Time to move things along and concentrate on the crime. Thank you as always for your reviews, I have some amazing reviews and some even more amazing reviewers.
Chapter 16
As he grabbed his coat and phone to leave Baker St. Molly was asking him what had happened. 'No time Molly, I'll tell you everything when I get back, don't wait up.' It was mere seconds before he was out of the house a hailing a cab, as Molly watched from the upstairs window.
Once he was in, and had barked his instructions to the cabbie, he was straight on his phone checking which church, in Stepney, the rhyme was referring too.
As Molly had been singing he'd suddenly realised that the song, which he vaguely remembered his mother singing to him as a small child, matched the churches where each of the first three murders had taken place, St Clements, St Martins and Old Bailey.
When he'd checked the rest of the song online the Shoreditch reference also matched the next line, as did the specific church in Shoreditch. It was no coincidence, the sing and the murders were linked.
He reviewed the whole song once more paying special attention to the last lines which gave him the clue as to where the killer would strike next.
Oranges and Lemons
Say the bells of St Clements
You owe me five farthings
Say the bells of St Martins
When will you pay me
Say the bells of Old Bailey
When I am rich
Say the bells of Shoreditch
When will that be
Say the bells of Stepney
I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow
Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!
Chip chop Chip chop the last man is dead
He arrived at Scotland Yard about the same time as John and Greg met them both at the doors, 'what have you got for us, Sherlock?'
As they made their way through the corridors he quickly explained the correlation with the rhyme. He showed them the web page with the words and told them the next murder would be connected with St Dunstan's in Stepney. It had only taken a quick search to identify the church which the song referred to.
'But knowing the location and catching the murderer are two different things Sherlock. We need more information.'
Sherlock rolled his eyes, 'oh come on. There's a pattern, the murders have all been within a certain time frame and it's been reducing with each one. His need to kill is accelerating, taking him over; I believe the next murder will take place tomorrow night. Have your team narrowed down the suspects from the residents of the home?'
'Not really, it was over thirty years ago, spanning almost a decade. Records from then are patchy to say the least, some are dead so we can write them off, others have moved abroad or live too far away but that still leaves nearly a hundred unaccounted for and that's just the ones we know about.'
'Then we have to look at who might be the target instead. We've got 24 hours to check whether anyone connected to the church is connected to Father Cassidy or Bishop Breverick. If we can narrow down the possible victim that would be a start.'
The next few hours were spent trawling through files, phoning the church and planning how they could stake out the site without drawing attention to themselves and potentially alerting the killer. For most of this time Sherlock sat in Lestrade's office rereading the evidence from each crime scene and refining the profile he had in his head of the killer, seeing if he could narrow down the list from the children's home even more. Being in the office didn't stop him barking orders, shouting at Lestrade's team and demanding regular cups of coffee.
It was a relief to all of Greg's staff, therefore, when John finally called it a night and dragged Sherlock with him.
'We're close John, I can feel it!'
'Yes, I know, but if we don't get some sleep we'll have slow reaction times and less ability to catch this guy so let's all just take a break and meet back tomorrow.'
When he made his way back into his flat it was dark and silent. He glanced at the clock surprised to see it was after four a.m.
He quickly stripped out of his clothes and slid into the bed next to Molly, careful to avoid waking both her and Toby who was also curled up asleep at the bottom of the bed. She grunted slightly and rolled over snuggling up against him wrapping him in her warmth. He lay in the dark for a while thinking how different his life was now that she was in it. He had always assumed that a relationship would hold him back, slow him down. He had never considered that it might be beneficial, helpful. He hugged her to him, kissing the top of her head, thankful that she had not given up on him. He was beginning to realise just how fortunate he was that he had finally realised his feelings and said something before it had been too late.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
The next day, over her breakfast and his coffee, Sherlock had quickly brought Molly up to speed with the case before leaving once again for Scotland Yard. As he had been heading out of the door Molly had quickly caught at his hand spinning him back round.
'What? Molly, I need to go.'
'Wait...I...just, be careful Sherlock. I can't lose you, not now, not ever.'
His face softened slightly and he bent to kiss her cheek, 'don't worry Molly I have every intention of coming back unharmed. I WILL see you later.'
She caught his face kissing him on the lips before letting him go. She just couldn't explain the feeling of dread in her stomach as she watched him turn down the stairs and out of view.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
A few hours later Sherlock, John, Greg and various police were dotted sound St Dunstan's church. They had been in contact with most of the church staff, checked backgrounds to ensure no connection and then developed the plan to have an officer dressed as a curate and act as a decoy walking in and around the church in the hope they could lure the killer out.
As for the identity of the murderer, with a lot of hard work and effort, they had it narrowed the known suspects down to three possible people who were understood to be living in London but who nobody had been able to track down in time. There was still the risk that it was someone who's records no longer existed. As it was the photographs of the three possibilities had been circulated to everybody. Sherlock was working in the basis that it was 42 year old, clerical administrator, Michael Royston unless he was proved otherwise but beyond his own deductions he hadn't had any proof with which to convince the others.
They had been waiting now for over four hours. John was hidden in the grounds of the church, crouched down behind one of the larger gravestones; Sherlock was about five feet to his left in a similarly uncomfortable situation. John's back felt as though it was fusing into its bent position and he would have given good money to be able to stretch. He looked over at Sherlock who seemed just as focused as he had when they first started this stake out. He didn't appear to be bothered at all about the physical discomfort to John's envy.
After another bone aching ten minutes there was movement over by the church as the undercover officer, posing as a curate wearing a full length black cassock, came out of the church and made his way over to one of the few cars parked in the grounds. He had been doing this periodically throughout the evening trying to draw out the killer. A noise round the side of the church caught his attention and he could be seen making his way towards the shadows and towards where John and Sherlock were hidden. John tried to see where the noise had come from but could make nothing out in the darkness.
It was only as a figure emerged from the deep shadow at the side of the church and attacked the officer that all hell broke loose. Sherlock leapt from his hiding place running full pelt towards the attacker. 'Shit', John pushed himself to his feet groaning at the pain in his back as he limpingly ran after Sherlock futilely trying to catch up.
He saw Sherlock catch up to the struggling pair and grasp the shoulders of the attacker pulling him round and off the decoy. Then he watched in horror as seemingly in slow motion the officer fell to the floor grasping at his neck and coughing before the attacker swung his fist at Sherlock. There was an audible crack as his fist connected with the side of Sherlock's skull. John heard himself shouting his name but he was impotent, unable to help. He saw Sherlock's head twist round violently before his body followed and he crumpled unmoving to the ground.
Dun, dun, duuuuunnnnn. OK so as cliff hangers go it's not a biggy but still... Next update will be Saturday this week as I'll be too busy eating Easter eggs on Sunday. There's not that much further with this story, only about three more chapters left so hang on in there.