Up next- The Perfect Crime
In which there are plans, text message transcripts, and the beginning of the end
Life at Baker Street had settled into what could only be called basic, comforting monotony. The timer had been set, counting down the days until everything changed.
20 days, 14 hours, 3 minutes
"Got it," Sherlock exclaimed, slamming his hands on the arms of the chair and yanking Lana out of her book. John poked his head out from behind his laptop.
"What?"
"Edward LePage never committed suicide. He's alive and well and living off his younger brother's life insurance."
"Where is he?"
"Tahiti."
"Mmm, sun and surf; I could go for that." Lana commented, turning to look out the window at the snow blowing outside. "Let's go to Tahiti for Christmas; what do you say?"
"I'd say remember our empty wallets," Sherlock replied as he started texting LeStrade to inform him he had solved the case the Yard had been working on for weeks.
"You never know, Sherlock; maybe you'll solve a huge case and we can all go to the tropics. It'd be our Christmas miracle."
"I don't bother believing in miracles," Sherlock replied, tossing his phone onto the chair and moving to the bedroom to hunt down some nicotine patches.
17 days, 20 hours, 36 minutes
"John, could you hand me the Christmas lights?" Lana asked from next to the mantle.
The John in question was buried up to his waist in a box of ornaments and seemed unable to move, so Lana set down the garland she was holding and went to dig them out herself, pulling her friend out of the box on the way.
"Thanks." John held out the colored lights and attempted to untangle the tinsel that had wrapped around his legs. He looked like a trussed-up turkey in a striped jumper. While John fought a losing battle with the tinsel, Lana wrapped the garland in Christmas lights and laid them over the mantel.
"Well, that's unnecessarily gaudy," Sherlock said as he wove his way through the mess of Christmas ornaments strewn across the carpet.
"'Tis the season," Lana replied, starting to add some ornaments to the tree they had shoved through the door two days ago. Sherlock watched with mild interest, examining the tree up and down, looking, no doubt, for a flaw.
"It needs something for the top."
"Yes, well," John replied, having freed himself from his holiday shackles and was presently threading them through the needles, "we would have put a star on top…if someone hadn't decided to throw it out window…two Christmases ago."
"Is that what happened to it?" Sherlock asked in surprise, pulling out a purple Christmas ball and toying with it absentmindedly.
"You could make yourself useful and help," Lana pointed out.
"Fine." Sherlock hung the purple ball on a branch and strode out of the room. There was a long silence, in which John and Lana exchanged a look; and then crashing sounds started coming out of the hall bedroom. The noise subsided into light swearing and background noise as Lana and John turned back to the tree.
They had just plugged in the lights when Sherlock returned, carrying…
"Oh God, not the skull. Please Sherlock, no- what are you doing?"
"Helping."
The tallest of the three set the skull in its new home, an ever-staring Christmas star. They stepped back to admire their handiwork; one with disbelief, one with exhaustion, one with satisfaction.
"Hang on," Lana said, stepping forward. She reached into the box at her feet, pulled out the Father Christmas hat, and stuck it on his/hers/its head with grim pleasure.
"'Tis the season," Sherlock said, sinking into the nearest chair with a small smile.
14 days, 13 hours, 58 minutes
WHERE ARE YOU? –LH
Investigating. Go home. –SH
WHAT MAKES YOUTHINK I'M NOT AT HOME? –LH
I know when you're lying. Stop following me. This is dangerous. –SH
MAYBE I WANT TO HELP. –LH
Go help John; he's at home, drowning in wrapping paper. –SH
YOU DON'T WANT HIM TO KNOW WHAT UR DOING, DO YOU? –LH
You're the one who's following me. Are you reporting everything back to him like a good little lapdog? –SH
Lana shut her phone with a shiver. He was hitting way to close to home.
It wasn't John she was reporting back to.
After a few minutes silence, her phone buzzed. She picked it up.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I'm just being nosey." She swallowed. "I worry about you."
It wasn't a complete lie.
There was a pause on the other end. "You sound like my brother."
"But I'm not as annoying?"
"No, you're annoying, but in a nice way."
Lana laughed. "Are you going to tell me what you're up to?"
Another long pause. "I'm investigating the Lambly case. I think there's more to this than just a simple kidnapping. Someone else is pulling the strings." There was a burst of static from the other end of the line, and she almost dropped the phone in alarm. "I'm losing a signal out here; I'll see you tonight."
"Alright, don't do anything stupid. See you soon."
"I love you."
