Sorry that I took a while to update. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Please review. :)
CHAPTER 3
Sherlock stared open mouthed in shock at the note in his hands. John was getting married? Why hadn't Molly told him anything about it? He was angry now, pacing up and down the kitchen. Why hadn't Molly mentioned it to him? He could have made plans so he could be at the wedding. Sherlock sighed a weary sigh. It seemed that once again he could not be there for John when he needed him most. A tear rolled out of Sherlock's eye. John was getting married. He smiled to himself as he felt warm inside. Then it hit him. Sherlock was more alone than before. Even if he did return to Baker Street it would not be the same. Everything would have changed and it was inevitable that John would not want to live with Sherlock anymore. He would want to live with his new wife somewhere completely different. He might not even want to live in London. The thought of one of Sherlock's few friends becoming more distant scared him. John understood him more than anyone ever did. John was always there for him when he was stuck on a particularly difficult case. Mrs Hudson knew how he worked but even she did not know everything about the way Sherlock worked and was. He thought of going back to an empty 221b and working as a consulting detective all by himself. Now Sherlock's eyes were swimming in tears, and they weren't tears of joy anymore. And who was John marrying. Sherlock didn't even know her name. She could be anyone. Anyone at all. What if she was stupid like Anderson? That would be awful. What if John wasn't worth her? And worst of all, what if she didn't understand him? Sherlock felt betrayed, though, he thought, he had no reason to feel that way at all. He was just being selfish because he wanted John all to himself and he wanted it all to be like it was before. Not that the two of them had ever been in a relationship at all. John had had girlfriends before, not that Sherlock really approved of any of them. Most of them had been quite dull and stupid. Sherlock suppressed the feelings of jealousy deep within him and tried to think about the situation positively.
On the other hand, at least John hadn't been all alone the last few months. The thought of someone there comforting John and helping him through his grief helped Sherlock to feel at ease. Sherlock supposed that he'd been back to the good-for-nothing counsellor. Not that she had ever helped much with anything. Maybe this girl would turn out alright. If John was prepared to marry her she must be nice enough and John has pretty good judgement. Maybe, if she had the intellect, she could help Sherlock on his cases; Well, that was when he told the others he was alive.
Sherlock wanted to be at the wedding more than anything, but the consequences of being there could be too great. Firstly, his appearance suddenly at the wedding after being 'dead' for more than a year would certainly shock a few members of the congregation and attract a lot of media attention, something Sherlock had been enjoying not having. Secondly, what if John didn't want Sherlock there. It certainly wouldn't surprise him. Sherlock had way of making public events extremely awkward by deducing all sorts of secrets about the guests. But Sherlock desperately wanted to be there for John. He hadn't been there for a whole year, and he had already missed out on so much. With that though Sherlock rushed upstairs, got dressed and ran out of the door.
"TAXI!" he yelled as a black cab, glistening in the light drizzle that was now falling pulled up on the pavement. He opened the door and got in. "221b Baker Street and as fast as possible." Sherlock hoped he wasn't too late. Hopefully he could catch Mrs Hudson before she left and he could go to the wedding with her. He knew he had a suit there somewhere too.
The taxi driver turned around, chatting away, to look at the stranger who had just got into his taxi. He stopped talking suddenly and a look of recognition and puzzlement passed across his face. Sherlock stared back.
"Do I know you?" The taxi driver spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. "You certainly look familiar. Have I seen you in the paper somewhere?"
Sherlock replied, too quickly. "No, why should you?"
The taxi driver laughed. "I know exactly who you are. You're the great Sherlock Holmes. You committed suicide last year. Except you obviously didn't because here you are sitting in my taxi. Why didn't you say you were alive? The papers were saying all sorts about you. Your friend, the name escape me.."
"John?"
"Yeah, John. He always stood up for you. The papers gave him a lot of trouble for that you know. They said all sorts about him. So maybe you aren't a fake after all. Let's see if you're as good as they say."
"You smoke, that much is evident from your nails. And you haven't had a cigarette this morning because you're shaking slightly. And if you'll just pass me your phone..." Sherlock reached over for it but the taxi driver snatched it away. "And judging by you reaction with your phone, you're quite a secretive man. Have you got stuff on there you don't want me to see?"
"I think that'll be enough now. You are as good as he says." The taxi driver accelerated quickly and didn't say another word.
'Why had the taxi driver said 'he says'. That's a weird way of phrasing it. HE. Not they, but he.' Sherlock thought to himself. 'It seems highly suspicious.' These thoughts kept Sherlock occupied throughout the journey until he arrived at Baker Street. He jumped out of the taxi and knocked on the door.
The taxi driver drove away but he didn't look for another fare. Instead he drove straight to a small house in the southern outskirts of London. He got out of the car, a crooked smile played across his ugly face. He would be pleased. All year he had been looking for Sherlock, looking for a sign of life and now he would have his request and all thanks to little, fat Montague. Montague knocked three times on the big blue door in front of him. A dark shadowy figure approached the door.
"Who is there?" The voice spoke with a distinct Irish accent.
"It is I, Montague." His voice quivered and he trembled in fear. "I bring news of great importance."
"It better be, because why else would you come to this place in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY When EVERYONE CAN SEE US?!" The man inside was angry now. Montague was scared now, great beads of sweat trickled down his plumps face. It took all his remaining strength to say, "The News, sir. It is about Sherlock Holmes."
There was a deafening silence. Then, slowly, the door opened. A hand beckoned Montague inside.
The inside was just as you would expect a normal house, that was, util you left the hall. The two men climbed the staircase and entered a small sark room. The walls were bare and there was a red stain on the wooden floor that looked suspiciously like blood. The man sat himself down in a large leather chair behind a desk. The only light in the room, which was coming from the small window at the opposite end of the room, fell upon the man's face. He had dark hair, which was slicked back, pale skin and looked in his late 30s. Montague stared, this was the first time he had seen his master's face an he was expecting someone who looked much tougher than this.
"Please, do take a seat." Montague sat in an old red chair with suspicious marks all over it. "Do remember, it is rude to stare Montague. Now what do you know. And quickly please. I am a busy man."
"I was in my cab, driving around the areas you told me to collect fares from and then a man bursts out of one of the houses calling for a cab. He looks a bit dishevelled and tired, like he hasn't seen much light and fresh air recently. He gets in and it's him. It's Sherlock Holmes. He even did the deduction stuff you told me about. He wanted to go to Baker Street. I thought you were going to be so proud of me. Your loyal servant who found Sherlock."
"And is this all you found out?" Montague nodded. "Well, I was expecting more seeing as you came to me here in BROAD DAYLIGHT! YOU ARE SO STUPID! You could have been followed, anything. All for that tiny piece of information. I know he is at Baker Street anyway."
"But...sir...I."
"Be quiet." A red spot of light started dancing on Montague's chest. He started crying. "Pathetic man. You have made one too many mistakes Montague. I cannot trust you anymore and so" A bullet hit Montague's chest. His crying stopped suddenly. "And so you must die." Montague's lifeless body lay limp in the chair. The man spun his chair round to face the man in the corner of the room that Montague had failed to notice.
"Once again, Moran, an amazing shot."
"Thank you Moriarty, sir." The two men laughed and smiled at each other. "It's great to have you back"