John
I roll over and grab for the phone that's buzzing against the wooden nightstand. My hazy brain is unsure at this point how I got into bed, nor when. We ran around most of the day chasing down clues that would lead us to our daughter-only for them all to completely flatline. Sherlock was furious by the time we got home about one o'clock this morning. I was beside myself with worry and I remember him making me a whiskey and water...oh...Bastard must have slipped me something.
I glance down at the screen and my heart just stops. It's a message from Sophie.
I'm alive n well. Locked in. F Keeper knows U2 says Mom needs UR help. Says did something stupid needs U 2 fix. I love you. Pls come get me. –Sophie
It could easily be a fake, but something expands inside my chest and I know it's real. She's not hurt. That's all I have time to register before I am aware that I am shouting for my partner. Sherlock has appeared from nowehere, fully dressed. He reaches down and clasps his long fingers around the phone. His other hand is on my shoulder and I can feel the weight of the mattress shift as he sits down beside me. His hand has tightened on my shoulder, but it is keeping me anchored and aware of the situation. I am a bit angry with myself for being a ridiculous, trembling mess. At least we know she's okay. I take a deep breath and manage to steady myself. Sherlock has solved high-profile crimes with even less to go on than this. I steady myself. We can do this.
I get out of the bed and cross to the bathroom. I run through my routine but resolutely skip the shower. I dress quickly and note that Sherlock hasn't moved. He is studying the phone intently, brows furrowed and lips pursed in concentration. I leave him to it and head downstairs. In the kitchen, I take out a plate of cold bacon and slap a couple pieces of it between some bread, lastly adding a slice of cheese. I know it won't be long now, so I chug down a luke-warm cup of coffee and I wait.
Within minutes, Sherlock has entered the kitchen and dropped into one of the chairs. In one hand he's got the phone and in the other a biro and paper. He lays the phone flat on the table and carefully copies Sophie's text message in his long, loopy handwriting. While he's writing, I shove a piece of cold bacon in his mouth. For a second, his hand stops moving and he turns his eyes toward me in a silent "thank you" that I honestly don't need to hear. We have been at this long enough that I know if I don't get some sort of sustence into him he is just going to drop. Not this time now.
I make up two more bacon sandwiches and lightly wrap them in aluminum foil. I've already thrown my leather jacket on, so the sandwiches go right into the pocket. I am ready to move on a second's notice. I watch him write and then he lets out a snort as if its the most ridiculous thing he's ever seen. I just watch him as he gracefully gets up from the chair and heads toward the front door. I do not even need to ask. He's got the hunter look about him that has begged me to follow him without question through the best years of my life.
Sherlock
I cannot believe it. Sophie did an excellent job with this message. She used the words locked in to remind me of the security code to a phone that it took me a while to decipher a long time ago. She wrote out U2 instead of "you two" which tells me there are two people involved. The single "F" refers to the fact that both of them are female. "Keeper" in the singular shows me that only one of them is staying with her in the house where she is being kept. As soon as I work it out, I let out a sound of aggravation. I look up from the table and note that John is already waiting on me and we go outside. I explain all of these things to him as we walk down the long driveway toward the guard shack. We need a vehicle. We climb into one of Mycroft's cars and John takes the wheel.
"I am almost one hundred percent positive I know where she is, John." He glance my way quickly but keeps his eyes on the road. It will not take us long to get there, so we need to consider a plan of attack.
"I do not think Sophie knows exactly where she is, but she may have a pretty good idea. Apparently she either overheard or saw something that makes her think she is being held at 122 Livenwell Street."
"Our daughter left you all that in a text message?" His eyes slide my direction again.
"Apparently she took your words as gospel. It was a good idea giving her your notebook." I nod toward my partner.