A/N: Oh. My. Goodness! I'm sooooo sorry for taking so long. I can not apologize enough for how long I've taken, and I'm soooo sorry. Here is the new chapter. And now that I've gotten the ball rolling again, it should be easier to continue (hopefully)!
Some notes on reviews:
SnowKi: Here is a new chapter. I hope you like it!
Lady Artimes Blaine: I'm glad you like the story so far. It was your three reviews that really kicked my butt into gear. So thanks! There will certainly be more Doctor later in the story. And, as I said in the author's note before (which should be taken down by now, sorry), there is another Doctor Who character already in the story. It's extremely subtle, but it's there.
Bill Ray: Hush, you. Here's your chapter.
A/N: Again, I am soooooooooo sorry for taking so dang long. I hope you all can forgive me.
Chapter Eighteen
The Game is... A Foot?
I walk down the stairs from my flat to see 221B's door wide open. I pause on the landing, looking into the flat, surprised to see John sitting in his chair with his laptop. I glance at my watch, checking the time-7:15 am-before looking back into the flat.
"You're up early," I comment. John looks up from the screen.
"Trying to enjoy as much of the peace as I can," he responds with a grin. I chuckle and lean on the door frame, crossing my arms.
"Sherlock coming back soon?" I ask. John shakes his head.
"God, I hope not," he answers, and I laugh. "You could probably tell me how much time I have left before he does, though." He says this while giving me the saddest look he can, eyes wide, mouth set in a pout. I laugh again.
"Alright, alright. I surrender," I concede, and John grins. I close my eyes and focus on Sherlock, on the next time he'd be in the flat.
I'm standing in the doorway to the kitchen. There's a yellow smiley face spray-painted on the far wall above the sofa, and I can see the can of paint from the circus case sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Two gunshots ring out, nearly causing me to lose my concentration. I turn to see Sherlock sprawled low in his armchair (not a good sign). He is wearing blue-grey pajama pants, an inside-out grey t-shirt, and a blue silk dressing gown. His legs stretch out in front of him, his ankles crossed, his feet bare, and his head rests on the low back of the chair. There is a pistol-John's-in his left hand. He closes his eyes briefly, before opening them and gazing up at the ceiling. Downstairs, the front door opens. Sherlock lifts his head and faces forward, lifting his hand and aiming the pistol at the yellow smiley. Without looking, he fires another two shots. I glance at the wall and see that the eyes and the corners of the smile have bullet holes in them. Sherlock turns to look at his work and fires a fifth shot, making a nose. As he fires again, John makes it to the top of the landing, fingers in his ears. He stops and lowers his hands.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks.
"Bored," Sherlock answers in a sulk. John squints at him in disbelief.
"What?" he asks again, quieter.
"Bored!" Sherlock repeats, louder this time. He springs up out of the chair. John recoils immediately and covers his ears again.
"No..."
"Well?" John asks, breaking my concentration. I open my eyes and notice that John is wearing the same outfit from my vision. I shake my head.
"Sorry, John," I respond. "Looks like he'll be back later today." John groans. I stand straight again and turn to leave. "Oh, and if you're planning on leaving the flat at some point, make sure you take the magazine out of that illegal pistol of yours and hide it somewhere, yeah?" John swears and I laugh.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Audrey, Molly and I walk through the door to Angelo's, arms loaded with bags. It's nearly sunset, and our all-day girls'-day is drawing to a close. Billy, the waiter, greets us and sits us at a table. It's the same table that Sherlock, John and I used on our first case. As he walks back to the register, Angelo approaches the table, menus in hand and a big grin lighting his face.
"Kat," he calls. "How are you?" I smile, looking up at the jovial man.
"I'm well, Angelo," I respond. "How are you? How's business?" Angelo laughs.
"It's good, it's good," he answers before glancing at my friends.
"This is Molly," I introduce, gesturing. "And this is Audrey." The two girls wave.
"Well, any friend of Kat's is more than welcome in my restaurant. Y'know, I haven't seen Sherlock around here lately. Is he...?" he asks, trailing off at the end of his question.
"He's fine," I answer, ignoring the pointed glances from the girls. "He's been in Belarus the last few days." Angelo nods.
"Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to holler," he adds, turning away. Billy comes back to take our orders. He walks away again to give our orders to the kitchen.
