AN: Hello wonderful readers! Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! We appreciate it!
And as a reminder, Sherlock's parts are written by Nephy and John's parts are written by me.
-Allie (and Nephynix)
Chapter 4:
Sherlock, John and Mrs. Hudson sit silently in 221B, awaiting Mycroft's arrival. It's been about 8 minutes since Sherlock's desperate phone call.
Mrs. Hudson is seated in John's arm chair, a warm, but untouched, cup of tea in her hands. Her eyes are downcast and a frown contorts her face.
Sherlock, upon entering the flat had taken off his jacket and scarf, as well as plastered four nicotine patches to his forearm. Currently he lies on the couch, hands in a prayer position under his chin, a frown also covering his face.
Why can't I remember? The nicotine should be helping! He thinks to himself, becoming progressively more and more impactient with himself.
For once, he's practically wishing his brother would just show up already.
John is slightly concerned with the number of nicotine patches on Sherlock's arms. But he doesn't say anything.
The room is tense with waiting.
Finally, after what has seemed ages, the door downstairs opens, and steps echo up the staircase. It's Mycroft.
John feels mildly concerned that Mycroft was able to enter the flat without being let in, he was not aware he had a key, but then lets the thought go. Mycroft can do many things John doesn't want to know about.
He stands in the doorway of the flat, dressed in his usual suit, holding an umbrella in his hand, and observing them.
"Tell me what's happened, Sherlock," he says, without greeting.
"Eight victims." Sherlock begins, listing off the data as it flows from his brain. His eyes remain shut, frown still deep in his forehead. "Girls, 8 years old, blond, dark eyed. All from private schools, different ones. All taken from public places. In the place where they were last scene, a branch of Floridian palm was found. All were missing for three days before being returned. All the girls were returned at the footsteps of a church. No one sees the drop off. Each victim has increasingly more signs of violence done to their person from victim to victim. Victims 6 and 7 were recovered murdered, asphyxiation after being drugged. Victim 8 has been mising for 12 hours and 39 minutes."
"But what does this have to do with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock?" Mycroft cuts his brother off, aggitation clear in his voice.
"It's a warning to her specifically. The physic of the girls is identical to her own at that age. The palm branch is a reminder of Florida, where her husband was sentenced to death. The victims were all drugged with a paralytic very similar to that used in American lethal injection." Sherlock's eyes shoot open. "Evidence has lead me to a small neighborhood just near the Thames. It's important…but I can't figure out why. The current victim will be the Napper's final child victim. She will come for Mrs. Hudson next."
"The current victim is Lestrade's girl," John interjects. He knows it's not important to the case, but feels he must remind Sherlock they also have the priority of finding Evie.
Neither brother responds to Johns comment, but Mrs. Hudson looks at John sadly. She could hardly believe this was happening.
Mycroft's expression grows solemn as he processes the information.
"I see," he says slowly, "So you want me to ensure Martha's safety?" he asks calmly.
Sherlock stands and actually looks his brother in the eye, not a hint of annoyance or sarcasm in his storm colored eyes.
"Please." He says, his voice small.
Mycroft's face remains blank, but it's obvious that Sherlock's concern for his landlady has hit home, because the older Holmes is fiddling with his umbrella.
"I'll need to make a few arrangements." Mycroft says, and Sherlock's shoulders slump in relief.
The older man turns to Mrs. Hudson. "Martha, I suggest you go and pack any absolutely necessary items you may need for the next week or so."
Mrs. Hudson looked up at Mycroft, the tea cup still in her hands, her body frozen to the spot as she absorbed all of the information Sherlock had stated. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
John can see she is clearly overwhelmed.
"Let me help you, Mrs. Hudson," he says gently. He takes the teacup from her hands, sets it aside, and helps her out of the chair.
Taking her arm in his, John guides her out the room. She mutters incoherent words of thanks, her voice too emotional to be clear. Together they go down the staircase and to her flat, leaving the brothers alone.
By the time they reach her flat, Martha has regained most of her faculties, and is able to gather a few things on her own, without much hassle.
She insists John waits for her in her living room. John stands in the middle of the room, looking around. He remembers the times he's been here, watching telly with Martha, when both were feeling a bit lonely. He remembers the times she's brought up tea and biscuits for John and Sherlock, or when she's cleaned up after them, even though she's insisted she's not their housekeeper.
This woman has helped them keep their lives together and means more to John and Sherlock than she realizes.
She returns with her necessities, and the two of them go back up the stairs.
Mycroft hangs up on his cell just as Martha and John reenter the upper apartment. He smiles kindly at the landlady and takes her bag from her.
Sherlock is pacing up and down the length of the apartment.
"Stop worrying, Sherlock." Martha says calmly, though her eyes tell a different story. "I'll be alright. You focus on finding Lestrade's little girl."
Sherlock freezes as if something finally makes sense, he turns to face Martha.
"What was the address of your old home? The one you lived in before moving here." He says abruptly, taking everyone by surprise.
"Kennet Street. Not far from the Thames. Why?"
Sherlock's eyes light up. There it is. A connection…
Though it doesn't help much…
But it's a place to start.
He walks over to her and hugs her, a gesture that startles his brother. It's a meaningful hug. One that says "I'm going to miss you" and "I will see you again." He kisses her on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Martha." Sherlock says, pulling away slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I won't find a better landlady-not-your-housekeeper anywhere else in all of London."
John is touched by Sherlock's farewell to Martha. He really does care about her. Sociopath my butt, John thinks.
He also gives her a hug goodbye. "Be safe," he tells her.
Then Mycroft takes her away. Sherlock and John watch at the window as Mycroft helps her into the sleek black car sitting in the street. As soon as they drive away, John turns to Sherlock.
"Now what? We don't have much time to find Lestrade's daughter."
Sherlock nods slowly, his fingers twitching. His eyes are far away, calculating something faster than John could probably keep up.
"I wonder why we haven't gotten a call or text from the Detective Inspector…" Sherlock mused in a hushed tone. After a moment, he shakes his head. "There's a piece missing. The identity of the Kidnapper and now killer is still a mystery…all that I know is that it is a woman… but why a woman?"
"A woman?" John repeats, curious. Sherlock merely nods in reply, offering no further explanation.
John looks away from Sherlock and back to the window. He didn't have any answers for him. He is tired and emotionally drained.
John wants to be helpful. He wants to help Sherlock figure out the missing piece. But John was not involved with what happened 8 years ago and feels useless.
So John does what he does best and makes a cuppa. Then stands at the window and watches cars pass by.
Who the hell are you? Sherlock asks silently, thinking of the kidnapper. And why are you after Martha Hudson?