Sherlock was pointed out by Lestrade and brought up to the gate where he stopped Noah in his attempt to follow.
"No. Sherlock only."
"He's with me," Sherlock said then, doing as promised.
"You're joking. You've gone and hired some… some scrawny pageboy to replace Dr. Watson?"
"I'll have you know, he's of far better use than your men," Sherlock scoffed, reaching back and pulling out the blade Noah had used a moment ago. "They can't even do a proper search."
"Sherlock!" Noah hissed, having drawn quite a few bristled police officers' eyes towards him.
"Now then, he comes or I stay," Sherlock declared confidently, knowing they needed him or else they wouldn't have just let him go.
"Normally, I would make you stay and imprison your little friend here for sneakin' in a weapon," Lestrade snapped, but he huffed. "But I don't have a choice this time."
Sherlock winked at Noah who shook his head as he was given back his knife and they were led out of the containment area.
"You know, in another life, you'd have made an excellent criminal," Lestrade spat.
"Yes, and you sir, an excellent policeman," Sherlock quipped, smiling at the guard who let us out. "Tomski, thank you."
Once out, Lestrade handed Sherlock a paper with a disgruntled expression. "Now, please tell me you have answers."
"All in good time, Lestrade," Sherlock chided, looking over the headline declaring London was in terror with Blackwood having risen from the grave.
"'All in good time'? Is this some parlor game where we guess what you're thinking?" Lestrade snapped.
"Best you have all the facts that connect together rather than just scraps of information," Noah countered, getting a glare for answering. "Otherwise, you'll end up chasing your tail and giving away that you're onto them before you can catch them properly."
"I've got a public frenzy out there," Lestrade argued. "Now, if you don't fill me in, I'll have you in there playing Victoria and Albert quicker than a bookie's runner. And your little friend hung from the gallows for being a twat."
"I don't think that's a killable offense," Noah muttered as Sherlock gave Lestrade a small frown.
"Now, clean up and make yourself presentable," Lestrade grumbled, handing Sherlock a handkerchief.
"For whom?" Sherlock asked as he and Noah both glanced at the carriage waiting for them.
"Friends in high places. They're the ones who bailed you out."
The door was opened and Sherlock handed over the newspaper before blowing his nose in the handkerchief and attempting to return it. Lestrade just scowled and walked off as Sherlock stepped in and glanced at the man opposite.
"Hope you don't mind. My friend's coming with us since my usual partner is missing."
The man glanced at Noah but didn't seem too bothered as he simply smiled. "Well, I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you, sirs, but I'm gonna have to put this on you."
A black bag was set over both their heads and Noah sighed in mild annoyance as they settled in for the ride.
I scowled, drumming my fingers on my aching arm in mild annoyance. While they'd allowed me to get dragged along with Sherlock, they forced me to stay in another room as he spoke with someone. The place was large and rather embroidered, letting me know it was definitely a group of wealthy men who owned it and it clicked in my head immediately where I was.
"Stupid occult bullshit," I murmured under my breath, eyeing the nearby butler who stood by the door.
They feel threatened by Blackwood and are probably attempting to hire Sherlock to deal with him. Sherlock will do that anyway though not for them. His own satisfaction is always worth more than money. The door nearby opened and Sherlock stepped out with a grin.
"There you are, Noah."
"Have a fun talk?" I asked, trailing after him as he stepped out onto the road and hailed a passing hansom.
"Middling," he said with a shrug as we climbed in and he gave an address to the driver.
"Why is it that some of the most powerful men of a country are always the most stupid?" I asked then, catching his attention.
"Ah, you deduced where we were."
"Big, wealthy palace immediately points to well-off men of the government. Given our current case, a connection to Blackwood was obvious so that meant we were in the meeting place of some stupid occult group. Men with far too much time on their hands who like feeling powerful over others and pretend it's supernatural so no one can take it from them. Gather the like-minded and now you have supporters to back you up. A cheap way of making powerful connections."
"Touched a nerve, did they?" He mused, making me wrinkle my nose that I'd given away my displeasure.
"I just don't care for stupid people being put in charge of important decisions."
Sherlock's lip twitched up and he turned his gaze out the window. "Tell me, Noah. When will you remove your cap and give away who you truly are?"
My eyes shifted to him as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I cracked a smile myself.
"When who I am stops being of any concern to you."
