The Game's FINALLY On:

Sherlock and John are OUT on an adventure

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Third Part:

Recap: Sherlock has been conducting a very thorough investigation and in the process has tested the patience of the employees.

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"Wonderin' when you'd get to it, Holmes," Dodd groused good-naturedly. "Have to admit. Y'd been lookin' a bit daft."

"It's getting late!" Gerry snapped with an annoyed growl. "All this standin' round, crazy business: flushin' toilets, swingin' doors! Bloody barmy if you ask me!"

"Well, appearances can be deceiving, but yes," John defended Sherlock who had retreated into his Mind Palace, leaving him to deal with the human bothers as the detective liked to call them. "Actually, it's essential to this investigation." Tossing a worried glance at his utterly silent partner, John hoped Sherlock wouldn't be preoccupied for too long.

"The light bulb's a bit inconvenient," Dodd apologized, snorting a chuckle of embarrassment. "Haven't ever got round to puttin' a switch at the door. Only use the place twice a week for an hour at most." Dodd extended his big paw and motioned to the youth, "Jack, give the Doc the torch."

"Not necessary." Sherlock rejoined the conversation. "We'll go down in the dark just like the burglar does."

"Huh? Without light?" Momentarily pushing aside his growing exasperation, Gerry was plainly dubious.

"Without light!" Sherlock insisted with unmitigated condescension, thereby lighting the fuse of Gerry's shortened temper.

"How do you know he doesn't use a torch?" Dodd found the idea baffling.

Drawing closer to his boss, Nathan pulled out his own mobile and showed Dodd the torch-app feature, adding, "Or even a mobile phone?"

"See here!" Irritated by their stupidity, the detective crouched and pointed to the wide gap between the basement door and the floor. "Any light source would have been detected or at the very least attracted attention through this broad space. Rather than risk detection, your intruder is clever enough to use another means." When Sherlock stood again, no one noticed the flicker of amusement except John, who detected enormous satisfaction in the thin, smug smile.

"Besides," John picked up the discussion to support Sherlock's position, "the burglar is disguised. Carrying a torch would definitely arouse suspicion, and so would a mobile if it were found in his pocket no matter how compact."

"But he would need light to pick and choose what he takes," Dodd muttered to himself trying to process the assertions presented by the detective and the doctor. Standing close by, John barely caught the remark. Nathan grimaced, however, as if Dodd's comment were a revelation.

"C'MON NOW!" Gerry exploded, marching toward Sherlock and waving his arms wildly.

With quick steps of his own, John maneuvered between them, not to challenge the warehouse manager but to protect his friend in case it came to blows. Gerry proved to be all bluster and no bite to John's relief.

"Now you refuse a torch," Gerry sputtered with frustration. "Go ahead; let's see how far you get in the dark. Gonna smack your shins on something, if not crack your head open."

A retort seemed at the tip of the detective's tongue, but Sherlock threw John a resigned look and instead entirely dismissed the remarks with his most pleasant voice. "Good. That's settled!" He rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. "All I ask is, before Dr. Watson and I descend, you all remain standing where I position you until this exercise is done. After, I want you to tell me what you've seen."

Curiosity had replaced doubt on the men's faces, and Gerry having vented his aggravation was actually simmering down. Only the silent Clara looked forlorn.

Sherlock had become noticeably invigorated at the prospect of going into the basement; John suspected proving his theory was only part of it.

"Jack, hand over the torch to Nathan," Sherlock instructed, "and you stay here near me in front of the loo and basement doors. John, I need you to go to the alley door and wait for my signal." Directing Dodd, Gerry, Clara, and Nathan to walk back up the corridor, Sherlock waited until they had reached the doorway of the nearest storage room. "Stop! Stay there."

When everyone was in place, Sherlock checked Jack's location. The youth stood mid-distance between the warehouse storage room and the alley door and midpoint in the corridor between the closed basement door and the toilet.

