*So bad news, my laptop is stupid and doesn't connect to the internet, which means I'm not gonna be able to update as much :( I'll still try to make this a priority as much as I can, so don't give up on me! And just so you know, My reader count is getting pretty close to 10,000, WHICH IS AWESOME :)) Love you guys! And I'd love it so much if I could get 100 reviews by the time I hit 10,000 views. You guys got roughly 3,000 views to review, and If it happens, I might do something special, like post extra chapters, or take a request from a reviewer. Don't know how much of an incentive that is, but the challenge is on!
John closed the phone and closed his eyes, trying to physically impede the tears that were threatening to spill over. John had to be strong for Sherlock now, but all he could think about as he desperately tried to swallow the lump that was blocking his throat was the crack in the other man's voice when he had thanked John. That and the fear that would have gone unnoticed to someone who wasn't as well attuned to the detective as John was.
"Lestrade!"John snapped as he quickly spun to face the Detective Inspector "I need a list of all the opera houses in London, quickly!" Lestrade gave an understanding nod and quickly booted up the nearest laptop.
"Mycroft, I'll need you to start thinking about how we could get Sherlock out safely while skill getting Moran. I want the bastard dead, yeah?" John explained, his voice dropping a few degrees as he said the last words. Mycroft simply nodded and sat down on the couch. He steepled his hands under his chin in way that was reminiscent of a certain consulting detective.
What else will I need? John thought. It hit him that he would need to know how to get to wherever the place was when the time came, and decided it would be more prudent to go ahead and get the map out now and have it ready. He went over to the book case and found the book of maps of London and the surrounding area. As he pulled it down, a few rose petals fluttered out with it, and genteelly drifted to the ground.
"What the...?" John said as he leaned over to pick them up. They were still fairly fresh. John peered into the spot on the bookshelf where the book of maps used to be. There, behind the books on that section of the shelf, laid a small bouquet of roses. A dozen to be precise. John carefully reached in and extracted them from behind the books. The roses couldn't have been there long. Probably no longer than a few days. Nestled inside the roses was a small card. John pulled the card out to read.
"My John" It read simply.
It was written in a familiar scrawl. Something about the note unsettled John, but for the life of him, he couldn't place what.
"Take a look at this, guys." John said as he turned to face the duo once more. They both gave John a puzzled glance, so John explained further. "I just found them behind the books. They aren't very old, couldn't have been there longer than a few days. There's a note in Sherlock's handwriting that addresses them to me..."
Mycroft extended an arm towards John, indicating that he wished to see the roses. As John handed them over, a small frown creased Mycroft's face. He carefully scrutinized the roses, presumably trying to determine if it had indeed been his brother who procured them. Apparently, he found no incriminating evidence either for or against, and laid them on the kitchen table. He then picked up the card to give it a closer examination. His stiff demeanor relaxed and he gave a small, sad smile when he read the note. He placed the note on the table, and stayed turned around a moment longer. John saw him wipe something off his face before turning around.
When he was facing John once again, his face was hard with determination, and his eyes were bright, although a bit moist. "John, we are going to find him. I swear to you that we will find Sherlock, and make Moran pay for this." Mycroft said with conviction.
Lestrade smiled and stood up. He strode over to where Mycroft was standing. "Yeah, we got your back!" Greg said as he wound his arms around Mycroft's waist. He gave a quick squeeze, then looked up to the face of the British Government. They looked into each other's eyes and seemed to have a private, silent, conversation. John turned away, embarrassed. He strolled over to the laptop with the list on it. He scrolled through the list, groaning at it's length. He eliminated the newer ones. Sherlock definitely said an older hall, but that only narrows it down so much. Damn, I need more information. THINK!
"Alright guys,we know that he is somewhere IN London. We know that he is in a music hall, an older one. I don't know how much older, but I've eliminated the ones on the list that I know are new. Mycroft, as you have a position in the government, you would probably know better then me which are older. Could you order them in chronological order by year they were built?" John asked, desperate to do anything that could put them a step closer to finding Sherlock.
"Of course, John. I should be able to access a database from here with my credentials." Mycroft said as he nodded. He waited for John to move out of the chair, then plopped down into the seat and quickly started searching, fingers ablaze on the keyboard. John turned to Lestrade then, thinking of what else they could do to find Sherlock. A moment of panic flashed through his mind as he realized that he had no clue of how to do this. He wasn't a detective of any sorts. He was just a doctor. An ex-army doctor.
His moment passed as he realized that he had indeed executed many missions like this while in Afghanistan. This is just like a hostage rescue mission. I have a general, albeit city wide, idea of where he is, I'll have one shot to get him, and it's bound to be full of dangerous obstacles. Maybe I'm better suited for this than I thought. With this thought, John looked up at Greg and suggested "Lets check the map and note where the concert halls are. There are, what, twenty or so on the list?" A quick nod from Mycroft confirmed the validity of the statement. Mycroft printed the partially sorted list, and John quickly fetched it. He grabbed his box of Doctor Who post-it notes, and fished out his Dalek shaped tabs.
"Come on Greg, lets exterminate this game!" John giggled, unable to contain himself. He was feeling a bit giddy after his realization, and was, if at all possible, even more eager to find Sherlock.