I stand on the stairs for a few seconds, wiping away the tears until I hear the door slam shut downstairs. I walk back up the stairs and try to look as emotionless as usual.
"He'll be back in a minute," I say casually, and I'm pleased to hear that my voice has stayed level. John nods from his seat in front of the laptop.
"Any idea what's up?" Lestrade asks, and I shrug.
"He's just gone sonewhere quiet so that he can think." I lie, both to myself and to everyone else. Maybe if I convince myself, then it'll come true. I'm scared of what will happen if I'm not there beside him.
"Okay, well I'll try ringing the mobile, and maybe we can find the phone from there." John mutters, and I nod, not really paying any attention. Outside, I can hear the cab pull away, and I know dad is inside it. John's hears it as well, and looks out of the window.
"He just got in a cab," he mutters, turning to Lestrade. "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab." Donovon tuts in irritation as she stands beside Lestrade.
"I told you, he does that," she says to John, then turns to Lestrade. "He bloody left again." She walks back into the kitchen, shouting orders, but I block her out, too worried as I look out the window to reply. 'Caring is not an advantage', as I've been told many times by dear Mycroft, but I can't help it. He cares about my dad, so I should be allowed too.
"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out," John says to Lestrade. I listen for the ring, but I can't hear anything and neither can Lestrade or John.
"If it's ringing, it's not here," Lestrade says as John lowers his phone and reaches for the computer.
"I'll try the search again." John says firmly.
"Does it matter?" Donovon asks Lestrade, coming over to confront him. "Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time." I let another tear slip down as I hear her critisize him, but I wipe it away to turn around. Lestrade holds her gaze for a moment, then he sighs.
"Okay, everybody. Done 'ere." Lestrade shouts, and gradually they trickle out. Lestrade picks up his coat and turns to me and John.
"Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?" John shrugs.
"You know him better than I do."
"I've known him for five years and no, I don't."
"So why do you put up with him?" John asks.
"Because I'm desperate, that's why." he walks to the door and turns back around. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." I laugh half heartedly, and Lestrade sends me a pitying look. "Call me if you have any problems, yeah?" He says to me, and I nod. He turns and leaves and John and I sit together for a bit, just staring at the screen of dads laptop as the clock whirs away.
"What is up with your dad, Sophia?" John asks me. I bite my lip, unsure whether or not to tell him. "Come on, you need to tell me if you know something."
"That taxi we were chasing earlier ..." I fade of, looking out of the window as I feel the tears coming on. John looks at me, a comforting look in his eyes.
"Yeah, what about it?" I cough, and look back at him.
"The cabbie, he's the murderer, and dad's just gone off with him." John draws back, looking suprised and worried. "I tried to stop him..." I choke on my tears and turn away. John places a comforting hand on my shoulder, and bites his lip, unsure of what to do.
"Don't you know where he's going?" I shake my head, and wipe away the tears. "Well ..." He fades off, looking around the room for inspiration. "We could always try and track the cab - I still have his number." I nod, hopelessly. It's not going to work, but it's worth a try and it'll keep me occupied. With a final swipe, I wipe the tears away and head downstairs for my coat. John comes down a few minutes later, clutching dads laptop.
"Found it?" I ask, all emotion cleared from my voice again. He smiles sadly at me, and nods.
"Yeah, he's actually moving at the moment."
"Then his murder spot will be quite far away. Where's it at the moment?" John shuggs. I roll my eyes and lead him out onto the street, hailing a taxi as it sails down the road.
"Where to, Miss?" He calls.
"I don't actually know!" I titter falsely. "I lost my phone and it's giving me directions on where to find it. Do you think you could take us there, please?" The cabbie smiles at me.
"Yeah, sure. I've got nothing else to do tonight -"
"Lovely," I say, cutting off his rambling and getting in. John sits in beside me, and starts giving the taxi driver directions on where to go. John gets onto the phone to Scotland Yard as soon as we pull out of Baker Street.
"Yeah, hi, I need to speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade." John says, pausing to hear the phones reply as they try and divert the call.
"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" John looks down at the laptop as it shows the next turning coming up.
"Er, left here, please. Left here," he instructs the cabbie. A million possibilities fill my busy mind of where dad could be as we continue down the road. "Good, yeah, I'll ... I'll see you then." The taxi comes to a stop outside Roland-Kerr College a few minutes later. What a convenient place for dads murder. We file out, and I thank the taxi driver before shoving a few notes towards him as he pulls away. John groans as he sees the double buildings, but this is defenately the place - the other cab is still here outside. John tucks the laptop inside his jacket and turns to me. "Which one?"
