* I want to thank Rose O' Sharon and MarMoo.12 for reviewing! They really encouraged me to write this chapter now as opposed to later. For those of you who aren't authors, and even a friendly reminder to those who are, reviews matter. At least to me, I guess I can't speak for all authors. But they really do influence how ofter I write/post
John slowly closed the phone after Mycroft hung up. He hated that he'd had to call up the other Holmes brother, especially when John still felt rather betrayed by his careless exchange of information with Moriarty. But he also knew that Mycroft would have the best chances of finding Sherlock, and John desperately wanted to find him. He knew if he could just find him, just explain what had happened...
John groaned as he sat up. Lying on the ground would be of no use to anyone. He planted his hands on either side of his body, preparing to shirt around to a position where he could comfortably stand up. As he placed his right hand, he felt a sharp pinch in his palm. He muttered an explicative, removed his hand, and immediately started searching for the source of the discomfort.
His expression shifted from one of annoyance to one of surprise as he located the source. He picked up the small dart and examined it closely. A dart? Curious. Sherlock doesn't own any dart guns or darts.
John immediately stood up and glanced around, searching for an explanation as to why and how this dart came to be resting upon the floor of the flat. He tried to reason it out like Sherlock would have, but a small,whistling noise broke his concentration. There was no kettle on, so what else could be the source of a whistling noise? It was similar to the noise produced when one blows over the top of a bottle.
As John was scanning the room, he happened to glance out the window, and noticed that it had gotten rather windy. At this observation, a new idea presented itself in John's mind. He walked over to the window, and once he got closer, noticed a hole in the bottom corner of the top window pane. He held the dart up to the hole, and...yes, a near perfect fit!
So something or someone shot a dart through our window...was it at Sherlock? John's heart sped at this thought and it's implications. Had Sherlock been...taken? His heart felt infinitely lighter as he realized what this might mean. Sherlock hadn't run from him. His heart nearly simultaneously dropped as he realized what else this meant. Some one had taken Sherlock, and likely was intending to hurt him. John's blood boiled at this thought. Who would have the audacity to take Sherlock Holmes from him? Who could even be clever enough to pull one over on Sherlock? John felt a pang of guilt as he realized that he had probably been distracted by his emotional plight. The one I bloody put him in. John shook this off best as he could and tried to focus. He had to find Sherlock, and find him fast. First he had to warn Mycroft. Mycroft! He would be a huge asset in this endeavor, with his near omniscience over London and his unending supply of resources.
John heard two sets of feet pound up the stairs. John raced to the door, guessing who would be at the door. He pulled it open to see Mycroft and Lestrade ascend the last few steps.
"Mycroft! Sherlock didn't leave he was kidnapped!" John yelled at the same time as Mycroft said "John, some men broke in and kidnapped Sherlock." They both stopped and gazed at each other in confusion. Mycroft quickly took charge and explained.
"I had my people check the CCTV footage, and we have the guys who did this on tape. Of course, you cannot tell much about them from the footage, but we have information on their car. We are currently patrolling the area, searching for the car. We are also scanning more footage, looking for them." John nodded and held up the dart he had found.
"I found this on the floor. There is a hole in the window that is roughly the size of the dart. I figured that some needed to incapacitate Sherlock, and for what other reason would they need to?" Mycroft nodded at John, a small smile breaking across his face.
"Good, John. I thinks it is obvious that my brother has been rubbing off on you. You observed and deducted." John smiled in spite of himself. He told himself to be nice to Mycroft, at least for the time being. He would have to let out his pissiness later, when finding Sherlock didn't depend on help from the British Government.
"Thanks. So how about we devise a plan. If I may suggest, Mycroft, you go wherever it is you work, assemble your team to watch the CCTVs and acquire other helpful information. Greg, you and I will go back to Scotland Yard and assemble as many of your people who are willing to help. If you can, offer them overtime or some other incentive. We need as many people gathering information and searching as possible." John asserted, demanding rather than suggesting. The other two men glanced at each other, then back at John. They nodded but didn't say anything.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Hop to it!" John insisted rather intensely. He felt a growing sense or urgency that was the driving force behind his insistence. He felt something nagging at the back of his mind. Who would be able to kidnap THE Sherlock Holmes? John felt as if there was only one answer to that question, but... no. he couldn't be right. It was impossible.
