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As if the sky went on to play along, the trickling rain and the rays of the sun both filled the day. The burning fire and the crumbling hope that Sherlock felt started to crush into his mind, Norton's ledger in his hand, his brain pounding every single energy he has into coming up with a plan.
Sherlock's mind raced, the exhaustion unnoticed and the throbbing in his chest dismissed. He hated it-the idea of Irene flashing in his eyes with a bundle at hand. He could hear a child's cry escape from Irene's arms, his head bursting with annoyance and confusion.
NO! he willed himself. He must focus. Focus on the problem, focus on a solution. Any solution.
Mrs. Hudson bringing in a tray of food came and left unnoticed, the worry in her face not even given a glimpse. Sherlock's eyes blazed darker and darker, his eyebrows knit close, teeth gritting in agitation. His hands were planted on his chin, the silence of the flat was nothing compared to the explosion of data in his mind.
In his ears chimed a distant sound, nothing that comes from reality but an illusion of his mind-a cry, a laugh, a shout of pain-all piercing through his ears, snapping him out from concentration.
"AAARGHHHHH!" Sherlock shouted in frustration, his hands running through his hair, anger rising up his chest. The ledger flew towards the other side of the room as Sherlock threw it in the middle of his internal dilemma, heat rushing through his every vein.
The detective stood and rummaged through one of his drawers, taking out a packet of nicotine patches. Slapping three at a time to his left arm, Sherlock felt his mind awaken, a heating sensation burning through the skin underneath the adhesive.
FOCUS. FOCUS.
He slumped down the couch, his eyes closed, letting the nicotine relax him.
But it didn't work.
"Oh for Christ's sake! It's not working..." he muttered, grabbing the packet and snapping in three more patches to his right arm.
His eyes started to water when the effects of the patches kicked in. "Right on time." he hissed at the sound of the heavy footsteps falling on the stairs, a more groomed Bill Wiggins entering his flat.
"Well?" Sherlock said, his eyes still closed.
"Fin'lly got some news from 'em in the sixth stree'. The ne'work are all on deck. Those Mr. and Mrs. Turner are up and abou' on some meeting in Dorset. Then you have 'em Johnsons in Westminster. Both misters have envelops they carry, bundles but I deduce they're decoys. Fold in their pockets, big as li'l boxes look like CDs which I believe has the real inf'mation." Wiggins reported, his tone full of pride as the new 'unofficial' head of the homeless network. "Is that six nicotine patches on your arms?"
Sherlock sat up swiftly, his hands tugging his sleeves. "Is that all? How about the others?"
Wiggins shook his head. "None. Erm... Your eyes lookin' sharp and red there. Might want to lessen those eh?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "You can go."
"Don't you want me to come? Since Doctor Watson is not available you might need a new assistant. This is for tha' pretty lady you fancy, yes? She's also there with her fiancé." Wiggins mused, his expression expectant and amused.
Sherlock stood and started to head to the bedroom. "Just keep me posted for any of the indicators."
Wiggins sighed. "You sure?" When Shelrock nodded, Wiggins pursed his lips while talking his leave. Sherlock then headed to his bedroom, swiftly looking for an appropriate "costume".
He stopped, figuring that it's best to hide in plain sight. Opting for a well-tailored suit and brushing up his hair to at least alter his look, Sherlock stepped out of his flat, a stretch in his chest widening. His breathing started to hitch but he took a deep breath and dismissed it as he made his way to Dorset.
Scanning the area, he figured this attire would blend in just fine. He walked the halls, eyes blazing alertly, as he searched the area. The halls seemed to go on and on, Sherlock's eyesight blurring as he clutched his chest, trying to steady his breathing.
"Are we counting on you during the wedding, then?" he heard someone say, absolute it was Irene's voice, her tone off-pitch.
Making his way to where her voice came from, Sherlock searched the walls for surveillance cameras. None. Perfect.
Sherlock saw Irene, along with Godfrey and who he figured as the Turners. He sneaked around the walls, waiting. He ran his hand over his hair once more, making sure his curls are brushed back, taking in a pair of glasses in his coat pocket. As he slid the glasses on the bridge of his nose, he shook his head as he tried to take away the buzzing in his head. Hearing them approach, Sherlock lowered his head and decided to run into Mr. Turner, bumping harshly to him as he did so.
"What in the world-?!" Mr. Turner gasped and Sherlock muttered a low apology in French. He saw in his periphery that Irene raised her eyebrows, Godfrey turning as he disappeared against the nearest wall. Sherlock slipped in his coat the case he got from Turner's pocket, his 'pickpocketing' lessons from Wiggin finally put to use.
"What happened?" Godfrey kindly asked, his hand on the man's shoulder.
"Guess that man's in a rush... Probably a tourist." Mr. Turner replied as he took Mrs. Turner's hand. "Well, we'll take our leave then, Godfrey! Regards to your father."
He heard Irene give a cheery goodbye, Godfrey echoing her enthusiasm as they bid away with the Turners. Sherlock was about to leave when he heard a thump from the wall just perpendicular to when he was hiding.
Taking a slight peek, Sherlock saw Godfrey backing Irene up against the wall, a violent smile upon his face.
"Try a little harder... You're an accessory to this, Lucia. I don't know what my father had let on but his deal should be a success and the only way that old scoundrel Turner agrees to it is because he fancies you." Sherlock heard Godfrey say, the cheery and innocent tone he always uses around other people completely turned upside down.
"You're pathetic... Just like them. Just like your father. Why do I even put up with you? You've been lying to me, pretending to be someone else this entire time." Irene spat.
"If you think I don't sense your dirty past, Lucia, think twice. Our wedding is in a week so I decided, why not make you see the real me? In fact, why not let me get to know the real you?" Godfrey replied, his tone poisonous like a snakes.