Chapter 2: Experiment

In a matter of minutes, they were across the street and ahead of the man and the boy by about 30 metres, pausing in front of a jewelry shop with a large window display. Sherlock looked critically at his reflection and plunged his fingers in his hair, stirring his curls up into an even more wild mess than they already were from the wind. Then he grabbed John's shoulders and shoved him to face the glass, positioning him directly in front of a collection of gaudy sapphire necklaces. He turned John's jacket collar up and glanced quickly up the street.

"All right," he said quietly. "Just stand there, nicely inconspicuous. Eyes on the jewelry. Pretend you're window shopping for your girlfriend or something. When they get up here in a minute, I'm going to stop them and ask for directions. Listen in and see what you can see from the reflection, but don't turn around and don't move until we've finished and they've walked off. Once they're past you a short ways, meet me behind those telephone booths down there, but walk casually in case he looks. Ready?"

"Okay," John agreed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before Sherlock was gone. He'd pattered away to John's right, in the same direction their targets were walking, but after about 30 seconds John saw him out of the corner of his eye, meandering back the opposite way, and so towards the approaching pair. He was glancing around at the buildings and street signs, looking lost, and stopping now and then in apparent confusion, which, John knew, was so that he could run into the man and ostensibly kidnapped child as close to the jewelry store window as possible. In another moment, John could see Sherlock reflected in the glass, and leaned forward studiously to appear as if he were considering the shiny baubles, his heart rate speeding up a little as the sandy haired bloke and the frightened boy appeared a moment later.

"Um, excuse me. Excuse me, sorry, d'you know where I could find Hudson Street?"

Sherlock walked up to the couple, smiling hopefully, his voice a shade or two higher than its usual rich baritone, probably, John figured, to make himself seem less intimidating. The man paused in surprise, seeming quite nervous at being addressed, and clutched the boy's hand tightly in his as he seemed to almost lean away from Sherlock. The boy, for his part, stood watching the newcomer with wide eyes and glanced between the two men, swallowing hard.

"No, sorry, never heard of it," the man said quickly, starting to walk again and tugging the boy along. Sherlock stepped directly in front of them, halting their progress abruptly.

"Then maybe you've heard of the Black Piper Pub?" he suggested. "I'm supposed to meet my mates and I just can't find the place."

"No, I don't think - " the man began, trying to step around Sherlock's tall frame.

"They told me it was right off Hudson," Sherlock interrupted, moving slightly sideways to once again thwart his adversary's attempts to get away. He now sounded slightly tipsy, and John had to work very hard not to giggle. He kept his eyes focussed mostly on the boy, although he doubted he was going to see anything that Sherlock wasn't already seeing in ten times the detail. The child was smiling in a trembly manner, seeming amused too by Sherlock's performance, but as the two men talked above him, he began to edge away slowly from the bloke holding his hand.

"I don't know," the man was saying in an annoyed tone, his nervousness somewhat abated by Sherlock's slightly drunken demeanor. "Ask someone else, we're in a hurry - "

"Oh, that's fine," Sherlock said airily and seemingly obliviously, not moving from his spot. He suddenly turned to address the child. "Do you know where it is?" he asked pleasantly.

The man's reaction was immediate. His expression instantly became hostile, and he stepped quickly between the boy and Sherlock before the former could give out any sort of answer.

"My... son does not know where to find a pub!" he snapped. "Now go ask someone else and stop bothering us!"

He stepped quickly to the side and started to move to past Sherlock, but the detective staggered slightly and bumped into him, knocking the man off balance and briefly halting the pair again.

"Sorry," Sherlock apologised as the two of them swayed. "I've been doing that lately, I'm not sure why..."

"Possibly because you're drunk!" the man hissed angrily, righting himself and shoving past Sherlock, not to be stopped this time.