The signal went dead. Lana stood in the street, holding the phone to her ear and turning a very soft pink.
That was the first time he had ever said that.
The phone buzzed again, and she looked down in surprise.
ANY NEWS FOR ME, SWEETIE? –XO JM
Lana shivered. Whenever she got a text from him, it meant she was being watched.
HE'S INVESTIGATING THE LAMBLY CASE. HE THINKS THERE'S SOMEONE BIGGER INVOLVED. –LH
WELL, OBVIOUSLY, HE'S RIGHT. –JM
Lana felt a rush of courage, almost like a bolt of lightning, and she typed a response
WHAT IF I JUST STOPPED DOING THIS? JUST STOPPED GIVING YOU INFORMATION? –LH
The answer was immediate.
THEN I WILL FIND YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES AND KILL ALL OF THEM. –JM
WHERE ARE YOU? –LH
I AM EVERYWHERE. –JM
There was a horrible scream as suddenly the man walking in front of her dropped to the ground. Lana couldn't tell what had happened, thought maybe he had had a heart attack or something, but on closer inspection, her own heart seemed to fail. There was a thick knife buried in his chest.
Lana stared in mute horror as the man's eyes went glassy and his blood ran all over her shoes.
Her phone buzzed again in her limp, numb hand.
I HOPE I'VE MADE MYSELF CLEAR. HAPPY CHRISTMAS. –XO JM
Lana started running.
11 days, 5 hours, 45 minutes.
"What are you doing up?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his damp hair with a towel as he entered the living room. Lana looked up from her laptop. She had long ago stopped paying attention, and now the words were swimming in lazy patterns through her brain. Outside the wind whistled by against the pitch black glass.
"What time is it?" she asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her sore face.
"Almost 2," Sherlock replied, sitting beside her and looking over her latest article.
"Why are you showering so late?"
"BORED," Sherlock stretched out over the couch, laying his head on Lana's lap and hanging his legs over the edge. "I've found being wet helps me think, and I had a hell of an idea. It was so engaging that I got out of bed and decided to shower to make sure I didn't file it away too soon."
"What were you thinking about?" Lana asked, shutting her laptop and staring down at him.
"Crime."
"What?"
"Specifically, the perfect crime. Even more specifically, the perfect crime I create."
"You can't do that," Lana scoffed. "Nobody can create a completely flawless crime."
"Creating it should be child's play." He responded, sitting up. "Solving it… that's where it gets fun. You could only have the best mind's working on it."
"So we tell Mycroft too?"
"Please," Sherlock scoffed, offended. "My brother will have nothing to do with this. No, we need to show this to an average mind. And I think I know just the people."
"Who?"
"You two, of course. You and John."
Lana sighed. "So now we're your lab rats?"
"No, John's my lab rat; you're my girlfriend."
"Same thing."
Lana smiled and nestled herself in his chest. They sat, facing the window as the first snow started kissing the window panes. The wind picked up outside and they lay together watching the snow swirl outside, wrapped in the calm of each other's company.
Neither of them noticed the cameras across the street zooming in. they had no idea that through the entire night, they were being monitored.
8 days, 1 hour, 15 minutes
Missus Hudson kissed Lana on the cheek and opened the door for her. Both women winced at the blast of wind and snow that swirled into the hallway as Lana pushed her way out onto the frozen street.
"Let's go, John! The roads are going to be a fright as it is!"
John pounded down the steps, pulling on his hat and gloves as Lana waved for a taxi. London had awoken to find the fine dusting of snow from the night before had grown into a full-scale whiteout, and now the city buried under nearly a foot of ice and snow. The shops and trees were hung with frozen Christmas lights, and the sound of carols blared from inside the café next door.
Christmas at Baker Street was starting to look surprisingly normal.
The black cab pulled to the curb and Lana and John slid into the black interior, brushing snow off each other and trying to warm their already frozen hands and apologizing to the cabbie about the water already dripping onto his good seats.
"Heathrow airport please," Lana said to the back of the cabbie's head, and the car slid down the road in a spray of snow.
"So tell me about your mum," John said as they swerved down the road. "All you've told me is that she looks like you, works for the police, and she's coming for Christmas."
"That's all you really need to know; Emily speaks for herself. But if I need to tell you anything, it's don't call her Mrs. Heart; it makes her feel twenty years older and it reminds her she's divorced."
"Right," said John, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to pocket his gloves. "I'm glad she was willing to fly all the way out here for the holidays; it must have awful getting through customs and security in this mess."
