Author's Note: hey, sorry the chapters are getting longer, i just like to finish at a good place so please dont be annoyed, authough i some how doubt having more to read is an issue. every one is more than free to tell me any ideas, thoughts or critizisams (gawd i really can't spell today) you have through a review or just PM me! enjoy,
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The detective continued as if Jim wasn't there as he strode after him, half dancing to the music but, of course, Sherlock couldn't help himself.
"You're incredibly annoying, you know?"
"oh really? I thought I was helping."
"Indirectly."
"helping or annoying?"
"You are annoying, but you help indirectly."
"oh, how educational." as they turned the corner, Jim started to walk slower. Sherlock walked into Scotland Yard and weaved through the desks, searching for Lestrade's office. He continued to ignore Jim; he wasn't going to help the consulting criminal get into or out of the building, unless it guaranteed him the return of John. Jim followed, sending smirks to anyone who stared or gave them a strange look. Sherlock simply walked into Lestrade's office without even knocking. The other man looked up, about to complain, but when he saw Sherlock he simply rolled his eyes. This behaviour was normal for the detective. Jim strolled into the room, the freshly lit cigarette smoking dutifully from his lips, causing Sherlock to lean over to take a deep breath of it. He sighed then moved back into his own space.
"Sherlock," Lestrade began, frowning, then letting his face fall into a full on scowl,
"what the bloody hell is he doing here?"
"It appears that he's filling in for John." Sherlock glanced at Jim, the irritation clear in his eyes. "Coincidentally, he's also the reason I'm here." Jim grinned as Sherlock came closer and sent a wink to Lestrade's confused face. Sherlock looked disgusted by Moriarty. He looked away, clearly angered by his very presence.
"Why?" Lestrade asked simply. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"Oh, God... I suppose I can't complain, you're more intelligent than Anderson, at any rate. Jim here has John somewhere. I need your... help," Sherlock paused, painfully appreciating the irony, "to find him and rescue him."
"while I help as well."
"You haven't helped very much so far, have you?" Sherlock snarled. Lestrade seemed surprised by Sherlock's reaction, but he didn't comment on it.
"Sherlock, what can we do that you can't?"
"There are more of you. Albeit, some of you are imbeciles, but you'll have to do."
Jim laughed outright at this, not bothering to even attempt to hide his reaction,
"huh, Lestrade, it seems that you are Sherly's brawn."
"Obviously," Sherlock muttered. Lestrade decided to ignore both of those statements. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his desk.
"Well, what have you got?"
"It's possible - in fact quite likely, - that John's in a warehouse. Jim has an image of him in a cell. While most would assume a prison, I find this to be unlikely; it would be a risky place to work from, correct, Jim?"
"one in use or a derelict?" Sherlock's eyes snapped open wide at this, his mind filling with possibilities,
"Oh. Clever. This changes things."
"so normal..." Jim tutted, drawing a large breath through the cigarette, aiming smoke at Lestrade's face, but Sherlock ignored this and continued,
"Lestrade, you'll be able to tell me this. I need you to find- Wait, no, never mind. I'll do it myself. Some help would be beneficial, though." Jim chuckled and started to inspect the office, rummaging through case files with the cigarette hanging it the corner of his mouth.
"Keep out of there!" Lestrade snapped.
"Sherlock," he added, giving Jim a pointed look. Sherlock grabbed hold of Jim's shoulder and pulled him back half-heartedly; His mind was on John. Jim just blew smoke in Sherlock's face and carried on fiddling through files as Sherlock breathed in the smoke, half of his mind glad for it, the other half flicking from thought to thought.
"Disused prisons in London. There are some within a convenient distance, correct?" He directed the question at both of them.
"correct." Sherlock nodded.
"And I'm going to hazard a guess at there being less than three; two if we're lucky, one if we're very lucky - even though luck isn't luck..."
"obviously, if luck was in anyway involved i would have calculated thin in advance."
"Exactly." Sherlock clapped his hands once.
"Lestrade, arra- Wait." He turned his face halfway towards Jim.
"Do I have to collect him myself?"
"sooo stupid..." Jim muttered than spoke up while leafing through another file,
"yes, as I said before."
"Then I won't need any assistance from you, Lestrade. Thank you for standing in for John as the inspiration trigger." And, without another word, Sherlock turned on the spot and left Scotland Yard. Jim walked after him, smiling and giving the open mouthed Lestrade a wink, taking the file with him.
"You shouldn't have taken that," Sherlock muttered.
"And thank you for smoking, by the way."
"pleasure." Jim walked in front of Sherlock and span, blowing smoke into Sherlock's face, who paused to breathe in the smoke again, before shaking his head and walking on.
"Stop distracting me." He waved his arm by the road to hail a cab. Jim span right back behind him, winking at a rather stressed business man he had just mugged before climbing in after Sherlock, just as he was giving the address of the nearest disused prison - of course he knew the addresses, he'd made a point of reading up on them at one point; several other criminals had used them before - and sat back to wait for the cab to arrive. Jim settled next to Sherlock and blew smoke rings towards his face, grinning. Sherlock half wanted to breathe them in and half wanted to bat them away, because Jim was being annoying. Instead, he simply looked out of the window and tried to ignore them. Jim's grin widened and put some gum in his mouth, with the cigarette. Sherlock made a tsk sound.