Sherlock let them go, watching after them with a confused expression, as if he didn't understand why the man had gotten so annoyed. The boy looked back at him regretfully, and then his reflection disappeared from the window, and John watched Sherlock alone stumble off down the street before his reflection too, disappeared. John stayed staring at the window for several more moments, having practically forgotten about the jewelry while listening to the conversation. It was really all rather ugly, John thought, and he certainly wouldn't pay 1,500 pounds for a pendant that looked like a five year-old had designed it in art class. Slowly, he shook his head, as if deciding against the purchase, and wandered off down the street, glancing at the other shops as if they might give him inspiration for his faux gift for a faux girl.

He reached the telephone booths in less than a minute and ducked behind them to find Sherlock already there, the drunken confusion gone from his face and his eyes gazing avidly at his phone as he typed and scrolled, clearly looking for something.

"So what did you - ?" John began, but Sherlock cut him off gleefully.

"Did you see how he reacted when I talked to the boy? Jumping in front of him like that, he couldn't have been more obvious. And he stammered before he called the child 'son' - he had to think about that for a moment. Now, I'm just confirming that - aha!"

Sherlock grinned triumphantly and held his phone out for John to see.

He had found a news website with a missing child report, nine year-old James Merridoc, last seen with his uncle, William Merridoc, who had also disappeared. The boy's parents feared William had taken little Jimmy in order to pressure them to give him money, as he was badly broke due to his gambling addiction and they had refused to help him. No ransom demand had been made yet, but Jimmy had been missing now for almost three days, and his desperate parents were begging for information from anyone who might have seen him, offering a reward of 100 pounds and hoping no harm had come to him. The pictures displayed matched perfectly.

"How did you - ?" John started to ask, only for Sherlock to interrupt him again.

"I picked his pocket before he left," the detective explained, shoving a worn wallet into John's hands that was filled with credit cards and had nothing but a five pound note lodged in the billfold. "His driver's license is in there - I just looked his name up online and there he is! He's even the boy's uncle," Sherlock added smugly, smiling at his phone as he typed something else in. John searched through William Merridoc's wallet and pulled out the driver's license, glancing at it briefly before putting it back in. His picture was displayed, unsmiling, beside his birth date and the organ donor symbol.

"Great," John said. "Now we know. And now you're a pickpocket," he added less enthusiastically. "Hopefully that won't cause any major problems when Merridoc gets arrested?"

Sherlock snorted.

"We'll be returning a boy to his parents - the police are hardly going to care. But it doesn't matter, anyway - you're going to give it back."

"I'm what?" John asked, as Sherlock thumbed the website closed, shoved his phone back in his pocket, and hurried out from behind the telephone booths.

"Come on, John, we'll lose them!" he said sharply, rushing back along the pavement toward the jewelry shop, his eyes searching amid the flowing crowd for William Merridoc and his nephew Jimmy.

And once again, John hurried after him, doing his best to follow him in the crush of people, his brain whizzing back and forth as it tried to decipher what Sherlock was planning. Sherlock didn't slow down for him this time, and it took John several moments to catch up, his shorter legs moving rapidly to match his flatmate's long strides. Sherlock was sliding through the crowd like a snake through grass, practically dancing as he avoided shoppers and mothers with strollers and a university student on a bike, his whole attention on finding his quarry again before they moved somewhere beyond reach.

"Sherlock," John said as he moved swiftly in his friend's wake, "Why am I giving it back?"

Oh, Sherlock might want John to hand it back so he'd be out of trouble, but his fingerprints would still be on the wallet if anyone cared to look, and they might care once they started to ask how Sherlock had recognised the Merridocs. Although the two of them could always claim that they'd found it on the pavement, looked through it to see whose it was, and then searched for his name on the internet before happening to see him in the crowd. The police might buy it. But then Sherlock didn't seem to care if they knew he'd pickpocketed Merridoc or not. No, no, John imagined his giving back the wallet was some part of a grander scheme, some secret plan Sherlock had that apparently didn't yet involve calling the police...

"There!" Sherlock said suddenly, stopping so quickly that John crashed into him, and then looking annoyed at being jostled. He pointed into the crowd of people again, and John just glimpsed the Merridocs past a couple of old men who seemed to be laughing over some joke. "Good, I didn't imagine they'd get away in less than three minutes, but it's better if we can see them."

