A/N: Thank you for the review...um...Holmes, Sorry it's been taking so long
for me to update, school's keepin' me busy...All right! Let's get going
right away, shall we?
***Back at Bowmer's house***
Jon groaned and sat up, resting his back against a wall. It was dark, he couldn't see anything. He tried to reach up to feel the pounding bump on the back of his head but discovered that his whole body was bound with rope and, after trying to call out to someone, found that he had a gag on. His eyelids drooped as he fought to stay awake, but he felt the darkness of unconsciousness sweep over him again, and slumped back onto the floor.
***
He jolted awake and tried to spring to his feet only to find that they were still bound. Now that he was more awake, Jon was not only now aware of the small slit of light coming in from a room behind the locked closet he was in, but also of the burns he was getting on his wrists and ankles from the tightly bound rope. He struggled to sit up again and inched his way over to the crack in the door, placing his head against it so he could see out with one eye. It looked like the room he had been earlier when he had rescued Holmes...Wait a minute. If he had been captured, and it was beginning to look like he had been, Watson and Holmes would be out looking for him, wouldn't they? Doubt began to cloud Jon's thoughts as he sat in the darkness surveying his situation. Of course they wouldn't be. He had just met them a few days ago, and they had only brought him along because they had needed him to identify the suspect. They didn't care about him, they had just been nice to him while they still needed him, and now they would forget about him and leave him to fight for himself, just like everyone always did. Adults were all the same...he had been a fool to think that he had finally found people who were different.
As he peered out into the room beyond the door, he caught sight of some movement off to the side of his vision. Someone was there, but probably not someone he wanted to see. He heard footsteps approaching the closet and he was just able to throw himself against the back wall as the door was thrown open and Bowmer's face glared down at him. The fifteen year old stared defiantly back and tried to say something, but it only came out as a muffled slur.
Bowmer smirked and lifted the struggling boy over his shoulder, as if he were a bundle of sticks, and dropped him down onto the couch, then sat down in the chair across from him. Bowmer nodded at Jon before leaning back and pulling out a pipe, "Well, its just you and me kid, the boss is gone, an' he left me in charge. Whatever I say goes, got it?"
Jon just glared at him and tried his best to sit up straight, which turned out to be a tough task because the rope dug into his wrists when he straightened up, so he had to live with slouching. Bowmer grinned maliciously as he watched Jon struggle and blew a smoke ring at the boy from his now-lit pipe, "I tied them knots meself, no way yer getting out of them...So, Streicher tells me that yer the little whelp that caught me killin' Cullington? That was a bit of bad luck for you now wasn't it? You should have minded your own business, but I suppose yer too daft to be dishonest, now ain't you?"
Jon tried to lunge at the man, but all he managed to do was fall flat on his face onto the ground, his mussed brown hair falling into his eyes. Bowmer laughed and leaned forward in his chair so that Jon was able to see his face, "Now what'd ya go and do that for idiot boy? Tryin' to make trouble, eh? Well, if I were you, I wouldn't be doing anything too stupid, or I'll have to blow a hole through your chest...boss's orders..." A grin had spread across Bowmer's face again, and something in the man's eyes told Jon that he would love nothing better than to shoot him.
Jon narrowed his eyes, murmured something not understandable to Bowmer, although it sounded a little like a curse, and sat up so he was leaning against the couch with his bottom still on the floor, mostly because after several times of trying to hoist himself onto the couch, he found that it was easier and less humiliating just to give up. Bowmer stared at the boy and began to puff on his pipe again, "Yer in for it now though boy, hell is almost upon ya, and there ain't no escape. I hear from the boss that he's gonna use you as bait for the detective, and then he'll kill the both of ya...He seems mighty mad at you, and he's not a good fellow to have as your enemy...your about to find that out the hard way..."
A dreamy look had come into Jon's eyes, but his mind was buzzing with ideas. They must not know who he is, otherwise, if Moriarty really was their boss, they would even have tied him up. He decided to save telling his captors that small piece of information until the right moment presented itself, and began to think of another way out. Even though Holmes didn't care for him, the detective would probably be back soon with the Scotland Yard to take Bowmer and Streicher in to jail, and if nothing else, he could escape then...if Bowmer let him live that long. Escaping would be easier if there was a distraction of some sort, and if he was able to get these damned ropes off.
