"How long ago did he call you?" Sherlock asked, slowing down a little.
Dylan did the same, catching her breath.
"Half an hour, more or less. He said you asked him to meet you at the old Carlton Cinema."
Sherlock took the phone out of his pocket and raised his arm calling a taxi. The taxi stopped while he was still doing his research. They entered and Sherlock gave the address.
"Essex Road, number one, please." He said to the taxi driver. Then he turned to Dylan. "I wonder why they chose this specific theatre. It was turned into a bingo house until 2007. It's currently being used by some religious organization."
"You don't think that it's connected with Sebastian being missing, do you? The society you were talking about? Do you think they are in possession of the theatre right now? Disguised of that religious organization you talk about?"
Sherlock looked out the window, trying to conceal his fear and avoiding Dylan's question. The organization must have known he was looking for them. The connection with Sebastian Wilkes wouldn't have set them on his track, but the fact that he tried to chase one of their men had. He had been reckless in his urge to find the truth and he was afraid John would pay for it now. Dylan was still waiting for an answer.
"I am not sure, Dylan. I hadn't been able to figure out their headquarters. It is possible."
Dylan didn't say anything. The taxi was getting closer now and she could barely stand staying inside knowing John might be in danger. The taxi finally pulled over and Sherlock paid the taxi driver and both he and Dylan stood in front of the theatre.
The building had been designed in 1939 and all its façade had the form of an Egyptian pylon temple. The brightly coloured ceramic tiles were decorated with a lot of Egyptian iconography, including lotus flowers and buds. It was, all in all, an opponent place. The front door, as expected, was closed. Sherlock walked to the side of the building. The street was desert apart from an occasional car. Sherlock approached the side wooden door and with a gesture of the hand he pushed it. It opened without effort, screeching on its hinges. Inside it was dark and damp. They were in an old, dark room, but they could see a light at the far end. Sherlock looked behind himself at Dylan, trying to realise if she wanted to go as well. He knew the answer well but he was still apprehensive to put her right in the face of danger. She would always be his little sister after all. Dylan nodded, understanding his silent question. They walked slowly, following the yellow light.
The light led to the main hall. The windows were barricaded with pieces of wood and old chairs lied here and there. In the centre of the hall was John, all tied up to a chair. His face was facing the floor and they could see he had been gagged. Sherlock walked in his direction but a door on the right side opened, and with it Sebastian Wilkes walked in, pointing a gun, not at Sherlock, but at John.
"Not so fast." Sebastian said.
Sherlock looked at the man, scrutinizing his features. It was not Sebastian. There was something off in the way he talked and even though his voice was very close to Seb's voice, it was not his. His gestures were also a cheap imitation by a poor actor. He could tell the man tried, though. If he hadn't moved, Sherlock might even believe that he was Seb. The face was unmistakably the same.
Sebastian had approached John that seemed conscious but too tired to be able to raise his own head. The man helped, grabbing him by his short hair. John flinched at that, his eyes open wide, looking at Sherlock and Dylan with a fearful expression.
"So, Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Said the man, calmly. "I knew you would come after your friend here. People are very predictable, even those who think they are different from everyone. Sebastian did tell me all about you, once we were able to connect who was the stranger that had followed and chased one of our men. He said you were a genius and had cracked many cases. And that you were also sort of a sociopath." He looked at Dylan and then at John. "I don't think that's quite true. I kidnapped your friend here and you came right away. Not much of a sociopath characteristic, is it now?"
Sherlock realised their position. In the rush to come and save John they were not even armed. He tried to buy them sometime.
"You shouldn't believe everything your eyes see without actually observing things. He is not my friend. He is my colleague. It's handy to have a doctor around when you are a consulting detective."
"Oh, is that so? So you wouldn't mind if I kill him, would you? I mean, doctors are fairly easy to find."
The man pressed the gun against John's head and Dylan came forward.
"Don't!" She shouted.
"Oh, looks like someone here cares!"
"What do you want from us?" Dylan asked. "We don't have any information about you to share. Nor any information that may be useful to you. So, why did you bring us here?"
"I came with a warning." The man said. The gun was still pointing at John's head. "What we are doing is none of your business. Sebastian Wilkes was used with a purpose and there is nothing you can do about him anymore. So I advise you to stay away from us. Don't try to know us, don't try to find us. Don't even try to understand what we do. Once you get to know the secret, whether you become a part of it forever, or you die." He asked Sherlock this time. "Would you like to become a part of it? We could use your deduction skills."
"I wouldn't be of much assistance." Sherlock said. "And I don't cooperate with criminals."
"Well, you can't really call us that. We have a greater purpose. And I am sure you would like to know what our purpose is. Get you out of the boredom. Aren't you curious, Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock's mouth twitched. The man made him feel uncomfortable. Not just because he looked like Seb, but there was something else, something in his voice he could recognise.
"Tell me," Sherlock said, pacing to the right side, leaving Dylan alone on his left. The man removed the gun from John's head and pointed it at Sherlock. "Are you all copies of each other? Who do you work for?"
"I told you I can't tell you. There is a price for everything, Mr. Holmes."
"Once, I played a very interesting game. A pity someone killed my opponent before I was able to crack the puzzle."
The stranger showed some signs of apprehension.
"What do you mean?" He inquired, when Sherlock didn't say anything, still pacing from side to side.