"So people ask you about Sherlock's well-being?" Audrey prompts through restrained giggles. Molly is outright chuckling. I pick up my water glass and take a sip, purposely ignoring them for a moment to think.
"I live upstairs from him. And he's my friend, and only my friend," I retort, putting the glass back on the table. Molly and Audrey glance at each other from the corner of their eyes, before turning their eyes on me.
"Uh-huh, sure," they reply simultaneously and sarcastically. I glare at the two of them.
"I don't recall asking for commentary from the peanut gallery," I sneer. As they laugh, I get a psychic message from Sherlock.
"Bored," he projects. I shake my head.
"Where are you?" I ask.
"Home."
"Why don't you play your violin?"
"Don't want to. Could you tell me where John hid the magazine to his gun?"
"Not a snowball's chance in hell. That wall is going to take enough of a beating as it is. Besides, John just got back to the flat. Ask him."
"Um, Kat?" Molly prods, interrupting my mental conversation. "Did you hear what we said?" I shake my head.
"Sorry, guys," I respond as Billy brings us our food. "Sherlock is bothering me because he's bored, and like a child, he can't find something to occupy him." Molly and Audrey gawk at me, before Molly busts out laughing. Audrey continues to stare at me.
"I don't understand," she says, perplexed. "How is Sherlock bothering you? Did he text you? Because I didn't see you pull out your phone." I shake my head, about to answer.
"They communicate to each other by thinking," Molly interjects. Audrey turns to look at her. "They can project thoughts to each other." Audrey turns slowly to look at me, thoughtful. I nod, and she grins.
"Okay," she teases, nudging my shoulder. I frown at her, not liking her train of thought. Molly seems to be thinking the same thing, because she's leaning her elbows on the table and folding her hands together under her chin, scheming.
"So Sherlock calls out to you when he's bored?" she asks rhetorically. My frown deepens as Audrey breaks out into song.
"I can see what's happening," she sings. It's the intro to Can You Feel the Love Tonight from The Lion King. Molly, conspiring against me, joins in to sing Pumba's lines.
"What?"
"And they don't have a clue." My frown turns into a scowl.
"Who?"
"They'll fall in love, and heeere's the bottom line. Our trio's down to two."
"Oh." I glower at them, fuming, before tearing off pieces of my bread stick and throwing them at my so-called friends. The two of them laugh, and we finally dig into our food.
When we're about halfway through our meals, a feeling comes over me. I call out to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, take Mrs. Hudson and get to the back of the building. Now!" I project. I feel Sherlock tense before jumping into action. I look at Molly and Audrey.
"I need both of you to hold onto your plates and glasses," I announce. The two of them stare at me before complying. Not more than three seconds later, we hear a boom, and the building around us shakes. Audrey and Molly look at me as I jump up from my chair, place two £50 notes on the register, and race out the door. I hear the two of them call out to me, running to catch up. As I turn the corner onto Baker ST, I pull my phone out, calling Lestrade. I tell him there's been an explosion. Molly and Audrey stop beside me, gaping at all the dust and debris. I cover my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket before picking my way to 221B, Molly and Audrey right behind me.
"Sherlock!" I call out once inside. "Mrs. Hudson!" I hear Sherlock's voice call me from Mrs. Hudson's flat. The three of us make our way towards his voice, and we see Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson sitting in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. I look them both over for injuries before sighing in relief.
"Thanks for the warning," Sherlock comments. I nod. "What happened?"
"Explosion across the street," I answer.
"Accident?"
"Don't think so." Sherlock hums in acknowledgement. I turn to Molly and Audrey, noticing that we all left our shopping bags at Angelo's. "Molly, Audrey, will you two be okay getting home? I want to be here when Lestrade gets here." The two of them nod. "Oh, and Molly, can I ask you to keep my shopping at your place?" Molly nods again. I give them both a hug, and they leave.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
I wake up late the next morning. I had stayed up, talking to Lestrade and helping out by healing some of the injured. By the time I got to bed, I was tired and covered in dust. I sit up in my bed and stretch, before grabbing some clothes and hopping into the shower. As I wash my hair, I think about the explosion from the night before. I'm convinced that it wasn't an accident. It's far too convenient that it happened right across the street. Like Sherlock says, the universe is rarely so lazy. I turn off the water, dress, and toss my dusty clothes into a basket. I'll wash those later, I think. I head down the stairs and knock on the door to Sherlock's flat. I hear his voice call out, letting me in. I open the door to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, irate, facing a rather patronizing Mycroft sitting in John's chair. Sherlock plucks at his violin, wearing his usual attire, but with a purple shirt instead of the usual white.
