Sherlock glanced around the food court; there was thick dust on the glass of the display cases, yellowing it to a sickly color. The tables were covered in thick tarp; the chairs were stacked near the walls. The lights were flickering rapidly, they were about to burn out at any moment. The menus had food that even Mycroft would turn green at the sight off—as he had to endure many meals with these same types of food verbatim to the point of induced nausea at the sight.
The only thing to break the deafening silence was Sherlock walking toward where the janitor closet was, hidden away from the ritzy food court.
Sherlock neared the threshold to the hidden hall where the closet was when he heard a hymn, "You're a little teapot—short and stout. And when I find you—and I will—I'll toss you on the ground. Beg as you try as I laugh, you will tell me things I want to hear. And when you spout, then I will just cut you like a trout like the lout you really are. When I'm done, you will hear me say, "Oh, didn't you know?"."
Hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck rose as he slowly turned toward where the hymn originated from. It was in the kitchen known for one of the "best" French cuisine and Sherlock chewed on his lips. True, he'd go inside the kitchen head on and confront whoever was there, but this was no time for reckless behavior—he was not home where he knew the risks and the consequences thereafter.
It sounded human, male, late thirties—early forties if that, the voice. It couldn't have been one of the Beta Series, they're apparently didn't talk, but given what little Sherlock and the Doctor knew that there was a lot they didn't know.
Sherlock was against himself, to either confront whoever was in the kitchen or continue to the janitor closet. In Sherlock's mind, it made the pros and cons into a tidy list and in the results: Sherlock would have to confront this individual either way.
With his hand gripped around the handle of his gun, Sherlock slowly edged toward the counter and ducked under. As he went behind the glass display, the sounds of pots and pans being tossed around started emitting from the kitchen, sounds of glass crashing and things being strewn around the cobbled floor. Sherlock carefully walked toward the doors of the kitchen, when a pot was thrown forcefully out of the kitchen, smacking against the glass, causing a chain reaction as the glass turned brittle and shattered completely. The pot was now stuck in the display counter as shards of glass layered on the ground, some at Sherlock's feet and several near the doors themselves.
Sherlock pulled the gun out and readied it as he ducked beside the wall as heard another hymn.
"Little pigs, little pigs, I know you heard. The big bad wolf knows where you are. Run to the hills, take your pills, it'll be the same I promise you! That lout of a woman set about and turned us all mad! Trust us so; we're not that very bad. Indeed we had a bout of rage. But to be frank we were in a haze. It's been far too long, so long that we just forgot where we belong in a world that forgotten us, forgo us to the ages of time," echoed a voice from the kitchen.
Raising the gun, Sherlock took a deep breath and counted. When the numbers were getting smaller, toward one, Sherlock was in front of the doors. Upon hitting one, Sherlock stormed the kitchen, gun pointing at every angle, every corner, anywhere really.
"Who's there?" Sherlock cried aloud as he looked around. To his horror, there was no one there. Sherlock scanned the kitchen, pots and pans of every type were on the ground, bottles of wine shattered, glass everywhere, knives thrown all over, forks and spoons left in sinks. It was like a tornado had turned the kitchen upside down.
Confused, Sherlock checked everywhere that a person could hide. He checked the walk-in freezer, the walk-in pantries; no one was in the kitchen. When Sherlock looked on the ground, there was only a set of footprints in the spilled wine. These weren't his, he was careful when he walked over the mess left behind.
Glimpsing at the sole footsteps, Sherlock followed where they were going until they stopped at a drain in the middle of the floor. It was as if whoever they belonged to simply went down the drain.
Rubbing the back of his head, Sherlock was utterly confused. He never had this happen to him before. He almost knew instantly where a person went—it was his specialty—but he found that he couldn't figure it out now, a rarity.
Checking over the kitchen one more time, checking the undersides and everything else, there was no one in the kitchen besides him and Sherlock was left bewildered.
Sherlock chewed on his lips as he tried to understand it all. However, his conventional methods weren't working for this and he was left alone, forced to come up with new ways of dealing with this oddity. Suffice to say, it went well as one would think.
Agitated, Sherlock left the kitchen and walked under the counter, returning to the main area of the food court. Though, when he did, he stopped when he saw something unusual. The food court's tables were covered, the chairs were staked. Now, the tables were uncovered, revealing their detailed woodwork, and the chairs were neatly placed, two at every small table and four at every large table.
Sherlock tilted his head as he tried to make sense of it all. This was something he never experienced before, something that was in its own right.
As he walked around the food court, Sherlock was looking for the covers that were on the tables, he reasoned that they had to been tossed aside somewhere, or even near the tables they came from.
He didn't find the covers, but he found where the chairs were stacked, the wall they were near had something written on it.
They watch you
They hear you
Circle you
Circle you
They come for you
Come for you!
Come for you to take
To the ones that take control
Sherlock walked up to the wall and stared. This was the same exact thing written in the East Plaza. The words were written in red, smelt of the wine that was on the ground in the kitchen, and they were recent, recent enough that some of the words were dripping over each other.
Reading it over and over, Sherlock's blue eyes stopped when it finally struck him. This was seemingly a warning—to him. How would one deduce such thing was easy, Sherlock merely took it into context, so far he and the Doctor only encountered one of the Betas. They never found anyone else here.
It wouldn't be a stretch to say that someone… or something was watching them, listening in on their private conversations. However, Sherlock was looking at the bottom sentence. Come for [him] to take to the ones that take control. He assumed that it meant Sofia, that whoever was stalking them was going to take him and the Doctor to her.