"I can't tell," I say truthfully. "You take the left one, I'll go right." John looks hesitant.
"You sure you're going to be okay?" He asks, and I roll my eyes, tapping my pocket so that he sees the outline of a gun. Grimacing, he nods, and I start running through the building.
My entire world is in a haze of worry and panic as I fly through the buliding, peering frantically though windows to try and find dad. I couldn't bear to think of what would happen if I didn't get to him in time. What would happen to me? Where would I go? I can't loose him as well as mother, and I can't live with John - I've barely spoken two sentences to him. All that matters to me now is finding dad before it's too late.
"Sherlock?" I call loudly, still running through the corridors and glimpsing through the windows. "Sherlock!" I run towards a large door and pull it open to check it's unlocked. It is, but nobody's inside so I carry on running, knowing inside that he must be somewhere here. I race up a flight of stairs, and head left down a corridor and through another door. I hear a gunshot, and I know I'm too late. My heartbeat quickens, but my muscules stop, and tears fall from my eyes. He's gone. I wipe the tears furiously from my eyes and pull out my gun, then I continue onwards,slower then before, but more determined. I throw another door open, and I almost let out a shriek of happiness. Dad kneels beside the body of the cabbie, who looks like he's alive, but only just. Ahead is a bullet hole in the window of where John got here before I did and the glass lays shattered around the floor. He looks up at dad with shock and pain.
"Was I right?" Dad asks, brandishing a small pill. The cabbie turns his head away from dad and I can see the pool of blood beneath it. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?!" Dad asks angrily. The taxi driver doesn't reply, so dad hurls the pill across the room and stands up. I run over to fetch the pill for testing later. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."
"No," The driver gasps.
"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you," dad says threatingly. "Give me a name." The driver shakes his head, and dad places his leg onto his shoulder, where the shot hit. The cabbie gasps in pain. "A name." He cries out again. "Now." He's in too much pain to talk, but dad looks intent and manic as he leans his weight onto his foot so that the cabbie whimpers. "The NAME!" Dad shouts furiously.
"MORIARTY!" The driver croaks, agonised. His eyes close, and his head lolls to the side. He's dead. Dad steps back looking thoughtful as he mutters the word. Is it a name? Or is it an organisation? Either way, I haven't heard of it, and that's what makes me feel so uneasy. Outside, I hear the parade of sirens come to a stop and the doors slam shut as the officers come in to search the place. I run up to dad and put my arms around him, sobbing into his jacket.
"I thought you..." I choke. I feel him nod and he kisses my head.
"You've been incredibley brave, Sophia." He whispers softly. "Everything is going to be alright, he's dead now." I stand up straight, wiping the tears away for what I'm hoping to be is the last time this evening. A couple of medics come in with orange shock blankets, and they lead us out and past a trolley which is for the body. Both of us try to shake off the blankets but with no success. They lead us to the back of the Ambulance where we sit and chat, shrugging off the blanket again as the medics walk away. "Did you get the pill?" Dad asks me softly, and I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I'm saved by Lestrade coming over, but not before the medics place the blankets on us again. "Why have we got this blanket?" Dad asks him, gesturing towards the blanket. "They keep putting this blanket on us."
"Yeah, it's for shock," Lestrade explains.
"I'm not in shock." Dad emphasises.
"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs," Lestrade grins and we roll our eyes. We'll be on social media as we speak, and we'll be the laughing stock of Scotland Yard.
"So, the shooter. No sign?" Dad asks, and I put my poker face on, not wanting to reveal John to the police.
"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but got nothing to go on," he shrugs, and dad looks at him pointedly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Now it's Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes, and I bite my lip nervously, hoping dad doesn't give too much away. He wouldn't give John up knowingly.
"Okay, gimme." Dad and I stand up with the blankets still wrapped around us.
"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ..." dad turns his head and sees John standing behind the police tape, beginning to make the connection but not realising it yet. "... and nerves of steel ..." he finally trails off as John looks around at us innocently and then turns his head away again. I can see the lightbulb light up in dads head as he makes the connection. Lestrade follows his gaze, but dad turns back to him before he can ask any questions."Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."
"Sorry?" Lestrade questions, looking puzzled.
"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking," he says, walking towards John.
"Where're you going?" Lestrade shouts.
