Sherlock and John were already out on the street when Lestrade pulled up to the curb. The inspector glanced from one man to the other. He gave them both a stern look.
"And just where do you think you two are going?" Lestrade demanded.
"Out." Was Sherlock's terse reply.
Lestrade pointed towards the building before pulling his coat back to shove his hands in his trouser pockets. "Care to explain?"
"This is the flat of Emma Herrington, who has recently gone missing," the detective replied, giving a cursory once over of the inspector.
"And your connection?" the inspector questioned.
John spoke up."She's my girlfriend."
"Really?" Lestrade said in surprise, turning to John.
John frowned as he crossed his arms. "Yes, really. W-why do you sound surprised?"
"Oh, I...Nothing, never mind." Lestrade shrugged it off.
"Right, well...I'm not gay. I have a girlfriend." John answered defensively. "And, we are in a bit of a hurry."
Sherlock gave John a subtle shake of the head. He understood his friend was worried and impatient to find Emma, but to tell Lestrade, or any officer, that they were in a hurry was a bad idea.
"In a hurry? Her flat is in disarray? And now you're fleeing the scene of the crime. Is that it?" the inspector prodded, pulling a small book out and making some notes.
"What? No! Look, we, that is Emma and I, were going to go out. She didn't answer the com, nor her mobile. The hospital wasn't much help either." he answered truthfully.
"How did you get in?" Lestrade glanced back at the forensics team that was now setting up.
John's eyes darted over to Sherlock, who was currently looking away. "Uh, a couple let me in the building. When I knocked on Emma's door, a key fell from the moulding."
"So, you just helped yourself..." Lestrade gave a smirk.
John said in exasperation, "Well, yeah. I mean...I was worried!"
"No friends or family to call?" he continued to question.
John shook his head. "None...well, I mean, there is the one, but she hasn't returned my call."
"I'll need the name and number." Lestrade motioned to one of the officers to join them. Lestrade continued, "And how long had you been in her flat before calling the police?"
John's brow furrowed in concentration. "Um, not more than five minutes, I suppose."
"You suppose." The female officer stood nearby, listening. Lestrade crossed his arms. "You saw her place, the mess, and waited five minutes before calling the police?"
John stammered, "N-no, I didn't wait. I was in shock. I called Sherlock, then called you."
"So, you called your friend first before the police." He looked over at Sherlock. The consulting detective was distracted, concentrating heavily on the steps and entrance to the building.
"It's not like that. I didn't know what to do." John looked to his friend for help, but was unable to gain his attention.
Lestrade glared at John. "The place has been ransacked and you didn't know to call the police first?"
"No, I meant...she's missing and Sherlock is the only one who can find her." John scrambled to explain.
The inspector growled, obviously annoyed at the comment. "The police aren't capable?"
"I, uh, that's not what I meant!" John waved his hands in surrender. He was growing frustrated. I should probably shut up now.
"You and Sherlock are quite close. Did he have a look in there before we arrived?" Lestrade looked sideways at the detective.
"Well, yeah, I suppose so. What does that have-" John frowned, following the inspector's gaze.
"Did either of you touch anything?" the inspector pushed.
"No, of course not!" John snapped, swallowing hard. Emma's mobile was still in his pocket.
"Lestrade." Sherlock shot him a warning.
Lestrade shook his head in defiance. "Sherlock, you know as well as I that he is a suspect."
"A suspect?" John said incredulously.
"Yeah. A suspect." Lestrade stepped towards John as if prepared to meet any challenge.
"Lestrade, you know he is not a suspect." Sherlock sighed dramatically.
"I can't rule that out yet, especially on your word. You two being as close as you are..." Lestrade responded.
"Just what are you implying?" John snapped, fists clenched.
"Nothing...nothing.." Lestrade shook his head.
John turned away, then stepped back towards the inspector. "I'm not gay!"
He looked at John. "That wasn't what I was implying. Perhaps your friend, a skilled detective, might have helped you either hide or plant evidence."
"Ridiculous." Sherlock scoffed.
"Regardless, you both need to answer questions. John, you'll go with the sergeant here. Sherlock, you're with me. We will do this separately. I don't want any contamination of interview questions. Understood?" Lestrade said firmly.
"Sherlock, I'm not sure you should be involved in this investigation," Lestrade said. "We've only just begun to process the crime scene. We have nothing to go on as of yet."
"Precisely. You have nothing. You need me." Sherlock answered with a sneer.
"We don't always need you." Lestrade retorted.
