The main road ended up being quite a trek from the crime scene, but John and I eventually found it. We strode along the sidewalk, passing closed shops and cafes. I was a bit bummed it was so late; I could go for some tea.
"Taxi!" John suddenly cried and stepped toward the curb with his hand raised. A black cab drove right on by and John watched it go mournfully. "Taxi..."
"I don't think they can hear you," I pointed out.
"Thank you, I would have never guessed," John replied sarcastically.
"Right, I'm doing that thing again," I said. "What does Harry call it?"
"Pointing out the obvious," John sighed.
"Yes, but most things are obvious to me," I countered. "However it isn't to others. Except for Sherlock. He somehow notices more than me."
"Is that why you were so enthralled?" John asked.
"That. And I still want to draw him."
John laughed and shook his head. "You and curly hair..."
As we continued down the road, the phone in the telephone box we were passing began to ring. We both paused to look at it for a moment before exchanging a shrug and moving on. We didn't even get a block down the street before the sound of ringing plagued us again. John gestured toward a fast food place we were going by; Chicken Cottage. It was one of the few places that were still open. As we watched, an employee went toward their public phone, but the moment their hand touched the receiver, the ringing stopped.
"Lots of weird calls tonight," I noted.
We went another two blocks and passed yet another red telephone box.
The phone inside began to ring.
"Hey John?" I said as we paused.
"Yeah?" My brother didn't take his eyes off the telephone box.
"I'm going to point out something that's obvious to me just in case it isn't to you," I told him. "The phone is for us."
John cast me a small nod and limped over to the box to open the door. I once again counted us lucky that we were small as we both slipped inside. My brother reached toward the phone, hesitated for a brief moment, then picked it up.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
I couldn't quite make out what the person said on the other line, but I could tell the voice belonged to a man.
"Who's this?" John demanded. "Who's speaking?"
The low tone droned something to him and my brother suddenly looked to the left. Confused, I followed his gaze and saw he was staring at a security camera that clung to a building. It was pointing right at us.
"Yeah, I see it," John replied.
The voice said something, and then the camera moved. It took its attention off of the phone box and down the street.
John blinked rapidly and then beckoned for me to come closer, holding the phone out slightly from his ear. I leaned in, and when the man on the other line spoke, I could hear him clearly. He sounded calm and professional; his voice was smooth and low.
"There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"
John and I looked warily at each other before casting our gazes across the street. Sure enough, there was another camera staring at us.
"Mm-hmm." John's lips were pursed. I could see a light of something akin to panic beginning to tint his features.
If my military brother was worried about something, it couldn't be good. As soon as John gave the man the confirmation, the camera swiveled away, as if it were shy that it had been noticed.
"And finally, at the top of the building to your right," the man said.
We both turned to look, not bothering to hesitate. There was indeed a third camera, and the moment we stared at it, it looked away and did not look back. I stared around at all the cameras. None of them were looking at this part of the street now. If something were to happen...
"How are you doing this?" John breathed.
"Get into the car, Doctor Watson," the man drawled. "And do bring your sister with you."
A black car pulled up to the curb outside on the otherwise deserted street. John stiffened and I saw his eyes dart all around us. I guessed he was searching for help—witnesses—anything. However, at this time of night, it wasn't a surprise that there wasn't a soul to be found.
"I'll go, but Maxine—" John began.
"Mm, no, no..." the man cut him off. "Both of you. I would make some kind of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."
The line went dead.
John stared at the phone for a moment before hanging it up. His fingers ran over one another—not his nervous hand tremor, but the motion he'd always done when trying to figure something out.
"Maxine." He used my full name as he looked into my eyes. "I think you need to run."
"And if they have guns?" I asked. My voice was steady as I eyed the car.
John cursed under his breath and glanced toward the vehicle.
"We don't have a choice," I told him. Besides, I found myself quite curious to discover what this was all about. How did the man know who we were? What did he want?