"Cryptic."
I hummed as we pulled up to a hotel and Sherlock went up to a room and began picking the lock. "I could just break it down."
"Then, you would defeat the purpose of being stealthy," he grumbled, struggling with the lock before I rolled my eyes and knelt down—taking the tools from him and working it myself.
The latch clicked open easily and I shot him a smug look as he frowned, only for the door to open and Irene stared down at us both in fond amusement. I blinked, seeing she was just wearing a towel, and took a second to shove Sherlock's tools back toward him before standing and frowning at Irene.
"You really should take care to open the door when you're dressed."
"Of course, mother," she purred, passing a wine bottle over to Sherlock. "You may have better luck opening that, Holmes."
Sherlock looked at the bottle. "Margaux '58. A comet vintage," he mused, taking it and standing himself. "How fascinating that an astronomical event can affect the quality…"
He trailed off as Irene dropped her towel and moved behind a partition to dress, making me sigh and rub at my eyes.
"How is it going with our case you refused to take?" Irene asked him as he finished his thought.
"...of the wine." He gathered himself and began to work at the cork of the bottle as I moved to take a seat and wait. "Oh, I've hit a dead-end, literally. I found your man. He's buried in Blackwood's tomb. If you still need him."
"Oh, dear," she muttered, though I could tell she was actually worried. "Hope my client doesn't come looking for a refund."
I frowned at her back, a hint of concern welling up myself. She wasn't the only one who'd gotten a bit attached since our meeting.
"He's a professor, isn't he?" Sherlock said then, attempting to label some facts on her troublesome client. "Couldn't see his face, but I spotted a bit of chalk on his lapel. I've never known a professor to carry a gun, and on such a clever contraption."
Irene had figured out who he'd been disguised as. "Eye patch, nice touch."
"Not nice enough given your little dog here was quick to notice it even after I'd rid myself of it."
"Yes, well, Noah is… a special case. Much like yourself, as I'm sure you've seen."
Sherlock and I glanced at one another but said nothing as she continued.
"So, case closed, which makes this a social visit," she deduced. "I highly doubt Noah twisted your arm to come, after all."
"You left him an address, not me," I huffed as Sherlock corrected her.
"No, it's a 'you're in over your head, Irene' visit. Whoever killed Reodan was covering their tracks which makes you the next loose end to be snipped," he grunted out, struggling with the wine cork.
I sighed, getting up and taking the bottle from him, easily popping the cork and handing it back.
"Let it breathe," Irene hummed as Sherlock sniffed at the cork and soon poured. "I've never been in over my head."
"Leave now. Disappear. You're very good at that," Sherlock warned, pouring two glasses and lifting the bottle to offer me some but I waved him off. "Or stay and volunteer for protective custody."
Something was going on and I felt I needed my wits about me, especially with Irene around. Said woman stepped out from behind the partition, adjusting her robe.
"If I'm in danger, so are you. It's why I passed over my little… guard dog, as you called him."
"Who is still in the room," I grumbled as she sauntered over and dragged a hand down my chest.
"Something I won't easily forget."
God, she's such a tease. This is why he's reluctant to trust me, you know.
"Come with me," she offered, turning her gaze away from me and back to him. "The both of you. What if we trusted each other, hm?"
"You're not listening," Sherlock pressed, turning away from her heartfelt eyes and waving a hand vaguely at me. "And I don't even know what his face looks like."
"For my own safety, I assure you," I drawled as he picked up the glasses and offered Irene one.
"I'm taking you to either the railway station or the police station."
They toasted and he downed his wine but I noticed Irene didn't even touch hers. He saw this as she sighed and set her glass down, him sparing me a look as I rubbed the back of my neck. Welp, what the hell am I supposed to do about this?
"So… which is it to be?" He questioned, attempting to pretend he was fine as I grabbed him to keep him falling and hurting himself. "You decide. Which will it be?"
I lowered him to a sofa as Irene came over and checked him out.
"Can you taste the comet?" She asked before sitting on his lap and haphazardly holding him. "Why couldn't you just come away with me?"
"Never," Sherlock breathed before she kissed him and he flopped over, completely passed out.
"Help me with him, would you?" She asked me then, making me sigh but grab him in a fireman carry and head for the bed as she wanted.
