Chapter 8
Trouble in Paradise
[Author's Note: I think I may have been carried away by too much fluff. So, time for some adventure!]
"Don't go off on your own, Sherlock," Greg Lestrade warned. "These men are armed and dangerous."
Sherlock nodded absently, barely listening to the Detective Inspector.
"Please, Sherlock. Listen to me for once."
Sherlock waved him off.
Lestrade frowned, worried about his consulting detective. Sherlock had been off for some time now. Perhaps he missed his ward and his nice brother – or John. Emrys had left soon after Harry departed for his boarding school, and John was really busy with his new-born. The DI resolved to keep a close eye on Sherlock, at least till the top guns of this drug-trafficking ring were caught. Greg sighed tiredly. The body count was getting higher every week and they were not even close to the culprits.
XXX
Sherlock had tracked down one of the assassins, and discreetly followed him to an abandoned building in Mile End. He paused, debating whether to call for back-up or proceed alone. They needed to capture all three assassins as well as the bosses to break up the ring successfully. He decided to take stock of the situation himself first.
Sherlock entered the building.
"Ah, the famous Mr Holmes," came an oily voice. "We have been waiting for you."
Sherlock realised he had walked into a trap. He looked around and noted that everyone they needed to arrest was in the room. He sent a quick text to Lestrade and pocketed his phone. He just needed to hold them off now until the police arrived.
At the other end of London, Greg Lestrade cursed and marshalled his troops, hoping they would reach Sherlock before the git got himself killed.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was being searched for weapons by two hulks. They jostled him roughly, unable to believe that he carried none.
The owner of the oily voice, who Sherlock had correctly deduced to be the top boss, laughed.
"Not very clever, Mr Holmes, walking into a trap unarmed."
Sherlock smiled his most obnoxious smile. "I don't need weapons for the likes of you."
Hulk #1 slapped him hard enough to split his lip. Sherlock simply gave him a bloody smile.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Sherlock said.
Hulk #1 punched him again. Sherlock fell to the floor. Oily Voice held up a hand. Hulk #1 retreated grumpily.
"You are hardly in a position to make threats, Mr Holmes," Oily Voice remarked. "Though I do wonder why you wandered into our parlour by yourself. Perhaps you wished to sample the goods?"
Sherlock thrust a hand into his pocket and sent another text to Lestrade. Hurry.
"Or perhaps you thought you would lead Scotland Yard to us," Oily Voice continued.
Sherlock held his tongue (and his magic) with great difficulty.
"Tie him up," Oily Voice ordered. "We're leaving. And throw his phone out; I'm sure the police will track it."
Time to fight back, Sherlock decided. He could not hope to win a 1:40 fight, but at least he could delay them long enough for Lestrade to get here.
However, Oily Voice was smarter than Sherlock had anticipated. A blow landed at the back of his head and Sherlock knew no more.
XXX
Harry was in Charms class when the bees disappeared. Hermione, sitting next to him, gasped. Ron, who sat behind him, asked, "Oi, mate, where'd your bees go?"
Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer himself. Perhaps Sherlock had decided that he was safe enough not to need the bees? Or could it be that Sherlock was in trouble?
Professor Flitwick, sensing a commotion, hurried to their desk. He noticed the absence of Sherlock's bees immediately.
"Did they fly away or fade out?" he asked.
"Faded, I guess," Harry replied. "What does it mean, Professor?"
The expression on the tiny Professor's face froze Harry's heart. He ran out of the classroom. He had to get to Sirius.
XXX
Sherlock was dumped unceremoniously in the boot of a car.
"I hope to God you haven't killed him," Oily Voice snapped at Hulk #1. "Boss won't be pleased."
XXX
Lestrade and his team reached the abandoned building only to find it empty. Sherlock's phone, smeared with blood, sat on the floor. Lestrade cursed and followed the bloody trail till the garage. The goons were gone, and they had Sherlock.
Lestrade cursed again. Instructing his team to collect descriptions, CCTV footage or any other information on the vehicles, he texted John and Mycroft.
XXX
Anthea slipped into the conference hall and went straight to Mycroft.
"Dragon Slayer has been abducted, Sir," she said quietly.
Mycroft excused himself and followed her out of the room. "Are you tracking his subcutaneous chip?"
"Yes, Sir. They are on the move. We are transmitting the location straight to DI Lestrade."
"Good. Vitals?"
Anthea hesitated. "He appears to be unconscious, Sir."
"Update me as soon as you have the final location. Get a chopper and a hit team ready for me."
