The Dragon
PenPatronus
Chapter 5 of 10
Sally's Secret
Keeping his hand behind Sherlock's neck to support his weight, John rotated his body so that his own heart stood between his friend's and the gun. "Stay where you are!" Sally barked. With her eyes still fixed on them she tipped her head and shouted out the door, "They're in here, Sir!"
Lestrade ran in. "Jesus," he sputtered at the sight of the pale and trembling Sherlock. "Did you shoot him? Looks half dead!"
A smug smile bloomed across Sally's face. "Lucky, this," she said. "We just happened to be driving by, saw the door ajar and what do you know? Here's the rat trapped in his hole."
"Actually…" Lestrade unsheathed his weapon and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the back of Donovan's neck. "This trap is for you," he growled. "Put the gun down. Now."
"Sir?" For one wild moment it looked like Donovan was still going to pull the trigger. But then her hand started to tremble and her arms dropped to her side. Lestrade snatched the gun before she could change her mind. "Sir, whatever these criminals have told you—"
"Shut up!" Lestrade bellowed. "John, a hand, please?"
John hesitated, but Sherlock sat up on his own and leaned back against the bed. He fluttered his fingers at John – a 'go on' gesture. John took a handful of zip ties out of Donovan's pocket and, with Lestrade holding his weapon steady, cuffed her hands behind her back. "We have some questions for you," John said to Sally. "And you better have some bloody good answers."
Sally kept a straight face for a second more, then it crumbled. "It's not what you think," she whispered.
"Is Molly here?" John asked Lestrade. The inspector shook his head. "Call her, will you? Mycroft, too? We'll be out in a moment." Lestrade nodded and led Donovan into the cabinet room. Two scratch-squeaks of old chairs told the remaining two that Lestrade forced their prisoner to sit at the table.
John turned back to Sherlock. "You ok?" he asked, squatting on his haunches and grasping the detective's shoulder. "If you're not up for this—"
"I'm fine," Sherlock whispered. He cleared his dry throat and spoke with more conviction. "I should get dressed."
John examined his friend's face. "Sherlock—"
"I'll be out in a minute."
John considered his options. "Ok," he said. "Ok. I'll uh… I'll make you some tea."
"Call Mycroft."
"Right." John licked his lips. "Take your time."
An hour later there were six people sitting around the table: Donovan with her hands still bound, Lestrade three chairs down on her left and Molly four chairs on her right, Sherlock at the farthest seat across from her between John and Mycroft. "Let me explain," she said when everyone settled in. "It's not what you think, Greg. It really isn't."
"What I think," said Lestrade, "is that you've been helping the Waters Gang avoid getting caught for the past two years."
Sally looked down at her lap.
"I think you're working for Moriarty."
Her eyes stayed down.
"I think you're helping Moriarty discredit Sherlock."
"No," Sally said to her shoes. "That's not true."
Lestrade opened his mouth to argue but Sherlock stopped him. "She's telling the truth. She thought I was dead when Moriarty recruited her to help the bank robberies, therefore she wasn't motivated to harm me. She's protecting someone." Sally squeezed her eyes shut and a tear the size of a pinprick slipped out and scuttled down her cheek. "Who did Moriarty threaten?" Sherlock asked her. "It must be someone he has easy access to, but not someone you could tell the police about. Who are you protecting?"
"The man I love," Donovan whispered. She looked at Molly for understanding. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect him."
Molly kept a straight face except for pursing her lips. "And who's that?" she asked.
Donovan's eyes flitted to the left. The movement was too slow for anyone but Sherlock Holmes to catch. "Gerald?" His eyebrows disappeared behind a curl of black hair. "You're in love with Gerald?"
"Who?" four voices asked.
Sherlock cocked his chin at Lestrade who said, "For God's sake, Sherlock, will you ever remember my…" Lestrade's jaw dropped. "Wait, Donovan, me?" Sally's gaze returned to her lap. "Why didn't you – you could've told me, Sally. I can protect myself!"
She snorted. "From Moriarty? There's no beating him, Greg. He assured me that he could get to you and he would kill you no matter what. I couldn't risk it."
A raw flush rose from Lestrade's neck to his hairline. "So… you haven't killed anyone?"
"No. I swear. No."
"Do you know who he plans to murder next? Do you know where the next bomb will go off?"
"No."
Four pairs of eyes looked to Sherlock. He nodded a confirmation that she was telling the truth.
"All I've done is tell the Waters family when the police are on to them. I've rarely spoken with Moriarty directly."
John cursed under his breath and said, "So you can't help us find him. You don't know where he's staked out in London?"
"I do." Mycroft retrieved a plastic baggie from his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of him. "Moriarty visited me this morning. He left enough evidence behind that, with Miss Hooper's help, should lead us to his hideout."
Sherlock opened the bag of dirt and sniffed. "And if we find him, then what?" he wondered. "Do you have a plan, brother?"
Mycroft smiled without revealing his teeth. "As a matter of fact I do. We give him you."
To Be Continued