"I just need to talk about the-the rent." Dad says vaugley.
"But I've still got questions for you." Dad turns back in irritation.
"Oh, what now?" Dad asks, sounding annoyed. "I'm in shock! We both are! Look, we've got a blanket!" He lifts the sides of his blanket as if to prove it.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade yells.
"And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less." Lestrade pauses and looks at us thoughtfully for a moment, trying to work out whether to let us off or not.
"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."
"Thank you!" I shout back, sarcastically as we walk away. Dad takes the blanket off of my shoulders and bundles it up, taking his own off as well and doing the same as we approach John, before tossing it in through the open window of a nearby police car.
"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." John says nervously as we duck under the police tape. Dad looks at John for a moment.
"Good shot," dad says quietly. John tries and completely fails to look innocent.
"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."
"Well, you'd know." Dad says, still quietly. John gazes at him still trying to recover his innocent expression.
"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John clears his throat and looks around nervously, still not admitting the obvious truth, and I'm certainly not saying anything. "Are you all right?" Dad asks, seriously, looking intently at him.
"Yes, of course I'm all right."
"Well, you have just killed a man."
"Yes, I ..." He admits finally, trailing off as dad looks at him closely."That's true, innit?" John smiles, but it looks closer to a grimace as dad continues to watch him. "But he wasn't a very nice man." Reassured that John really is okay, dad nods in agreement and drops the serious demenour.
"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"
"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." I laugh, and dad follows suite, turning to lead us away.
"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" John laughs, dad smiles and I just shake my head at their immaturity.
"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"
"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me." Dad says loudly as we approach Donovan.
"Keep your voice down!" John hisses as we walk past. "Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think." John apologises to her.
"Sorry," dad mutters to her before John clears his throat as we walk away.
"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" Dad turns back to him.
"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up." He turns and smiles at me.
"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."
"Why would I do that?" Dad asks, trying to sound innocent.
"Because you're an idiot." Dad smiles, delighted that somebody finally understands us. After a moment, he forces the smile down.
"Dinner?"
"Starving," John agrees.
"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."
"Interesting, Sherlock. I'm sure John is fascinated." John laughs and dad looks at me, hurt. John drops his laugh as a black car pulls up and a man and a woman gets out.
"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." Dad looks up and groans.
"I know exactly who that is." We walk closer to them, dad looking angry at his and Lucinda's sudden appearance. John looks around, as if looking for the police officers in case we need their help. They couldn't do anything to prevent their childish bickering.
"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft says to dad, just looking for a reason to pick a fight.
"What are you doing here?" Dad demands.
"As ever, I'm concerned about you." I scoff at his pathetic excuse.
"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."
"Always so aggressive," Mycroft scolds. "Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"
"Oddly enough, no!"
"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy." I roll my eyes - it always comes down to this. John frowns as if unsure of what he's heard and I have to stop myself from laughing at his ignorance.
"I upset her? Me?" Dad sneers an Mycroft glowers at him.
"It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."
"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John asks, finally lost.
"Mother – our mother." Dad explains, keeping his eyes on Mycroft. "This is my brother, Mycroft." John stares at him in amazment. "Putting on weight again?" Dad teases Mycroft like usual.
"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft sneers.
"He's your brother?!" John asks dad, still suprised.
"Of course he's my brother."
"So he's not ..."
"Not what?" We all look at him as John shrugs in embarrassment.
"I dunno – criminal mastermind?" John grimace at having even suggested it. I laugh as dad stares at Uncle Mycroft negatively.
"Close enough."
"For goodness' sake," Mycroft snaps. "I occupy a minor position in the British government."
"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Dad tells John and Mycroft sighs, annoyed. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Dad and I walk away, but John stays behind with Mycroft.
"They'll be talking about us now," I say, nudging dad. "God, he's annoying." Dad chuckles.
"You don't know the half of it." John catches up with us and we walk down the road, side by side.
"Some day, huh."
"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies."
"No you can't."
"Almost can. You did get shot, though."
"Sorry?' John asks, lost in the change of topic.
In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."
"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."
"Shoulder! I thought so," dad says in delight.
"No you didn't."
"The left one."
"Lucky guess." John fires back.
"I never guess," dad lies, smiling and John laughs.
"Yes you do. What are you so happy about?"
"Moriarty," dad says.
"What's 'Moriarty'?"
"I've absolutely no idea." Dad says happily as we continue our way home, momenterially enjoying the rather tedious calm that has swept through London, for now.