"Sherlock," John repeated, as Sherlock quickly started walking again, relaxing slightly now that their targets were back in sight and slowing just a hair in deference to John's smaller stature. "Sherlock, are you planning to call the police?"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said impatiently, waving that suggestion away with a hand as he slipped between a bicycle rack and woman on her mobile phone. "But later - right now, we're running out of time."

"Running out of time?"

John felt a spark of cold fear light in the back of his mind. Did Sherlock think William was about to harm his nephew? John hadn't seen anything to indicate that, but he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. Was William planning to beat the boy and then send the pictures to his parents to help persuade them? Or had the parents been wrong about his intentions and his real plan was to murder their son? That seemed unlikely, since it had been three days and the boy was still alive, but then John hadn't even suspected William Merridoc of kidnapping twenty minutes ago. What did Sherlock mean they were running out of time? What had he seen, once again, that John had failed to?

"Tube station," Sherlock said, answering John's thoughts as they hurried along.

"Sorry, what?" John asked, his brain taking a moment to catch up.

"They're heading for the Tube station," Sherlock explained tightly, unconsciously quickening his steps and forcing John to work harder to keep up again. "That almost has to be where they're going and they'll reach it in just a few minutes. If we let them get in there, there's less room to maneuver and we might lose them. And that's Oxford Circus. There are three different lines they can get on, and no matter which one they pick they can change at the very next stop. We don't know when or where they're getting off, I don't have enough data to deduce that, and police reaction will likely be too slow to do any good. All we'll able to tell the police is that we saw the Merridocs around here and that if they search the entire Tube system, they might find them before they get off."

"You took his wallet," John pointed out. "Doesn't that mean you've got his Oyster card?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Wasn't one in there. It's possible he keeps it separate, or he's planning to pay with change – I felt some in his pocket when I got the wallet out."

"Well, won't he turn round when he goes for it and notices his wallet's gone?"

Sherlock shrugged, dodging around a yapping Terrier puppy.

"Possibly. Perhaps not. We can't afford to take that chance."

"If we tell the station workers, they can stop the trains," John said breathlessly, wishing Sherlock would slow down.

"If they can do it fast enough," Sherlock pointed out. "And besides, if they do that, Merridoc will realise someone's found him and we might end up with a hostage situation on our hands. I don't think he's armed, but I couldn't tell for certain, and if he can't take a train car hostage, he can always threaten to snap the boy's neck."

Damn, Sherlock had a point.

"So what are we going to do?" John demanded, as Sherlock ducked unexpectedly into a side street and stopped. John leaned over against the wall briefly to rest as Sherlock produced William Merridoc's wallet.

"You," Sherlock said, pushing the wallet into John's hands, "Are going to be a distraction."

Less than two minutes later, John was hurrying up the street again, this time alone and clutching William Merridoc's wallet tightly in his sweaty palm. He was getting rather tired of rushing about - they'd already been walking for an hour before this whole debacle and now John's feet were starting to complain about his mad dashes here and there. Oh, well. If this worked, he was just going to have to run around even more, so he supposed he'd better get used to it. Up ahead, he could see William and Jimmy still moving determinedly toward the Tube station. Well, William was moving determinedly - Jimmy was just trying to keep up and probably wasn't anymore keen on entering the Tube station than John was to let them. His eyes traced the narrow side street coming up and he slowed briefly to give the Merridocs more time to get near it. He was supposed to time the encounter so that he got William's attention just before they reached the street, where Sherlock, damn his long legs, was probably already waiting.

Sherlock couldn't give back the wallet, he'd pointed out, because they'd already seen him, and so that task would fall to John and his mediocre acting skills. John couldn't completely shift his personality and character the way Sherlock could, but the part he'd be playing wasn't too far off from his own self, so it ought to be all right. The main problem, they'd agreed, would be to get William to let go of Jimmy's hand for a few moments, and John only hoped that he could distract William sufficiently to make Sherlock's idea work. It was all about catching him off guard, Sherlock had said - this sort of thing worked all the time for stage magicians and the like, because if you got people thinking about something other than what they should be thinking about, you could manipulate their reflexes and get them walk right into what you wanted them to do. The Merridocs drew closer to the alley, and John sped up again, now only about fifteen feet behind them, another couple of seconds and he could shout...