Anthea hurried away. Mycroft scribbled a note and snapped his fingers, his eyes flashing a brilliant blue. Then he hurried back to the conference room. He needed to wrap it up immediately.
XXX
John Watson sighed as his phone pinged. His daughter bawled in his lap as he reached out and plucked the phone from the table. It was a message from Lestrade.
Sherlock kidnapped by drug traffickers. Did he leave any clues with you at all?
John went cold. He had not even known that Sherlock was chasing drug traffickers. Guiltily, he remembered that Sherlock had texted him the day before asking if he wanted to join in on a case, and John had refused because Emma Rose had not been keeping well and Mary was too tired to handle a cantankerous infant by herself. He should not have left Sherlock alone.
Please God, keep him safe, John prayed as he replied to Lestrade in the negative.
Sherlock's voice sounded in his head – I told you, John. You won't need me when you have a real baby.
John swallowed the lump in his throat and texted both Mycroft and Lestrade, asking what he could do to help. There was no reply.
XXX
A piece of paper materialised in Harry's hand as he burst into Sirius' office. He opened it quickly.
Sherlock abducted. We are tracking him. Do not worry. – M
Harry felt marginally better.
"Harry?" Sirius looked up from his desk at his godson, who was pale and shaking. "What happened?"
"The bees disappeared."
Sirius sobered immediately, gestured for him to take a seat and passed him a cup of tea. Harry pushed Mycroft's note towards his godfather.
"He'll be fine, Harry," Sirius told him. "These Holmes are practically indestructible."
Harry shook his head. "If he's been taken by muggles, he won't use magic against them, even to protect himself."
"He doesn't need magic to whip someone's arse, does he?" Sirius pointed out, grinning.
Harry smiled slightly, remembering Sherlock taking down a man who had attempted to mug them during one of their shopping trips. Sherlock was hardly a swooning damsel. But that didn't really mean that he would always be safe, did it? Harry bit his lip.
"I'm worried, Sirius," he said in a small voice.
"I know, cub, I know." Sirius thought for a moment. "How about we go to London to visit Sherlock once Mycroft has dragged him back home and listen to him rant at us for being sentimental idiots?"
XXX
Oily Voice and his goons had reached their destination. They stood before their boss, who raged at the sight of the trussed-up unconscious detective.
"Didn't I specifically tell you not to harm him? He's MINE! No one touches him but ME!"
"Sorry, Sir," Hulk #1 said, pleading. "I meant 'im no 'arm."
"He's barely alive, you idiot," Oily Voice snapped. "I told you to tie him up, not knock him out."
"Get a doctor," the boss ordered. "In fact, I want a very particular doctor."
"But Sir…" Oily Voice began, only to be quelled by the deranged look the boss shot him. "Yes, Sir." He sent two of his goons out.
Sherlock was untied and deposited on a bed. The boss pulled up a chair. He caressed the detective's cheek with his fingers.
"You won't die such a boring death, would you, Sherlock? You CAN'T! I have so many plans for you…"
Oily Voice shrunk back. The boss was insane.
XXX
Mycroft ran into Anthea just as he finished the meeting and stepped out. Without a word, she handed him a pair of guns and led him to the helicopter on the roof.
XXX
"They've stopped. Go, go, go!" Lestrade shouted as soon as the signal stopped moving. "Hold on, Sherlock," he whispered under his breath.
XXX
John wondered if he should call Mycroft or Lestrade when his doorbell rang. He handed over Emma to Mary and ran to the door.
He was immediately grabbed and taken away. He barely had the time to hit the call button and leave the line open.
XXX
"Lucky you live close by, Johnny Boy."
John could not believe his eyes. Or his ears. It was impossible. There is no way this man could be alive. Sherlock said so. Mycroft said so.
"No, no, no," he whispered.
"Yes, yes, yes," the man sang.
"You're dead. You shot yourself."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Johnny Boy," Jim Moriarty spoke in a sing-song voice. "After all, Sherlock jumped off the roof and lived, too."
"So both of you faked suicide at each other? How romantic," John snapped.
Moriarty smiled. "Sherlock's hurt. Won't you care for him? I need you to bring him back for me."
"What did you do to him?" John snarled.
Moriarty sighed tragically. "One of the minions hit him too hard."
John shrugged off the hands restraining him and made a beeline for the bed in the corner. Sherlock lay unnaturally still, his pale complexion drained of any colour, in sharp contrast to the rapidly growing dark red pool of blood around his head. He examined his friend gingerly.
"He needs a hospital," John told Moriarty. "Please, let me take him. He's of no use to you if he's dead, is he?" John pleaded, hoping the deranged psychopath's obsession with Sherlock might give him a way out.