The detective gave him a knowing glance, moving towards the building as if to continue his investigation.
"Stop." The inspector blocked his path. "Your friend there," He pointed behind him in the direction John had been lead for questioning. "He's involved, which means you shouldn't be. Until we can rule him out-"
"As what? A suspect? Honestly, Lestrade. Does your stupidity know no bounds?" Sherlock said with impatience. "He was with me, in the flat, until just an hour ago. He would not have had the time to do this. Besides, he actually likes this woman."
"With you, did you say?" Lestrade gave a smirk. "Great, then you won't mind answering a few of my questions.
"Lestrade." Sherlock warned, giving a dirty look.
"I'm only following procedure. What would you have me do? Allow you free reign of the flat? Unlikely." His smile broadened. "Answer my questions, politely. The sooner you finish, the sooner I might let you go over the crime scene."
Sherlock grumbled and sulked.
"Your name?"
Sherlock glared at the inspector, but said nothing.
"Your name?" Lestrade repeated with more emphasis and less patience. "Sherlock." he waited.
The detective clenched his jaw. "Sherlock Holmes."
"Address?" he asked.
"Is this really necessary? You know where I live." Sherlock sighed in frustration, then continued a little louder, "You all know where I live."
"Address?" Lestrade repeated, his face deadpan.
Sherlock sighed again. "221B Baker Street."
"Occupation?"
"Oh, come on Lestrade!" Sherlock said in exasperation.
Snickering could be heard from around the corner. "Alright, alright." Lestrade chuckled before moving on to more detailed questions.
"A young woman has been kidnapped and you find this to be funny?" Sherlock asked tensely. "Lestrade, you know me. Let me work."
Lestrade watched him for a moment. Looking around them, he lowered his voice, "Do you really believe this is a kidnapping and not..."
"All evidence points to it being a kidnapping." Sherlock relaxed his posture. "Leave me to locate her first. I'll explain later."
The inspector eyed Sherlock for a moment. "I'm sure I'll regret this. Alright, go. You have 48 hours to find her before I find you."
Sherlock grinned as he turned to collect John. "I only need two."
Lestrade had wanted to ensure the two men could not hear or see one another. So, while Sherlock remained outside with him, John had been escorted inside. The female sergeant lead John to a secluded space within the building to question him. She watched him intently for a moment. Wearing a hat, strands of blonde hair fell into soft curls at the base of her neck. Her blue eyes shown with curiosity.
"Your name?" she asked with a subtle Irish accent.
"John Watson," he said with a sigh.
"Address."
"221B Baker Street," he answered while glancing at the door. All he wanted in that moment was to leave.
"How do you know the victim?" the sergeant asked.
John's eyes darted from upstairs to the entrance of the building. "She...she's my girlfriend." he said distractedly.
The officer wrote a few notes before asking, "How long have you known her?"
John briefly glanced at the notepad the officer was holding, hoping to read it, but her writing was illegible to him. "Um, several months now."
"Several..." Unnoticed by John, the officers eyes traced up and down his body. "How serious was it?"
"Pardon, what? Serious? What does that have to do with anything?" he briefly glanced at her before looking back upstairs.
"Just answer the question, sir." she smirked.
He shook his head. "Right. Well...yeah, yeah it is a bit serious."
She raised an eyebrow. "A bit. Were you in love with her?"
John hesitated. "It's not like I asked her to marry me, but..."
She waited. When he did not continue, she pushed, "Sir?"
John sighed. "Yes, it is serious. I am in love with her. We are dating exclusively."
"Last you saw her?" the officer asked as she took down a few notes.
"I, uh...I saw her three days ago. Spoke with her on the mobile a few hours ago. I was going to take her to the Blue Elephant."
"Good restaurant?" she asked, not bothering to look up at him.
"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven't actu-" he growled in annoyance. "Are we done here?" He had no interest in small talk.
She suppressed a grin. "Almost. Is there anyone else, family or friend, that we might contact?"
He shook his head. "No. No...she has no family and no friends that I know of."
"No other information that might be of assistance?" she watched as he looked around, but seemed to avoid eye contact.
He consider whether or not to mention the stalker, the one man that he and Sherlock had tried to confront, but failed. "No." he finally answered.
"How long have you known Sherlock Holmes?" she continued.
John hesitated for a moment, trying to recall when they have first met. "Six months or so."
"And you trust him?" she asked.
"Yeah...," he cleared his throat. "Yes, I trust him."
