Chapter 11 - (Complicated)
It's getting tangled up.
"Damn, Sherlock, pick up the phone!" Mycroft mumbled, nervously pacing back and forth in his poorly lit grey office. The phone rang once, and then went silent - a missed call from his brother.
That was more than suspicious.
And what was even stranger? For the last quarter-hour, Mycroft tried to call his phone back, but each time it went directly to Sherlock's voicemail. The cell phone had to be switched off. He even attempted to activate the tiny GPS chip hidden inside the phone, but it was unsuccessful. The chip was probably irreversibly damaged.
The older Holmes struggled to remain calm. Maybe it's nothing, maybe the cell just got lost, and maybe he managed to break it somehow ... more like destroyed it completely.
And John did the same apparently. What a coincidence!
There are no coincidences.
That's why a little while ago, he decided to contact his secret unit in Scotland near Inverness and ordered an intervention in Mrs Hartnett's house. It should be in place within a few minutes. Meanwhile, Mycroft tried to call his brother. Sherlock, please!
The voicemail - again.
"We are in position, I'm waiting for orders," a voice in his second ear said suddenly.
"Search the house, the garden, then I want you to search the perimeter within ten kilometres of the parcel," Holmes replied sharply, and after a moment of silence, he added, "After that I want you to send there an investigative team and provide them with all the evidence you find, and also, I want to interrogate Mrs Hartnett personally. Get her here as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
Mycroft cut off the connection and sighed deeply. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little ball of doubts, fears and uncertainties began to grow. He tried to ignore it, but whenever his attention turned to some other activity, the ball grew and expanded, reminding him that it was not going anywhere.
Something happened to Sherlock.
Sherlock glanced around, swearing again. How could he overlook all the clues, how could he be so negligent, so hasty – he's had his strong doubts about their new pathologist from the beginning. Sky had a strange vibe, his whole behaviour was a bit off – as if it was just an act.
Then, perhaps, he would not end up in a cell deep underground somewhere in Scotland. And if his weakened senses were accurate, they were now on some island. Where? He had absolutely no idea.
John was laying on the ground beside him, still unconscious. In addition, they kept him blindfolded for the entire duration of the ride here and also put sound dampening headphones on his ears which meant he could hear nothing.
He had no idea what Sky was planning to do with them, but he knew it would not be pleasant.
He stared at the sharp ceiling light and listened. Here and there he heard people walking in the corridor behind the door. Depending on the type of walk, he guessed that there were at least two different guards patrolling the hall regularly.
His gaze fell on an electronic lock at the door of their cage / cell. There was no chance to override the device - at least not until he got the finger of the bastard who had locked them here.
John moaned, and Sherlock was immediately at his side.
"Where-what-what happened ... Sherlock!" He muttered in confusion, trying to get up from the ground. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and helped him to sit, trying not to jostle him too much.
"Shush. It's alright, John. You just slept a bit," Sherlock smiled faintly.
"Where are we ... what…? I slept ... what-"
"You missed a car ride, a cruise ship and some very funny remarks of our escort-"
John looked around confusedly, then moaned again, putting his head in hands, fingers clenching in his greying hair.
"That bastard!" He spat.
Sherlock snorted and sat down beside his friend. John lifted his head and looked slowly around the room. It seemed as if one half served for some laboratory or experimental purposes, and the other - where they were at the moment - was some kind of a cell or cage, apparently intended to hold people and not animals, and John did not even want to think about it.
He broke out in a cold sweat.
"Are you all right?" the younger Holmes asked quietly.
"My head is throbbing and my knee hurts a lot, but otherwise I'm fine. Do you know where we are?"
Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated.
"We went northeast, to the coast –I remember hearing the cry of seagulls. Then they blindfolded me and put some headphones over my ears. We sailed on a ship for some time and then went into a building and rode down in an elevator ... many floors. We must be very deep underground. I suppose there is a whole complex of different rooms with all kinds of equipment and laboratories. He probably conducts his disgusting experiments in here."
A door across from their cell opened and Dr Sky entered.
"Bravo, Sherlock Holmes. What an excellent deduction," he said caustically, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
His assistant Cole followed closely behind him like a tail. Sherlock stood up and walked closer to the bars that separated them from their jailer.
"What a beautiful sight. I've been waiting for quite a while to see you in here," the doctor spread his hands wide with a smug smile and added," Welcome to my humble abode!"
Sherlock frowned, but stayed silent. John stood beside him, clenching his fists.
Doctor Sky chuckled deep in his throat.
"What's the matter? Has the cat got your tongue?"
Sherlock also laughed and began pacing around the small space of his cell.
"Underlings bore me," he said dryly after a moment of silence. Sky looked surprised for a split second, and so did the lackey by his side.
"What underlings? Boy, I think you probably do not understand the severity of the situation, but you don't have to worry about it, most of the newcomers -" Sherlock interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.
"Bring him in - I'll only talk to him. And alone."
Sky exchanged a quick, confused glance with Cole, then moved closer to the cell, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes, trying to find something in them. John fidgeted uncomfortably, watching the man in the white cloak approaching the bars like a giant white moth.
