Thanks so much for all the love, everyone! :) And yes, the picture is Lissie.
I don't know about y'all, but I see Lestrade as being sort of fatherly to Anderson, John and Sherlock.
John took one glance at all the police cars and pounded the knocker again. Finally the door swung open.
"Sherlock! I came as soon I heard the news," John panted.
But the man who opened the door at 221B wasn't Sherlock. It was Scotland Yard Inspector Greg Lestrade, looking very grave.
"John, can you tell me what you know about the marriage? I don't want to press Sherlock right now."
"Of course." Quickly John outlined the situation.
"Hmm! I must say, I never saw this coming."
"Me neither. How's he taking it?"
Lestrade ran a hand through his graying hair. "Rather...bad. A letter came from Moriarty - he obviously forced the girl to write it. But come in."
Inside, John saw Sherlock staring at the table, hands jammed in pockets. He, too, could plainly see the words Lissie had scratched in the dust.
"I'm going out," Sherlock said abruptly, not bothering to acknowledge John.
Lestrade put a hand out and stopped him. "Oh no, you aren't. We both know you're going to follow the clues in that letter."
Sherlock snorted. "He has my daughter, Lestrade. What am I supposed to do, sit here and wait for the police to catch up? I don't have years."
Lestrade's features softened. "Listen, Sherlock. I have kids, too. I'm sure I'd be going crazy if something happened to them. But man, you of all people should see that this whole thing's a bloody trap! Moriarty even specified you come alone!"
Sherlock moved restlessly. "Of course it's a trap. But better me trapped than Lissie."
Lestrade grabbed his coat lapels and gave him a little shake. "Sherlock Holmes, quit that nonsense-"
"There's a bullet hole in the wall here, sir," Anderson called. Lestrade released Sherlock and rushed over.
John hadn't known it was possible for Sherlock to turn any paler than he already was. If Sherlock' s deductive powers hadn't instantly noticed that hole, he must truly be frantic, John mused,heading over to inspect the hole. Ms. Hudson fluttered about nervously.
Suddenly the door slammed shut with a bang, and Lestrade cried, "Sherlock, no!"
It was too late. Rushing outside, they saw Sherlock leaping into a taxi.
Lestrade closed his eyes and leaned his head against the brick wall. "God help us."
"Taxi," John called, desperately waving his arms.
The older man opened his eyes. "John, it's no use. He figured out the clues in the letter; we didn't. Moriarty obviously planned it that way. We have no idea where Sherlock's going."
Anderson had followed them out. "We can trace the bullet to a gun," he said hopefully.
"I suppose that might help," Lestrade sighed. "But they're clever; they'll have probably disposed of it."
Other police milling about began to whisper. They had never seen the famous Scotland Yard leader so distraught and hopeless.
The taxi dropped Sherlock off at a rental car place. He rented a powerful-looking but unassuming black saloon and set off.
I lost Elsie; I won't lose Lissie as well.
Eventually, he had narrowed his search down. The last place on his list was an old castle-house outside of Dorset.
Built by an influential family with ties to the Tudors, it had once housed a dungeon where those in the way of the throne were exiled.
He ignored the calls from John and Lestrade, feeling slightly remorseful but determined. He wavered at the call from Ms. Hudson, but eventually ignored it,too. Mycroft was next. Sherlock had no trouble not answering his, at least.
He parked the car a good distance from the manor and felt for his automatic. It was a nice little gun, given to him by an arms dealer he'd helped out of smuggling charges.
Now he grasped it in his right hand and waited for twilight to fall. He used his time to plan. He'd sneak in, scope out the place, and free Lissie if possible. If not possible, he'd hide and wait for her guards to leave before freeing her.
It was a crazy plan. The normal careful,caculating Holmes was gone, frantic Sherlock replaced him.
Slowly, the darkness began to creep in, accompanied by fog, thick and eerie.
He snuck to the house. The side door was locked, and he used a long strand of wire from his pocket to pick it easily.
He froze in the huge hall. Someone was coming. It was a man, his hand bloody.
"The little brat bit me," he shrieked.
Sherlock smiled with grim satisfaction. So Lissie was holding her own. He waited for the man to pass, then headed the direction the man had come from.
Down a set of stone steps, the air grow colder. Some sort of underground room - oh, right, the dungeon.
Now he must tread carefully. He tightned his grip on the pistol and crept slowly in.