Hey guys, I'm sorry it took so long but here you have it- the fourth chapter!
I would be really honored if you'll take a few seconds to leave a review, it keeps my motivation ;)
BTW: my beautiful friend Old Ping Hai did the beta. Isn't she amazing?!
Enjoy :) Meytal
Sherlock P.O.V.
Well, thank god, this is a quiet piece. The last thing I wanted was to wake up to the sound of Jim's creepy voice, so at least I have a bit of preparation.
"Sherlock wake up, I don't know how long we've got for the riddle to start, and I would really appreciate some tea before running around London." I opened my eyes and saw John standing above me, with messy hair and puffy eyes. I didn't even have to watch the clock on the telly to understand it was about 6 AM, which means we slept for barely 3 hours. Both of us utterly exhausted from yesterday, and knowing there is another day like this ahead of us was, is some way, highly frustrating. But just look at the bright side: Only 12 more minutes till the next riddle. How thrilling!
When I finally got up off the couch, John already stood next to the kettle, making, in my honest opinion, the best tea anyone could ever make.
I went to stand next to him, anxious about the next riddle. The most logical assumptions were that the next "victims" will be either Mrs. Hudson or Molly. The tricky thing was that if it really is Mrs. Hudson, we'll have to hurry up; she is an elderly woman, and she might not be able to handle this for too long.
8 more minutes to waste.
John handed me a cup of tea, yet didn't even look at me.
After the obvious expression of physical attraction from him last night, he is acting kind of odd; doesn't make eye contact, shivering a bit (probably from embarrassment). Frankly, if I weren't so flattered, I might be affected as well by the awkwardness. Luckily I am flattered.
Even though I'm not sure if I were supposed to try and kiss him last night, I really wanted to. Yet I know better, and I know that if we ever kiss each other, he has to be the one who needs to make that move. He is the one with the big question mark above his head.
I don't have doubts about my sexuality. I'm attracted to the person, and then to his body, not the other way around like most people. I'd had a few sexual partners before, and most of them were men. Yet I still find myself attracted to both genders, even though they were all just experiments or were used in a matter of a case. The sex meant nothing.
Then again, there was Irene Adler. She was something special, wasn't she.
The woman.
She was as almost as important as John at the time; there was sentiment involved with that woman, no doubt. That was the first time in my life that sentiment affected my sex life. It was different. When we had sex, it was much more…powerful. Pleasuring. It meant something. She even said she loves me, how ridiculous. Love.
Well then, as my big brother always says, 'all hearts are broken' and we never spoke again.
Even though Irene was obviously unique, John is much more than that.
There was no denying that John is beautiful, in every sense of the word. My feelings for him are much more complicated than any I have yet experienced. Especially now, when he has a wife who tried to kill me, and a baby on the way.
I was too late.
Definitely too late.
I noticed those feelings 3 years ago, and yet didn't say anything, or do anything about that.
Maybe late is better than never? Maybe I should try to say something? I've already said everything in the letter I left him before we went to the airport, but if I'm still here, I should just say everything, not letting him simply read the stupid letter like a little coward. Right?
Either way, it is irrelevant now.
We only have 2 minutes to waste.
"Did you sleep well?" John asked suddenly,and smirked. What the hell? What kind of question is that?
I nodded briefly, giving him a questioning look. He laughed quietly.
"When I woke up, I heard you… making noises."' What the -
"You know," he cleared his throat, "moaning and stuff." I think I just had a heart attack. I can't really remember what I dreamed about, but I can remember it involved John. Oh god, please tell me I didn't say his name.
Is my heart still beating? That is a very good question. It would be a shame if after all I've been through, I die because of a heart attack. Even worse, if I die of a heart attack over an erotic dream. Unacceptable.
"Ar- are you sure?" I managed eventually to mumble.
"Yes, but don't worry about it, everyone has dreams once in a while." Okay, so that means that I didn't say his name or anything. Nothing too weird, or out of place.
Just in time to keep me sane, the second riddle started and Moriarty's creepy voice filled the living room.
"Under your nose she was taken
such a pity for such a brave woman.
When we started she will be,
very symbolic, can't you see?
Hurry up, her heart is not strong
who knows if she'll survive this for long."
"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked and I nodded. Of course, but this is too easy. It is not typical of Moriarty to make things too easy. John had already grabbed his coat and tossed me mine.
"What are we waiting for? We can't let her die!" he yelled; panic was clear in his voice.
