W_H: Sorry for not updating, unfortunately I reread this fic and I killed myself with anticipation. I mean, I write this but I can still cause myself to want to read more. (^~^)"
Please R&R.
"Sir, there's a Mr Lestrade looking for you."
Sherlock lifted his head up anxiously, finally something that wasn't boring, "Send him in."
Lestrade entered the room with a stupefied expression, Mycroft does tend to exaggerate his decorations. Sherlock scoffed at the DI face before jumping out of Mycroft's chair and then landing on the mat purposely scrunching the fibres. If one word could express what Sherlock was feeling at the moment was; bored.
Boring.
The world was so freaking boring. The detective grabbed a pen from the desk and twirled it in his fingers and looked expectantly at Lestrade who was just about to sit down on a chair.
"Mycroft has some sort of pressure plate that would activate his security if you sat on that chair. I took a tedious amount of time trying to disable most of his cameras; Lestrade, I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
Lestrade hopped out of the chair as quickly as he could and sighed, "Sherlock, I'm here because I'm concerned about you."
"Here is my sound explanation; I always appreciate it when Mycroft kidnaps me," Sherlock sarcastically announced to the CCTV camera in between some old books making sure that his bothersome brother would get his message. Lestrade turned his head in that direction also and saw the small device, he walked over there and picked up the tiny camera.
"Sherlock, does he always put these around everywhere?"
"I believe there's also one in your house, specifi-"
"Stop," Lestrade made a face, "I do not need to know where that creep of your brother puts his cameras."
The detective grinned manically and took the camera from Lestrade, crushing it. Now that Mycroft's only digital spy was out of the way, Sherlock could finally ask Lestrade some questions.
"Where's John?" Sherlock plopped himself onto Mycroft's chair again.
"I'm not your informant, Sherlock," Lestrade growled.
Sherlock being restless stood up again, decided to ignore that statement, and continued to rifle through the British Government's papers. Five hours, twelve minutes and three seconds since he's last seen his blonde companion.
Sherlock shook his head and frowned, there was a waxy paper that was sticking out from beneath the files. Sherlock pulled out the piece article and blinked.
"Hey, isn't that a kid's drawing?" Lestrade peered at the drawing.
It was a messy drawing of six stick-figures on a lawn with a smiley face sun on the right corner, on the left-hand corner written in black was Mycroft's name. One the page were two tall stick-figures which Sherlock quickly deduced was a rough sketch of their parents, but there were four kids.
The inanimate scrawny baby-like object, he guessed, was himself and that the other boy was Mycroft. The two other children however were a blonde boy and a dark-haired girl.
"What's that?," Lestrade pointed at the scribbles on top of the heads, "Are they birds?"
"No, George you idiot. They're words, Anderson has really dropped your IQ to even lower levels."
Sherlock ignored Lestrade's protest about what was the correct way to say his name; why does it matter, they all started with a G anyway.
The consulting detective reached for his pocket lens to further inspect the names of the boy and girl's on the pastel artwork; John and Anthea. Suddenly, Sherlock's legs gave out from underneath him as a new wave of pain crashed onto his body.
Good thing Lestrade quickly grabbed Sherlock before he dropped onto the ground, Sherlock's head was pounding.
: Remember, 'Lock. There's a hidden treasure behind there. NO, Sherlock, I meant the paper.
"Lestrade, the paper. There's something behind it," Sherlock gripped the DI's shoulder in pain. Lestrade glanced down at the pitiful sight in disdain, but seeing Sherlock's desperate look he reached down to grab the fallen article.
Lestrade flipped the paper around and blinked vaguely at it, Sherlock frowned. "What does it say Inspector?"
"Sherlock, there's nothing. Hey-!"
The consulting detective had ripped the paper away from Lestrade, and glared at it. Nothing. That wasn't right, there was something and the brunet growled frustratedly at the paper. He flipped it upside-down, right-side up, and started to tilt the page all over the place until Lestrade snatched the paper away and ripped it.
"What the heck do you think you're doing?" Sherlock yelled at the DI.
"Shut up, look what happened," Lestrade pointed at the two halves which now had a grey hue on it. Sherlock lifted them and realised there were now words on the back, he stared at Lestrade in disbelief who shrugged obliviously.
"I dealt with a case like this before, something to do with a stolen government experiment and invisible ink."
The detective inspector smirked. "That was long before you entered my life."
The grey words which had magically appeared, even to Sherlock's frustration, looked as if they were written by a child. Except Sherlock did not recognise whose writing it was.
It definitely wasn't Mycroft's since the words weren't as loopy and looked a bit jagged, plus Sherlock would recognise his brother's hand writing from any age. The handwriting though was definitely creepy, they gave a strange vibe which sent chills down his spine. The detective glanced at Lestrade and noticed that the DI visibly shivered and read the words.
