No specific triggers in this chapter but still quite scary, I think.

Chapter Twenty Six

Josie glanced at the luminous face of her watch. She had been waiting in the dark for half an hour but it felt like so much longer. She had seen and heard the helicopter go over but had not seen where it landed and was beginning to wonder whether it really had been THE helicopter at all or just some random one, passing by, when a sharp tap on the car window, right next to her ear, made her jump. She turned her head and looked down the barrel of an assault rifle, pointed straight at her face.

She hadn't even noticed the person holding the assault rifle, which was unsurprising since he was dressed entirely in black, even down to a balaclava mask which covered his head and face, leaving only his eyes and lips visible.

'Get out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them,' he said, in a tone which brooked no denial.

Josie did as she was told, opening the car door and climbing out, with her hands raised above her head, feeling both afraid and rather foolish at the same time. As she stood up, the man grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, pushing her against the side of the car. She gasped in surprise and because the impact knocked the breath out of her. She put her hands on the roof of the car, to break the 'fall' and then saw that there was another man standing on the other side of the car and a third, in front of the bonnet, and they were both aiming assault rifles at her, too.

The first man ran a hand down her back, sides and front, in a business-like manual search pattern, then up and down the inside of her legs, which made her feel violated, even though he did not linger anywhere sensitive.

He then put a hand on her shoulder, to keep her in place, and said,

'Who are you?'

'I'm Josephine Brocklehurst. I'm Arthur's sister.'

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm waiting for Sherlock Holmes.'

'Why are you waiting for Sherlock Holmes?'

'Because he told me to. But, if you want me to go home, I will,' she added, rather hoping he would agree to that option.

'Be quiet!' he barked, so she shut up.

One of the other men was talking into what looked like a Bluetooth headset.

'We have an IC1 female, apprehended near the perimeter fence. Name Josephine Brocklehurst. Says she is waiting for Sherlock Holmes.'

There was a pause, while the man listened to the reply, then he said to her,

'Where is Sherlock Holmes?'

'He went into the hospital grounds. He's gone to rescue my brother.'

The man repeated this and waited again, then said,

'Take her in.'

The man holding her by the shoulder transferred his grip to her arm and began to pull her down Shagger's Alley, towards the hole in the fence.

'Hang on! Why are you taking me in there? Isn't it dangerous?'

'Shut up!'' he hissed, giving her a shake, and strode on, dragging her along with him.

Inside the cottage, having just sat down to his supper, Colonel Moran handed the communication headset back to Cameron Blake and rubbed his hands with glee.

'Sherlock Holmes! How excellent! Sherlock Holmes is here! And no doubt his little pet is with him.'

Just then, a quiet alarm sounded and all eyes turned to a laptop, sitting on the kitchen counter. The screen displayed a schematic and, at a specific point in the diagram, a blob was flashing.

'Where is that?' Moran asked.

'It's the East Corridor, second floor, door to the stair well,' Blake informed him.

Moran smiled.

'What a resourceful chap he is - Holmes Junior. Well, this is turning into a proper family reunion,' he chortled then his face became deadly serious, in a mood swing that Moriarty himself would have been proud to own.

'Let them get into the room, then we'll shut them down,' he growled.

Blake relayed his instructions, via the head set, to the men on the ground.

ooOoo

The private jet moved away from the Freight Building at Ostend-Bruges International Airport, taxiing towards the runway, and Mycroft's phone rang.

'Report,' he snapped, on answering.

'Sir, the assault team have recced the target area. Their heat sensitive camera picked up seven individuals inside the grounds. Two of those, we suspect, are your brother and his assistant, approaching the rear of the building. Two were outside one of the outbuildings and three were positioned at the front of the main building. But we have no way of knowing how many are inside the outbuilding, due to heat loss through the roof, or on the lower floors of the main building. Also, sir, they detected two teams of three individuals patrolling the perimeter and one person sitting in a car, on the public highway, outside.'

'Where is the assault team now?'

'They landed one mile south-west of Ground Zero, on the moors, to avoid detection and are heading back towards the target area, now.'

'What is the size of our team?'

'Thirteen personnel, including the commanding officer.'

'Very well. Keep me informed,' Mycroft replied. 'We are about to take off. I'll be back on the ground in London in an hour but, in the meantime, text Miss Smith with any updates.'

Mycroft hung up and rubbed his chin with his thumb, looking pensive.

It was entirely possible that the Combat 18 group outnumbered the assault team. This could easily all go very pear-shaped. But he kept his concerns to himself.

ooOoo

On the second floor landing, John grabbed Sherlock's shoulder, as he reached for the door to the corridor from which the light was pouring through the glass panel.

'Wait!' he hissed. 'We don't know what's on the other side of that door.'

'And we won't, not unless we look.'

'Let me look.'

'Why?'