"Come on." John left the phone box first. "Don't let them separate us. Grab my arm."
"John—" I began.
"Just do it, will you?" John barked as we approached the car.
I sighed and gripped his elbow. It felt childish, like I was back in grade school and he was walking me home. He'd always been protective and I supposed this situation called for it. Perhaps I shouldn't be so focused on being embarrassed and more intent on the fact that we were probably being kidnapped.
No-one got out of the car to greet us. The windows were too darkly tinted for me to make out anything inside besides a silhouette in the driver's seat. John gripped the back passenger door and opened it. To my surprise, there was a rather pretty woman sitting on the far side of the backseat. She had locks of dark hair and her face carried a tasteful but vibrant amount of makeup. She had a mobile in her hands and didn't even bother to look at us as she typed away on its keyboard.
John stared at her for a moment, taken off guard. She tilted her head and her eyes flicked toward us.
"We don't have all night," she said.
"Right," John murmured. He began to slide in.
"You don't want me in the middle?" I asked him.
He glanced back at me. "No, you take the window—you get carsick, remember?"
Ah. He wanted the middle to keep between me and the woman. His cover wasn't exactly clever, but I'd take it.
I sat down once John awkwardly and painfully drug himself into the middle of the backseat. I closed the door and the car pulled away from the curb before I could even reach for my seatbelt. I heard the doors lock.
I buckled in and John did the same. We looked at one another for a moment. I could tell that the cogs in John's head were whirring. He was trying to figure out a way to get us out of this—whatever this was. We rode in silence for a few minutes. The car pulled onto the highway and we began to leave the heart of the city. I wasn't sure what part of London we were headed to; it had been to long since I'd been here and my memory was foggy of the city's layout.
John suddenly turned to the woman on his right. "Hello," he said.
She'd been ignoring both of us since we'd gotten into the car. She glanced at my brother and gave him a bright smile. "Hi," she replied, then went back to her phone.
"What's your name, then?" John asked awkwardly.
"Er..." The woman contemplated for a few heartbeats. "Anthea."
"Is that your real name?" John queried.
The woman smiled again. "No."
"I'll be calling you Anthea for simplicity's sake," I muttered.
"Quiet, Maxine," John ordered. Again, he used my full name; he must be feeling stressed. He looked toward Anthea. "I'm John, this is my sister, Maxine."
"I know who both of you are," Anthea replied calmly, not looking up from her mobile.
"Any point in asking where we're going?" John asked.
Anthea raised her head from her phone. "None at all," she replied with another infuriatingly sweet grin. "...John and Maxine." She seemed to add our names for either comedic or dramatic effect.
"Okay..." John sighed.
He glanced in my direction and gripped my knee before giving me a reassuring smile. I knew my brother well—he was under the impression that I was scared. However, all I could process in that moment was a sense of annoyance. It was nearly midnight and I had planned on getting up early in the morning to see if I could assist Sherlock with his case. I had found analyzing how that woman died... fascinating.
One thing was for certain though: this wasn't boring.
So, knowing John might very well be more strained if his little sister didn't seem to be taking this seriously, I gave him a wary grin and nodded shakily. It was a gesture to show him I could be worried, but I knew he would protect me if it came down to it.
We drove on for about a half hour. We were well out of the city limits, and I busied myself with looking up at the stars to find constellations. Finally, a building appeared in the distance and when it grew close, the car turned toward it. It was a large warehouse bearing sleek metal siding and a curved red roof. The car drove right into it through one of the wide openings on the side. As we pulled in, the lights turned on to reveal a few crates and large containers full of unknown things, but mostly it was empty.
Save the two chairs and the tall figure of a man toward the very center of it.
The car stopped and Anthea gave John and I a pointed look—our cue to get out.
"Right," I breathed before opening the door and exiting the vehicle. It had been my second long drive stuffed in a back seat with two other people, so my body was pleased when I stretched out my limbs.