"Why did you drug him?" I asked, tossing him onto the mattress with a grunt. "You know he wouldn't go with you."
"Did I?"
I took off my hat and dragged a hand through my messy brown hair as she worked on removing his clothes and throwing them around the room. "He wouldn't leave a case like this just open-ended, especially if it meant endangering you."
"So, he tries to get rid of me?" She pouted, working on his trousers now as I glanced away.
"You tried to get rid of me," I countered and she paused, making me turn back to her as she headed over with a frown.
"You were being clingy."
"No, I was being smart," I countered, ignoring how close she was as I stared down at her and her hand brushed over my cheek. "You were messing with someone who knows how to toy with people. Sherlock's right in saying you should run off, but the fact that you haven't means either you know he'll find you or he's got a hold of your weak point." I glanced over at Sherlock on the bed ever so briefly. "Or both."
"Your intelligence was absolutely wasted on the streets," she purred, dragging a hand down my throat before I rolled my eyes and grabbed her wrist.
She pouted as I raised a brow at the needle she was about to knock me out with.
"And you may be willing to fuck whoever you please," I said, the vulgar word making her bite her lip teasingly. "But I am not quite so inclined."
I twisted her wrist enough to get a wince and force her into dropping the needle, stomping on it to destroy it.
"You can't fault me for trying," she hummed as I let her go and she went to her things and passed me a set of handcuffs to help string up Sherlock. "You are quite handsome for a woman, you know. Tell me, has he found out yet?"
"Not yet," I replied. "Though he has stopped attempting to knock my cap off."
"You think your face will give it away?"
"I know my face will give it away," I grumbled. "No matter how hard I try, I still have a woman's bone structure. He'll see past any makeup, facial hair, or false noses I wear if he gets a good look. The outfit is the most important aspect of a disguise along with one's own acting. I dress, talk, and walk like a man, so he will continue to think I'm a man. It's the face and the eyes, though, that give away the true nature of a person."
"So... poetic," she mused, earning a shrug from me as she yanked off his trousers and pants, and propped a pillow up to hide his dignity along with the key to the cuffs. "Tell me then, Noah. One final thing."
"Hm?"
"If you had to choose between him and me, who would you pick?"
My brows furrowed as I turned towards her. "Sorry, wha—"
Then, something cracked against my skull and everything went black.
I groaned, head pounding and aching as I shifted on something soft.
"Ah, you're awake, perfect. I do believe the police might be on their way, so this is going to be rather awkward to explain," Sherlock's rattling voice said, cutting through my head like a hot knife.
"Christ, what hit me?" I breathed, attempting to sit up and bring a hand to my head only for a rattle of metal to cut me short.
My eyes were drawn to the cuffs keeping me hooked to the bed with Sherlock's dignity pillow mere centimeters from my face. My gaze drifted to him as I jerked my other hand and winced. My battered elbow wasn't doing me any service given my non-cuffed wrist was somehow tied behind my back and when I glanced back at Sherlock, my frown deepened.
"Quite the predicament, I'd say," he commented. "Maid just about had a heart attack. Though, I have to ask, what did you say to upset Miss Adler into bashing you upside the head and leaving you here with me?"
I scowled. "Where's the key?"
"Ah, yes, well…" His eyes drifted down to the pillow and I grit my teeth, not willing to even think about attempting that.
A quick glance down told me I wasn't tied to the bed in any other way, so I rolled and grimaced when I hit the ground beside the bed, muttering curses under my breath at the pain that sent through my arm and head.
"Next time, I'll let her jab me with a needle," I bit out, sliding myself back and getting up onto my feet with a bit of a wobble. "What did she hit me with?"
Sherlock nodded towards the door. "Our bottle of Margaux, it seems, given it's now staining the rug."
I grumbled under my breath and brought my head down near the cuffs.
"You're hardly going to bite through them," Sherlock commented idly as I pulled out a few pins from a lining in my sleeve. "Ah."
I pushed one pin into the lock and the other into my cuffed hand, attempting to work them around with just my teeth and tongue and unlatch the cuff. Finally, the cuffs clicked open and I let out a sigh of relief as I was able to untie my other hand and rub at my wrist—moving to work on his instead of grabbing the key. A glance at Sherlock told me he was rather impressed.
"Where'd you learn to do that? I'd say any other man or woman might be jealous of your skills."
