The two partners climbed into a taxi, telling the driver where to go. As the taxi began to pull away from the curb, Sherlock didn't look at his friend as he announced, "I know Molly told you to keep an eye on me in case of anything happening."
The blonde man looked at his friend with concerned eyes. "Yeah. She said you've been getting calls from Mycroft and by the way you were acting, something is wrong."
"There is something wrong," he replied in a low voice, looking out the window, but not paying attention to the surroundings. "Someone wants me dead and killed the first victim this morning, writing my name in blood as warning, I take."
"Why kill someone if they want you?" He didn't take his eyes off of the detective in confusion.
"I was originally the first victim, but they killed someone else. They want to get a message to me." He pulled out the phone from his pocket, showing his blogger the text with the riddle. "The numbers are the 18th of July at 8:55 either a.m or p.m. Also, Mycroft told me that the return number changes with every text." It boiled his blood that his brother told him to stay out of the case, but he understood the reason since he had to return the baby to its mother as soon as possible. Even though a person died because of the detective!
"'Where it should've ended'. What does that mean?" John's voice pulled the detective out of thought.
"Where something should've ended," he muttered as he placed the cell phone back into his pocket.
"So are you supposed to go somewhere on that time and date to where something should have ended?"
"That is what I am guessing…"
The two of them sat in silence for the rest of the drive as Sherlock's mind carried on to race, thinking of the message.
Upon arrival at the pub, there was already people laughing, talking, and drunk with no surprise at all. The two friends paid for the ride and marched into the pub. Voices immediately flooded their minds as the pub was crowded with people. Sherlock wanted to find the woman and get out of here. Spotting the bar, he made his way to the bartender.
"What can I get you?" The young bartender asked with a friendly smile and kind blue eyes.
"We're looking for someone. Have you seen this woman?" He placed the photo on the wooden counter, sliding the picture to the young man that was no older than twenty-five.
The man sadly shook his head. "Haven't seen her for a month."
That caught Sherlock's attention, making him look at the man in the eyes. "Only a month?"
"Yeah." He raised his head from the photo. "She didn't seem to be the party type and only drank a beer or two. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders."
"Do you know anything of her?" John questioned, looking at the bartender with curiosity.
The young man turned his gaze to the doctor. "All I know is that she didn't like her father very much and was secretive about her stories. She didn't like talking personal, only on happier notes."
"She was tired of being unhappy," Sherlock explained as he tucked the photo back into his pocket. "She didn't want to talk about things that made her sad like her father and wasn't a wild one with only drinking a glass or two considering that she was a mother."
"What does that have to do with finding her?" John asked.
"It doesn't." He locked eyes with the bartender's, hoping to find more answers. "Do you know her name?"
"Emily, I believe it was."
"Last name?" John asked.
The bartender shook his head. "Don't know. Sorry."
Sherlock straightened his coat, getting ready to leave this noisy place. "If anything comes up on Miss. Emily, contact Dr. Watson, here."
"Why me?" John hissed at him with annoyance.
"Because you like people. Now give the man your card," he orderly coldly. He strongly disliked people questioning him.
John sighed, pulling out his wallet to get a business card, handing it to the bartender.
"Also," Sherlock turned back to the young man, "don't worry about your wife. She's not cheating on you, but if I were you, I'd stay away from the blonde neighbor."
The young man just looked at him with large, puzzled eyes, clearly not knowing what to say.
"Let's go." Sherlock began to head for the door with John thanking the man, then began to follow.
When they got outside, Sherlock's mind began to return to the text message as John began to ask questions about Emily, but wasn't listening. Images of something "that should've ended" began to flash through his mind. His eyes grew wide with realization. "How could I be so stupid?" He suddenly shouted, beginning to walk a little ways, throwing his hands in the air.
"What?" John asked, shocked at the sudden outburst. "What is it?"
The detective did a U-turn to John, then back again in self-frustration. "How could I be so blind? Where something should've ended." He looked up at the night sky with his mind racing. How could he miss something so simple? It was only a big part of recent years!
"What about it?" John cried, desperate for a answer.
"St. Bart's!" He shouted, beginning to pace.
Why was John so slow?
"What about St. Bart-"
Sherlock grabbed his friend by the arms and locked eyes with him in frustration and excitement. "'Where something should've ended'. It should've ended three years ago! I should've died!" He grinned with excitement as he walked couple of paces away. "Oh, that was clever," he muttered, referring to the text.
"So, this killer," John began, placing the pieces together, "wants to meet you at St. Bart's on the 18th of July at 8:55 am or pm? Why?"
"I don't know," he quickly answered in a low voice, walking back, passing John within two steps, his mind still going. "I really don't know." He quickly pulled out his cell phone and began to text Mycroft the answer, then shoving the phone back into his pocket. "I'll find out in nine days."
"You have to tell Molly."
Sherlock turned to the doctor with an obvious look. "Of course I will! But not yet."
"And why not yet?" He cried with annoyance in his voice. "She is your girlfriend and has the right to know."
He waved him off. "I'll tell her, but not now. I don't want to worry her."
"At least tell her something because she's worried about you!"
"I'll just tell her there's nothing to worry about!" He hollered back.
His phone sounded, making him take it out and read a text from his brother saying that he sent the message to the killer and waiting for a reply. Not needing to respond, Sherlock placed the phone away, turning his attention back to his friend, relaxing. "I will tell Molly. Don't worry about it."
"When will you tell her?" There was darkness in his brown eyes. "When? Two years later or the day of?"
Was that necessary?
Sherlock heavily sighed, looking down at the ground with his eyes, then back to his friend. "I will tell her when I hear more about the killer. I promise." He was going to tell Molly, of course, but didn't want to worry her until he learned more of who he was dealing with. He hated worry her and he knew that he and John would go on dangerous cases, she was scared that she the two of them wouldn't return. Especially Sherlock Holmes.
The doctor just nodded, muttering, "Good."
The detective sighed and began to wave down a taxi, who slowed to a stop beside them.