Just as the men roused into action, John's phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Private Number. He threw a look at Mycroft to silence them, then flicked the phone open and put it on speaker phone.
"Hullo?" John said after a moment.
A cold voice filled the room. "Hello, John Watson. And Mycroft Holmes. And Detective Inspector Lestrade." The voice sounded very smug, and a small giggle was heard in the background.
"Okay, you have our attention," John said, assuming that had been the purpose the caller had for revealing that he knew the information "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Ooo, John you sound so serious. Something...missing?" The voice teased. The giggle was louder this time, and it sounded strangely familiar. Frighteningly familiar.
"Answer the question, or I will hang up!" John snapped. Fear was flooding his mind. That giggle couldn't be real. The person who emitted it was dead. He had to be dead. But then again, Sherlock wasn't. Why was it so hard to believe that, if Sherlock had survived his plummet, Moriarty had been able to trick Sherlock into only thinking he shot himself? Could Moriarty really be alive.
"Snappy today aren't we? If you must know, I am Sebastian Moran, and I have your little detective." the voice identified as Moran paused, before gleefully adding "and if you want him back alive, you'll have to find him. See I have a delightful little game planned, and if you win, Sherlock will go free." John felt a surge of conviction. He had to win this. For Sherlock.
"Tell me more about this game. What are the rules? the stipulations?" John asked frantically, eager to get started to find Sherlock.
"Oh, I'm so glad you asked. Your little detective is currently located somewhere in the city of London. You have 90 minutes to find him. You may not leave you flat, other than to go to Sherlock's location, starting now, and you may not use anything other than what is currently in you flat to discover the location of Sherlock. You get one guess. If you are wrong, I will kill both of you." The voice started out gleeful, but dropped to an icy snarl on the last sentence.
John felt his heart drop. This was Sherlock's area of expertise. Not his. How could he do this? "Don't I get any clues?" John asked desperately.
"Oh, I suspect you'll be getting one soon. Your time starts as soon as Sherlock comes to. And if you want to find Sherlock in one piece, you will not use Scotland Yard or Mycroft Holmes's connections." Moran warned.
"Can you at least tell me why you are doing this?" John shouted, desperate for information.
"Simple. I am here to finish the work of a great man-"the voice turned angry now"-a man your Sherlock killed. I am doing this to avenge James Moriarty! I swear to you, John Watson. I will burn the heart out of both you and Sherlock Holmes." With that the other caller hung up.
John slowly closed the phone. He started trembling, then sank to the ground. He ran a hand through his hair. Did this mean that Moriarty was actually dead. It was a small comfort, seeing as there was someone else out there who seemed just as, if not more dangerous than the consulting criminal.
"I've gotta find Sherlock. I have ta decipher information and deduce impossible deductions, throw it all together and miraculously find out where Sherlock's been taken. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BLOODY DO THAT!" John roared. Mycroft and Lestrade shared another secret look. Mycroft looked utterly clueless as to how to help, but Lestrade strode over and put an arm on John's shoulder.
"Hey," Lestrade said soothingly "We're here to, ya know. You don't haffta do this all on your own." John stared up at him, incredulous.
"Didn't you bloody hear him? You will not use Scotland-bloody-yard or Mycroft-bloody-Holmes's connections. You can't help otherwise he will MAIM Sherlock! Is that what you want, Greg!?" John said, approaching hysterics. This was far more stressful than any combat situation, as this was a strike near and dear to his heart. He remembered the words he had uttered last time a strike had landed this close to his heart. Please God let me live.
Please God, let him live.
"John," Lestrade said calmly "I am not Scotland Yard, and surely Mycroft himself is not considered among Mycroft's connections. We can and will help you." John felt his heart warm as some confidence returned. Greg's words made sense. Maybe he wouldn't have to rely on his own observations. Mycroft was just as smart as Sherlock. He could be a great help. He had a chance.
John looked up and smiled.
"Let's win this bloody game and get my detective back."