"Hey! Hey, uh, sir! 'Xcuse me! Hey, mister!"

Just as they reached the edge of the tiny side street, Merridoc realised that it was he who was being hailed and stiffened, turning around slowly as, no doubt, he thought for a brief moment that he'd been found out. Well, he had been found out, and if he'd run their back up plan was to just have Sherlock tackle him, but fortunately as they had predicted, Merridoc's fears were soothed a moment later as he caught sight of John, no spark of recognition in his eyes, and no anger or suspicion, just honest-looking John waving his hand in the air and apparently not even knowing the name of the man he was addressing. John hurried the last couple of feet to Merridoc and paused for a moment with his hand against the brick wall of a clothing store, making a minor show of getting his breath back and holding a finger in the air to indicate that, in a moment, he did have something to say.

It was while John was giving his little breathing performance that Sherlock leaned out just a hair from where he had flattened himself against the wall of the alley, or at least as best he'd been able to while crouching, and found Jimmy Merridoc to be standing barely two feet away from him. It was with his left hand that William Merridoc was clutching his nephew, presumably his dominant, and as he'd turned around to see who John was and what he wanted, the boy had switched from standing on the street side of the pavement to standing on the shop side, with his uncle now between him and the cars that sped down Oxford Street. Sherlock could have reached out and touched him. For the moment, neither the boy nor his uncle had noticed Sherlock, silently poking his head out just above the level of William Merridoc's knees, and Sherlock prayed that no passers by would notice either, and spoil the whole thing. John naturally was doing everything in his power to avoid looking at him, and now smiled disarmingly at William as he finished his breathing exercises.

"Sorry," John said, doing an admirable job of continuing to pant, "But I couldn't get your attention back there and I had to run..."

"Er, that's fine," William said uncertainly. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the Tube station, not fifty feet away. "...Can I help you?" he said quickly.

Target engaged! Now Sherlock could only hope that the boy was as mature as he seemed.

"Jimmy," Sherlock hissed, his voice not rising above a whisper. The boy started and glanced around, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Sherlock not an arm's length from where he was standing. Sherlock held a finger to his lips, and Jimmy looked briefly confused before his face lit up with hope, clearly understanding this peculiar stranger's aim. He nodded without saying a word, his eyes flicking briefly between John talking to his uncle, and Sherlock grinning at him conspiratorily from where he crouched at the mouth of the alley. Excellent. The boy was clever - he knew the second stranger was a plant. William didn't notice this revelation, his slightly nervous attention all on John.

"Well, I hope I'm helping you," the doctor in question said just a little bit loudly, reaching into his jacket pocket with a jovial manner. He was channeling Mike Stamford, Sherlock thought with amusement, and as John pulled the wallet out to show to William, Jimmy, to Sherlock's delight, took a careful step sideways, drawing nearer to the detective but without jostling the hand his uncle still clung to like a limpet. "I think you got pickpocketed back there," John explained, waving the wallet in the air. "I was across the street when I saw that guy bump into you, and a minute later there he is looking through this."

"What?" William exclaimed in shock, recognising the wallet.

Under the cover the conversation happening above, Sherlock indicated the man with his eyes.

"When he lets go of you," he all but mouthed to Jimmy. "Come with me."

The boy nodded again, obviously trying to contain his excitement. As glad as he was to be rescued, and perhaps as exciting as it might be to a nine year-old to be snatched away from under his kidnapper's nose, Sherlock could tell he understood the gravity of the situation and didn't want to ruin their chances. Children were often surprising in what they knew and comprehended, and Sherlock tried hard not to underestimate them as so many adults did. That trait not infrequently helped him solve cases, and now it was helping him to thwart William Merridoc's plans.

"Yeah, the way he was looking at it, it didn't look like his," John went on. "And when I noticed him talking to you, he seemed like he was drunk, but when he was going through your wallet he sure looked sober enough."

