Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes or any characters you recognize from the stories. I do, however, own the plot and Emily Barber.

The Man with Two Names
By the Salt Monster

Ch. 8
The Royal Opera House theatre

I stumbled blindly around the box as the sounds of screaming met my ears. I groped for the door, found the handle, and yanked as hard as I could. It was locked. I stared stupidly at the door, rattling the handle back and forth to no avail.

"No, no, no!" I whimpered, continuing to pull at the door in vain. "Let me out!" I screamed. "Let me out!" I pounded my fist on the door, ignoring the pain that went along with it. Nothing. I flung myself back to the balcony and leaned over. From what little I could see, it looked like all the doors were locked on the main floor as well. People were continuing to panic, but I couldn't let them distract me—I had to find Sherlock.

I stared at the stage. Sherlock had to be there. I searched frantically, blindly sure that the stubborn detective would waltz out of the wings at any moment in his usual, lazy manner…but he wasn't. The stage was silent. The orchestra pit was silent. I found myself tearing up a little bit. He was gone.

I wiped my eyes and sniffed, slumping back in my chair and waiting for the police to show up. I had never felt so helpless…

Gradually the panicking died down and after about ten minutes, the doors to the main floor were unlocked. Now all I had to do was wait for them to get the balconies.

I sat numbly for another ten minutes. A fumbling with the door handle told me that someone was unlocking the door. I jumped to my feet and crossed the distance of the small box, running over to the door as it opened.

"Where's Detective-Inspector Lestrade?" I demanded of the man. He was tall, with greasy black hair and beady eyes. "I need to speak with him."

"Who are you?" he sneered. I scowled, annoyed at the delay.

"The most important person you need right now," I said quickly, running out the door. "Is he in the lobby?" I called, but didn't wait for an answer. I flew down the stairs, stumbling on my dress and trying not to worry too much about what Mrs. Turner would say.

"Lestrade!" I yelled, wading through the sea of police officers and opera-goers in the lobby. "Lestrade!" I ducked between a couple, calling out his name and standing on tip-toe to try and find him. With no luck, I was about to go out the doors and look for him outside, when someone caught my arm and spun me around. I was getting ready to throw a punch, but soon realized it was only Lestrade.

"Miss Barber," he said. "What happened?"

"It's Sherlock," I explained breathlessly. "They got him."

"What? Who's got him? What are you even doing here?" he asked, confused. "You know what- come on." He put a hand on my shoulder and steered me back into the theatre, where a lot of policemen and paramedics were milling purposefully about. I recognized Sergeant Donovan and the man who let me out of the box seats.

"Miss Barber," Sergeant Donovan said, surprised. "Why are you here?"

"'Joe Green,'" I explained. "He said to meet him at his house."

"Yeah, his house, not the opera," sneered the man standing next to her. I glared at him.

"Joseph Green—Giuseppe Verde—La Forza del Destino—opera," I snapped. "And he said a house, like an opera house. And he left us tickets." The man gave me a nasty look, but didn't try to argue with me. Clearly, I was unworthy of a retort. I turned back to Lestrade. "Sherlock was kidnapped, or abducted, or something," I reminded him. "He just went blundering off! Then, when that Don Carlo guy was shot, he ran on stage. Three guys jumped him and dragged him off."

Lestrade looked worried as he called for someone to check backstage for Holmes.

"You're sure you saw him get taken away?" he asked me. I nodded. A police officer spoke into a radio, but called back saying that they found nothing.

Lestrade turned back to me. "Don't worry, Miss Barber, we'll find him," he tried to assure me, but he didn't look too convinced himself. "Sally, can you take her home?"

"Wait, what?" My mouth fell open. "Why are you sending me home? You need me!" Lestrade ignored me and instead told Sgt. Donovan where I lived.

"We can find him on our own, Miss Barber," Lestrade said, overriding my continued protests. "We have people on the team more than capable of that." Sgt. Donovan started to drag me towards the exit. She was surprisingly strong.

"You know a thing about this case, do you, Lestrade?" I asked him waspishly. He cast me a peeved glance, but if I had to take on the whole of Scotland Yard to find Sherlock, I would. "You'll never find him—you don't know where to start. You don't even have a clue as to who did it, or even what those numbers mean!" The older man regarded me blandly, having turned his attention to other matters.

"You've had a long night, Miss Barber. Get some rest and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No it will not!"

I yanked free of Donovan's grasp and stormed back up to Lestrade.

"You need my help," I told him heatedly. "You need it because you need Sherlock Holmes, and without me you don't have a hope in hell of finding him."

The theatre hushed as all eyes turned towards us.

"No need to get loud, Miss Barber," Lestrade told me, glancing around self-consciously. "I only want to do what's best for you. You should rest, you've just seen someone murdered, it's amazing you're not—"

"If you're so worried about me, then let me stay!" I scoffed, but it soon turned into a plea. "I need to be here—to help. I can't just go home and wait, not knowing if you find him." If I was a few years younger, I would have given my best "puppy-dog eyes," but now a stern glare would suffice.