"NO!" Moriarty shouted. "He can only die when I kill him! Bring him back! He's MINE!"
The consulting criminal had clearly lost whatever little marbles he'd had left the last they'd met, John decided.
"Please, Jim," John begged. "He needs intensive care. I don't have the tools I need here."
Fortunately, Mycroft and Lestrade chose that moment to burst in with their units. Moriarty shrieked and John punched him in the face with all his might. Two MI6 agents picked him up.
Mycroft glanced at John. "He needs urgent medical attention," John said.
Mycroft tossed a gun at John and picked up his brother as if he weighed nothing. "Come with me, John," he said quietly. "There's an air ambulance on the roof. Cover us."
John ran after him.
XXX
Sherlock woke up to sight of the British Government slumped tiredly on the chair next to his bed. He was a hospital again. Ugh.
"What are you doing here?" he croaked, wincing at the awful sound emanating from his throat.
Exhaustion lined Mycroft's face. "Please refrain from indulging in such reckless behaviour in the future, brother dear," he said, his voice lacking its usual sarcasm. He summarised the events briefly.
"It can't be," Sherlock whispered. "You know it can't be him, Mycroft. I saw him die. You took the body yourself."
"I am afraid I have no answer for you, Sherlock."
The door opened and Harry peeked in. "Is he any better, Uncle Mycroft?" he asked softly.
Mycroft smiled at the title. Ever since Sirius had turned up with Harry at the hospital, the boy had been calling him uncle. It pleased him.
"Come in and see for yourself, Harry," Mycroft said.
Sherlock shot an accusatory look at his brother.
"Harry was worried, Sherlock," Mycroft said quietly. "The bees disappeared when you were knocked out."
Harry approached his guardian slowly as Mycroft left the room. Then he flung himself at the prone detective and hugged him tearfully.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, after a few awkward moments of Sherlock trying to pat the child.
"What?" Sherlock blurted out, shocked.
"I know you hate sentimental displays," Harry muttered. "But the bees disappeared and Flitwick looked so sad and I didn't know what happened to you and Uncle Mycroft said that he'll get you back but I was still worried and I didn't want to lose a father again and Sirius said that we can visit you and you wouldn't wake up and I…"
"Harry," Sherlock called gently and Harry stopped rambling.
"Sorry," he said again.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sherlock said firmly. "And while I am very glad to see you again, I do not want you to worry. I will be fine."
Harry nodded tearfully. "Everyone was worried," he said quietly.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. That made Harry smile.
"You should rest now," Harry said. "Do you want to meet anyone else? Greg and Molly are outside. I think he's still cursing, and she's trying to calm him down. Emrys is in Cardiff, but he will be back tonight, he said. John went home – Emma Rose is not well – but he said he'll drop in later and punch you for being an idiot."
Sherlock laughed. Harry patted his arm and left. It was only then that Sherlock realised that Harry, in his rant, had referred to him as a father. He was still mulling over that when Lestrade and Molly came in.
"You've got to stop taking stupid risks," Molly said. "You've got a child to look after now."
Sherlock could only nod.
"Don't do that ever again, you bastard," Lestrade told him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Did you get them all?" Sherlock asked.
Lestrade nodded. "Every single one. Except Moriarty. MI6 took him away. How can he be alive, Sherlock?"
"I don't know. I don't like not knowing."
"He could be a fake," Molly said.
"I don't know. I never saw him."
"John was spooked – said he was crazier than before," Lestrade said. "Your brother's got people buzzing around. Get well soon, you git. I need my consulting detective back."
"Of course you do."
Lestrade grinned at Sherlock's response and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
XXX
Sherlock was asleep when Emrys came in at night. Mycroft was still there, keeping an eye on his troublesome brother.
Emrys embraced his oldest brother. "Stop fussing, Myc," he said quietly. "You'll worry yourself into an early grave."
Mycroft laughed humourlessly. "Between him and you – and now young Harry as well, it is a miracle that I have not."
"He is going to be fine, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Mycroft told him. Emrys frowned and then his expression darkened. The two brothers regarded each other for several minutes, an unspoken conversation taking place in typical Holmesian fashion.
"It can't be anything else," Emrys said finally.
Mycroft's shoulders slumped. "I was hoping you would tell me otherwise, baby brother. If we are right, then it started when Sherlock was exiled…much before we met Harry…which means that Harry's traumatic experience could not have been a coincidence. Someone wanted us to be involved in this war. The question is, who? And why?"
Emrys laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know it's a nightmare, Myc, but we'll get through it. I promise."