"Okay, Jack," Sherlock placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "Listen closely. We'll rehearse what you must do. Watch me. Open the loo door, like this." The detective pushed the heavy and exceptionally broad door as wide as possible with an exaggerated motion ensuring the hinges sang. "Go inside, close the door slowly by counting at an even pace —one-two-three-four-five—before you let it shut," Sherlock adjusted the volume of his voice so despite becoming muffled within the loo, he could still be heard and understood. "And once inside, flush—BUT I'M NOT FLUSHING right now," he shouted. "Wait until the water refills the tank before you come out." Sherlock appeared on cue. "When you exit, open the door slowly and widely, just like you did going in. Is that clear?"

Jack grunted an affirmative.

"Good! Listen now," Sherlock announced. "This experiment will take three minutes. Please do not move until the time is up. Do you understand?" Everyone nodded, even John.

Convinced they all knew what to do, the detective backed up several paces closer to John and called, "Ready, Jack?" Raising his arms up in the air, Sherlock ordered, "Go!" Dropping his arms, he signaled John to join him as soon as the loo door, creaking loudly, opened wide and blocked the sightline between the storage room entrance and the alley door. As Jack counted to five before closing it, Sherlock had pulled open the basement door, which swung in the opposite direction—its hinges' creaking far less noticeable—and quickly he and John descended single file into the darkness.

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The rumbling of the furnace greeted their ears and the warm air puffed at their faces, but when both men removed their eyepatches, they were able to see without a torch in the dark basement. Although it proved what they already knew—an eye covered for at least thirty minutes would be able to see well enough to commit the burglary in a dark room—as soon as they exchanged looks, they burst into snorts and chortles with boyish abandon.

"Hurry, John!" Sherlock regained control first and tapped his wristwatch. "We've no time to waste," the detective advised in a hushed voice as he prowled around the basement. "This must take less than two minutes and forty seconds precisely. We have to be at the top of the stairs ready to leave when we hear the loo door open again."

Quite noticeable was the sound of water gushing through the plumbing to refill the tank: the constant reminder that time was short heightened the excitement, adding to John's enjoyment. "No frightening dragons in this dungeon," he kidded, but instantly a dark shadow crossed over his bright spirits. A monster in his conscience awakened, reminding him that there was at least one victim at the conclusion of their investigation.

"Only the monsters and dragons we create for ourselves," his partner replied sardonically as if he were quite familiar with such manifestations, "and they can pop up anywhere, at any time."

John considered Sherlock's remark, but given their time constraints, let it be. Instead, surveying the area filled with shelves of merchandise, opened crates on the floor, and a few scattered work tables, he whispered, "So that's how the burglar made his way in and down without being noticed. And you suspect Clara was his accomplice?"

"Not suspect. Know." Sherlock also knew their investigation in the basement would not shed any further light on who was behind it. That intel of a thief gaining access was on the video, but time in the basement had allowed him the privacy to discuss with John the details of the crime, the culprits, and the man with the motive—information Sherlock had gained by observing the function and layout of the warehouse and by listening to Dodd and his employees. "From everything we've seen here and what we've just learned she is the connection between Masterson and Dodd."

"Agreed. Too bad. I feel for her." John squatted, picking up a contemporary-style wall plate that lay on the floor outside an opened crate. "Masterson got Clara the job and after his altercation with Dodd, he preyed on her weakness," he said as he absent-mindedly examined the item. Perceiving nothing extraordinary about the plate to give it value, John shrugged and put it down. "Sounds like a motive and she's caught in the middle. Still, the whole scheme seems like a petty dispute; snatching little items for whatever reason." He waved a palm over the strewn items on the floor. "Such an elaborate operation for so little results."

"Little items that add up to a significant cost." Sherlock too crouched to inspect the scene of the burglary comparing what he had memorized from the photos Dodd had shown him in Baker Street. Nothing had changed. "Revenge, whether on a large or small scale, is still revenge. In the meantime, John," Sherlock swiftly stood up with a deep exhale. "Let's play!"

"Y'don't fool me," John snickered softly and rose to his feet. "The simple thing would have been to tell Dodd what we knew the moment we walked in—without this elaborate demonstration."