William ran his free hand down his face.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "I can't believe I fell for..."

"Oh, it's not your fault," John said good-naturedly. "These creeps practice their act all the time, it's a living to them."

"Wait, how did you get it?" William asked abruptly, suddenly realising with some suspicion that if he'd been pickpocketed, the pickpocket should have his wallet. John rolled his eyes.

"The idiot dropped it," he explained. "I was heading over to confront him, and then he shoved it back in his pocket. But he didn't get it in properly and it fell out. I picked it up off the pavement. Here."

John handed William the wallet and the man took it, looking grateful.

"Well, thanks," he said. "Did... did you call the police?"

John shook his head.

"No, he disappeared down a side street a few moments later, and I wanted to be sure I caught up with you. He's probably long gone. But I could call them if you wanted...?"

"Oh no, that's not necessary," William said hurriedly. "No, I'm sure you're right, he's gone and there's no sense bothering them about it if I have the wallet back..."

He started to put it away. Sherlock tensed as John delivered his next line perfectly, just the right mix of casual and concerned.

"Oh, but you ought to check to be sure he didn't take anything out," John advised. "It was hard to tell, and he still might have made off with one of your credit cards..."

Sherlock could almost see John mentally holding his breath, hoping for the right reaction, thinking come on, come on... because Sherlock was thinking it, too.

William paused in putting the wallet away and nodded, realising that John was right, and quite eager to make sure that a pickpocket wasn't off trying to spend what little money he might have left - and giving away one of his latest locations to the police in doing so.

"Of course, thank you," he said fervently, lifting his wallet back out and opening it, starting to flip through the cards.

It was an action he could not perform one-handed, at least not without concentrating and fiddling around with his fingers.

And he wasn't concentrating, he wasn't thinking at all, his only concern right at the moment was checking his wallet to make sure everything was there...

...And Jimmy Merridoc now stood, completely free as his uncle leafed carefully through his many credit cards.

"Now," Sherlock said in the barest whisper.

Jimmy took a breath, looked up at his uncle, and edged silently into the alley next to Sherlock, who melted back behind the brick in a heartbeat, taking the boy with him.

Jimmy opened his mouth as they stepped quickly and quietly down the tiny street, but Sherlock put his finger to his lips again and shook his head. Jimmy nodded solemnly and stayed silent as Sherlock directed him to the next corner and they turned off onto another alley. Sherlock was listening intently for any sign that Merridoc had caught on yet, ready to run like hell if he heard one. But so far, all was quiet - they were making a clean getaway, and would be able to talk soon. Sherlock wanted to grab of hold Jimmy's hand, to be sure the boy would stay with him when they stepped out of the small back alleys and returned to busier streets, but he was hesitant to initiate that sort of contact when that had been precisely how William had been keeping hold of him. If Sherlock reached for his hand, Jimmy might reflexively feel threatened, and end up running from him, which would of course cause further problems.

All was still quiet behind them as they hurried out of the alley and into Hanover Square, the new crowds of people, smaller than the ones on Oxford Street but no less busy, a reassuring sight. They could lose themselves soon enough, especially since Sherlock knew the best routes to immediately confuse any pursuers. And of course John would do his best to keep William busy and off on the wrong trail.

"We can talk now," he informed Jimmy gently, pulling out his phone. Jimmy looked up at him with wide eyes, still a little shaken at what he'd done, but smiling broadly.

"Are you here to take me back to Mummy and Daddy?" he asked.

Sherlock paused before raising the phone to dial.

"Yes," he said earnestly. "And right now I'm going to call the police, so they can come and get your uncle, who is hopefully still attached to my friend back there."

"Cool!" Jimmy said enthusiastically. "Am I gonna get to ride in a squad car?"

Sherlock smiled - the boy was certainly recovering quickly enough.