"It's cheaper than the three of us flying over the states, and there's no way I'd risk taking you two back to Denver with me. We'd get in more trouble there then it's worth." Lana replied, gazing out at the snow-wrapped city. "I just hope she and Sherlock are compatible."
"What do you mean?"
"John, she's my single mother; she's like my mother and my father combined AND she's a cop. And Sherlock is…Sherlock. Why on earth wouldn't I be worried?"
"Ok, valid point." John sat back in the seat and took her arm. "It's going to be fine; it's not like she's staying at Baker street so she just needs to put up with Sherlock whenever she drops by. And I suppose we could try to arrange for Sherlock to be otherwise occupied while she's there if things are too uncomfortable between them."
Lana smirked. "Are you saying we should bribe Mycroft to keep his little brother running around London while my mother is here? Purely so that they don't get into a fight?"
"I'm saying it'll probably cost us a fortune, but it's an option."
"Let's just see how dinner goes," Lana said, as they pulled into Heathrow. "Thank God Mycroft won't be there too; Emily can really only take so much Holmes in one day."
"You say that like you don't think your mum will approve of the conditions you're living in. What does Emily think about you living with us, anyway?"
"To be honest, she thinks I'm pregnant," Lana replied as they stepped out of the cab "and that I'm crazy- tell him to wait, please- and she's using this as an excuse to overview the squalor she's convinced I'm living in."
"I'd hardly call it squalor," John laughed nervously as they stepped into the main terminal. Lana pulled out her phone and started dialing.
"True, we did clean up a little before we came here, but then again, we also left Sherlock at home with lead nitrate and a Bunsen burner."
"He's been well behaved all week and it was either that or cigarettes and I didn't want your mum to think we're all chain smokers."
Lana held up a finger as she spoke into the mouthpiece. "Hello, Emily? Yeah, we're here. Where are you? Which…WHICH BAGGAGE CLAIM?... speak up, I can't hear you… well if you don't know, then what's right in front of it?... Emily, there are thousands of little shops in here. What's it CALLED?... Ok, better… I don't CARE if it looks like something out of James Bond, just stay put already. I'll see you in a few, ok?"
Lana hung and rolled her eyes. "Of all the women to pick up from the airport, why did it have to be the one with absolutely NO sense of direction and the attention span of a squirrel? "
John laughed and followed her as they wove through travelers and staff members, looking for Emily.
The baggage claim was packed. People were yelling, hauling luggage, and calling for assistance, fighting for a place in line. They entered the fray together and within five minutes they were separated by a gaggle of backpack-toting tourists. Lana had barely gotten to the edge of the room when she was almost plowed over by a tall man in a trench coat and red converse.
"Sorry, have you seen a girl around here? About this high, blond, dark mascara?"
"Sorry, no," she replied, slightly annoyed. "I'm looking for someone too, so I'm probably wouldn't be the best person to ask. Talk to someone on the staff, or you could go in the shop and wait for her there."
"Perfect, I've always liked little shops; that's just brilliant; you are brilliant, now where's a pay phone?"
And in a swirl of coat and wave of people, he was gone. Lana shook her head in disbelief and finally sat down on a nearby bench. John waded his way out of the mess of people, straightening his jacket.
"Any luck?"
"Nope, I almost got run over though." Lana said, scanning the crowd.
"Lana!"
She jerked. So did John.
Standing not 10 feet away from them was a woman, holding a suitcase and wearing a huge smile. With a thump, she dropped her bag and opened her arms as Lana came running and gave her a hug so hard she almost knocked her over.
"Hi, Mom!"
Emily Heart was a woman of little height but unending energy. She had short, cropped brown hair, the exact shade of her daughters, an oval, angular face, and bright blue eyes that took in everything with an observant eye. Once she had released Lana, Emily stepped back and stared around Heathrow. "So, this is London. Looks like D.C, but it'll do. You ready to head out?"
"Of course," Lana laughed. "Where are you staying?"
"A small motel called the Grey Wolf Inn. Of course, that means next to nothing to me; I couldn't find my way out of an empty room."
"I know where that is," John spoke up, trying to find a way not to butt into the conversation. "Lovely to meet you officially, by the way. If you could just come this way; we have a taxi outside. Can I take your bags?"
"Of course," Emily said, handing over the suitcase. "You must be John; Lana described you perfectly. You're right dear, he IS a gentleman. By the way, you can just call me Emily; you don't have to be worried about formality."
John turned pink.
"Emily, leave him alone." Lana said as they threaded their way out of the baggage claim and headed for the exit. "If you're going to tease anyone, at least wait until we get back to Baker Street."