"You two are quite close," she commented.
"Sure, I guess," he answered, his frustration growing. He was tired of everyone pointing that fact out.
"What must it be like, living in his shadow?" she mused softly.
At that question, John looked up at her. Her blue eyes shown bright, despite the shadowy hallway. They seemed to penetrate through him and he feared she might read his guilt, knowing that he had possession of the mobile.
Before he could answer the question, she ended the conversation by saying, "Thank you, Dr. Watson. I'll be in touch, should there be anything else. Please do not leave the area."
"Yes, of course." John answered, while being escorted out of the building. "But, I'd like to go-"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible." she turned to re-enter the building.
Lestrade had just finished questioning Sherlock. The forensic team passed by, led by crime scene technician, Anderson. Sherlock stared at Lestrade.
"What?" the inspector asked upon seeing his face.
Sherlock took one look at the crime scene tech, then back at Lestrade.
"Really?" Lestrade asked incredulously.
Sherlock waited, saying nothing.
The inspector sighed heavily. "Fine. Anderson? Wait outside."
"What? Because he says so?" Anderson argued, crossing his arms.
"I didn't say anything." Sherlock corrected.
"But you-" Anderson began.
"Anderson, just do it!" Lestrade snapped, brushing past Sherlock to enter the building. The remainder of the team followed quickly behind. They were doing their best to avoid eye contact with the lead tech, who was furious.
Anderson glared at the detective and grumbled as he walked back towards one of the cars. Satisfied, Sherlock turned towards his friend. John looked pale. Once out on the street, he murmured to John, "We have an address to visit."
John gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you!"
As the two passed under the crime scene tape, Sherlock called out, "Anderson. Stay away from my crime scene."
"Your crime scene? What do you mean by that? I have every right-" Anderson began to argue, but was cut short as Sherlock and John quickly headed down the street.
"Sorry." John called out in apology to Anderson, though there was really no point in doing so.
The cab driver pulled to a stop on the corner of Grove Street and Leeway near Convoys Wharf. Sherlock murmured instructions to the driver before he and John slipped out. A tall brick wall loomed before them, adorned with coils of barbed wire. It was anything but inviting. The wooden gate was worn, but sturdy. It too, was topped with barbed wire.
Peering through a small crack where the gate hinged, John could barely make out two dilapidated buildings to the North, forgotten by men, but not by time. The elements had not been kind to the area. Most brick structures had all but fallen completely down. The click of metal roused John's attention. Sherlock had managed to pick the gate lock within a matter of minutes.
Sherlock proceeded towards the two structures that sat side by side, one of which had only a partial roof intact. John was curious as to why they were not heading towards the larger structures, such as the Olympia warehouse. To him, it seemed a reasonable place to start. As if reading his mind, Sherlock said in a hushed whisper, "She will most likely be in this smaller warehouse. Taking into account the feather, as well as the sediment that would only have been found if several layers have been dug up, the most logical place to start would be there. Those structures cover the most recently halted excavation. The one with the roof exposed to the elements and open for the redstart to nest inside, and currently unused by the public, would make the perfect 'private' spot to hold her."
Their pace, initially quick, slowed dramatically when they drew closer to the buildings. The two men crouched low, though there was little to hide behind if they were spotted. Reaching the first building, they pressed their backs up against the wall and moved along towards the second, less structurally sound building. John's ears and eyes strained, hoping for some evidence that Emma was still alive. At that moment, he was steeling himself for the worst.
A flood of relief washed over him when he picked up the sound of soft crying. "Emma, "John whispered, which was met with Sherlock's raised hand. His body immediately tensed.
Sherlock glanced around the corner quickly, then settle back into hiding. Processing what he saw, he held steady for a moment. His brow furrowed, a frown beginning to form on his lips. To John, this did not bode well. Leaning in close, his warm breath brushed past John's ear as he rapidly whispered instructions. "Do as I say. No questions. With your gun drawn, carefully make your way to Emma. Keep watchful. I do not see the kidnapper. I'll meet you in a few minutes."
"You aren't-" John began, but was stopped by Sherlock's seething look. Once John gave a nod of understanding, Sherlock pushed past him back the way they had come.
Slowly, John moved around the corner. Shadows covered a majority of the inside with only one large beam of light shining down from the North side of the building where the roof had collapsed. After his eyes had a moment to adjust, with gun drawn and at the ready, he carefully stepped over the fallen brick wall and inside the building. A chill ran over his spine, though he was not entirely sure if it was due to the light breeze or his nerves.
