If John left willingly... Sherlock thought, Then he must have known the kidnappers!
But then why would they- It doesn't make any sense... If that were the case then all of the evidence left would be fake.
So why would they leave evidence at all?
"Stop, stop, doesn't matter." Sherlock said to himself.
Who does John trust enough to go with willingly and without asking excessive questions?
"Me, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly... anyone else?" Sherlock muttered.
I- I have to do this. If I want to find John alive, I have to ask for help.
Too close to the case...
Can't think straight...
Sherlock swallowed his pride, and pressed the dial button.
"Hello? Is that you Sherlock?"
"Mycroft." Sherlock said. "I assume you've heard?"
"Of course I have." Mycroft said. "Are you finally going to admit that you're out of your depth?"
Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to repress the anger and irritation that bubbled inside of him.
Mycroft just had to phrase it that way, didn't he?
"I-" Sherlock hesitated. "I'm not out of my depth."
"Why did you call then?"
"Because while I may not be out of my depth, I seem to have a biased view on the case."
"Let me get this straight, you want my opinion?"
"Yes, alright?" Sherlock said. "Is that what you're wanting? Me to admit that I need help?"
"Close," Mycroft said.
"Fine. I am too... emotionally invested in this case to have a clear view." Sherlock said. "Good enough?"
"Ah, yes, the evils of sentiment." Mycroft sighed. "Didn't I warn you about that, brothermine? Haven't I always told you that caring is not an advantage?"
"Yes, well-" Sherlock said," It's not exactly a choice either."
It was through his mind and out of his mouth in a split second. It was one of the few times Sherlock Holmes had spoken on impulse.
"Alright then. Now that the truth has come out," Mycroft said. "I've been keeping an eye on the case, but I don't know much more than you do. I must admit, it is... strange... However, you might want to take a better look at the piece of cloth you found on the stair way."
Sherlock immediately hung up, not wanting to hear anymore of his brother's smug voice than he had to.
"Piece of cloth..." he muttered.
"Where's Sherlock?"
"Back at Baker St." Lestrade said. "He said he needed to test a theory."
Jayden frowned.
"When will he be back?"
"Not sure, but he told me to question your neighbors." Lestrade said. "Any chance you'd like to watch?"
Jayden nodded, albeit hesitantly, distantly even.
"Alright, what's with the look?" Lestrade asked.
"Huh?" Jayden asked, confused.
"The 'I'm thinking something important, but I'm not going to say it until you ask me' look."
Jayden's eyebrows came together, one raising slightly.
Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"I do observe sometimes, I'm not stupid you know."
"Never said you were." Jayden answered.
Lestrade sighed then put a hand on Jayden's shoulder and physically pulled him from the doorway he was trying to sneak out during the lull in the conversation. He stared until Jayden started talking.
"How do you know he's not lying?" Jayden asked. "How do you know he's not off somewhere with a lead he didn't want us to help him with for one reason or another?"
"Because I know Sherlock, and Sherlock knows his limits despite the amount he tends to ignore them." Lestrade said. "To be honest, he needs a little time alone right now."
"Why?"
"I think he's having a hard time processing what has happened." Lestrade answered. "John's been kidnapped, and... we don't have many reliable leads. Most of the evidence looks as though it has been planted. Your brother, he's a great detective, but I think this one has him stumped. He'll figure it out though."
Jayden examined Lestrade's expression, carefully noting his set mouth and strong gaze.
"You're absolutely convinced he will." Jayden said, still analyzing, his eyes never wavering.
"I am." Lestrade said, breaking the eye contact.
"Why?"
"Because. Sherlock won't rest until he does."
"Evidence room. Evidence." Sherlock muttered to himself as he walked down the hallways of Bart's Hospital, which was where all the evidence was currently being housed under constant guard.
Sherlock momentarily wondered when he had started to think of Bart's lab as an evidence room, but he quickly dismissed the thought, determining that it didn't matter at the moment.
Evidence. Evidence. Need to find the cloth...
Sherlock brushed a drop of sweat from his brow.
He slipped through the door and into the lab. He went about the piles of evidence, digging through them frantically.
Where is it?! It's got to be here!
Sherlock pressed his fingertips to his head, and worked to recall the location of that piece of evidence.
Left uh- lower left- under stack of... 3? No, 4. Only pile with 4 bags.
Sherlock scanned the area for the pile he had seen. He grabbed the bag, opening it. As he pulled the cloth out, he noticed his shaking hands.
What's happening? Why is it so hard to think? Uh... diagnostics. Need to run diagnostics again.
Pulse: Elevated, well above normal.
Respiratory System: Uneven, quick breaths. Shallow. Shortness of breath.
Blood Pressure: Normal. I usually have low blood pressure, having normal means there must have been a spike...
Sherlock pressed his hands to his head.
No, stop, doesn't matter. I... I have access to the cloth. I can... I can deduce it now.
After a few deep breaths his hands stopped shaking as much, and his pulse became relatively normal. Sherlock began to inspect the cloth, his calculating blue eyes slowly gliding over it.
It had been caught in the stairway on the lowest portion of the railing and considering the material, the most logical conclusion was that it had been torn from the bottom of a pair of trousers. But why had it been caught?
The trousers were too long. Why were they too long?
Sherlock noted the wear on the material. Could be a hand-me-down then, but it looks relatively new despite the fact that it is worn. The man was hard on his clothing. Considering the facts, it is more likely he was used to moving around a lot, likely outdoors, taking into consideration the fading of the material.