"Oh, you don't know? I've been actually looking for you for quite a long time, but had no clue or way to find you. A long time ago, I had a chat with your father. He tried to convince me to take a pill, you see. Actually, he threatened me, like you are doing right now. But John there killed him. And saved my life."
Sherlock noticed a slight tremble on the man's hand.
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Holmes. But I have to tell you it seems like a very amusing story."
"Oh, don't pretend like you don't understand! Someone once told me that the problem with a disguise is that, no matter how hard you try, it's always a self-portrait." And he proceeded. "You knew I was going to come here looking for John. You knew I would fall in your little game. Just like your father did. Oh, you cared about him, didn't you? And he cared about you too. That's why he was working for Moriarty. To assure their kids would get money. And I was too blind to see at first. No, it was not his kinds. But the kid, the adolescent. The man. The child no one knew existed, except him and your mother. Did it hurt that he decided to hide you from the world? I suppose it did. But you knew he loved you, and that's why you took it all, that's why you never came forward and made a scandal when you found out who your real father was. The money he was getting from Moriarty was for you. That's why he was doing that job, killing these people. To assure you a future, since he wasn't able to be present when you needed. He was making up for concealing you all of his life to save his marriage that eventually ended. But he failed, didn't he? He failed to kill me and he lost everything. So you decided to look for means to get your revenge. And I am sure you went to the same source your father did. James Moriarty, consultant criminal."
The man was still staring at Sherlock. He continued, using the attention he was getting.
"Well, it's a pity your father died, you see. I cracked his puzzle. I know how he outlived all those people. Would you like to hear the story?"
The man seemed to compose himself a little. He pointed the gun at John again.
"You are just bluffing. You don't know how."
"Will you tell me if I do know? If I get it right?"
He saw the way the other pondered to assume what Sherlock was telling as the truth, or keep with his disguise. He decided for the first.
"How do you know who I am?"
"I made some research of my own. I found you out. I always thought you would follow a different path from your father, especially after what happened to him. I guess I was wrong. And now you come here, with Seb's face - you lot have a wonderful surgeon I must say - and I wouldn't make the connection. Except for one thing." He looked at the man, in his eye. "The way you said Mr. Holmes. The way you kept repeating it. You see, it was just like your father. And I can also see you got hold of his old taxi tag. "
Sherlock pointed at the man's chest. There, concealed by the shirt, was the brown leather necklace. The man removed the necklace from inside the shirt and let it hang, falling to his chest, in a sign of defiance.
"And you made a very good job pretending you didn't know me on the street, I must admit." Sherlock added. "Already with Sebastian's face, you knew you couldn't take any chance. Well done."
"So," The man said. "You cracked the puzzle."
Sherlock nodded. By the corner of his eye he saw Dylan move a little bit. The man's eyes were set on him, the gun on John's head still.
"Care to enlighten me?"
"You know the answer." Sherlock pointed.
"Yes, I do. But I want to make sure you do as well. Actually, let's do something. If you crack the puzzle I will let you go, and your friend. If you fail, I will just shoot him. How does that sound to you? You see, like my father, I also fancy a good charade."
There was a hint of enjoyment in the man's voice and Sherlock nodded again, swallowing hard. He looked at John. His bruises were worse, which meant the man must have hit him pretty bad before tying him up. He took a deep breath.
"It was in the water." He said. "The poison. It was not in the pills he gave the victims and took himself, but in the water he gave the victims to swallow the pills."
The man smiled, dragging the gun to John's temple and pulling the trigger. John closed his eyes. Out of the shadows Dylan grabbed a chair, hitting as hard as her arms allowed. She almost hit John on the way, but the act had the desired effect. The man was caught by surprise, and as the chair hit his hand, he dropped the gun. Dylan attacked again, as Sherlock hunched forward to grab the gun and this time she punched the man in the face and then hit him with the elbow on the ribs. The man contorted with pain. She punched him in the jaw, applying all the strength she could manage with her already bruised hand. The man fell to the floor, unconscious.
"That was good." Sherlock complimented.
"Punch them to the side of the jaw, best way to make them go unconscious, I heard." She was still holding her hand, opening and closing it. It hurt.
Sherlock was already removing the gag from John, who started panting, closing his eyes. Dylan helped, untying the knots of the ropes that kept him on the chair. When they finished John fell to the floor, his legs unable to hold the weight of his body and Dylan proceeded to tie the man who would be unconscious for a while.
"Are you okay, John?" Sherlock asked, trying to stabilize his friend, sitting him back on the chair.
"Yes. I am… fine." John said, still shaken.
"I am going to call Greg." Dylan said, picking up her phone. She looked at John's bruises. The wound on his forehead was going to need re-stitching.
Sherlock got up and approached the man on the floor. He seemed upset.
Dylan finished explaining Lestrade what had happened, still holding John, and hang up.
"They're on their way." She said. She came closer to Sherlock, who was kneeling close to the man on the floor. "What is wrong?"
"He will never tell me." He said, sighing.
"John here needs medical assistance. You wouldn't want me to wait until he confirmed." She said, more a question, than an affirmation.
"He wouldn't shoot him. I am right."
"Then if you know you are right, there really would be no need to wait more, Sherlock." And she looked at him, a look of disapproval on her face.
John called. Dylan and Sherlock got up and turned around right in time to see him fall on the floor, face first.