Lestrade was still looking uncomfortable with the attention. Several on the team started to nod their heads and talk in low voices to each other. He sighed, but finally nodded.

"Don't get in the way," he warned me. "And don't touch anything unless we say you can." I smiled, triumphant.

"Well then, Miss Know-It-All, what do you suggest we do?" Sergeant Donovan snapped at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Look for notes," I answered. "The killer has left notes every time so far—it wouldn't be like him to break a pattern," I reminded her, and then called for the room to hear. "Look for anything that has numbers on it! One has to be here!"

Nobody budged.

Instead, the team stared at Lestrade, as if waiting for an "okay," until he gave a stiff nod. Then, everyone started to work. About time, too.

As clichéd as it sounds, finding a note was like finding a needle in a haystack. After a few moments of wondering where to start, I began searching under seats on the main floor, though I was interrupted quite a few times by people bringing me programs with phone numbers or dates on it. I dismissed them. I started to worry, as a real note had yet to be found.

"Miss Barber, we've been searching for over an hour. I don't think there's a note," Lestrade said, kneeling down beside me as I checked under yet another chair.

"No," I insisted. "It's here. I know it is…" I stood and wiped my hair out of my eyes. I glanced around: everyone was still searching. My eyes trailed to the dark stage. "Has anyone tried looking backstage?" I asked.

"Well, we looked for Sherlock back there, but we didn't find anything, so—where are you going?"

I was climbing onto the stage, which still had the set still on it. Alone, I searched around for a note, looking in prop cabinets, behind curtains, next to costumes… I had just about given up after about fifteen minutes of fruitless snooping. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair as I turned to leave. But then something in the corner of my eye caught my attention.
There it was.

Painted on the back of a set in large black numbers, was the message:

987412365. 74123698.—852789. 74123698.- 852789. 741963456. 74178945123.—741789654. 74123. 14863456. 9874123. 74178945123.—7415369. 741963456. 74178945123. 74178965453. 74178945123.—852789. 741963456. 74178945123.—987456321. 74178945123. 7415369. 74178945123. 74178965453.—74178965453. 14863456. 852789. 987456321.—14863456. 74178965453. 74178945123.—

741789656321. 74178945123. 74123. 74123698. 7415369.—14863456. 74123. 74123.—852789. 741963456. 74178945123. -741789656321. 7412369. 852789123. 74123. 7417896321. 852789123. 74175369. 987412365. 987456321.—741789656321. 74178945123. 74123. 74123698. 7415369.—14863456. 74123. 74123.—852789. 741963456. 74178945123.—9874123. 14863456. 74178965453. 987456321.—

852789. 74178945123. 74175369.—74178945. 74178945123. 74178945123. 852789.—741789656321. 74178945123. 74123. 74123698. 7415369.—852789. 741963456. 74178945123.—987456321. 852789. 74178965453. 74178945123. 74178945123. 852789. 987456321.—9874123. 14863456. 74175369.—741789656321. 74178945123.—74178945. 74123698. 7412369. 74175369. 7417896321.—

75952. 74123698. 7412369. 74123. 74123.—7417896321. 852789123. 987456321. 9874123. 74123698. 74269. 74178945123. 7418965453.—75952. 74123698. 7412369. 74178965453.—74178945. 74178965453. 852789123. 74178945123. 74175369. 7417896321.—7417896321. 74178945123. 14863456. 7417896321.—987412365. 14863456. 987412365. 987412365. 74178945123. 7417896321.—148563456. 74175369. 7417896321.—741789656321. 74123698. 7412369. 74175369. 7417896321.

-Joe Green

I straightened up. Despite my worry for Sherlock, a triumphant grin settled itself on my face.

"Does anybody have a calculator?"

Author's Note: (If anyone wants to try and decode that last bit, I will give you tea and a hug.) I'm back! With a rather lengthy author's note, as well.

Sorry for such a long wait, but I really needed those three weeks! I finished editing this chapter on Monday, but I really prefer Fridays, so you had to wait a few days. Cry me a river.

I'd really like to thank She Steps On Cracks for joining my editing team! She's been a wonderful editor so far—I'm really excited to be working with her! I'd also like to thank the rest of my editing team: TheAlmightyEditor, Em, and my "brother" Nob Ody for putting time and effort into my stories—you're all so fantastic!

…We should get t-shirts…or matching tattoos, like they did for Lord of the Rings! …Oh, maybe not.

Onwards: An artist on deviantArt by the name of AndIMoveSmilingly created a beautiful piece of artwork to go along with this story! This is so much more than I've ever asked for, but it's just SO amazing! I'll have the link up on my twitter if anyone would like to view it (I don't trust posting links with ).

Which brings me to my shameless plug: I'm on twitter. As Housuskowskinez. I post some updates on my writing along with some other random stuff. It's nothing too personal-sometimes just websites I found funny or interesting. You should totally check it out, if only to see the artwork.

I think that's it. Have a lovely week!

~Salty

And thanks to those who review—you really keep my spirits up! :)