A/N: The Sherlock Holmes series belongs to ACD. Sherlock series belongs to Moffat and Gatiss. All original characters and story belong to me.
Sherlock rushed backstage while thumbing out a text on his phone. He threw open the curtain. Just as the student Analise had said, there was no sign of Sydney. The only proof she was ever there were her clothes she was wearing before and the open makeup containers.
Pageant has disappeared. Keep a look-out for her. She's dressed as me. No, not my idea.
SH
"You really thought I'd just leave the door open for you?" Moriarty asked, still holding the gun steadily, pointed at Sydney's head.
Sydney stared straight into the barrel with a cold, steely glare... though she was truthfully scared out of her mind. She had to fake it, though, to keep up the facade.
"You never were one for the obvious. Still felt I should test the theory, though," Sydney said, still imitating Sherlock. Moriarty smiled.
"Indeed. Well, this really has been fun. I'd hate for it to end so suddenly." An idea formed in Sydney's head.
Call me crazy, but I hope to high heaven that this works.
"As would I... Jim," Sydney-as-Sherlock said. Jim's face turned thoughtful.
"Would you? Really?" Sydney nodded.
"I would. You've been the only person to really challenge me. The only man whose cleverness nearly reaches my own. I admit: You're brilliant. A different kind of brilliance than my own, but still brilliant nonetheless." Jim started to lower the gun. My God, this is actually working? "I'd hate to lose such a mind."
"As would I," Jim agreed, turning his back to Sydney. "However, you seem to have things a little twisted about. You must think this well-deserved but ill-timed flattery will gain you the upper hand. Well, you're wrong. I have you under my absolute control." Sydney saw this as her chance.
"We'll see who controls whom!" she shouted, still managing Sherlock's voice, and ran up and tackled Moriarty to the floor, making him drop the gun. The two struggled for a while, each trying to grab the handgun before the other. Sydney tried her hardest to keep Moriarty on the ground, practically pinning him. In shifting around, however, Jim suddenly stopped with a confused look.
"Now wait a second. What happened to your-" he started, but didn't finish due to Sydney clocking him over the head with the butt of the handgun, knocking him out cold.
"Never. Doing. That. Again," she declared in her own voice. She sighed and quickly went over to the door. Okay, I've seen this done in films... Here's hoping I don't end up shooting myself... She aimed the gun at the door handle...
She fired.
The door handle broke from the shot.
Oh, thank God. As she reached for the door, however, she stopped, turning to the unconcsious form of Moriarty. No way I'm just leaving him here... There is still the rope...
"Is there another way into backstage from here?" Sherlock asked Professor Baker. He nodded.
"Yeah, just on the other side of the stage is the cast and crew entrance. Mostly used for moving sets."
"Well, only minutes ago, it must have been used to move Sydney Pageant. Whoever did so probably thought it was me, seeing as how she was in full costume when taken, as evidenced by her own clothing being left here and the open makeup. I don't want anyone leaving this theatre. For your own safety," Sherlock ordered. The professor nodded and had the students sit in the audience seats while Sherlock went to investigate the exit. He sent another text to Lestrade.
Kidnapper took alternate entrance/exit from theatre. Don't let anyone on or off campus.
SH
Okay, Sydney, on a list of bad desicions you've made today, this may be the worst offender, Sydney thought as she dragged the madman's unconcsious form as she escaped. Tucking him under her right arm, grasping onto the rope to keep her grip, she held the handgun in her dominant left hand, holding the high hope that she wouldn't have to actually fire it again.
Moriarty started to stir under her grip and began to mumble. Sydney quickly put a stop to that by hitting him in the head again.
"Not now, Jimmy. Can't have you up and about right now," she whispered, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her brow started to sweat under the dark wig. The large coat and scarf didn't help matters much either. Still, she kept moving forward through the halls.
Moriarty stirred again a few minutes later. Again, his head was met with a blow from the butt of the gun.
If this were a comedy, that'd probably be the running gag of this schtick.
No sign of her yet. Will keep you posted. STAY PUT. G. Lestrade
Sherlock sighed in frustration. He hated having to be cooped up in the auditorium. He'd already paced the entire length of it fifteen times. However, if Sydney had been mistaken for him, it might put her in less danger if he were to stay hidden, Lestrade had told him. Still, Sherlock wished he could be out trying to find whoever took her instead of leaving it up to the idiot squad that was Scotland Yard.
It certainly didn't help him that he was stuck with a room full of teenagers that were practically enamoured by his very presence and wouldn't stop asking questions that had nothing to do with their current situation. He needed to concentrate on why he could have been potentially kidnapped, who knew he'd gone into the theatre in the first place, and what that one science professor who lied had anything to do with this. These kids were not helping in the least.
"Would you lot stop badgering me and let me THINK!" Sherlock finally yelled, fed up with all the trivial inquiries. The students promptly shut up and sat back down, looking rather upset. Sherlock took notice. "Look, I'm sorry I've upset you, but right now is most certainly no time for a question-and-answer panel. I need to concentrate if we're going to save Sydney." The kids understood and let him be.
Please let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks, please let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks, please let that be the exit and not a room full of gun-toting mooks Sydney thought to herself as she approached a set of double doors with light pouring through the windows. She got over to them as fast as she could dragging the mass that was the out-cold Moriarty through the hall. Once she opened the door, she found that she was in a familiar place...
"I'm... still on campus? Really?" Sydney huffed as she realised that she was being held in the old English wing that was cleaned out and ready for demolishing next week. Of course, that's where they'd put me. Bloody hell.
She then thought of where she was in relation to the auditorium. Not too terribly far, but it might take a bit longer with the not-quite-dead weight she had to pull along behind her. She shifted his weight under her arm so as to keep a grip on him. Her own blonde hair was starting to show under her wig, but that didn't matter. She had to get this idiot to Sherlock. Madman in hand, gun in the other, she shuffled off toward the theatre.
She finally arrived roughly ten minutes later, more or less. However, the door was shut. Her hands had grown weak and sweaty under her gloves from carrying the gun and Moriarty. She wouldn't have the grip to open it. At the absolute point of frustration and rage, Sydney dropped the gun next to her, picked up Moriarty with both hands, pointing his head toward the door, and...
Bam. BAM. BAMM! The door to the theatre swung open. The kids started to yell and jump out of their seats. Sherlock dashed towards the door to fight off the intruder... when they all saw a rather disheveled looking Sydney Pageant. Her wig was askew, her scarf was coming undone. One shoulder of the coat was starting to fall off, and her shirt was untucked on one side. She was extremely out of breath, sweating as well.
"I brought you your fan..." she wheezed. "Tied up in a ribbon... Happy Christmas." She then dropped her improvised battering ram and nearly dropped herself if Sherlock hadn't caught her. He looked at the person she'd dragged with her...
Found Sydney. And she found HIM. Come to the theatre AT ONCE. SH