Sherlock's concentration was broken when he heard shuffling noises behind him. Immediately turning around with gun raised, Sherlock stared; some of the chairs were pushed aside, as if someone bumped into them. His eyes scanned the room and stopped when he noticed that the doors to the kitchen were swinging wildly, someone ran out of the kitchen, bumped into the chairs, and disappeared once again.
Sherlock walked over to where the chairs were moved, looking at them. Some smelt of cologne, not the strong kind that made Sherlock nauseas, but it smelt earthy, something that Sherlock might've worn on a certain day. It was fresh, too.
Going more and more agitated, Sherlock spun around the room, attempting to visualize the events in his mind.
Someone was in the kitchen, throwing things around. The moment Sherlock bursts in, the person hid cleverly enough that Sherlock couldn't find him. When Sherlock left the kitchen and walked up to the graffiti, the person ran out, bumped into the chairs, getting cologne on some of them, and snuck around him up the stairs toward the East Plaza.
When Sherlock stopped spinning, having had enough, he was left with a bewildered look on his face. Where the graffiti was, another had taken its place.
Who surrounds you everywhere?
Sherlock cringed. He swore. Nay he knew. That just before he spun around that there was something else entirely on the wall just before this graffiti. As he stared at it, he tried to understand what it was trying to say. There had to been a reason for it to be written. Why warn him?
Why would anyone… or anything warn him and the Doctor?
Sherlock tried to think of reasons. There was of course the woman who sent the letter pleading for help, but unless she fancied cologne over perfume, she wasn't the one who left him the graffiti.
Remembering, Sherlock looked up to the ceiling. There were black orbs that seemingly dot the entirely of the food court. These were cameras. Cameras!
When Sherlock and the Doctor were flipping the switches for the East Wing, they didn't come across the ones for the cameras. In fact, Sherlock would've remembered seeing something about the cameras.
The cameras were on their own power grid, just like the South Wing. Where the power grid for the cameras was, Sherlock wouldn't have a thought.
But now, Sherlock had another problem on his hand. Who was watching him and was it Sofia?
Sherlock looked at the cameras, since they were protected by the black covering, he couldn't tell if they were looking at him directly.
Chewing on his lips, Sherlock tried to think of what he should do. Right about now, John would've suggested something, but alas, John was at home, with his newborn, leaving Sherlock to having to decide on his own.
"What would I do?" Sherlock questioned. Pros and cons went through his mind as he tried to make a decision with the least amount of consequences.
Sherlock wasn't going to have the chance to decide what to do. In fact, he had another idea on hand.
Blood in his veins chilled, his heart started to beat, his eyes widened, before him was a Beta. On its large chest, was the Greek alphabet for Beta, and under it was the numeral for thirteen. Sherlock stared at it as it stared back, how it appeared before him without making a sound he didn't know.
Chewing on his lips, Sherlock noticed the pronounced drill where the right hand was supposed to be. Beta 13 let out a long moan at Sherlock, leaving Sherlock petrified.
He could run, Sherlock thought to himself. However, that would be stupid of him.
Sherlock didn't know this place well enough to know where everything was. Beta 13… it was programmed to know where everything was.
Left with no other alternatives that wouldn't end badly for Sherlock, he was forced to stare at Beta 13. What Beta 13 was going to do, Sherlock didn't know.
Sherlock was never known for being someone of religion, but even he himself couldn't help but utter, "Please God."
"Mr. Bubbles!" he heard a voice. It was a child's, a girl. Beta 13 turned its massive head and let out a low moan. "Tea time!" the voice said. Beta 13 seemingly turned its head toward Sherlock, contemplating something, before it turned around entirely and walked, the ground trembling.
Sherlock was left to watch as Beta 13 disappeared up the flight of stairs toward the East Plaza.
Placing a hand on his chest and supporting himself with a table, Sherlock attempted to calm himself. He felt adrenaline pump through his body, his heart racing, and his mind in frantic ramblings, but slowly Sherlock felt the rush subside.
Grabbing for the walkie talkie around his belt, Sherlock held down on the button as he talked.
"Doctor…?" Sherlock called. The Doctor came on moments after, "Sherlock?"
"Doctor, I saw… I saw a Beta," Sherlock chewed on his lips, attempting to keep his composure. "It's coming up to the East Plaza via the stairs."
"Damn," he heard the Doctor say. "Have you found the shaft?"
"No," Sherlock shook his head. "Doctor, they're watching us."
"Watching us?" the Doctor replied. Sherlock cleared his throat as he said, "Look at the ceilings. There are cameras all over. Have you seen anything for the cameras?"
"No, the guidebook never brought it up," he heard the Doctor. Sherlock clenched his teeth, "The cameras are on their own power grid."
"Damn it," the Doctor cursed. "I don't even know where to begin looking for the cameras."
"Doctor, one more thing," Sherlock was quick to say. "We're not the only ones here."
"I know," the Doctor said quietly. He then asked, "Are you alright?"
"I'll live," Sherlock coughed.
The Doctor replied, "Then we still have work to do."
Sherlock released the button on the walkie talkie and stuck it around his belt. He held a hand over his forehead as he stared at the ground for a minute. He tried to think of rational explanations, but all he could drum up was simply: this was a case that John could make books of, even franchise it, make movies off it.
Feeling that he could walk without running like a madman, Sherlock began his way toward the janitor closet, looking behind time to time. Every time he looked back, Sherlock's breath gets caught in his throat, and when there was nothing there, Sherlock exhaled.
The janitor closest was large, supporting the food court. However, Sherlock didn't find the maintenance shaft; there were no vents of any kind in the janitor closet.
There was a chance that the Beta would still be in the East Plaza, so Sherlock had no other choice but to continue searching the food court. With his luck, by the time he was done, the Beta would be gone or something would happen. Sherlock prayed for the former and a chance to breathe.