"Needed to pace ourselves, John." The detective offered the thinly veiled excuse as his eyes darted about. "Wanted to make sure the covered eye had time to adapt."

"No," John insisted, his eyes fixed on his evasive friend. "Admit it. It's all been about being a pirate, hasn't it?"

Meeting John's eyes with his own, the pirate-detective unmasked his sheer delight with a buccaneer's snarl, "Arrgh! R'ght ye arrrre, matee!" His soft chuckles were merry and lighthearted and so extremely rare for the man who expressed them. "Ah!" He paused, savoring the moment. "Never thought I'd ever say that to a living person—" The word caught and Sherlock's voice cut out.

Surprised, John squinted at his friend.

Sadness in Sherlock's eyes transformed the composed expression of the man who spurned sentiment as weakness. Nostalgia dissolved his defenses, leaving him vulnerable as if he could not keep at bay the ache elicited by memory: a memory of loss so deep in his childhood, it caused the near extinction of caring—about what others thought of him, about what he felt for others—in the extraordinary man who survived it. More unnerving was how Sherlock stared both at him and through him to something painful beyond. He held John's gaze a bit longer—as if he wanted to share a long-buried secret—but then he turned away muttering, "hic sunt dracones."

Here be dragons. Translating the Latin, John swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The melancholy he heard in the voice was unmistakable, and the word person resonated with him. Loneliness had been their common denominator even before they met, another language beneath their words. Their unlikely and unexpected friendship had changed them both. Moved by this realization, John dropped his gaze to his feet, uncertain what to say or whether he should say anything. An unexpected awkwardness made him fidget; his left fist tightened.

Guardedly, he looked up at Sherlock again; the moment had passed. Sherlock had resumed his mask of indifference and had occupied himself with the open crates. John bit his lower lip as he made his decision. It was safer this way. There was no need to broach a subject that was too involved for either of them. Some other time perhaps.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock focused on the topic he had wanted to discuss before the distraction. "Revenge is the motive, John, I am certain. It is true we knew how before we arrived, but it's a mistake to theorize before we have all the evidence firsthand. Coming to the warehouse has provided much more data. We're also down here for another reason; let's prove a point!" Sherlock handed him a packing bag he had swiped from a pile on the shelf. "Start looting," he said jauntily, back on familiar ground. "Take whatever you can find and load this bag." Following his own advice, the detective snatched nuts and bolts from crates on the shelves and stuffed the items into his packing bag. "When we get to the top of the stairs, we'll drop our booty into the closest postage box at the basement door— the one with a virtual office address and likely a bogus name."

It was easy to see the merchandise in the crates and to maneuver using the minimum light from narrow slotted windows that rimmed the basement and the gap beneath the door. Some of the items were antiques, although most of the salvage dated back only fifty or sixty years, still old enough to have value in the lucrative retro market. Pacing themselves to the sound of the refilling water closet, Sherlock and John completed the pilfering in less than a ninety seconds.

"I dunno, Sherlock. There's still something missing," John hissed softly as they prepared to mount the steps. "We took things randomly, modern things as well as antiques, but the merchandise stolen by the burglar was specific. How would he have had time to search through everything for particular items in just two minutes and forty seconds? There had to be someone who laid out the items in advance."

"If that's true, John," Sherlock considered, "then why involve the pirate burglar at all? Couldn't that person have brought the items up and put them in the virtual address box?"

"Something Dodd said earlier has me thinking," John admitted. "Maybe …this 'accomplice' didn't know that he was aiding and abetting in a larceny."

Two appreciative eyes blinked at John as if a light flashed, then Sherlock bounded lightly up the stairs with John right behind. At the top they listened for the loo door swinging open. Timing it precisely, Sherlock swung open the door; John dropped their cache in the last postal box, and they both took their positions in the corridor as Jack closed the loo door.

When all eyes met, four pairs were wide with wonder. One pair was terrified.

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Almost done! One more chapter amd an Epilogue to go.

Your patience is greatly appreciated. Enormous thanks go to all the reviewers who have encouraged me to continue, but I'd like to express my deepest thanks to my wonderful betas who always point me in the right direction.