Dear Sherly,
Behind the memories lies an extra door Nowhere to go
Sherlock blinked at the paper and read it's counterpart;
Too bad it's locked, but there's a key that's what keeps us free.
Below the scribble was a crude smiley face or at least it looked like one, Sherlock hoped. The consulting detective put both pages down next by one another on the desk and sat down, the drawing most likely belonged to Mycroft and by the looks of it had never been touched for over 20 years.
Then how did they know Sherlock would find it?
"It says, Nowhere. What's that supposed to mean?" Lestrade gave Sherlock a confused expression.
Sherlock became silent as he quickly dove into his mind palace in search for anything that would piece together the clues on the map, briefly opening tabs on certain information. Nothing, the whole thing was fraud-
"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Why, is it where your toys?" Lestrade snickered. Sherlock gave him a death glare which shut him up, and briefly glanced at the map memorizing each and every turn. The map was closely related to his childhood, Sherlock could feel it. Lestrade just shrugged his shoulders. "Sherlock, maybe we should drop this nonsense. It is a child's drawing after all."
"No, but it is a child's game," Sherlock remembers and smirks. "We're going to find out."
Sherlock knew where to go, back to Baker Street. The consulting detective had to get out of Mycroft's insufferable office, but how. A couple of possible ways popped into his head but most of them included crossing paths with Mycroft's face, Sherlock scowled at the ideas.
The detective had subconsciously put himself in a particular area of the room. Of course.
"Sherlock, no. We are not going through a window."
"Make me," Sherlock stated as he lifted up a chair.
"Really, Lestrade you should run around more," Sherlock said aloud to the DI who was struggling to keep up with the younger consultant.
"If... you weren't born with springy legs!" Lestrade muttered aloud once he caught up.
"Problem?" Sherlock mentally grinned as the DI groaned and leaned on a wall that separated them from the British Government's men. Maybe they should do this more often, it was already amusing watching Lestrade struggle to keep up with him.
The consulting detective huffed and straightened out his signature coat, then adjusted his scarf before going up the steps to 221b. Only to stop when noticed a note was taped onto the door. The consulting detective took the slip of paper and flipped it open.
A KEY
Inside there was a little pouch of dirt, finally, a hint.
Within seconds Sherlock was inside the living room, Lestrade grudgingly tailed the detective upstairs and waited patiently for the genius to say something as he looked through a microscope.
"Found it!" Sherlock.
"Good, and we're not going."
Sherlock glared at the detective inspector. "Don't patronize me, you know better than to do that."
"But I've known you for five years, and yet John asked me."
"John?" Sherlock asked softly without realizing it. The whole specimen in the slide forgotten over the mysteriously familiar blond who knew of his past. Lestrade cracked his neck and tilted his head, trying to recall whatever John told him.
"He distinctly told me that, when you're hyped-up you tend to trip over a ton of cracks," Lestrade pointed out. "And you fell on your face while getting here."
Sherlock patted his left cheekbone and stubbornly stated. "Not."
"Twice."
Sherlock groaned.
Upon arriving to the university building, it was already evening and the sun could barely be seen. This area was different though, the place was completely void, dark, and vacant.
For a second Sherlock wished he had brought a companion other than Lestrade. He quickly shook the thought out of his head and nodded to the police detective. They were ready.
Both opened slammed open the door to a long hallway. Halfway down the hollow interior, the lights flickered out.
"Oh, I see the hero is already here."
Sherlock snapped his head up, as Lestrade also hurriedly reached for his gun, at the direction of the voice. Out in the darkness, stood a dark silhouette of a man.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock replied calmly.
"You were supposed to come alone."
"That's not what the paper said," Sherlock snorted. The figure in front of the duo seemed to become agitated as if this was all against his plan. Then he stiffened up, Sherlock sensed something wasn't right. A shape of a gun was distinctly seen in the shadow's hand, pointed at his own head.
"No!" the detective instinctively ran toward the figure. The one key, to his memories his child, everything would be gone if that man did not provide him the clue.
"Sherlock, stop!" Lestrade commanded.
"Opsie. Bam!" The silhouette suddenly slumped and disappeared, Sherlock heard a cry behind him.
He spun around, his eyes widened when he saw the detective inspector had disappeared. No, this wasn't supposed to happen; Lestrade was supposed to be there, there was no corridor or room for him to disappear to. For the first time since his childhood, Sherlock felt a sense of dread creep into his spine.
"Oh, don't worry. Little Gregory's sleeping."
"Where are you?" Sherlock swallowed. "What are you?"
... ...
"I'm your real Friend." The darkness engulfed them.
A/N: I have to much dialogue and not enough action.
Don't worry, John will be with Sherlock very soon.