Chapter 3
Sherlock and John take a taxi to the location the particulate machine had located.
It was a small neighborhood rather close to the Thames, with small, quaint homes.
But something about the neighborhood set Sherlock on edge…there was a memory that went with this neighborhood…something dark and remote in the past…
Something that he had most likely deleted.
He frowned. What made this neighborhood so special? What could have possibly happened here? He clenched his jaw in frustration.
'So this is the neighborhood the girls were taken,' John thinks, 'Well, at least the last girl.' They walk past houses that look rather similar. It's all rather quiet. No children running through the street. The perfect place to take a stolen child.
John can tell Sherlock doesn't like the neighborhood. It gives John the creeps, but he doubts for the same reasons as Sherlock.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Hm?" Sherlock asks, snapping out of his thoughts. "Me? Yeah. Fine."
He studies each house as they walk past, trying very hard to remember.
There is something about this neighborhood.
Something important.
And it's giving him a headache just thinking about it.
'Ugh. I'm going to need more nicotine patches…'
John doesn't believe Sherlock is fine. He looks faraway and frustrated. John wants to push the subject, but knows there is no point. Sherlock won't open up to him, not unless he wants to.
"So, the kidnapper took the girl here, to one of these houses," John says, "But which one?"
Sherlock doesn't respond, but looks deep in thought.
"What are we looking for Sherlock?"
"Data. I need more data."
Sherlock turns around and retraces his steps back out of the neighborhood. He ignores John's exasperated expression and hails a cab.
"221B Baker St." He tells the cabbie after he and John are inside.
Sherlock leans his head against the window on the door beside him, his mind racing, trying to figure out why that neighborhood sets off so many alarm bells in his head. Frustrated that nothing is coming readily, he closes his eyes, taking slow, careful breaths.
He wishes John would just talk, just say something to distract him from the massive headache forming…
The silence in the cab is deafening. Not that Sherlock ever talks during cab rides, especially during a case. But this is different. Sherlock is different; he's not as alert and doesn't look well.
John feels he must do something.
"I hope Lestrade is coping well," he says, "Must be very difficult for him, not being on the case."
Sherlock doesn't respond, but remains leaned against the window.
"I can't imagine what he must feel like, losing his child from under his nose," John continues.
The cab stops in front of their flat.
Sherlock stumbles out of the cab. He stops moving, closes his eyes, and when he's sure that he has his balance, he approaches the front door.
He slides his key into the keyhole, but doesn't have time to turn it before the door swings open to reveal Mrs. Hudson.
And suddenly, everything clicks in Sherlock's brain.
The Palm branch.
The age of the girls.
The physical appearance of the girls.
Everything. Suddenly. Makes. Sense.
And it terrifies the Consulting Detective.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson says, a smile on her face. "What are—"
He cuts her off, pulling her and John inside the flat and closing the door firmly behind him. He doesn't let go of Mrs. Hudson for a moment.
"Martha." He breathes. "You are in serious danger."
John looks back from Mrs. Hudson, to Sherlock, and back to Mrs. Hudson. She looks just as confused as he is. But Sherlock's face is grave and serious. He looks afraid for her.
Then John suddenly sees it. The girls, they look like… Mrs. Hudson. Suddenly, John remembers one of his first conversations with Sherlock.
"Mrs. Hudson. She owes me a favor. Her husband was sentenced to death in Florida a few years back."
The palm branch. Florida.
That has something to do with the kidnappings, her husband's death.
"Florida, Mrs. Hudson," John says worriedly.
Her brows knit together in confusion.
"Sherlock, John dear, what are you talking about?" She asks politely.
Behind Sherlock's storm colored eyes, the wheels are turning at a frightening pace. He's glad to note that John has caught on. He'd praise his blogger if he wasn't so worried about what he needed to do to keep Mrs. Hudson safe.
Every detail of her case flashed though his mind.
And he knew he would need Mycroft's help, no matter how much he didn't want to rely on him.
Possible suspects of who wanted Mrs. Hudson silenced flashed though his mind, but he forcefully pushed them away. He needed proof! He couldn't just assume someone to be guilty without all the facts.
Even if Moriarty was one of the first people to flash though his mind.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he took Mrs. Hudson's hand in his and looked at his landlady with all seriousness. "Someone has been sending warnings all over London for you. Someone wants you dead for what happened eight years ago."
Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Why would someone do that, dear? Sherlock, you were the one who solved the case. I didn't even testify in court. Why would someone want me dead?"
John has not seen Sherlock so worried in his life. It's touching to see him concerned for Mrs. Hudson. He would say something, if he wasn't so worried for her himself.
"But you asked Sherlock to ensure his execution, didn't you?" John asks quickly.
Mrs. Hudson looks worried, "Well, yes dear, but who would know about that?"
John looks back to Sherlock.
Sherlock stiffens at the mere thought.
But he can't remember.
A detail that slipped his notice?
Sherlock bites his lip and whips out his phone, dialing a number he knows by heart, but never imagined he'd ever call.
It rings only once.
"What's happened?" Mycroft says on the other end.
"Mrs. Hudson is in danger." Sherlock says, his mouth going dry. "And…and I can't protect her."
Mycroft is silent on the other end. Out of the corner of Sherlock's eye, he sees John stiffen and Mrs. Hudson freeze.
Sherlock doesn't care. After nearly losing John only a month before…
He couldn't handle losing Mrs. Hudson…
She had been there for him when no one else had.
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Thank you." Sherlock breathed, the words barely audible.
"See you soon." Mycroft replies, knowing his brother doesn't need his weakness prodded at.
They hang up.
'He's calling Mycroft.' The seriousness of the situation suddenly hits John. He knows Sherlock would only call his brother if he had no other choice. The conversation chills him.
He turns to Mrs. Hudson and puts a hand on her shoulder. He can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt sweet Mrs. Hudson, who treated Sherlock and John like her own sons.
This whole case bothers John.
But what bothers John most is that Sherlock can't remember. He can't remember the most important details. Why?
Sherlock hangs up and turns to them. And they wait.