"Yes, where is that sociopathic boyfriend of yours? I'm dying to meet him." Emily said with a slightly manic sound that made Lana smile and John begin to fear for Sherlock's well being.
Please God please, let him behave.
The ride back to Emily's hotel room and then to Baker Street was made mostly in silence and small snippets of conversation. Emily was talkative, but not pushy and accepted the death of the conversation when it happened. John liked her more and more as they shot through the snow covered streets; she was engaging and it was easy to forget things as the cab turned corners and squeezed through tight spots in the traffic. It wasn't until the cab had pulled up at Baker Street and the cabbie was asking for his fair that Lana and John remembered they were going to have to introduce Emily to the sociopath waiting upstairs.
The tension stretched so tightly you could feel it pressing on your lungs as Lana hauled Emily's case out of the trunk while John paid the cabbie. Missus Hudson came out onto the stoop about that time.
"Lana, John, thank goodness you're back! You had me worried sick going out on a day like this; it's all over the telly, the roads are in a right state." In a flurry of snow and jackets, Missus Hudson piled them all into the entrance and shut the door against the weather.
"You must be Emily! Wonderful to meet you dear, Lana's told me so much about you. Would you like some tea? I've just put some on; I'll bring it up in a bit. Just go on up, you lot."
Being careful not to leave water all over Missus Hudson's good floors, the threesome trooped up the stairs to the waiting door. Lana muttered a quick prayer and opened the door.
The flat was spotless, some delicious scent was wafting out of the kitchen, and Sherlock was stretched out in a chair, playing the violin as though nothing had happened. It was only when the door shut with a derisive snap that he looked around to acknowledge the party standing in the doorway. Everyone held their breath.
With a sweep of his jacket, Sherlock set down his violin and swept into a bow.
"Emily Heart, how lovely to meet you."
Lana turned white and turned to stare at her mother, as Emily looked Sherlock right in the face and fixed him with an all-knowing stare. There was a very long, very strained pause, and I must say the skull was enjoying this greatly; you couldn't buy this kind of entertainment.
"So you're the smart-ass boyfriend I've heard plenty about. Well, Lana, you didn't lie; he pulls off the gentleman act very well. I approve. Now, John, could you show me to the bathroom? 9 hours on a plane has done nothing for my constitution."
It took everyone about 4 seconds to react to what Emily had just said. (Technically it was 3.7- yes, Sherlock was counting.) Then John placed his newly discarded jacket on the back of a chair and led Emily out of the room and down the hall, trying his best to hide his glee at the look of utter shock on Sherlock's face.
Lana walked over to the kitchen and looked into the bubbling pot. "Thank God you actually know how to cook normal food; I was afraid you were stewing eyeballs or something for an experiment."
"I've been good all day out of fear of meeting your mother," Sherlock replied, scratching his head and trying to clear it. "I must say, I expected it to be a bit easier to read her, but I think I got most of it. Shall I wait until dinner to dazzle her with my uncompromising wit?"
"Wit, my ass; you were trying to be a gentleman and she completely shut you down." Lana replied, pulling placemats and forks out of the neighboring drawers to begin setting the table. "To be honest I had no idea how she would react."
"And?"
"And what?"
"You've done this before; I know I'm not the first boyfriend you've ever had." Sherlock gave her a pleading look. "Does she approve or not?"
Lana laughed and tossed him a dishrag. "I can't tell you that; that would be cheating. And anyway, I though you like the thrill of the investigation. And you can go where no man has gone before; the mind of my mother."
Sherlock wound his arms around her, pulling her into a makeshift dishcloth-lasso. "I suppose there's some truth in that. On the other hand, there wasn't much data to work with."
"There was plenty of data, you just weren't paying attention," John said, walking in on the conversation and the pulling plates out of a nearby cabinet.
"Shut up, John," Sherlock replied, sliding his hands along Lana waist and pulling her into an improvised slow dance in the middle of the kitchen.
"Really, you two? Can't it wait?" asked John.
His question was answered by a very long, very passionate kiss between the other two flat mates. John rolled his eyes and got back to work, ignoring them to the best of his abilities, and started spooning portions of pasta onto the plates.
"And just what do you think you're doing with my daughter?"
John smiled inwardly as Lana and Sherlock jumped apart.
Emily was standing in the door to the kitchen, wearing a black sweater and an ill-contained smirk.
Sherlock let go of her at once and swept dramatically out of the room and down the stairs, where he remained until dinner, much to Lana's amusement.