"Where do you think we are going, John?"
"The pool where Carl Powers died. Though I really have bad memories of that place, we don't have much choice," he said with doubt. That was my first instinct too, obviously, but that was just too easy.
"Do you have a better idea?" he asked after a few seconds. I clenched my teeth and walked through the door downstairs. He was right, it was better to start somewhere than just pace around the flat doing nothing.
When we finally got into a cab, I felt a bit calmer. Maybe Moriarty just tried reverse psychology to make me doubt myself.
Maybe.
No, that is not possible.
We are wrong.
I played the riddle again in my head and replayed 2 sentences which made me doubt my decision even further: 'Just under your nose…', 'when we started…' Oh god.
"STOP THE CAR!" John and I shouted together. We looked at each other, stunned and satisfied with each other's deduction. It was reverse psychology. We had to leave the flat to understand it.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" John asked with enthusiasm. I nodded again and smiled. He was getting quite good at that. "Yes, of course. The basement apartment - 221C. Where we found Carl Powers's shoes."
How was it that I couldn't see that earlier?! "Driver, back to Baker Street, please."
The car turned back to Baker Street, and within 10 minutes, we were already outside of the building.
"Stay in the cab, I'm going in. Don't move John. If I'm not back in a few minutes you may come insi—"
"I may? Oh, thank you, Sherlock, for allowing me to help." Sarcasm. Never liked it. "There is no way. You are not going in alone."
"John, think about it! If she is in the same condition as Janine was, we'll have to evacuate her as soon as possible." John sighed and relaxed a bit.
"Fine, do it quickly." I smiled at him and for the first time today, made eye contact. I'm done.
This 'human error' of mine is far too dangerous. No time for that now, I reminded myself.
I got out of the car and entered the building. Going toward the basement Mrs. Hudson has been trying to rent for almost a decade now. When I finally stood in front of the door marked "221C" I felt my whole body shaking. I never gave much thought to what I would do if any of my few friends in the world were to die.
Except when John almo—don't think about that now for god sake. With shaking hands, I opened the door carefully, afraid of what I might see.
Mrs. Hudson was there. Tied to what seemed like a stripper pole in the middle of the room. She wasn't naked like Janine. She was bleeding and unconscious, yet still alive. All the signs indicated that he tortured her and bit her with a whip.
A few minutes later, I was already out of the building, Mrs. Hudson on my back. She was bleeding heavily, and we had to take her to the hospital as soon as possible, even if it wasn't very convenient, taking her in a cab.
John's eyes widened when he saw her, and he immediately got out of the cab to help me carry her inside the car.
We finally managed to get her in the car, and promised the driver a fair amount of money if he would just drive us to the hospital without asking any questions. John shivered, and I was sure it wasn't because of London's cold weather. He cared about Mrs. Hudson almost as much as I did, and watching her like that was very, very hard.
"You know, when you died, she was the only one to truly understand me, and she was always there when I needed her help. And now, she was just under our nose and we almost didn't get to her on time. I owe this woman so much," he muttered sadly.
"He tied her to a stripper pole. To humiliate her." I murmured in anger. This was the most shocking fact. He actually humiliated her.
"This son of a bitch." John shook his head with disbelief. "I really hate him, you know?" I looked at him and smiled a bitter smile. Of course I know, who would hate someone like Jim Moriarty, if not John Watson.
"Was there a note on her, too?" I passed him the note that I'd found and he read it out loud, even though I was already replaying it in my mind for the 8th time:
:"I felt sorry for her
such a shame.
we still have three more.
don't you love this game?
are you ready?
I'm sure you are not.
Wait until tomorrow.
we don't have to rush."
"Three more? So he knows I'm still here." I nodded. He definitely knows. "So; Molly, Lestrade and me?" he confirmed, and I nodded again. There is no use in actually speaking up if the person next to you already knows all the right answers.
Text to: D.I Lestrade
From: Sherlock Holmes
'Come quickly. St. Barts hospital. He got Mrs. Hudson'
"Sherlock, are you all right?" No, of course I wasn't all right. If this is only the beginning, then how am I going to feel when I find Lestrade, or Molly, or... John. I can't handle the thought of John getting hurt because of me. Not again.
It was awful enough the first time, when my dear brother told me John tried to commit suicide. That was the worst day of my life and yet, somehow I never managed to bring myself to talk to him about it.
"Why did you try to kill yourself 2 years ago?" I murmured. Frankly, I didn't mean to say it out loud, but maybe it is for the best. I would love some answers.