***Back at Baker Street***
It was the next morning and Watson was slumped down in his armchair sleeping next to the dwindling fire. He had been up all night waiting for Jon, but exhaustion had finally overcome him. Holmes emerged from his room, fully dressed and glanced at Watson before he sat down in his own chair and quietly opened the mornings paper. He didn't want to disturb his friend, especially because he had learned on prior investigations that Watson, like most human beings, tended to be a bit moody when woken up. Finally, though, as the sun began to shine through the drawn windows, Watson stirred and sat up. Spotting Holmes, he covered a yawn with his hand, "...Has there been any sign of him yet?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
Watson rubbed his forehead and leaned back in his chair, "Oh Holmes! This is awful! I feel so...responsible! If anything happened to that dear boy I shall never forgive myself!"
"Calm yourself Watson, you and I both know that Jon is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I am sure he is both alive and well."
"Are you still upset about finding out who his father is?" Sherlock leaned farther back in his chair and used the paper to cover his face, "Really! Sometimes you can hold the most immature grudges I have ever heard of!"
Holmes brought the paper down and stared at his friend indignantly, "Immature? Watson, there is nothing immature about this! He is Moriarty's son! For all we know, he could be working for his father still and he messed last night up on purpose!"
Watson rolled his eyes, "I know you don't really believe any of that Holmes..."
"I certainly do! Well, most of it anyway...Curse you Watson, you know me too well! I do think however, that having him around presents a very possible danger for our safety, and I would also like to point out that now that we know Bowmer is the man we have been looking for, we are no longer in need of Jon's services."
"You can't possibly mean that you are just going to forget about him, and not even try to search for him?"
"Watson, I have a job to do and there is a murder loose in the streets of London. I know you have grown fond of the boy, but we must consider our priorities. Even wasting a day trying to look for him could mean that we stray farther from the case at hand!"
"Don't even pretend like you haven't grown fond of him as well Holmes..."
"I have done no such thing! That boy is a burden to me, and I cannot even begin to understand how you stand being around him!"
"Oh, come now! Perhaps you don't like him, but you do enjoy his company. Whenever you are around him, you get a strange glint in your eye of a man who is ready for a challenge. He is interesting to you, as does his life. The abandoned son of your arch foe? I know you well enough to imagine that you, Holmes, would find such a person fascinating!"
Holmes just frowned and hid behind his paper again. Watson smiled happily and settled back in his chair. There was still one thing that he could compete with Holmes on, and that was analyzing Holmes's own feelings. The great detective knew everything about most things important, except for the way he himself worked. Finally, after running out of print to read, Holmes set the paper down on his side table, picked up his pipe and began to smoke. Watson recognized the thoughtful expression that had appeared on Holmes's face and turned to look out of the mostly closed bay window that led out to the street.
About half an hour later, Holmes set his pipe down, stood up, and began to pace the room, "All right, I have decided what we shall do. I will go out tonight, after alerting the Scotland Yard of my plan of course, and Lestrade and I, who I'm sure can free up his schedule, can raid Bowmer's house and hopefully catch both him and Streicher unprepared and take them to jail. Watson, I shall need you to stay here, for the sole purpose of Jon arriving while I am out. There is still a slight possibility that he has just been in hiding for the past few hours, and he will return here when he feels safe enough to do so. But if Jon happened to fall into the hands of either Bowmer or Streicher, he will probably be in the house with them, and I will rescue him myself."
"But, what if something should happen to both you and Lestrade? I would have no way of knowing..."
"Watson please, you will know if we are not back by tomorrow morning that something has gone wrong, in which case, you will alert the Scotland Yard and will most likely do all you can to see to our safe return."
"Well, I suppose..."
"Everything will work out perfectly, just like it should have yesterday...hmm...anyway, this is nothing different than my usual cases! You are just a little more worried for my well-being this time because of your lack of sleep. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business elsewhere to attend to. Mrs. Hudson should be arriving in about an hour, and you are hungry, go right ahead and tell her to set you up with some breakfast." And with that, Sherlock grabbed him cloak and walked out of the door closing it firmly behind him.
Watson stared after him and sighed, "Holmes, it is not you that I am worried about..."
