Chapter 5
A misleading trip
When John got back to Baker Street it was just early in the afternoon and therefore actually far too early to go to sleep. His brain wouldn't let him sleep anyway. His thoughts still circled around the stranger at the crime scene.
There was really no possibility at all that this could have been Sherlock. Surely there was just somebody out there looking almost exactly like him and this delusion now gave John the creeps.
John trudged up to the flat, which was already filled with cardboard boxes full of books, tableware and other stuff that actually contained far too much memories to take them to his new flat. At the back wall of the living room, next to the yellow smiley, which was a result of one of Sherlocks attacks of boredom, Sherlocks violin was hanging down, lashed at the ceiling with a thin string and now swaying back and forth in the breeze that came in from the tilted window. John had placed it there on the day of the funeral and had never touched it ever since. He wasn't already sure what to do with it. On one hand he couldn't take it with him, because the memories would freak him out, on the other hand he wouldn't have the heart to sell it or throw it away. Maybe the best was to put it into another box and then store it somewhere in the attic, where it could easily be forgotten until it was found by somebody who had a use for it.
When John opened the fridge, he discovered it was almost empty. Since he didn't have to fear finding frozen body parts in it anymore, he used it even less and often forgot to fill it up or to throw away rotten food. He really needed to go out and buy some fresh stuff.
As there wasn't anything else to do anyway, he grabbed his purse and left the flat as fast as he had entered it a moment ago.
Sherlock saw him leave number 221b and fastly but thoughtfully left his hideway behind a parked car to follow him.
Still he had no real plan how to confront him. He couldn't just do this spontaneously, he needed a plan. Just jumping out of an alley in front of him didn't seem the right thing to do, it would attract far too much attention and anyway, it wasn't the way Sherlock Holmes would react. Far too ordinary.
He saw John stopping in front of a little shop just about two streets away, where he used to go, when he needed a few things to eat. While waiting outside, suddenly something great came to Sherlocks mind. This was perfect! Maybe a bit extravagant, but returning from the dead was certainly the most extravagant thing to do anyway, right?
Now he just had to be fast. This would tie up beginning and ending in one.
John had just left the shop again, when suddenly his mobile phone beeped to inform him that he had a new text message. He first thought it might be Harry, who after all had time this evening for another drinking tour, but the number was unknown to him. He opened the message.
Get into the cab.
There was no name, but John was sure it was Mycroft. No one else would give him such an instruction per text message. He only wondered at the number, but maybe Mycroft got a new one without informing him. This would be a perfectly typical thing for him to do.
In the very moment John looked up from his phone, a cab stopped at the curbside right next to him. There was no one inside, except the driver of course. Not even Anthea (or whatever was her name).
John sighed in slight anger, but he knew there was no way to escape Mycrofts orders, so he got into the car without a word of protest. He didn't even ask himself anymore, what Mycroft could possibly want from him. After all he still hold him partially responsible for Sherlocks suicide.
The cab seemed to cruise along a route through London so aimless that John asked himself whether it was the drivers intention to disorientate him, but when he asked the answer was: „I'm told not to tell you anything."
A quarter of an hour later, the cab stopped at the corner of a street that somehow seemed familiar to John, even if he couldn't tell at what occasion he had been here the last time. When John wanted to pay the driver, he answered that he'd already been paid. This also was a reason to believe that Mycroft was at the bottom of this whole ridiculous trip.
After the cab had driven away, John waited for further instructions, which arrived just a few seconds later in the form of another text message.
Turn around and walk along the street until I tell you to stop.
Really, what was this stupid game about? What was he intending?
Mycroft, what's this shit about? John answered getting angry.
Just do as I tell you.
John turned around and reluctantly walked along the street, still not knowing exactly where he was or why he had been brought here.
After walking about a hundred metres, his mobile beeped again.
Stop!
Immediately John stood still and looked around. Then suddenly it came to him.
He knew where he was. This was awful, a nightmare. He'd swore to himself to never come back here again. Never in his whole life stand in front of this huge white building again, even if this was what he did almost every night in his dreams.
Then he received another message:
Look up!
Sorry about this cliffhanger at the end, but you all probably already know what Sherlocks plan is all about. ;)
Don't worry, I'm already working on the next chapter and I hope I can publish it soon.