Quickly, his eyes scanned from right to left. No movement could be seen. He paused. Only the sound of muffled sobbing could be heard. He crept towards the crying, hugging the wall. One foot over the other, he gingerly stepped. A portion of wall jutted out, blocking his progress. Taking a deep breath, he quickly spun around it, holding his weapon firm. There, in the corner, was a huddled figure, the head covered with what appeared to be a small burlap sack.
"Emma?" John whispered. The crying stopped. The figured turned towards John, then froze. "Emma," he whispered again, cautiously moving towards her. He wanted to make sure it was truly her and not a trap.
"John!" came the muffled replied from Emma.
John moved quickly to Emma's side, putting the safety back on the gun and tucking it behind his back. He pulled the sack from her head to find she had been beaten, having sustained a black eye with a small cut above the cheek bone and a cut lower lip that was bleeding. The collar of her shirt had been ripped, the lower portion was stained with blood.
Taking her trembling hands in his, he managed to release Emma from the ropes that bound her. As soon as her hands were freed, she rushed into his arms, shaking violently. "Shhh, Emma. It's alright. I'm here. I won't let you go."
Hearing movement from outside, John spun around, drawing his P226 SIG and simultaneously switching off the safety. He remained between Emma and the approaching sound. Fingers tensing around the weapon's grip, John took a deep breath, calming his body to ensure accurate aim. He was prepared to kill anyone at that moment who might want to do Emma harm.
Before coming around the corner, Sherlock announced, "It's me, John. Put down your weapon."
John lowered the automatic. "How-"
"Must you ask?" Sherlock asked dryly. He waved a hand, "He's not here." He looked at Emma, who was hiding behind John. "He's not here, Emma. Where is he?"
"I...I...," she shook her head, trying to answer, but soon was overwhelmed with emotion.
Putting his gun away, John turned and pulled Emma back into his arms. Her sobs were muffled as she buried her face in John's shirt. He held her tightly, hoping her fears would ease now that he was there.
"Sherlock, she's in shock." he explained on Emma's behalf, pulling her ever more closely to him.
It took Emma some time to finally calm down enough to walk her back to the street and into the idling cab. John glanced at Sherlock. His friend seemed to be prepared for the ride back to 221B Baker Street, no one said a word. Once they arrived, John carefully led Emma up the seventeen steps and into the living room of their flat. She was still trembling. Lightly tracing her chin, he lifted her face so she was looking at him.
"Let me examine your injuries, hmm?" he asked as gently as possible.
Emma looked away, her lip trembling. "I'm fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her words.
John gave a warm smile, knowing she was doing her best to keep up a brave front. "Emma, you don't have to do that. Not for me. I know you've been hurt. Let me help?"
She looked into his eyes for a moment, only to finally shake her head. "I can't. I just can't."
John raised his eyebrow. He could not fathom why she would refuse his help.
"Don't you understand? You're my...my...," she looked down, a stifling sob.
Staring at her, it dawned on him. "Boyfriend. You're embarrassed to have me look because I'm your boyfriend?" He lifted her chin again, forcing her to look at him. "Emma, I'm a doctor. I know you were hurt. I can help."
"I know," she whispered, making an attempt at a smile but failing. "Give me some time?"
Though suspicious of her reasons, John gave a nod. "Alright. How about you rest for now and we'll discuss this later? You can sleep in my room."
"No, John. She must remain close by." Sherlock said with finality. "Your room has window access from the back. An open invitation, if there ever was one."
"Then what do you suggest? She needs to rest. She can't just lie here on the sofa." He looked at his friend. "If not my room, then yours."
"Fine," Sherlock said with a dramatic sigh.
Arm wrapped around her waist, John led her to Sherlock's room. "Lie here," he directed her to Sherlock's bed, tucking her in once she had settled. "I'll give you something to help you sleep."
She shook her head violently.
John frowned. "You sure? You can sleep without anything?"
She nodded.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then. I'll be out here, if you should need anything...anything at all." He smiled warmly, gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
When he looked up, he saw Sherlock preparing to leave. "Where are you off to?" John called out, noticing a piece of paper in his hand.
"Hmmm?" Sherlock answered, still thinking.
"You...where are you going?" John repeated.
Sherlock glanced at the paper in his hand, noting the address scribbled on it. Neasden Lane, Neasden, NW10. "Not sure...," Sherlock mused. Leaving the address on the table near the door, he turned and left.