A/N: Oooo! What is going to happen next? I have no idea! Truly, I don't! (...I'll write again as soon as I can!
***Back at Bowmer's house***
Jon groaned and sat up, resting his back against a wall. It was dark, he couldn't see anything. He tried to reach up to feel the pounding bump on the back of his head but discovered that his whole body was bound with rope and, after trying to call out to someone, found that he had a gag on. His eyelids drooped as he fought to stay awake, but he felt the darkness of unconsciousness sweep over him again, and slumped back onto the floor.
***
He jolted awake and tried to spring to his feet only to find that they were still bound. Now that he was more awake, Jon was not only now aware of the small slit of light coming in from a room behind the locked closet he was in, but also of the burns he was getting on his wrists and ankles from the tightly bound rope. He struggled to sit up again and inched his way over to the crack in the door, placing his head against it so he could see out with one eye. It looked like the room he had been earlier when he had rescued Holmes...Wait a minute. If he had been captured, and it was beginning to look like he had been, Watson and Holmes would be out looking for him, wouldn't they? Doubt began to cloud Jon's thoughts as he sat in the darkness surveying his situation. Of course they wouldn't be. He had just met them a few days ago, and they had only brought him along because they had needed him to identify the suspect. They didn't care about him, they had just been nice to him while they still needed him, and now they would forget about him and leave him to fight for himself, just like everyone always did. Adults were all the same...he had been a fool to think that he had finally found people who were different.
As he peered out into the room beyond the door, he caught sight of some movement off to the side of his vision. Someone was there, but probably not someone he wanted to see. He heard footsteps approaching the closet and he was just able to throw himself against the back wall as the door was thrown open and Bowmer's face glared down at him. The fifteen year old stared defiantly back and tried to say something, but it only came out as a muffled slur.
Bowmer smirked and lifted the struggling boy over his shoulder, as if he were a bundle of sticks, and dropped him down onto the couch, then sat down in the chair across from him. Bowmer nodded at Jon before leaning back and pulling out a pipe, "Well, its just you and me kid, the boss is gone, an' he left me in charge. Whatever I say goes, got it?"
Jon just glared at him and tried his best to sit up straight, which turned out to be a tough task because the rope dug into his wrists when he straightened up, so he had to live with slouching. Bowmer grinned maliciously as he watched Jon struggle and blew a smoke ring at the boy from his now-lit pipe, "I tied them knots meself, no way yer getting out of them...So, Streicher tells me that yer the little whelp that caught me killin' Cullington? That was a bit of bad luck for you now wasn't it? You should have minded your own business, but I suppose yer too daft to be dishonest, now ain't you?"
Jon tried to lunge at the man, but all he managed to do was fall flat on his face onto the ground, his mussed brown hair falling into his eyes. Bowmer laughed and leaned forward in his chair so that Jon was able to see his face, "Now what'd ya go and do that for idiot boy? Tryin' to make trouble, eh? Well, if I were you, I wouldn't be doing anything too stupid, or I'll have to blow a hole through your chest...boss's orders..." A grin had spread across Bowmer's face again, and something in the man's eyes told Jon that he would love nothing better than to shoot him.
Jon narrowed his eyes, murmured something not understandable to Bowmer, although it sounded a little like a curse, and sat up so he was leaning against the couch with his bottom still on the floor, mostly because after several times of trying to hoist himself onto the couch, he found that it was easier and less humiliating just to give up. Bowmer stared at the boy and began to puff on his pipe again, "Yer in for it now though boy, hell is almost upon ya, and there ain't no escape. I hear from the boss that he's gonna use you as bait for the detective, and then he'll kill the both of ya...He seems mighty mad at you, and he's not a good fellow to have as your enemy...your about to find that out the hard way..."
A dreamy look had come into Jon's eyes, but his mind was buzzing with ideas. They must not know who he is, otherwise, if Moriarty really was their boss, they would even have tied him up. He decided to save telling his captors that small piece of information until the right moment presented itself, and began to think of another way out. Even though Holmes didn't care for him, the detective would probably be back soon with the Scotland Yard to take Bowmer and Streicher in to jail, and if nothing else, he could escape then...if Bowmer let him live that long. Escaping would be easier if there was a distraction of some sort, and if he was able to get these damned ropes off.