Dinner was a very enjoyable affair. Emily and Sherlock kept each other in check, Lana and John laughed at their friend's expense, and they all could forget about old enemies and dark plans.
And even when Emily drove to her hotel for the night and Lana and Sherlock passed out on the couch, that buoyed feeling of contentment carried them through the night.
Things were good.
5 days, 14 hours, 16 minutes
She was sick with a cold when they came for her.
Lana was knocked out with a stuffy nose, high fever and a congested brain on the couch, and John was out at Sarah's. Emily was touring the city, and Sherlock was in the kitchen, making chicken soup and trying (without much success) to cure the common cold.
And then the door was rocked with a loud crack as someone on the other side attempted to force their way through.
Sherlock dropped the pan on the floor with a bang and a slosh of chicken soup all over the floor as a second bang almost broke the door down. He reached Lana just as the door broke out of its frame and dropped with a crash into the living room.
Three men swept into the room, big, tall and armed to the teeth. Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out in a loud sigh.
"Let me guess; your boss sent you to pick something up from Baker Street. From the looks of you, it's something I'm not about to let you have. And you've been watching the house, obviously; you know we're the only one's here, so you're either here for me or for her. And I highly doubt your boss knows what- "
"Shut it," said the tallest of the three; he seemed to be the closest to a leader. He gestured to the other two. "Get her."
Lana shrank back as they moved toward her.
"That won't be necessary; I can simply stop you now if I choose to," Sherlock commented as he stepped between Lana and the oncoming men. "Or, if you'd like, you can wait until you're down the stairs so it can feel like you're winning."
One of the men raised his gun. "Move away."
"Not going to happen."
"Move!" Said another. He cocked the gun.
"You'll have to shoot me first."
"Perfectly fine," he replied, and pulled the trigger.
Lana screamed as the bullet went through Sherlock into the wall behind her and he staggered back into her, holding his shoulder and roaring with pain. One of the intruders pushed him aside, and another picked up a biting, kicking and screaming Lana and carried her across the room-
"SHERLOCK!"
The other two men pulled him down onto the living room and Lana was carried from his line of sight, disappearing down the dim stairway. Now that they were alone, the two remaining men then proceeded to attempt to pound the life out of him with all the strength they possessed.
Sherlock took in as much as he could from his position- which was quite a lot, to be honest. But he was also having a bit of a focus issue because he was so blinded by rage, panic, and pain. Kicking and punching, he pulled every amount of data he could out of his two attackers.
Tall, six foot three, six foot one, scars on hands, harbor men, fish hook scars, alcohol, cigarettes, poor quality, mud on shoes, water, snow, tears on coat sleeve, probably from dog, brass knuckles, Irish accents, traveling boots, gloves, spray paint, messengers, fact, fact, factfactfactfact
WHAM
With a final, powerful blow, the man that Sherlock wasn't biting landed a punch to the back of his head, and the world's only consulting detective crumpled onto the floor.
Lana was halfway down the stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs as Sherlock hit the ground. Her captor swung her off of his shoulder and pulled a rag from his pocket, stuffing it over her mouth and nose. As Lana felt the chloroform take over, she saw the winter-wrapped world of London materialize, then fade around her as the man carrying her through her into the backseat of a van. Then everything was dark.
….
John came home to find the door standing wide open.
With terror growing in the pit of his stomach, he threw himself up the stairs to find chaos in the living room.
Books had been torn from the shelves and were stacked in some sort of labyrinth that spread across the room into the kitchen. There were several new bullet holes in the wall, along with what looked horribly like blood stains on the wallpaper, and everything smelled like burning chemicals.
Sherlock was shirtless, with a good deal of gauze and ace bandage bound around his left shoulder. He was pouring over a giant map and snapping at LeStrade, who was standing beside him, looking grim. Two other officers were writing something down in a notebook. And Mycroft was staring at the windows where a huge message had been written in spray paint.
It's not over until I say it's over. Come and Play.
John took a moment before he spoke.
"What's happened, Sherlock?"
His best friend turned to look at him, with the look that John had never seen before; fire and ice and rage and calculations and something else; was it despair? John couldn't tell, but Sherlock didn't speak, he seemed beyond speech, and finally it was Mycroft who spoke.
"They took her, John. Moriarty took Lana."
To be continued…
Dun, dun, dun….
I'd love some feedback on how you feel about this. The countdown's far from over; we still have chapters to fill! But I hoped you enjoyed the beginning of the end.
Hope to hear from you soon!
Jay