'Because I look more like a paramilitary than you do. I've got the hair and the walk. If there's someone on guard in that corridor, I might be able to trick them into thinking I'm one of the team – long enough to get close, at least.'

Sherlock considered that statement then nodded his agreement. He stood back to let John get through the door.

'Stay out of sight until I give you the go ahead,' John instructed the detective, who nodded but scowled, too.

John took a couple of deep breaths then gave a curt nod, yanked open the door and strode though. As soon as he stepped through the door, he saw a man sitting on a straight-backed chair, about half way down the corridor, with a book in his hand. John marched toward him, every inch a soldier, and the man looked up, then stood up.

'Look here! I've been thinking. I really don't think you need me an… Oh! Who are you?'

'I'm Captain Watson. Who are you?'

'Well, I'm Dr Knowles, of course. Have you just arrived? I haven't seen you before.'

'Well, that makes two of us. Where's the prisoner?'

'The patient,' Dr Knowles corrected, with a disapproving look, 'is in there, obviously. You really are new, aren't you!'

'Let me see him,' John ordered, riding the crest of the wave of Knowles' naivety.

The doctor took the key from his pocket and turned towards the door, inserted the key and turned it. Then he stood back and said,

'You have to go in first, just in case he's waiting behind the door or something. But, frankly, I'd be surprised if he was, after what he's been through.'

It took all John's self-control not to lamp the man, at that casual remark, but instead he pushed open the door and stepped inside the room.

He was immediately hit by the foul stench of puke and piss, bad breath and sweaty bodies. The room was in darkness, but for the light pouring through the door, which he held wide so that he could look round and take in all the details of the room itself. It was stark and bare, with a small number of out-of-date medical fixtures and fittings, a hospital bed and, incongruously, a modern flat screen TV, on a trolley. It took him a moment to realise that there was also someone on the bed.

'Hold the door!' he snapped and Knowles did just that, wanting less and less to be here, with these military types who always ordered and never asked.

John crossed the floor and put his hand on the shoulder of the man in the bed. There was no response to his touch.

'Arthur? Can you hear me?' he asked, urgently, feeling under the jaw for a pulse. He found it and it was steady and strong bur quite slow.

'Is it him?' Sherlock's voice demanded, from the doorway.

'Who on earth are you?' demanded the Reparation Therapist, confused and alarmed.

'Shut up!' Sherlock barked. 'Is it him?'

'Yes, it's him. Come here, help me to roll him over.'

Sherlock looked at Knowles, with murder in his eyes, and said,

'Hold the door. And keep a look out. If you see or hear anyone coming, tell us, at once!'

The doctor nodded, frantically. These two strange men were even more scary than the ones he'd met already.

Sherlock crossed to the bed, too, and helped John to roll Arthur over. As he turned onto his back, he gave a groan and opened his eyes. They stared, blankly. John took out his flashlight and shone the light in first one eye and then the other. Both pupils were pin-pricks and hardly reacted at all.

'Arthur, can you hear me?' he asked again.

'John?' came a weak, breathy voice.

'Yes! It's me, John! And Sherlock's here, too. We've come to get you out!'

At the mention of Sherlock's name, Arthur's face darkened and he suddenly became animated, pushing John away and rolling off the bed. The reaction was so swift and unexpected that it took both the other two men by surprise and Arthur was on his feet, backing away from them, before they knew what was happening.

'No, no, not you!' he babbled, pointing an accusatory finger straight at the stunned detective. 'Keep away from me! You are contaminated. Don't touch me! Don't even look at me.'

'Arthur,' Sherlock soothed, 'It's me, Sherlock. I'm your friend.'

'No! You're NO friend to me. You are corrupted! I've seen it. I've seen it!'

John took hold of Sherlock's sleeve and drew him back, behind him.

'Stay back, Sherlock. He's not himself. They've given him something. Let me talk to him.'

Sherlock moved back into the shadows, against the wall, staggered by the terrible condition of this man who had helped him through two of the darkest times of his life. But John was reaching out a placatory hand, speaking in a calming tone.

'Arthur, listen to me. I'm John, remember. I'm here to help you.'

'John, he lied to me. He cheated. He used me and…the children! Oh God, the children! We have to save them. We must!'

'Come on, then! Let's go and save them. Come with me.'

John angled his body to block Arthur's view of Sherlock and extended an arm, to usher the disturbed man out of the room.

Arthur nodded, manically.

'Yes! Yes! We need to save them,' he gabbled and began to move toward the open door.

'Well, the gang's all here!' came an unfamiliar voice from the doorway – unfamiliar to all those present, except one.

Sherlock turned, in shock, toward the person who now stood where the therapist had previously stood, holding the door wide, to illuminate the scene inside the stinking prison room. He felt his capillaries contract and his skin turn icy cold. The breath caught in his throat, his pulse pounded in his ears and he felt immediately removed, disassociated, from the real world as he looked into the face of a man he had believed to be dead.

ooOoo