I rolled my eyes at the innuendo. "My sister and I used to play silly games. As I got older, they turned into actual skills. We'd tie each other up with jump ropes and pretend to have murders in locked rooms. Lock picking came up when I got into trouble with a rather… improper group of friends. I've not done it with my teeth before but that doesn't change the nature of the lock."
The cuff came loose and Sherlock went to grab the key for the other cuff as I went to pick up his clothes, tossing them to him just as the familiar officer stepped in.
"Mr. Holmes," he greeted, taking in the man attempting to dress as I took a swig of the non-drugged alcohol to help my headache and grabbed a towel to clean the cut on my temple.
"Hello, Clarkie. There is a reasonable explanation for this, I assure you."
The officer didn't look convinced but once Sherlock was dressed, we headed downstairs and climbed into a cab for him to explain what had happened and why a maid had summoned the police.
"She misinterpreted my intention entirely," Sherlock huffed.
"Naturally, sir," Clark hummed, not sounding too surprised.
"That's why I find this modern religious fervor so troubling. There's no latitude for misunderstanding."
"Faith runs right over reason, sir," Clark mused, appearing rather amused as I just idly listened to Sherlock's rambling, scratching at my jaw before catching myself and stopping.
Scratch too much and the fake hair will come off. God, what I wouldn't do to just be myself. I mentally sighed. But women don't have much in the way of rights in 1890. Sherlock certainly wouldn't pay me any mind. Irene is the only one to get his attention.
"Indeed. And chambermaids were once such a liberal breed."
I frowned over at Sherlock, his words proving my point as he chuckled lightly and the officer smiled in return.
"My wife's a chambermaid, sir."
Sherlock went quiet at that.
"Anyhow, a good thing she was offended, or we may never have found you," Clark mused. "The Inspector's been over to Baker Street himself this morning, sir."
There was another pause before Clark leaned towards Sherlock.
"Just joking about the wife, sir."
Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as we were brought into the home of one of the leaders of that occult group we'd been kidnapped by. Sherlock informed me he had warned the man that Blackwood would tie up loose ends but was curious to see how the man had died and if there was anything more to be found, given said man was Blackwood's father.
"We've checked everything, sir," Clark informed us. "No sign of a break-in and the butler didn't hear a thing."
Or he was paid off into silence, I mused as we entered an ornate room with a copper bath and a very deceased older gentleman lying in it. No sign of break-in means it was either that or he knew how to get in and out unseen, so familiarity. If it's Blackwood, it would be obviously familiar. Sherlock was knocking on a bit of wood then and I watched, listening myself for any sign of hollowness as Clark rambled on about the corpse.
"So, body in the bathtub. His eyes were wide open, and the only thing missing was…" Clark paused, eyeing Sherlock in confusion. "...his ring, sir."
Sherlock cleared his throat and stepped in as I walked the room curiously, listening and looking for anything off. Single ring missing. Must be Blackwood then. Ring must have symbolized his power in his little occult group so… Blackwood's taking over. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a chill. We're going to have a whole occult group to go against now. I realized then that the chill wasn't from the thought of more trouble, but from a breeze. My brows furrowed and I took a step back, searching for the wind and double-checking the windows were closed before moving forward.
"Why did you drain the water?" Sherlock asked then, drawing my attention to the empty copper tub and the odd staining on the inside of it.
"Out of common decency," an officer replied.
"Crime is common, logic is rare," Sherlock quipped as I hummed.
"Could've been something in the water that killed him," I explained to them. "You just washed it down the drain."
Sherlock nodded in agreement as the officers looked a bit sheepish. "The decent thing to do is catch the killer, not provide comfort for the corpse."
I paused near a chair, finding the breeze and easily spotting the panel that was just off from the rest of the wall. I thought about opening it but Sherlock sat down abruptly in the seat and shot me a look telling me to wait. He chuckled then before pointing at something on the table.
"What is that?"
An officer picked it up and smelled it, making me roll my eyes at the stupidity of some people. Never eat or inhale things you don't know… Ah, that's a bit hypocritical given that pipe I smoked earlier…
"Jasmin bath salts, sir," the officer said, making me silently wonder how he knew exactly what type of salts they were.
"Superb. Probably comes from a larger container. It'll either be in the pantry, high up where it's warm and dry, or in a linen cupboard with a vent," Sherlock said as the officers started to leave to search for it. "And Constable, you could do worse than to check the ground under the rear windows for any signs of footprints not your own. Data, data, data. I cannot make bricks without clay."
