Chapter 5:
Tick…tock…tick…tock…
Sherlock is close to shooting the offensive object with John's gun. He knows time is running out, he doesn't need a "friendly reminder."
The nicotine patches are making his mind race, putting every ounce of data about this case into a neat file in his hard drive.
However, the slightest detail continues to elude him.
Why Mrs. Hudson?
The older woman was annoying at worst, but kind hearted, even to her son-of-a-gun husband. The man had kept her trapped for years…and Sherlock was convinced she may have had a case of Stockholm's syndrome.
Who could possibly hate Mrs. Hudson so much to murder innocent girls?
It was obvious that the Napper was female. No man would be able to take a girl off the street without being noticed. But a woman, a woman could easily slip in and take her.
But who had it out for Mrs. Hudson?
It was almost laughable just how much the whole scenario didn't make sense.
Pulling at his hair, Sherlock pulled out his violin, hoping that its haunting tones would free him from his aggravation.
And perhaps give him answers.
John is upstairs, trying to get some rest. He knows it's not the best time for one, but between shifts at the clinic and chasing Sherlock all over London, he's exhausted. Between that, and the lull in the case, John figures he better take his chance. He hopes to be more helpful later, when it's most important.
But then, of course, Sherlock begins to play the violin. He's good and it sounds beautiful, but John can hardly stay asleep when he plays. He lies on his bed, over the covers, listening, and half awake. He doesn't bother to tell Sherlock to stop because a) it would do no good and b) John knows it helps him think.
Finally, and rather suddenly, the music stops.
This wakes John up all the way. There are only a few reasons Sherlock would stop on his own. He's figured something out.
John rolls out of bed and descends the staircase in a slightly sleepy daze.
"Something new?" he asks simply.
Sherlock's instrument is hanging loosely from his fingers, his eyes glowing and a small smile creeping across his face.
"Oh… yes, John." His eyes locked on John. "The missing piece has fallen into place. Get your coat, quickly. We don't have much time!"
Sherlock throws the object at John, pulling his own coat and scarf on in at a rapid pace.
When John is ready, they run out of the apartment and head to the neighborhood they had visited only earlier that day.
Sherlock says nothing during the cab ride, but sits at the edge of his seat. John wishes he would just explain everything, but he knows Sherlock prefers dramatic reveals.
As soon as the cab stops, Sherlock flies out of it, followed by John.
They're back at the neighborhood, the one that gives John the creeps. John is anxious to hear what Sherlock has remembered, anxious to find Lestrade's girl, and anxious to catch the kidnapper. He doesn't like being in the dark. He wants to know what bothered Sherlock about this neighborhood.
"So, this is where the napper is?" John asks, following Sherlock down the street.
"Yes," Sherlock says simply, sending a brief text to Lestrade, as he leads John to behind a particularly normal looking house.
The house is small, nothing really special about it. But it was its normality that made Sherlock's skin crawl. Yes. This is where the Napper hid.
In plain sight. Just like the cabbie.
Once they were in the back yard, Sherlock pressed John's gun into the other man's hands. And with a faint nod, the two of them approached the back door.
From inside, Sherlock heard a door slam. Counting off several seconds, he nodded to John, and opened the door carefully.
The inside of the house is disturbingly clean. Sherlock takes the lead as they begin searching room to room.
Soon they locate what could only be the basement.
John is grateful Sherlock brought his gun, but it appears as though he may not need it. The house is old and mostly void of furniture. Each room they check doesn't have the kidnapper, or the girl. A knot tightens in John's stomach as they determine the top floor is empty.
Sherlock discovers the staircase and they step down it carefully, John leading the way.
At the bottom of the dark stairway is a closed door. John pushes it open with his foot and creaks open slowly. He enters quickly, gun out, followed by Sherlock.
In the middle of the room is a little girl, lying on the floor, unmoving. John glances around the perimeter of the room and doesn't immediately see anyone.
He quickly assumes the napper is not in the room and rushes to the girl. He kneels next to her, sets his gun down, and begins checking her for injuries.
He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds the girl is still breathing shallowly. Only unconscious. But her pulse is weak, she's been drugged. She's relatively uninjured, but has sustained a few injuries on her arms.
"She needs medical attention," John says to Sherlock, who's searching around the edges of the room.
Suddenly, a shadow to Sherlock's left detaches from the wall and makes a run for the door.
"Stay with Evie!" Sherlock barely has time to shout before he is running after the Napper.
Running! Chasing the Napper through several yards and leaping over three fences.
Sherlock picks up his pace; he can't let the Napper get away.
And he catches up to her…
…only to trip on a stray tree root.
Sherlock hits the ground and rolls quickly to his feet…
But it's too late.
The Napper vanishes into the night.
Clenching his fist tightly, Sherlock swings a wild punch at the tree that tripped him. He doesn't care about the burst of pain that floods his hand, nor the liquid that drips into his glove from his knuckles.
She. Got. Away.
But soon a smile lights Sherlock's face, slowly and carefully, as an idea forms in his head.
He holds the Ace.
He makes his way quickly back to the Napper's house, and finds Lestrade holding Evie's unconscious body in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks.
But he wasn't sad or weeping…no… Lestrade seems…Happy.
Something tightened in Sherlock's chest. The amount of emotion spilling off of Lestrade was enough to make Sherlock severely uncomfortable. He has never been good at emotions.
Lestrade's eyes lift to him as Sherlock approaches, his eyes full of gratitude and thanks.
Again, still horribly distressed by the emotion, Sherlock's eyes wander to find John.
John is kneeling at Lestrade's side with a first aid kit in his lap, tending to the girl's wounded arm. Sherlock deduces that John is the only member or the medical profession that was going to be able to tend to Evie while her father in his current state. With good reason, Sherlock tells himself. John is the best after all.
Sherlock waits until he was finishes before pulling John aside. "She got away." Sherlock states simply.
John stiffens at these words…at least until his eyes lock on Sherlock's. He knows that look. "And you have a plan, right?"
"Am I that easy to read?" Sherlock asks in mock hurt.
John chuckles, reminding Sherlock of their first case together. "So what's the plan?"
A small smile lights Sherlock's face. "I'll tell you on the way back to Baker Street…but only if you promise to do as I ask."
John's eyes narrow, suspicious. "Alright…I guess."
Sherlock's smile widens. "Excellent."
AN: Hello wonderful readers! We apologize for the shortness of the chapter and also for the cliff. ;D
Tell us what you think!
-Allie and Nephy