Chapter One
John's eyes widened in shock. "Alive?"
"That's not possible," said Mycroft instantly in a harsh tone. "DNA tests proved that body was Sherlock's."
"Unless it was rigged," said Irene. "The body they burned was a double."
"Wait, wait, slow down," said John. "What are you talking about?"
Irene raised one of her brows as she gave Mycroft a sultry smile. "Care to do the honors?"
Mycroft glanced at John and then back at Irene, looking like he wanted to argue with her more. Eventually, he sighed and turned to John. "Sherlock did not die from that fall. We faked his death."
John's gaze hardened at the thought that Mycroft had lied to him. "You faked it." He shook his head, turning away.
"And then, he died in the morgue," said Mycroft.
John turned back, calming down.
"Sherlock was to be taken into the morgue, where Molly Hooper would draw up a death certificate," explained Mycroft. "At some point that morning, Miss Hooper was abducted. She was found a few hours later unharmed, but the damage was already done. One of Moriarty's men had posed as a pathologist and killed Sherlock, burning his body beyond recognition. But apparently—" he turned back to Irene, "that never happened."
"They incapacitated Sherlock, substituted a body double, and that's what they burned," replied Irene. "They did a blood transfusion. That's why the blood tests on the body showed it to be Sherlock."
"So…he really is alive?" asked John.
"I swear it," said Irene.
"And I suppose you'll be wanting compensation before you divulge the location of this installation—" began Mycroft.
"Fifty-three degrees, twenty-three minutes North; two degrees, sixty-one minutes West," said Irene.
Both Mycroft and John stared at her, stunned.
"I told you: Sherlock saved my life," said Irene. "Now, I'm here to save his."
"What do we need to know?" asked Mycroft.
"Guards armed with automatic rifles," Irene listed off. "Twenty-seven men in the compound at any given time. Security system is a Boshen 250. Sherlock is being held in the northwest corner of the basement."
"Thank you," John told her, beyond grateful that he was going to see his friend again, turning to head to the door.
"John," said Irene.
John turned back, uneasy about her tone of voice and the fact that she had addressed him as "John;" it was usually "Dr. Watson."
"Sherlock is…" Irene hesitated, a look in her eyes that John had never seen before and which was making his heart skip a beat. "They've been torturing him."
The air left the room as John tried to breathe.
"Constantly," Irene went on. "For a year."
John barely heard the pained noise Mycroft made over the pounding of his own heart.
"He's…changed," said Irene. "You may not recognize him."
John nodded and turned back towards the door with Mycroft. He couldn't think about how traumatized Sherlock might be. He had to focus of they were going to get him out of there.
Mycroft stepped up alongside him, lowering his phone. "My team will meet us there."
"And we're picking up Lestrade on the way," John told him, dialing on his phone. He was pleased when Mycroft didn't argue. He put the phone to his ear. "Greg. I need you to listen carefully."
John climbed out of the car and approached the black vans parked on the hill, Detective Inspector Lestrade right behind him. "Mycroft."
Mycroft turned away from the twenty-man strike team dressed in black and assembled at the rear of the vans. "John. Inspector." He turned back to the operatives. "This is Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. He will be in charge of this operation." He then motioned towards the man in front. "John, this is Lieutenant Samuels."
John stepped towards the team, automatically stepping back into the persona of army captain. "Report."
Samuels stepped forward as the rest continued to assemble their gear. "Two men at the perimeter, armed. Thermal scans show fifteen on the ground floor, six on the first and ten in the basement."
"Show me," said John.
Samuels led him and Greg some distance away past the patch of trees they had taken cover behind with their vans. As they reached the top of a hill, they ducked down and approached a man who was lying on the ground with a set of binoculars, a computer screen, a set of headphones and a long-range microphone. The three of them lay next to him as he took his headphones off.
"There was a gunshot not too long ago, and one of the bodies in the basement just went cold," the man reported.
"Oh, God…" muttered Greg.
John pushed aside the fear that this might have been Sherlock and held out his hand for the computer screen. The operative handed it over, and John looked it over. The fifteen on the ground floor were grouped in a room with other heat signatures that were most likely computers. The six on the first floor were stationed sporadically at the outer walls of the building, obviously keeping watch. Of the nine in the basement, four paced back and forth—guards—while the other five sat or lay in stationary positions—prisoners. His eyes then found a form lying on the ground, its red signature fading slowly towards yellow.
Pulling his gaze away from the body and telling himself that Sherlock was one of the red signatures—because he had to be, he had to—John handed the screen back. "Have you located the landline?"
"Yes, sir," said Samuels. "We'll surround the building, cut the power and move in."
"What about the prisoners?" asked Greg.
John nodded. "My thoughts as well. There're no access points that lead directly into the basement?"
"No, sir," the man replied.
"Then who's to stop the guards from killing the prisoners when they hear the commotion upstairs?" said John. He paused for a while to think things through. His eyes wandered over the building. "Are you able to disrupt the security camera feed?"
"For perhaps a minute," he replied. "Any longer, and they'd get suspicious."
"That's all I'll need," muttered John.
"Wait, you?" asked Greg.
"I was trained in stealth tactics," said John. "I can get in." He pointed at a door at the nearest corner of the building. "How often do the perimeter guards come into view of that door?"
"They walk the building directly opposite each other so someone is always in view of both sides of the place," answered the man keeping watch. "However, there is a blind spot." He pointed at the building as he spoke. "Once one guard leaves this corner of the building, it takes approximately ten seconds before the next guard comes around that corner."
John nodded, his eyes picking out cover points along the way. "I can make it. What about the sentries on the first floor?"
"We'll make a distraction," said Samuels. "Give us ten minutes."
"All right," said John before getting up and heading back to the vans with them. He headed to one of the vans and took off his coat, putting on a bulletproof vest.
"Captain."
John turned to see Samuels holding out an earpiece to him. John took it and put it in his ear.
"We've patched into the security feed," Samuels told him. "Jenkins will be keeping watch for you," he nodded at the man standing next to him, "both on the cameras and the thermal scanners."
John nodded in acknowledgement. "The diversion?"
"Pellets launched onto the roof. They'll turn away from the windows, and by the time they discover them, you'll be inside, and we'll cut the power."
Jenkins handed him a pair of goggles and then held up a small device. "When you get into position and have the goggles on, hit this button to let us know." He pointed to a switch on the side of the goggles. "Here's night vision."
John strapped the goggles to his vest and pocketed the device. "Are we ready?"
"On your word, sir," said Samuels.
John picked up one of the automatic rifles, checked the cartridge and swung the strap over his arm and head so it hung across his back. "Let's go."