With them all gone, I gave Sherlock a look. "Bit dramatic."
"You think?" He teased with a smirk as I pulled the mechanism to open the hidden door.
"I almost feel bad for how easily we notice the obvious that they miss," I mused.
"What do you suspect?" Sherlock asked, curious, I assumed.
"Blackwood paid off the butler to keep his mouth shut given his new rising to power or he simply knew how to get in unnoticed, having been here before. I'm betting on the former."
"Clever. I can see why Miss Adler favors you. Why do you push her away, I wonder?" He asked, giving the ritual room a look before pocketing various items on the table.
"Not interested," I shrugged.
"Mr. Holmes?" Clark called out, letting us know our time was up as Sherlock grabbed one last thing.
"Not interested? I dare say, very few men would not be interested in a woman like her."
I felt my lip twitch up at that, but said nothing as the officers returned with a large jar of bath salts.
"Was it in the cupboard or the pantry?" Sherlock asked as they stared.
"It was in the pantry, sir," Clark breathed, eyeing the room.
"Hm, I don't know what to make of this," Sherlock lied, patting the jar and skipping out of the room. "Excellent work. Adieu."
Sherlock poked his head into John's room, surprising the man who was packing his things away.
"Didn't know you were here."
Sherlock didn't mind, knowing he'd been gone most of the time with the next victim of Blackwood's having fallen from a window while cloaked in flames.
"Since this room is no longer yours, do you mind if I utilize it?"
John smiled begrudgingly. "Be my guest. Your friend already has."
Sherlock spotted Noah lying on a nearby sofa asleep, his cap pulled low over his face. Sherlock eyed him for a minute as John raised a brow.
"You think he'd wake if I tried—"
"Yes," John said easily, knowing the man would easily stop Sherlock if he felt the man was coming anywhere close. "I'm surprised he's sleeping at all, though if he's anything like I was after the war, it isn't a deep sleep. I doubt he'll let you remove his cap."
Sherlock frowned, wrinkling his nose before opening the second door and calling to the officers who'd been waiting outside. "In here, chaps."
"Where would you like me to put him, sir?" The officer asked.
"Anywhere's fine."
The body bag was set on the table and unlaced, making John frown lightly at the obvious attempt to coax him back into the case before returning to his packing.
"Who is he?" John asked though.
"He's the man who tried to kill you at Reordan's lodges. Suppose his neck didn't survive the impact of Dredger landing on him."
"Yes… Thanks for that, by the way."
Sherlock took the thanks silently. "But there is some consolation in the knowledge that he could be of service to his fellow man." Sherlock lifted the man's arm, eyeing him with a magnifying glass. "Elbows and arms stained with blood, but it's older than his own injuries."
He paused and glanced up, seeing that John too had stopped his packing until he caught eyes with Sherlock and hastily resumed.
"None of it human. He's not a butcher, let me see," Sherlock mused out loud, setting the glass down and the pistol he had before lighting a flame and snipping a bit of hair to burn it. "Yellow flame, green bursts. An industrial worker." A dig under his fingernails explained further. "Coal. River silt. The slag on his trousers should put him squarely in—"
"Nine Elms," John said, drawing his attention.
"Sorry, what?"
"The area you're looking for is Nine Elms," John repeated.
"I wondered. Do you remember where I put the Lord's Register of members' interests?"
"It's on the stepladder."
Sherlock went to fetch the book, leaving John to take his chance and look over the corpse himself.
"Well, Blackwood's had his hand in just about everything that's corrosive to the spirit," Sherlock noted. "Woolwich Arsenal, Limehouse Chemical Works."
"It's a factory by the river," a voice drawled, drawing both their gazes to Noah as the man lazily lifted a hand. "River silt, industrial worker, coal. Check for a slaughterhouse on the edge of the river."
Sherlock went down the list before finding it. "Queenshithe Slaughterhouse. Nine Elms. Factory by the river. Well done, Noah, Watson. That should lead us right to Blackwood, dead or alive."
"Not me," John stopped Sherlock, as he paused and folded his coat over his arm. "You."
"Yes… Just a figure of speech, old boy." Sherlock stepped out and Noah let out a soft sigh.