Outdoors... Boots. That's why his trousers were too long. They were meant for boots, he must have been wearing shoes. The trousers would have gotten caught in the stairway when he was walking... up? Yes, definitely up. They were on the wrong side of the railing for him to have been going down...
Irrelevant! Stick to the relevant facts.
Sherlock noticed a waxy substance on the cloth that was dark in color. Running a finger over the area, he came up with several ideas as to what the substance might be, but only one idea was likely. Still, he wanted to make sure. His hypothesis rang true. After one sniff, Sherlock determined that the substance was indeed shoe polish.
The polish isn't old, the stain dates back to a few hours before John- There was a break in Sherlock's thoughts, and he corrected himself. -The victim- a few hours before the victim was abducted. He must have been late to a meeting or something and polished the shoes while wearing them. So he polished them while he was on his way to the meeting, which means either a friend, family, or a colleague was driving him, or he took a cab.
"Alright... Good... Good..." Sherlock mumbled to himself.
Now organize and categorize.
About the person:
- Often works outdoors or in rough surroundings.
- Usually wears boots
Sherlock paused. All the rest he knew was circumstantial.
"I need more." Sherlock muttered. "Think. Think. Think..."
Quality of the shoe polish well exceeds the quality of the trousers, so likely a gift, possibly from family, but more likely from a coworker or boss. Family would be more inclined to give something of a sentimental nature. So he got it from a coworker or boss. Given the quality of his job, which is probably good, but not top notch, it's more likely his boss.
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table in front of him.
So to recap...
Kidnapper with ripped trousers:
- Often works outdoors or in rough surroundings
- Usually wears boots
- Late for meeting of some sort with high profile boss
- Likely freelance, but has worked several times for the same person
- Good at his job
- Used high quality shoe polish to polish his shoes on the way to meeting
- Likely used a brush to polish the shoes (More likely to get polish on trousers that way)
Conclusion: Not much useful information without analyzing the shoe polish, therefore,
To Do List:
- Analyze shoe polish
- Look for particulates on cloth
Ugh.
John Watson blearily opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the sharp white light. He was tightly bound to a chair he noticed, not tightly enough that it seemed his captor wanted to cause him pain, but tightly enough that he had no chance of escape. Glancing around, John noticed Mycroft standing in the far corner of the room.
"Ah, Dr. Watson." Mycroft said. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
In a surge of anger, John pulled against the ropes, intent upon wiping that smug look off of Mycroft's face. And possibly his nose as well.
"Sorry about the whole tied to a chair thing." Mycroft said, "I really didn't want it to come to this." To John's surprise, Mycroft did sound as though he genuinely regretted the thing.
"Then let me go."
"As much as I wish I could, I'm afraid the prank isn't quite over yet." Mycroft said. "I paid a visit to my dear brother this afternoon, the poor man. So stupid as to ask the committer of the crime to help solve it. Pathetic, isn't it?"
"Let. Me. Go." John said, his voice dangerously low.
"Not going to happen."
"Then let me send him a text, an email, a note, just something to show him that I'm still alive!"
Mycroft appeared to consider that a moment, though John could tell he had already premeditated and planned out the entire conversation, likely with pin point accuracy. John knew he had already come up with an answer, perhaps days in advance.
"I took a photo of you while you were out." Mycroft said. "I will send him that."
"Does it make me look dead?"
"No, just unconscious, as you were." Mycroft said.
"...Alright." John mumbled.
"I wasn't asking for your permission."
Lestrade and Jayden sat listening to Sally question Mrs. Turner.
"She's not going to know anything." Jayden muttered.
"She might have seen them leaving." Lestrade said.
Jayden shook his head.
"If she hasn't remembered anything by now she's not going to unless something triggers her and brings the details back to mind. If she could remember what she had been doing at that point in time, cooking for example, if she smelled what ever she had been cooking at the time some of the information that she subconsciously retained would likely come up."
Jayden sat with his arms crossed, glaring intently at Mrs. Turner through the glass.
Lestrade watched Jayden, noting the subtle squint of his eyes, and the frown of his lips.
"What's the deal with this?" Lestrade asked, referencing the look of frustration on Jayden's face.
"No motive." Jayden said. "If we knew motive, everything would be easier, but we don't. We weren't on a case, and it had been awhile since the last one. What are the kidnappers after?"
Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe we'll get a ransom note?"
Jayden shook his head.
"The Holmes are loaded, but none of them are sentimental enough to pay the ransom." Jayden said.
"Sherlock took a bullet for the man, faked his death too." Lestrade said. "He'd give almost anything for him."
"Maybe," Jayden said, "but I still don't think that's it."
Lestrade's phone beeped, and Jayden glanced toward the noise.
"Text." Lestrade said, by way of explanation. Jayden refocused on Mrs. Turner.
There were a few more beeps as Lestrade brought it up to look at it.
Jayden heard Lestrade emit a small gasp.
Looking over, he said,
"What?"
Lestrade looked up at him, a slightly wary look in his eyes.
"Our kidnappers made first contact."
They both stared down at the phone.
"Call Sherlock."
A/N: I am so sorry for not updating for as long as I have. I went to a theater camp thing that took up most of my time for awhile, and then I started composing a song on my violin. So basically, I put this chapter together in pieces, so I hope it was good.