty down for good. London had been quiet since then and the two friends were anxiously waiting for their flat to be rebuilt. At the moment, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were sharing John's house together or, to be precisely, most of the time it was only the detective who wandered through the building. Martha Hudson was traveling the world and therefore he had the whole house to himself. John on the other hand, was trying to serve in two places at the same time. On the one side, he had Sheila and his daughter Rosie taking his time, and on the other side, Sherlock was often bored to the core and needed someone to talk to.

"It's been three weeks now, Sherlock and you still haven't told me about the key," John muttered.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, yawning.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Why? Really Sherlock, you're asking me why? Because I got hurt and I think I have the right to know. We are a team, remember?"

Now the detective sat up on the sofa, stretching his aching bones. "Alright, I'll tell you. But you have to stay quiet. No one is supposed to know."

John Watson leaned back in his armchair and waited for the detective to enlighten him.

"When I found out that Mycroft had used a team of medics to watch Moriarty, I heard that Kiyan was allowed to walk around freely. When I last met Hawi Abebe he told me, that he was allowed to walk around like Kiyan, because Moriarty thought this man would be useful to him in the future. While they were walking around, it happened from time to time that the two met. At least that was my assumption. So, I asked Kiyan if he had met Hawi and he nodded. My nephew also told me, that Hawi Abebe said something in the African language to him, something like 'the key of power lies in the good heart' and 'love, live and feel'. I had been wondering this whole time, how Hawi Abebe was able to pass on the key before he died. The man knew time was running out and he had made sure that the key was passed on without no one realizing it."

"I still don't get it. Where is the key? I mean, it's a key, right?" the blogger asked.

Sherlock nodded, "There was a key, yes. But even Moriarty wasn't able to figure it out. All those months he searched for a key, never realizing that the answer was right in front of him."

"How?"

"Well, we all thought it would be a fingerprint, or a code, or a real key. Truth is, we were all wrong. Hawi Abebe knew Braille. My guess is that he had an eye condition or, what I think fits more, he had a child who was blind and learned Braille together with his child."

Now John looked up, totally impressed, "Jesus. Hawi made Kiyan into the new keeper of the key and the boy doesn't even know."

"Exactly John. The world's biggest server can only be unlocked if someone is able to find and read the Braille. The code is hidden somewhere and if there's ever an emergency, Kiyan is the one who will be called. He doesn't know that he was chosen and that's the reason Hawi told me that no one knows who is next. Very clever, don't you think?"

Sherlock looked satisfied at John. The blogger was still trying to understand the whole thing. "I really hope he will never be called," he whispered.

Both men stared at each other. Sherlock was still very pale, but John had seen the detective worse after a case was solved.

"My bones are aching everywhere. It was quite a journey, don't you think?" the blogger wanted to know.

"It was indeed. I'm hurting at multiple spots on my body but I would say, it was worth it."

"Hey, listen. Why don't we take a break?"

Sherlock looked irritated, "A break?"

"Yeah, a break. Vacation, go somewhere else."

The detective didn't say a word.

"Look at us. Case solved and you're already getting bored because since Moriarty has gone, there are no interesting cases."

Sherlock was thinking.

"What's wrong?" the blogger asked, when he saw the sad look on the detective's face.

"The last time I was on vacation was with my family when I was five years old."

John stared at him, his face a mixture of surprise and astonishment. "So, you never had a break for thirty-two years now? Really?"

"If you don't count the involuntarily hospital stays, yes."

John couldn't believe it, "Jesus Sherlock. I think it's really time we get you out of here. You know what? I'm searching for a spot for us right now. Maybe we will be lucky and get something last minute."

"You really think that's a good idea?"

John smiled at him, "Yes, indeed, and I think with Sheila and Rosie, we will have a very good time. I mean, you're her godfather and you don't spend much of your free time with her. Maybe we can change that, too."

"What if Rosie doesn't like me?"

John giggled, "Of course, she loves you Sherlock. She adores you but you never noticed."

"If you say so," Sherlock sounded kind of insecure, a side John never noticed before.

"Why are you so scared? It's just a vacation."

"I don't know. The last vacation ended with Mycroft and me in hospital."

Now John tried to suppress a giggle. "Why is it you two are always ending up in hospital?"

Sherlock sighed, "Ask me another question. Well, at least it was my brother who ruined our holidays."

"What happened?"

"We were at the beach in Germany. It was called Island of Ruegen. My parents were told this place would be good for Mycroft's asthma, so they followed the advice, taking us there."

"Let me guess, you two drowned?"

"Oh no. Far from that. Mycroft and I are allergic to wasps. And my dear brother had nothing better to do than wave his arms at them. You are a doctor. You can imagine what happened next."

"You were stung by the wasp?"

"Wasps. It was hell. Mycroft was stung four times and I was got two. We both developed anaphylactic shock and ended up in the ICU for a whole day."

"That's a Holmes thing. Trouble is your second name."

"Are you making fun of it, John?"

The blogger cleared his throat, "No, I'm not. Just thinking…"

"Just look for a place without wasps, will you?"

The detective stood up from the chair and walked upstairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs. There is a little case I have to solve."