"Hope Mary gets used to you going on trips," Noah commented.
"Excuse me?"
Noah stood and adjusted his cap, walking towards the door as Sherlock called his name. "Just saying. You won't be able to let him be on his own for long, married or not."
John frowned as Noah left before spotting the pistol Sherlock left behind and sighing. "He left it there on purpose."
Sherlock and the boat driver bellowed out laughter in the night as Noah and John shoveled coal with disgruntled expressions on their faces.
"More coal, doctor!" The old man shouted with a laugh as Sherlock rang a bell and Noah sighed.
"I didn't sign up for this."
"Didn't exactly stop you, did it?" John commented, smacking a hand across Noah's back and nodding towards where the two were laughing. "Come on."
Noah actually removed his hat and wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, covering up the second Sherlock realized it as John scowled at the two men.
"Glad to see you two are working hard, then, and I thought we were trying to be discreet."
"You would not last one day in the navy," the older man countered, getting a scoff from Noah that went ignored by everyone but Sherlock.
"Holmes, are you sure there isn't an alternative means of water transportation than that?" John complained, drawing the detective's eyes away from Noah.
"I guarantee you nobody knows London's waterways better. Tanner's practically a fish himself."
"He certainly drinks like one," John muttered, overheard by the sailor.
"Oh, you've found a sense of humor, doctor! If only just a sense." He rose then, heading for the wheel. "I better take over, there. Bit tricky down here." He paused before Noah though. "Should keep you shoveling, lad. You could do with a bit more meat on ya."
"Gee, thanks," Noah grumbled, getting a chuckle out of Sherlock until they reached where they needed to be and jumped into the river to swim that last bit onto the shore.
"You owe me a bath after this, Sherlock," I complained once on dry land.
"What, Miss Adler didn't compensate you enough for your own living arrangements?"
"Come on, come on," John said then, nudging us forward to prevent a fight.
Sherlock and I grabbed a barrel while John picked up a clipboard to help us blend in as we slipped into the factory.
"Look familiar?" John mused, eyeing the setup within.
"Yup. All that's missing is a ginger midget."
Sherlock stepped into the lab area, looking through things as I kept a watchful eye out for anyone.
"They cleared something away from here not minutes ago," Sherlock informed us.
"Like what?"
"Not sure. Something mechanical."
"Holmes, look at this," John said then, walking off with me trailing after him as Sherlock took a minute and followed.
Pigs were strung up all over the place and John pulled out his pistol and readied it while we crept along until we saw roman numerals painted onto the wall.
"1:18."
"A biblical verse," I noted.
"Revelations 1:18," Sherlock confirmed. "'I am he that liveth, and was dead.'"
"'And behold, I'm alive forevermore,'" came Blackwood's voice, echoing in the room as we tucked ourselves against the wall for a semblance of cover. "I wanted you, Holmes, to accept that this was beyond your control. Beyond what your rational mind could comprehend."
"Egotistical, power-hungry occultist," I muttered, a blade slipping into my hand. "I'm seeing it now."
"What a busy afterlife you're having," Sherlock joked.
"I want you to bear witness. Tomorrow, at midday, the world as you know it will end."
A shadow passed by and my eyes tracked it as John growled beside us.
"Show me your face. I'll be the end of your world right now."
"Save your bullets, Watson," Sherlock warned, just as Blackwood's face appeared in the crack of the wall behind us.
"A gift for you."
Sherlock and John fired their guns, though Sherlock emptied his entire weapon as John and I watched him in mild amusement.
"What was that about saving bullets?" John quipped as machinery groaned into motion, drawing our attention to a bound Irene slowly being led towards flames.
"She followed you here, Holmes. You led your lamb to slaughter."
"The biblical references are growing really tiring," I muttered in complaint as John tossed Sherlock a thick blanket.
"This game was designed to hurt," he commented as my eyes trailed over the pipes and Sherlock covered himself in preparation to protect Irene from the flames.
"Watson!" Sherlock called as John turned a wheel that only added to the flames and I shouted.
"Not that one!" I hurried to a set of levers and shoved one, shutting down the gas pipes as John tore the fiery blanket off them.
The machine turned off and John placed himself under Irene to take her weight off the cuffs.
"Noah," Sherlock called, drawing me over as he nodded up. "You're the decent lock pick."