John had a little trouble getting out after me. I offered him my hand, but he waved me off and gripped the door to yank himself to a standing position. Once my brother closed the door behind him, we made our way toward the two chairs and the man.
He was tall and a little portly in the belly, but his face was boney and he had a angular nose that he peered down with dark, beady eyes. He wore a nicely-tailored black suit, a white undershirt, and a tie. He leaned on a black umbrella casually and smiled at us when we finally reached the chairs and paused.
"Have a seat, please," the man said, pointing toward the chairs with his umbrella.
"You know, I've got a phone," John told him, not making a move toward the chairs. "I mean, very clever and all that, but you could have just phoned me. On my phone." He gave a tight smile.
When I started toward the chairs, John lifted his free arm to stop me.
"What?" I said. "I'm tired."
"You've been sitting for the past forty-five minutes," John retorted.
"Ah, sibling rivalry," the man mused, his gaze darting back and forth between us. "How quant."
"Why did you drag us all the way out here?" I asked him.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet; hence this place." His once pleasant voice grew clipped and a touch irate. He fixated his eyes on John. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." It almost sounded like an order now.
My heart gave a small stammer. I flicked my gaze over the man; he didn't appear to have a weapon on him. I glanced around the warehouse. There were so many random crates about... could be there were armed men behind them. Oddly, I didn't feel any fear for my own wellbeing—it was John I was worried about.
"I don't want to sit down," John told him.
The man tilted his head. "You don't seem very afraid."
"You don't seem very frightening," John replied without missing a beat.
"Hooo..." I breathed with an exhale, impressed with my brother's quick comeback and hoping it wouldn't bite us in the ass.
The man chuckled. "Ah yes, the bravery of the soldier," he said. "Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" His gaze flicked to me. "I mean, it's not just you standing here in this warehouse with me."
John took a small step in front of me and gripped my arm. His face had gone from annoyed to angry.
"What do you want with us?" he demanded.
It was a bit demeaning and frustrating being the one threatened my this man to keep John in line. I knew a lot of martial arts thanks to Miyako, but I'd never used it outside of class. I wasn't experienced like my brother. I didn't know how to shoot a gun; hell, I'd only just seen my first dead body today. Yet, I was not comfortable with being pegged as the one to use in this way—the damsel in distress...
Was my brother right? Here I was, in a possible life or death situation, and all I could do was compare it to all the adventure and fantasy storylines I drew or read.
"What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked, lifting his head and once again staring down his nose at us.
"We don't have one," John said. "We barely know him. We met him..." He trailed off and blinked a few times. "...yesterday."
I realized why my brother was so surprised. So little time had passed since we were introduced to the detective, yet it felt like it had been a full week. How was it so many insane things could all happen in one day?
"Mm, and since yesterday, you've moved in with him and now you're all solving crimes together," the man said, his beady eyes narrowing. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week? Which of you do you think he'd wed?"
I blinked and shook my head. "Sherlock doesn't seem the romantic type," I said. "If you know anything about him, surely you'd realize that. I'm not sure he even knows what romance is."
"You're probably right on the first bit, but he certainly knows what it is," the man said. "He understands almost everything about the human mind and how it acts."
"Who are you?" John demanded.
"An interested party," the man answered simply.
"Interested in Sherlock?" John frowned. "Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."
"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."
"Well, given how both of you love to flaunt your intelligence, please tell me you two aren't so alike that you'll keep us waiting for the answer," I said. I was growing impatient with the man drawing this out. If this was going to be a dangerous situation, it could at least get over with faster.
"Maxine, let me do the talking," John ordered.
"She's quite right," the man said. "Sherlock and I have some common habits. And to answer your unasked question: I am his enemy."
"His enemy?" John echoed, clearly confused.
"In his mind, certainly," the man said bitterly. "If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."
John pointedly looked around the warehouse and gestured to it with his cane. "Well, thank God you're above all that."