***Back at Baker Street***
It was the next morning and Watson was slumped down in his armchair sleeping next to the dwindling fire. He had been up all night waiting for Jon, but exhaustion had finally overcome him. Holmes emerged from his room, fully dressed and glanced at Watson before he sat down in his own chair and quietly opened the mornings paper. He didn't want to disturb his friend, especially because he had learned on prior investigations that Watson, like most human beings, tended to be a bit moody when woken up. Finally, though, as the sun began to shine through the drawn windows, Watson stirred and sat up. Spotting Holmes, he covered a yawn with his hand, "...Has there been any sign of him yet?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
Watson rubbed his forehead and leaned back in his chair, "Oh Holmes! This is awful! I feel so...responsible! If anything happened to that dear boy I shall never forgive myself!"
"Calm yourself Watson, you and I both know that Jon is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I am sure he is both alive and well."
"Are you still upset about finding out who his father is?" Sherlock leaned farther back in his chair and used the paper to cover his face, "Really! Sometimes you can hold the most immature grudges I have ever heard of!"
Holmes brought the paper down and stared at his friend indignantly, "Immature? Watson, there is nothing immature about this! He is Moriarty's son! For all we know, he could be working for his father still and he messed last night up on purpose!"
Watson rolled his eyes, "I know you don't really believe any of that Holmes..."
"I certainly do! Well, most of it anyway...Curse you Watson, you know me too well! I do think however, that having him around presents a very possible danger for our safety, and I would also like to point out that now that we know Bowmer is the man we have been looking for, we are no longer in need of Jon's services."
"You can't possibly mean that you are just going to forget about him, and not even try to search for him?"
"Watson, I have a job to do and there is a murder loose in the streets of London. I know you have grown fond of the boy, but we must consider our priorities. Even wasting a day trying to look for him could mean that we stray farther from the case at hand!"
"Don't even pretend like you haven't grown fond of him as well Holmes..."
"I have done no such thing! That boy is a burden to me, and I cannot even begin to understand how you stand being around him!"
"Oh, come now! Perhaps you don't like him, but you do enjoy his company. Whenever you are around him, you get a strange glint in your eye of a man who is ready for a challenge. He is interesting to you, as does his life. The abandoned son of your arch foe? I know you well enough to imagine that you, Holmes, would find such a person fascinating!"
Holmes just frowned and hid behind his paper again. Watson smiled happily and settled back in his chair. There was still one thing that he could compete with Holmes on, and that was analyzing Holmes's own feelings. The great detective knew everything about most things important, except for the way he himself worked. Finally, after running out of print to read, Holmes set the paper down on his side table, picked up his pipe and began to smoke. Watson recognized the thoughtful expression that had appeared on Holmes's face and turned to look out of the mostly closed bay window that led out to the street.
About half an hour later, Holmes set his pipe down, stood up, and began to pace the room, "All right, I have decided what we shall do. I will go out tonight, after alerting the Scotland Yard of my plan of course, and Lestrade and I, who I'm sure can free up his schedule, can raid Bowmer's house and hopefully catch both him and Streicher unprepared and take them to jail. Watson, I shall need you to stay here, for the sole purpose of Jon arriving while I am out. There is still a slight possibility that he has just been in hiding for the past few hours, and he will return here when he feels safe enough to do so. But if Jon happened to fall into the hands of either Bowmer or Streicher, he will probably be in the house with them, and I will rescue him myself."
"But, what if something should happen to both you and Lestrade? I would have no way of knowing..."
"Watson please, you will know if we are not back by tomorrow morning that something has gone wrong, in which case, you will alert the Scotland Yard and will most likely do all you can to see to our safe return."
"Well, I suppose..."
"Everything will work out perfectly, just like it should have yesterday...hmm...anyway, this is nothing different than my usual cases! You are just a little more worried for my well-being this time because of your lack of sleep. Now, if you will excuse me, I have business elsewhere to attend to. Mrs. Hudson should be arriving in about an hour, and you are hungry, go right ahead and tell her to set you up with some breakfast." And with that, Sherlock grabbed him cloak and walked out of the door closing it firmly behind him.
Watson stared after him and sighed, "Holmes, it is not you that I am worried about..."
A/N: Oooo! What is going to happen next? I have no idea! Truly, I don't! (...I'll write again as soon as I can!