"Oh yes ... YES! You will see him soon. But first I'd like to talk to you. And your little friend, of course."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I want to talk to him now. Bring him in!"
Cole grinned. "Didn't you hear the doctor? You can wait."
"Moriarty, if you can hear me, come here and talk to me face to face!" Sherlock yelled loudly in the silence of the white room, his gaze clinging to the only camera in the corner pointed directly at him and John.
A faint smile crossed Doctor's face and faded quickly. He nodded to Cole, and without a word, the younger man opened the heavy door and dashed out into the corridor beyond, disappearing into the darkness of the subterranean bunker complex.
"I knew you were involved in those murders," John said with suppressed fury.
"Did you? Well, who is on the wrong side of the bars now?" The older man asked mockingly, moving back into the middle of the room somewhere between the laboratory equipment and the cell. He appeared pensive.
Sherlock wondered. Filled with anticipation, his thoughts flittered through his mind and he could not focus on the present moment – Moriarty was really alive. All of this was some kind of an ingenious sophisticated plan of his in order to get him to Scotland so he could play with him like a cat with a mouse. But what was the point of all the murders? Did Moriarty hire this "Doctor" as someone who would torture and murder top-ranked people of the underworld so that Moriarty had a smoother path to success in the criminal world? Could there be an ulterior motive behind all this? Perhaps some real disgusting research – a sickening collaboration of two psychopaths -
His thought were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
Mycroft Holmes was sitting behind his desk in somewhat dim office, reading reports from an overseas missions. With a trembling hand he picked his cup of tea and lifted it to his lips, drinking deeply. He sighed, putting the cup back on the table. Carefully, he raised the same hand and watched his fingers trembling. It was almost five o'clock, and there was still no trace of Sherlock or John.
His phone began to ring. He almost tipped the desk over as he dived after the small shiny device just to experience disappointment. The display showed the number of one of his secret agents. Not the number of his missing brother.
"Holmes. Do you have some news for me?"
"I do, sir. We received an information half an hour ago that one of our former agents - Peter Simmons – has been found dead in an underground garage on the outskirts of the city. He was shot in the head. Also, his body bears marks of torture," the agent said seriously at the other end of the line.
This was becoming more and more complicated. "Is he another victim of the London Phantom then?"
"I do not think so," the agent paused for a moment, "he was strapped to the chair when they found him, his wounds seemed fresh. They had to hurt him just before his death. I'd say that someone interrogated him and then killed him."
Mycroft frowned. That meant Moriarty's people were involved.
"I want a full report tomorrow on my table, with all the details, is that clear? Take him to the morgue at St. Bartholomew - I'll arrange for someone to take care of the body immediately," Holmes replied sharply and hung up, not waiting for his reply.
If it turned out that Moriarty had anything to do with the disappearance of his brother, he would never forgive himself. Trying not to think about Sherlock, Mycroft dialled a number on his phone which was answered immediately.
"St. Bartholomew Hospital, Department of Pathology, Doctor Hooper-" Molly said from the other end, but before she managed to introduce herself, Mycroft cut her off.
"A young man's body with a headshot will be brought to the morgue. I want you to take care of it. If Doctor Sky-"
Now it was her turn to interrupt him. "Doctor Sky is not here today."
Mycroft paused. "What? And where is he?"
"He did not come to the hospital this morning. I thought he would come later, just like every day-"
"Examine that body and send me the autopsy report as soon as possible."
The older man hung up and threw his cell phone back on the table.
There was only one logical conclusion available - Moriarty was working with Sky, and now they were holding Sherlock and John somewhere. Or burying their bodies.
No, silence! Mycroft told his brain to shut up.
They are alive and I will find them.
Jim had not expected another therapy session today, or whatever he was undergoing here. That's why he was unpleasantly surprised to see Cole for a second time this day, wearing an ugly grin on his too skinny face. He winced slightly at the thought of another torture. He would rather sleep a little. Thank you.
"Did you miss me?" Jim smirked a little and with a small groan unconsciously straightened up in the presence of the other man, carefully leaning against a wall.
"Did I miss you?" Cole laughed, "I miss you day and night, Jimmy!"
Then he slowly walked to the other side of the room where Jim was sitting. With a wicked look in his eyes, he grabbed him and yanked him to his feet, twisted his hands behind his back and handcuffed him with plastic cuffs. The younger man felt the stiff plastic ties cutting deep into his skin, limiting the blood flow and making his fingers feel tingly and numb.
"And apparently I'm not the only one who missed you," Cole whispered quietly into Jim's ear as he led him through the door and into the hallway.
Jim was grinning internally. And one would think one lesson would be enough for the good Doctor.
They both walked down a narrow grey corridor, illuminated by a line of sharp fluorescent tubes. They were passing one massive door after another, before they stopped. In front of the seventh door on the left to be accurate.
Cole scanned his palm, and then the door opened automatically.
And Jim's brown eyes met Sherlock's blue.
I hope you all enjoyed and I'm sorry it took me so long to update. Do let me know in the comments what you think about this chapter. ;)