John looked at me, terrified, like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Ho-how do you know about that?" I looked at him, trying to understand how a person so brave and so mentally strong could do such a thing. I must admit, it's beyond me.
Luckily for John, we arrived at the hospital, and for the next 6 hours, the only thing that mattered was Mrs. Hudson.
When we arrived, Lestrade was already there, said he was already in the morgue when I texted him, and once again asked all the irrelevant questions about Moriarty, the riddles, and this whole game.
"She was tied to a stripper pole when I found her, but I doubt if it is still there. By the marks on her back, she got bitten and tortured with a whip, as a reminder of her past as a drug-addict stripper. Jim was still there when we left the house. When we returned, it was just 2-3 minutes after he left, judging by Mrs. Hudson's condition and her bleeding rate. He humiliated her on purpose, to let me see that he isn't just going to physically abuse his victims, as if more to mentally abuse them."
Lestrade nodded and wrote everything down. When he finished he smiled a bitter smile and he shivered.
"Is this your version of 'be prepared'?"
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I never thought it would come to this." He nodded briefly and went toward the door. About to leave the hospital, he opened the door, yet stood there for a few seconds.
"Am I next?"
"It's either you or Molly," I said honestly. He deserves the truth.
"It's OK, Sherlock, it isn't really your fault. Just promise me that you will do what you can to… save me, I guess," he choked a giggle and left the hospital.
"I wasn't planning anything else," I sighed.
Six hours later, John and I left the hospital, mentally exhausted from what happened to us today. We didn't even try to get a taxi, we just started walking back to Baker Street, feeling that an hour in the fresh air would be good for us.
"Do you really want to know?" John asked me after 20 minutes of walking in complete silence.
"Know what?"
"All about the suicide thing." I looked at him, honestly surprised. I didn't think he would bring that up so soon, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything. I nodded and he took a deep breath. Preparing himself.
"Well, it happened about 3 months after you died, and I was a mess. I started having those nightmares about you... seeing you...never mind, that part isn't really relevant. But one day, when I woke up from this nightmare, I started seeing you everywhere. You were there saying I'm wasting my time while eating, and you were there on the street, deducing people for fun, and you were there at Scotland Yard, laughing at Greg for trying to hug me. I hallucinated everything, but I was happy. I wasn't alone any more you know…" He stopped walking and just leaned against one of the buildings. I knew it must be difficult for him, so I waited, and leaned against the wall, just next to him.
"The day after that, you were gone again, and I was sick of it. I knew what I saw the day before wasn't real, but pushing me back to facing that you're dead?" He shook his head and covered his eyes with his palms, and continued, "So I went to the pharmacy, and bought sleeping pills, paracetamol, even a bit of penicillin. I went to the flat, and checked that Mrs. Hudson wasn't home. I even wrote a note.
The next thing I remember is Mycroft standing above my hospital bed, with pity in his eyes. He said I was out of commission for almost 3 days, that he was very disappointed with me, and that I should have called him if I wanted help. I was in the hospital for 2 weeks after that, got back to therapy, and tried to live." His eyes were still covered and he tried to breathe deeply. I wanted to hold him, comfort him, show him that I'm here and that he doesn't have to be alone any more. That is all I ever wanted to do, but I couldn't. Instead, I just held his shoulder and pulled him toward me in some kind of a semi-hug.
"' If you are not here so I'll just have to come to you. It isn't the same without you'." I remembered that note by heart. It was the worst day of my life. I tried to delete it several times, but without any luck. John looked surprised, yet not for long.
"You were really there, right? At the hospital. I was sure I was just imagining. Too many drugs…you know."
"Of course I was there, do you remember what I told you?" I was still holding him tightly, too afraid to let go.
"If you do that again, I really will kill myself." We both laughed. It was a bitter laugh, but after all we've been through today it was just what we needed, as I continued holding him and breathing in deeply the so comforting smell that was all John Watson.
He finally uncovered his eyes, looking at me, and stopped laughing.
He has the most beautiful eyes. What the hell is wrong with me?
We just stood there holding each other, side by side, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. I noticed his breath was shallow and his pupils were beginning to widen; the pulse on his carotid seemed very fast. I knew what was going to happen next, and there was no way I was going to stop it.
He licked his lips and had something between desire and hesitation in his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered, and leaned forward.
I followed him.
Hope you enjoyed it!
the fifth chapter will be published soon, I promise!
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