The man frowned. I opened my mouth to speak, intending on demanding more answers, but something buzzed in my pocket the same time John's phone chimed. We both pulled out our mobiles.
Mine was a text message. In fact, it was a group message that was sent to John and me. It read: Come at once if convenient, SH. I glanced toward my brother as he looked up from his phone toward me.
"I hope I'm not distracting you," the man said, his voice low and suddenly dangerous.
"Not distracting me at all," John said, turning his attention back to him as he pocketed his mobile.
"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" the man queried.
"I could be wrong... but I think that's none of your business," John said.
"It could be," the man said.
"It really couldn't," John retorted.
The man took out a notebook from his inside pocket and opened it to rake his eye over its contents. "If you do move into, ah... two-hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis."
"For what?" I asked, only earning a small glare from John. "And why?"
"Because John is not a wealthy man," the man said. "In exchange, I want nothing indiscreet. Nothing either of you would feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."
I couldn't help but notice he never said I wasn't wealthy. Did he know how much money I made?
"Why?" John said.
"I worry about him," the man confessed. "Constantly." I honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
"That's nice of you," John replied disbelievingly.
"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned," the man said. "We have what you might call a... difficult relationship."
My phone buzzed again and John's chimed. We took one glance at one another before pulling them out of our pockets and checking the message.
If inconvenient, come anyway. SH
I let out a small breath of amusement. He was certainly demanding. If only he knew our current situation.
"I really am beginning to think I'm out of an inside joke," the man said, smiling sweetly at me. Of course, a shark could have smiled sweeter.
I met his beady gaze and noticed there was a somewhat familiar shape to his eyes and cheekbones. I awkwardly cleared my throat and shrugged. "Cat photos," I said.
"Mine was just... our land lady," John murmured.
"I see." The man's smile grew. "You do have something in common: you're both terrible liars."
"And yet, you're asking us to spy for you." I said.
"Maddie," John whispered sharply at me. Well, he was using my nickname again, so he must be more comfortable now. My brother turned his attention back to the man. "The answer is no."
"But I haven't mentioned a figure," the man said, obviously surprised.
"Don't bother," John replied curtly.
The man chuckled. "You're very loyal, very quickly."
"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested. And I won't have Maxine mixed up in something like this either," John said.
"I can handle myself," I muttered.
"You don't see the danger in this man? Really?" John hissed at me.
"It's not that she needs the money, anyway," the man said. "Maxine Watson, or... Dakota Lyheart... is quite widely known in Japan, or at least her manga is. Manga—that's what it's called, yes?"
I nodded tightly. "You found my pen name?"
The man ignored me as he pulled a small notebook from the inside of his suit jacket. He flipped it open and read from it: "MANA, it's called. Something about a world with both magic and advanced technology..."
"We've known Sherlock for less than a day, yet you manage to gather all this research," I murmured. "What sort of position must you be in where you can do that?"
"Then there's John..." The man completely ignored me and turned a page in his notebook. "'Trust issues,' it says here."
John blinked and his expression went slack. It was the first time since the start of this wild encounter that my brother actually looked unnerved. "What's that?" he demanded.
The man ignored him, keeping his eyes on the notebook. "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?"
"Who says I trust him?" John adjusted his stance. I wasn't sure if it was his leg bothering him or he just felt uncomfortable in his own skin at that moment.
"You don't seem to make friends easily," the man pointed out. He glanced toward me. "Neither of you do. Two years spent in Japan, and yet... the only people who know of you there are your publishers."
"Are we done?" John asked, his lips pursed.
"You tell me," the man replied.
John stared at him for a moment longer before turning and beginning to limp away. "Maddie, let's go."
"Nice to meet you." I bowed my head slightly toward the man. "Though, next time, seriously, just call us."
As I began to follow my brother, the man called after us. "I imagine people have already warned you both to stay away from Sherlock Holmes, but I can see by John's left hand that's not going to happen for him, at least."