"So, you're not looking for locations with me?"

"I'm trusting you, John. I'm sure you will find a nice home for us."

"Alright. Have fun with the case."

Sherlock smiled at him, "Will do."

When the detective sat at his writing desk a few minutes later, he took a deep sigh. A vacation with his best friend and family. Could this be a good idea? He was scared because it meant a completely new situation for him. All those years he had avoided school trips or school hostels. He wasn't interested in standing alone in a corner or sharing a room with no one else. He had enough bad memories for a lifetime and he had decided to let the past be the past. Now he had a friend. A best friend and he was thankful to have John in his life.

John wasn't blaming him for his behaviour, John would never hurt him on purpose and John would never make fun of him in public. Sherlock smiled. His life had changed so much in the last few years and he never had thought this would be possible.

Now he was looking at his e-mail, staring at the case in front of him. A woman was missing. Well, a lot of women had run away lately from their husbands, but this one was different. The woman was a mother of a four-week-old baby, breastfeeding her child. Sherlock doubted the woman had run away on her own. He had already video chatted with the husband, who was desperate to find her. While they were talking to each other, Sherlock noticed the dark circles under the man's eyes. There were also some light scratches on his face. The man explained that he had been working in the garden lately, to cut the roses. When Sherlock checked the skin colour of the man's face, he did not see any tanned spots. This man has been in the house for a very long time. The scratches were slightly infected, so the man wasn't scratched from a sharp thorn but more likely fingernails.

Sherlock discovered even more things. The missing wedding ring and the dried plants in the living room. Something already told him, the woman was still somewhere in the house. The detective tried to remember every detail of the man and his living room. He never saw the baby, which was very disturbing. There was no baby cradle, no milk bottle and it seemed the house wasn't filled with life anymore. In the background, Sherlock was sure he saw blood drops on the desk. What had this man done? From the marks on the table the detective assumed she was thrown with her head landing on the desk. On the man's left wrist were bruises, which looked like fingertips. When Sherlock had finally written down everything he had remembered and stared at his notes, he suddenly had an idea what was going on. He dialed Lestrade's number and waited anxiously for the inspector to answer.

"Sherlock, long time no hear. How are you?"

"Guess I feel ok. Listen, about the case you sent me last week. You remember, the Cassidy case…"

"Of course, I remember. A young mother gone missing by her husband."

"Yes, exactly this case. I think I have something for you. The man who is pretending to be the husband, is a serial killer."

"Wait, how can you be so sure of it?"

"This is not the first time. He asked for my help, telling me the exact same story as he told you."

"Jesus. Do you have any prove?"

Sherlock smiled. "Of course. Blood spatters on the table, infected scratches on his face, no signs of a wedding ring, dark circles under his eyes, no baby in the background…"

"And where are these women?"

"If we are very lucky, one of them might still be alive. I think he's hiding one in the basement. I have the feeling this guy is a little pervert, using those women to milk them."

"He's what?" Lestrade was speechless.

"I know this sounds kind of weird, but I saw small spots of dried milk on his lips, too. I don't think that's a coincidence. This guy has some kind of mother complex. He can't sleep at night without a bottle. So, he's drinking the milk of young mothers. And when they start to give less milk, he kills them."

"Sherlock, are you out of your mind?" Greg was still too shocked.

"You wanted my help and this is what I have found out. Don't know what else you expected from me. Case solved." The detective ended the call, Lestrade would figure out the rest alone, so he would get the honour as always. Satisfied, the detective leaned back in his seat and smiled. Another case solved, another life may be saved.

John was sitting at his laptop, when Sherlock finally joined him again.

"So, did you find something suitable?" he asked excited.

"Oh yes. A very nice spot. You want to see it?" the blogger asked.

"Of course. Show me." The detective sat himself on the couch, right next to John.

"There. A house in Torre Suda."

"Torre Suda? That's in Puglia," Sherlock remembered.

"It is. Salento is also called the 'Italian Maldives'. A lot of people go there."

"What's so special there?" the detective wanted to know.

"The sea, the people, the nature… Everything. You will see and like it."

"And where will we live?"

"There's this house, five hundred metres from the sea. It's not big, but I think it's enough for us to feel comfortable," the blogger replied.

"You speak Italian?"

"No, you?"

"Just a little bit. Guess I'll have to learn the language before we start," Sherlock whispered, staring at the house.

"So, when are we going to leave and how long will we stay?"

"I would say three weeks," the detective said.

Now John's mood changed.

"What?" Sherlock asked confused.

The blogger cleared his throat. "Well, it would be nice to have three weeks, but…"

"Yes?"

"I don't have the money. They want two thousand Euro for three weeks and I can't pay that."

Now Sherlock looked directly at John, shaking his head. "Wasn't it Mycroft's idea for us to go on vacation?"

"How did you…?"

"Know? Don't you think I can hear it in your voice when my brother is talking through your mouth?" Sherlock replied with a grin. "So, if Mycroft wants us on vacation, it would be fair he's paying the price. I mean, he's the government. I'm sure he has some pocket money left for us…"

And with these words, the detective grabbed his mobile and dialed his brother's number…