"Hello, Mycroft," I greet, refusing to sit in my comfy armchair and instead pulling out one of the dining chairs, turning it, and sitting in it backwards, facing the two brothers. Mycroft glares at me, but doesn't say anything. A moment later, the front door opens, and we hear John racing up the stairs, calling Sherlock's name. As he hurries into the living room, his eyes are drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to me, looking me up and down, checking for injuries, then to Sherlock.
"John," Sherlock says, looking up at John. John glances at Mycroft, then turns back to Sherlock.
"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?" he asks.
"Hmm? What?" Sherlock responds absently. He looks around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he has forgotten it. "Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently." He turns his attention back to Mycroft, who stares at him pointedly while Sherlock plucks his violin strings again. John turns to me, asking if I'm okay.
"Yeah, John," I answer. "I wasn't here. I was out with Molly and Audrey." John nods.
"I can't," Sherlock insists, returning to his previous conversation with his brother.
"Can't?" Mycroft repeats snobbishly.
"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time," Sherlock explains. John looks at him in disbelief.
"Never mind your usual trivia," Mycroft presses. "This is of national importance." Sherlock flicks his fingers sulkily across the strings of his violin.
"How's the diet?" he asks.
"Fine," Mycroft replies, refusing to rise to the implied insult. He then turns to John, who has walked nearer to the windows to investigate the damage. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."
"What?" John asks, having not been listening. I chuckle.
"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent," Mycroft clarifies without explaining. John glances at me.
"Uncompromising," I explain with a grin. "Inflexible." John nods, smiling.
"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock asks, annoyed.
"No-no-no-no-no," Mycroft protests disdainfully. "I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time-not with the Korean elections so..." He trails off as John turns toward him in surprise. I tilt my head in interest, smiling. Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin. "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Mycroft smiles humorlessly, a clear message to forget what he just said. "Besides, a case like this-it requires... legwork." He grimaces in distaste. Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. He turns to John, who is absently rubbing the back of his neck.
"How's Sarah, John?" he asks. "How was the lilo?"
"Sofa, Sherlock," Mycroft corrects, consulting his pocket watch and not even looking at John. "It was the sofa." Sherlock briefly looks John up and down.
"Oh, yes, of course," he comments.
"How...?" John asks incredulously, looking at me. I shrug my shoulders, not letting on that I have no idea what a lilo is. "Oh, never mind." He sits in the other chair at the coffee table. Mycroft smiles at him.
"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals," Mycroft says, changing the subject. Sherlock throws him a dark look, which Mycroft ignores. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."
"I'm never bored," John replies. I laugh softly, and Mycroft turns to me. "And what's it like to be his neighbor?"
"I'm never bored," I answer, repeating John's words.
"Good!" Mycroft responds, smiling condescendingly. "That's good, isn't it?" Again Sherlock glares at him. Mycroft stands up as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder which he had put on the table beside him. Mycroft steps forward and offers the folder to his brother, but Sherlock just looks back at him stubbornly. Grimacing, Mycroft turns and offers the folder to John instead, completely bypassing me. I raise my eyebrows at Sherlock.
"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," Mycroft explains. John looks startled, but takes the folder. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in." I wince. I have a thing about head wounds, obviously.
"Jumped in front of a train?" John asks.
"Seems the logical assumption," Mycroft responds. John quirks a brief smile.
"But...?"
"'But'?" Mycroft repeats.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident," John reasons. I laugh as Sherlock, who is now applying rosin to the bow with a small cloth, smirks with a derisive hum.
"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defense system-the Bruce-Partington Programme it's called," Mycroft elaborates, looking at Sherlock as John starts flipping through the folder. I stand up from my chair and glance at the folder from over John's shoulder. "The plans for it were on a memory stick." John sniggers quietly.
"That wasn't very clever," he says. Sherlock smiles in agreement.
"It's not the only copy," Mycroft replies, turning to John.
"Of course not," I comment.