John froze. His shoulders tensed and I could see his jaw clench before he gave an angry shake of his head. He whirled back around to glare at the man. "My what?" he snarled through clenched teeth.
His tremor... of course. John had barely talked to me about it, and when he had, it hadn't been willingly. I'd practically pried the information from him when I saw it for the first time when he originally came back to England.
"Show me," the man ordered calmly, and nodded toward John's left hand. He planted the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leaned on it casually—clearly a man that was used to his orders being obeyed.
John, however, wasn't intimidated. He squared up and lifted his left hand, but he made no move to go forward. If the man wanted to look at it, he was going to have to come to John. The man didn't seem fazed by John's small act of defiance. He pushed off his umbrella and hooked the handle of it over his arm as he approached. When he reached us, he went to grip John's hand.
"Don't," John breathed and jerked his hand back a bit.
The man slowly lowered his head and raised his brows. John hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly offered his hand again. The man gripped it with both of his own and examined it closely.
"Remarkable," he murmured.
"What is?" John asked as he snatched he hand back.
The man turned and strode a few paces away. "Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He turned toward us once more and his eyes locked on John. "You've seen it already, haven't you?"
"What's wrong with my hand?" John demanded.
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand," the man stated rather than asked.
John nodded tightly.
It clicked for me in that instant. I took a step back and looked from John to the man. The latter smiled at me.
"I see Maxine has figured it out," he mused.
"What?" John looked between us, clearly irritated.
"Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder," the man said. "She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."
"Who the hell are you?" John bellowed. "How do you know that?"
"Fire her," the man replied. "She's got it the wrong way 'round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady."
John spared his left hand a small glance before continuing to glare viciously at the man.
"You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson," the man said slowly.
I finished the sentence for him. "You miss it," I breathed.
John twisted around to gape at me. "What?"
"It's true," the man murmured. "Well, John... welcome back."
John glanced toward the man then back to me. He looked aghast. I shrugged sheepishly.
"As for Maxine," the man went on, clicking his umbrella against the concrete, "you grow bored easily, seek danger and excitement most would find foolish due to it being so... life-threatening. Not only that, but you seek challenges... Maxine, my dear girl, you might have more in common with Sherlock Holmes than I'm comfortable with..."
I frowned at him. "I take it you mean the general disconnect from other people," I said. "Well. At least I keep family close." I offered a small smile.
The man snorted softly and shook his head, clearly annoyed. He thought he had been so clever, but some things never strayed from an artist's eyes.
"Let's go, Maddie," John said. He turned and gripped my arm to start leading the way back to the car.
As we went, our phones went off again. John and I locked eyes for a moment. It was as if we had an entire conversation in that single look.
He's right about me missing the war, John's eyes said.
And I do crave danger—what sane person does that? mine replied.
Well, at least we have something else in common—we're both morons.
Morons with a new flatmate that could be the ticket to what we both want.
"Time to choose a side, Watsons," the man called, clearly noticing us freezing in place.
We both turned to spare the man one last look over. I saw John move his fingers over one another out of the corner of my eye. I bit down on the inside of my lip and sucked on my cheek. I wanted to ask the man what these sides were. Was it him against Sherlock? Now that we'd been introduced into the detective's life was there no exiting? The man did welcome John back to a war.
My heart beat insistently in my ears.
There was a sound behind us and I turned to see Anthea stepping out of the backseat of the black car. Her attention was still on her mobile, but she did spare us a small glance as she said, "I'm to take you home."
In unison, John and I took out our own phones, as if the presence of Anthea's reminded us that we had another message waiting.
Could be dangerous. SH
John and I slowly lifted our eyes to each other's. I smirked a bit and bounced my eyebrows. John lifted his left hand and stared at it while it remained perfectly steady.
"Address?" Anthea prompted.
John turned to her. "Baker Street," he said, smiling wryly. "Two two one B Baker Street. But we need to stop off somewhere first."