"Perhaps," he answered, daring to place a hand on Jimmy's back to steer him toward Grosvenor Brook. The boy didn't protest the gesture or react adversely, which was encouraging. Sherlock found Lestrade's number on his contacts list and pressed to call the Detective Inspector. Three rings and the phone was picked up.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade answered, clearly surprised by the call. Sherlock rarely called Lestrade when he wasn't working a case for him, and he hadn't even spoken to anyone from Scotland Yard in a week.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said briskly. "I need the nearest available squad car to Oxford Street, just by the Oxford Circus Tube stop to be precise. William Merridoc's there with John, although they'll probably be moving pretty soon."

"William who?" Lestrade asked. "Who's he? What's he done?"

"William Merridoc," Sherlock repeated. "Kidnapped his nephew - who is with me right now, by the way. He's fine. But I want his uncle arrested."

Sherlock put a little grim emphasis on the last words. Lestrade agreed readily enough.

"Yeah, okay, lemme put you on hold..."

There was a click and the line went quiet in Sherlock's ear.

Jimmy was look up at him as they walked.

"Are you a policeman?" he asked, his brow crinkling slightly as he tried to make sense of what Sherlock was.

"No." Sherlock shook his head and grinned. "I just know a lot of them." It suddenly occurred to him that he failed to introduce himself to the boy, who naturally wouldn't know his name. But it would be good for the boy to know it - it would make things more personable, and although Jimmy seemed to trust him completely at present, it wouldn't hurt to solidify things a bit. "I'm Sherlock," he said amicably, switching the phone to his left hand so he could extend his right down to shake.

"Jimmy," the boy said as he accepted Sherlock's hand and shook it firmly, seeming pleased to know his rescuer's name.

"And I'm a detective," Sherlock elaborated as they reached Grosvner Brook and turned down it. "That's how I knew who you were. I could tell something was wrong when I saw you trying to pick up that paper."

Jimmy eyebrows went into his hairline.

"You're a detective?" he said excitedly. "Awesome! And you knew just by looking? Nobody else did!"

"That's why I'm a detective," Sherlock said in a self-satisfied tone. It was nice to have his skill appreciated by someone other than John. "You wanted the paper to write on, yes?"

"I was going to see if I could find a pencil too, and then slip a note to somebody who looked smart. Not like those stupid girls," Jimmy said with a childish grimace, sticking his tongue out in disgust. He must be referring to the teenagers who'd passed him not long before Sherlock's drunken bystander act. Sherlock laughed.

"Yes, they did look like idiots, didn't they?" he agreed, putting his hand briefly on Jimmy's shoulder to keep him from crashing into an older woman with groceries. Again Jimmy didn't seem bothered by the gesture, and Sherlock considered that now it might be all right to take hold of his hand. His phone suddenly crackled back to life in his ear.

"Okay, squad car sent," Lestrade reported. "I just looked up the Merridoc case - he's been gone for three days, the parents are frantic. How's the kid?"

"I told you, he's fine," Sherlock reiterated. "We're both perfectly all right. It's John who's still back there with William. He's - oh."

Sherlock suddenly realised. He leaned down slightly to speak to Jimmy.

"Did your uncle have any weapons?" he asked. "A knife, or a gun?"

Jimmy nodded.

"He had a knife from the kitchen in his jacket pocket," he said solemnly. "On the inside. He said he would hurt me with it if I told anybody he took me."

For the first time since his daring escape, Jimmy looked uncomfortable.

"Damn," Sherlock muttered. Stupid! He should have asked earlier... "He's got a knife," he told Lestrade. "I'm going to text John."

"Okay, but where are - " Lestrade started to ask, but Sherlock hung up on him and started to text immediately. Lestrade's questions weren't important.

John was.

To Be Continued

Amusing rejected ideas for getting Merridoc to let go of his nephew's hand, along with my comments upon the conception of those ideas...

piss him off so much he lets go of it

make him sneeze?

make him let go of Jimmy so the kid can give John a hug? NO

pretend to rob him so he puts his hands up? then why are we giving the damn wallet back? plus, if he has a weapon, that might prompt him to get it out

shake his hand! (there were eight exclamation points on that, but the doc editor edited them out)

if he looks through the wallet, won't he want to use both hands?