I rolled my eyes and apologized to John as I clambered up him and looped my belt over the chains above. Once it was buckled I slipped an arm through to take some of the weight off John and pulled out my pins to start on the lock. The hum of machinery started up again and I turned to see a rather large saw beginning to spin, groaning and hastily looking back to the cuffs.
"Sherlock, you better take care of that band saw," I bit out, fighting with the cuffs as we started to move closer to it. "These cuffs aren't being easy."
"No matter, we have plenty of time," he chimed back. "Would a blade cut through the chains?"
"Too thick," I said back as the belt stopped moving for a minute.
"Can John let go?"
"Yes," I bit out, "Give me a second."
I adjusted myself a bit better with more weight on my arms that were both slipped through the belt now, cringing a bit as that sent pain through my still darkly bruised elbow.
"Go. Go!" I snapped, gritting my teeth against the pain when John stepped out and went to turn off a valve.
Sherlock too used a belt to hang from the chains behind Irene, eyeing me. "How's it going?"
"Not great," I bit back, having a pick in my mouth now as I worked two others in the lock.
"German locks. I understand," Sherlock sympathized as we started moving again and John joined us on the chains.
Seeing the plan, I put my picks away and nodded to Sherlock.
"And we'll bounce in 3, 2—"
"One!" I shouted, feeling a hint of pain in my back.
Everyone jerked down and fell to the ground as the pipe broke. Sherlock grabbed Irene before her skull could get sliced in half by the blade and with a breath of relief, we got to our feet.
"I'm gonna get after Blackwood," John said, heading off as Sherlock took a pin from Irene's hair and undid her locks.
She hugged him tight and kissed his jaw with a murmur of thanks as I cleared my throat awkwardly.
"We should help the doctor," Sherlock said, hurrying out after him with me in the lead.
John was already partway down the dock when he'd stopped and looked back up from the ground. I paused, recognizing the fear in his eyes, and cursed as he shouted.
"Holmes!"
"Into the water!" I bellowed at Sherlock behind him, diving for John and tackling him just as an explosion ripped through the air.
The familiar ringing in my ear and the heat on my back brought back reminders of that last fight I had as I shoved John off the dock and into the water. Something sharp caught my shoulder as I twisted and threw myself back towards Sherlock, getting knocked off my feet by another barrel exploding. I could remember the alarms blaring in my ears, the smell of fuel in my nose, and the tight feeling in my stomach as the plane began to dive. There was the briefest of pauses in the explosions and I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the nearest crate and using it as cover as I caught up to Sherlock and wrapped an arm around his waist.
Both of us were knocked to the side when the wall beside us was blown through, throwing bricks into my make-shift shielding until one broke through and cracked against my skull. I stumbled and faltered in my footing, feeling an arm wrap around my waist as I was pulled forward and we both dropped into cover with Irene. Then, another explosion threw us all backward and everything went blissfully dark.
It was brief and fleeting as the adrenaline kicked back in at the sound of footsteps and a voice nearby.
"Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes, we have an order for your arrest, sir."
The voice was deep as though I were underwater and the echoing ringing in my ears didn't help as I saw two dark shadows near the wall.
"Sir! Lord Coward has issued a warrant for your arrest, sir," Clark repeated as my vision cleared enough to recognize him and start to pull myself to my feet.
I was in no condition to fight him off Sherlock, but I knew I would try if needed. I may know nothing about the plot of the movie but my sister raved about it enough for me to know Sherlock couldn't be arrested now. Not when there was so much more to do.
"Now, Watson's alive. Just get out of here, sir. Go, sir, go."
Clark shoved Sherlock away and the man stumbled into me, making me grab him and start hauling him away. We both owed Clark for letting us go but I could hardly think of it now. I was barely moving as it was, fighting to put one foot in front of the other, to get us out of the area and to someplace safe before a hand wrapped around my arm and stopped me. Sherlock stared back, attempting to say something to me, but I couldn't hear over the ringing that had returned to my ears.
Realizing what sort of state I was in, he sighed and began hauling me around now, getting a cab and stuffing me into it as he barked out an address. The sudden stopping of motion had pain and a heavy drowsiness sinking into me, making my eyes drift closed before he shook my shoulder with a serious look. I can't sleep. Not yet, I told myself, nodding idly and blinking once more only for the darkness to settle in to take me away.