"But it is secret. And missing," Mycroft continues.
"Top secret?" John asks.
"Very," Mycroft answers. "We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." He turns back to Sherlock. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you." Breathing in sharply through his nose, Sherlock raises the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He looks calmly at his brother.
"I'd like to see you try," Sherlock replies. Mycroft leans down to him a little attempt to look more threatening.
"Think it over," Mycroft insists. Sherlock stares back at him, unimpressed. Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake. "Goodbye, John." Politely, John stands and shakes his hand. Mycroft smiles at him. "See you very soon." John tries not to look nervous. Mycroft turns to me, nodding his head. "Miss Wilson." I nod back. As Mycroft heads back towards John's chair to pick up his coat, Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short, irritating sequence of notes. John frowns at him, but Sherlock continues to play until Mycroft leaves the room and is on the stairs. Grimacing in the direction of his brother's back, Sherlock finishes his playing and lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. John sits back down on the coffee table and waits until Mycroft has reached the ground floor and is out of earshot before he speaks.
"Why'd you lie?" he asks. Sherlock looks across the room at him as the front door bangs shut. I move towards my armchair from where I was standing behind John, pushing in the dining chair on the way, before sitting Indian style. "You've got nothing on-not a single case. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" Sherlock shrugs, turning again.
"Why shouldn't I?" he responds.
"Oh!" John exclaims, nodding. "Oh, I see." Sherlock's eyes drift in John's direction but he doesn't actually look at him. "Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."
"I never had sibling rivalry with my brother," I interject. "He didn't really like me much." Sherlock looks up at me sharply.
"I had two brothers, Sherlock," I project. He continues to stare at me before turning to John. Before he can speak, his phone starts ringing. He irritably whips his bow down again, puts it on the seat beside him and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.
"Sherlock Holmes," he says into the phone. He listens for a moment, then his expression intensifies, and he glances at me. "Of course. How could I refuse?" Standing up and switching off the phone, he puts the violin onto the seat, then heads for the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" I nod, standing up from my chair. John looks unsure.
"If you want me to," he answers.
"Of course," Sherlock replies, picking up his coat. He turns his back on John, towards the door. "I'd be lost without my blogger."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
One taxi ride later, we arrive at New Scotland Yard, where Lestrade greets us and leads us across the general office towards his separate office.
"You like the funny cases, don't you?" he asks rhetorically. "The surprising ones."
"Obviously," Sherlock responds.
"You'll love this. That explosion..." Lestrade starts.
"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock interrupts, briefly exchanging glares with Donovan as we walk past her desk. I smile.
"No," I answer, causing the three men to look at me. I shrug and continue walking. I know this floor, the layout, the desks. I smile nostalgically towards a desk in the back corner, next to the window.
"No?" Sherlock asks. I enter the office, noticing a white envelope lying on the desk. It's giving off weird vibes.
"No," Lestrade repeats as they follow. "Made to look like one."
"What?" John asks, shocked. Sherlock stops and stares at the envelope.
"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box-a very strong box-and inside it was this," Lestrade continues, pointing to the envelope.
"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asks.
"It's addressed to you, isn't it?" Lestrade answers. Sherlock reaches towards the envelope. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."
"How reassuring," Sherlock mutters, hesitating slightly. He glances at me. I nod, and close my eyes, focusing on the envelope and what might be inside. I smile as I open my eyes, and nod again, letting Sherlock know it's safe to open. He picks it up and takes it across the office to another table with a lamp on it. Holding the envelope close to the bulb, he examines both sides carefully.
"Nice stationary," he comments. "Bohemian."
"What?" Lestrade asks.
"From the Czech Republic," I answer as Sherlock continues to study the envelope. "No fingerprints?"
"No," Lestrade says.
"She used a fountain pen," Sherlock interjects. "A Parker Duo-fold-iridium nib." I walk over to the table Sherlock is using. He holds the envelope up for me to see.
"'She'?" John asks, confused.
"Obviously," Sherlock responds.
"Obviously," John repeats in exasperation. I pick up the letter opener from the desk and hand it to Sherlock, who carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out an iPhone in a pink case.
"But that's... that's the phone, the pink phone," John stutters, shocked.
"What from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asks.
"Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like..." Sherlock explains, stopping when he realizes what Lestrade said. He turns to face Lestrade as Sally walks into the office to put some files down on a desk near the door. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"
"Course I read his blog!" Lestrade counters. "We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" Sally sniggers loudly, prompting both Sherlock and I to glare at her. John purses his lips in embarrassment. Sally leaves the room and Sherlock turns his concentration back to the phone.
"It isn't the same phone," Sherlock continues his deductions. "This one's brand new." He looks at the connection sockets, none of which-I assume-have scratches around them. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." He throws an accusatory look at John, who does his best to ignore it.
"Well, then," I say quietly, making them turn to me. "You really won't like what I'm writing at the moment." Sherlock scowls at me while John and Lestrade look at me in confusion. I grin, before pointing to the phone. Sherlock takes the hint and switches the phone on, and immediately gets a voice alert.
"You have one new message," says the voice from the phone. The message plays but there is no voice. Just four short beeps followed by one long one.
"Is that it?" John asks.
"No. That's not it," Sherlock answers. A photograph has also been uploaded to the phone. Sherlock opens it and Lestrade moves across the room to look over his shoulder.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade asks, exasperated. "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" I frown. The Greenwich pips consist of five short beeps followed by one long one, not four. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully into the distance.
"It's a warning," he replies.
"A warning?" John repeats.
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that," I explain, seeing the information flying through Sherlock's head.
"Five pips," Sherlock comments. "They're warning us it's gonna happen again." He looks down at the photo again, briefly, before brandishing the phone and walking out of the office. I follow after him. "And I've seen this place before." John follows behind.
"H-hang on," he says. "What's gonna happen again?" I turn my head over my shoulder.
"Boom," I answer, turning again. I hear Lestrade chase us down, trying to catch up.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Our taxi pulls up outside 221B and the four of us get out. Sherlock unlocks the front door and leads the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs. Hudson's flat. Just as he reaches it though, he turns to the left where the door to the basement flat is. I stop at Mrs. Hudson's door, knowing what Sherlock will need, and knock on the door. Mrs. Hudson answers quickly.
"Oh, Kat dear," she greets. I smile.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," I respond. "I have a favor to ask. We're on a case now, and Sherlock needs the key to 221C." Mrs. Hudson nods, and turns to the key rack next to her door, pulling two keys from the rack and handing them to me.
"Just make sure I get them back, dear," she says. I nod, smiling.
"I will," I answer, taking the keys.
I walk back down the corridor towards 221C. I reach the three men just as Sherlock is shouting for Mrs. Hudson. I walk silently to the door, putting a key in the padlock, turning it. I pull the padlock off and hand it to Sherlock, smirking at him. I hear John chuckle as I put the other key into the keyhole of the door. I turn the key and pull the door open. I step back, allowing the three of them to enter first. As we reach the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside, John, Lestrade and I following close behind. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone. There is one exception: There's a pair of trainers place neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them before stating the obvious.
"Shoes," he says. I roll my eyes. Sherlock starts to walk towards the shoes but John holds out a cautionary hand towards him. "He's a bomber, remember." Sherlock stops.
"They're safe," I call, having already checked them mentally. Sherlock continues slowly towards the shoes again. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down, he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade all jump. Sherlock closes his eyes momentarily, then stands up. He pulls off a glove, takes the pink phone from his coat pocket, and looks at the caller I.D.. He pauses for a second, then answers the phone.
"Hello?" he says softly. A female voice draws in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully.
"H-hello... sexy," the woman answers. Lestrade and John exchange a puzzled look as the woman sobs. My heart breaks. Someone's using her voice, I think to myself.
"Who's this?" Sherlock responds.
"I've... sent you... a little puzzle... just to say hi," the woman says. Stilted speech pattern, I think. Probably reading some sort of prompt.
"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"
"I-I'm not... crying... I'm typing..." the woman replies. "And this... stupid... bitch... is reading it out." She sobs again. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully into the distance.
"The curtain rises," he murmurs softly.
"What?" John asks.
"Nothing," Sherlock answers quickly.
"No," John says, refusing to accept Sherlock's answer. "What did you mean?" Sherlock half turns his head in John's direction.
"I've been expecting this for some time," Sherlock explains.
"Twelve hours to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock..." the woman on the phone interrupts. "Or I'm going... to be... so naughty." The phone goes dead.