"Disgusting," he commented quietly.
"what?" Jim was perplexed.
"Chewing gum with a cigarette. Mint and smoke. A disgusting combination."
"oh, that."
"Yes, that." Jim chuckled. Sherlock was glad when the cab halted. He paid the driver and got out. Without waiting for Jim, he began to walk the last few streets to the prison. Sherlock stopped outside the gates, his eyes flickering across the ground.
"Footprints," he muttered.
"Old. At least a few days, possibly a week." He almost glanced at Jim's shoes, but then he remembered that they had been changed as well. Jim half skipped after him, the cigarette in his mouth almost burnt to a stub. Sherlock peered at the gates.
"Opened recently, possibly because you or someone else entered, but it could just as easily be vandals..."
"well done Sherly, want me to show you around?"
"I could find my way around myself but, please," Sherlock said, sweeping his arm towards the gates,
"proceed." Jim grinned and swung open the crooked main door, which creaked ominously, and led Sherlock down a sequence of confusing corridors. Sherlock noted trivial things about the prison as they walked. Dust, the odd spots of blood, a few scratches or holes in the walls... clearly not a pleasant place. Jim danced down the corridors, getting faster and faster, running with the tempo of his music. Sherlock had to break into a run to keep up, but he didn't have to put as much effort into it; Instead of being clumsy and getting in the way, his long legs made it much easier on him. Moriarty continued to dance down winding stairs and more darker passages until he wheeled into a cell, spinning around. Sherlock skidded to a stop, almost running past. He walked back, breathing heavily. Despite being fairly fit, the run had tired him, especially when he'd been so stressed anyway.
Jim, still somehow breathing pretty steadily, span in the cell with his arms as wide as the grin on his face. In the centre there was a projector running a loop of something like image he had shown Sherlock on the wall, life size. Sherlock growled and actually kicked the wall, his coat flapping. He stalked over to Jim, his eyes flashing with anger. He opened his mouth, preparing to say something, but then he closed it again. Speechless, Sherlock began to walk back the way they'd come. It was clear that this prison wasn't in use, at all.
"going already, Sherly?" Sherlock stopped, keeping his back to Jim.
"Why should I stay?" He wasn't thinking clearly. Seeing the image again, life sized, had scrambled his thoughts.
"look around Sherly, look closer..."
Sherlock took a calming breath. It was to save John. He had to remember that. He turned back and walked into the room, pausing before studying the picture. It was just as repulsive as before.
... but life sized.
"got there yet Sherly?"
"It's life sized," he said simply.
"Other than that, I can see no difference. The room itself offers no clues that I can detect. Is the image meant to say that he was here, or that he still is here, perhaps?"
"wrong, its far more educational."
"far easier for you."
"Educational? I'm afraid I don't see that."
"well, it teaches you more about videos..."
"How? It's an image! Images are not videos."
"do I really have to spell it out? John would get there faster than you." Sherlock sighed and went to inspect the projector. He could find nothing special about it. He turned his attention to the image instead.
"... this isn't an image." Jim imitated the sound of a drummer from a bad comedy, laughing garishly at his own joke.
"The image is on a loop. That, or it's an incredibly short piece of footage on a loop."
"close enough, this is from when you entered to when you left."
"From when I entered to when I left?"
"That's good, tomorrow we can do shapes!"
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Sherlock murmured, ignoring Jim's last sentence.
"'From when I entered to when I left'... just that length as a clip, do you mean?"
"yes."
"Ah." Sherlock studied the 'image', a slight frown on his face.
"And the cell itself... I should be able to identify the correct prison by that alone."
"yes, you should, but you're to normal now." Sherlock smirked,
"I'm not normal. I never was. This is easy, almost too easy. Come along, Jim; I know exactly where I'm going."
"good, you know where we are going next then?"
"Of course." Sherlock glanced once more at the image, as if confirming what he knew, then began to walk away again.
"I think you'll find I've won now, Jim." Jim raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised,
"really?"
"Yes, Jim. I know where he is. He can't be in this building, the background of the picture isn't right. I've visited several other unused prisons before for other cases, and I know the one in the picture."
"then lets go." Jim shrugged and put a new cigarette in his mouth, throwing the empty pack on the floor casually. Sherlock strode out of the prison with a new sense of urgency in his step, as well as a triumphant smirk on his face. He had to lead the way back to the streets to call a cab, though. Jim chuckled quietly and followed, strolling slowly. They soon arrived and, for some reason, Sherlock opened the door for Jim, his expression unreadable.
"After you." Jim shrugged and got in, sliding across to make room for Sherlock, who promptly sat down, closed the door and gave the cabbie the address. Jim tried not to stare at Sherlock too much, but his actions surprised him. A small smile kept tugging at the corner of Sherlock's lips as he stared out of the window. He was pleased. He'd finally worked it out, and with no prompting at the end either. Moriarty winded down the window and stared out, looking at their surroundings flashing by. Sherlock could see rain beginning to fall outside, but the thought didn't bother him. The cab started to slow down as it approached the prison, and Sherlock turned up his collar in preparation to head outside. Jim looked at him when he did this and laughed lightly before winding the window back up. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, one hand on the door handle.
"What?"