Chapter 11: A little bit of revelation

When John arrived at their house, he immediately recognized the door was open. "Shit," was all he could say while slowly approaching the entrance. He had forgotten to take his gun with him, so there was nothing in sight to protect himself. When he finally entered the house, no one was waiting for him. No attacker, no burglar. What was going on? All of a sudden, the blogger smelled the roses again and this time he was sure it wasn't his imagination. His eyes fell on the table, where the pandora box has been. It was gone. Someone had taken the box while he had been away. And what about Sherlock? He had almost forgotten about his best friend. The detective's door was still closed and for a moment John hesitated but then opened it. Sherlock was lying on his side, face to the window. John immediately knew something wasn't right. His best friend usually slept on his back. The fact, that he was now lying on his side made the doctor feel very uncomfortable. "Sherlock?" he softly asked, while approaching his bed. He wasn't moving. And when John felt for a pulse, he found none. The doctor tried to stay focused and turned his best friend on his back. His eyes caught a little ampoule, which was lying on the ground right next to the bed. And when the doctor grabbed it and read, all the colour left his face. John examined the whole body and discovered a little red dot on his friend's right arm. The doctor in him reacted instantly, pulling the body out of bed to the ground. He gave mouth-to-mouth and CPR for two minutes, then sped into his own room, grabbing the Narcan which he had always in his medical bag. With no hesitation he pushed the syringe into Sherlock's thigh and waited for the antagonist to work. A few seconds later the body shot up from the ground, taking a deep breath, shocked eyes staring at the doctor who was trying to calm him.

"John? What happened?"

"You overdosed with morphine you fucking moron!"

"I didn't! I swear to you I am clean."

"Where's the syringe?" John was obviously angry.

"I don't know! I swear to God, I didn't take it!" Sherlock was trembling.

John was walking around in Sherlock's room and when he looked into the trash bin, he found what he was looking for. He showed his best friend the syringe and asked, "And what is this?"

"Someone attacked me while I was in my mind palace. It all happened very fast. Please, John. You have to believe me. I did not inject myself. There's no reason I would do this."

"You've been acting strange since we got here the first day. Sorry Sherlock, but at the moment I have to believe that you're using again."

The doctor grabbed the syringe and ampoule and left the room. He was disappointed. How could his best friend betray him like that? He put the syringe and ampoule in a plastic bag and made sure everything was secure. Mycroft would need them later. After that, the doctor grabbed a little mobile ECG and stepped back into Sherlock's room. The detective was still sitting on the ground, his head pounding heavily. John helped him back onto his bed and connected the electrodes.

"What's that for?" The detective seemed kind of confused.

"Just a precaution. You overdosed with Morphine and the Narcan helps fast but there is the risk you're breathing will get worse again. That's why I need to watch you."

"How long?"

"At least for the next six hours. Thanks to you I won't get any sleep tonight."

"I don't want to be here," the detective protested.

"Sorry, but that's your fault not mine. You're lucky I found you just in time."

"I didn't do it."

"You've lied too many times about that."

Sherlock gave up. He let himself sink into the pillows and closed his eyes. John positioned himself next to the bed and sighed. "There's the chance you will get withdrawal symptoms. Just be warned. And I have another warning for you. It might be necessary to inject you with Narcan a second time. If your condition worsens, I will have no mercy with your other thigh. Understand?"

A nod.

"Good. Now let's make sure you rest comfortable. I will be here all the time, just in case you crash again."

"I want to sleep a little. My head is exploding."

"Just rest. I will watch over you," the doctor assured while sighing deeply.

John had been sitting with Sherlock over four hours now, thinking. Maybe his friend hadn't lied at all. When he had been running home, the door was ajar. Why would Sherlock leave the door open? With a frown, the blogger stood up from the hard wooden chair and walked into his room, where he had kept the syringe and ampoule. He grabbed the plastic bag and examined it. The ampoule he had found was in the Italian language. The next pharmacy was 800 metres away and already closed when he had left the house. It was also impossible that the detective had stolen it. They had been together the whole time. John remembered that the pandora box was missing. Sherlock wouldn't hide it from him, so there was the high chance someone else took it while entering the house. Someone, who smelled of roses.

The blogger stepped back into the detective's room. Luckily enough, Sherlock wasn't showing any symptoms of withdrawal and his vitals stayed stable.

Around midnight the doctor couldn't help himself and drifted off to sleep. When he awoke at 8 AM in the morning, the detective was still asleep in his bed, vitals still stable. John was thankful that he wasn't forced to call an ambulance. The doctor raised from his unpleasant position and sneaked into the kitchen to pour some coffee. One thing that John immediately recognised: the smell had gone. No more roses in their house. The blogger felt goosebumps rising on his skin. If he was right and they had a visitor, it meant this person had been hiding in the house for more than just a few hours…

"John?" a faint voice called from behind.

The doctor hurried into his best friend's room. "It's alright Sherlock. I'm here."

"I wasn't using," the tall man whispered, while the doctor removed the portable ECG from his chest.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry for blaming you."

"How did you find out?"

"The ampoule I found was from Italy. Since we've been hanging out together, when would you have had time to steal it? There is no chance you could have done it. Second: You would never leave the door ajar. By the way, someone stole the pandora box and since you aren't using any perfume, I assume you don't smell of roses either."

"You smelled it, too? I thought I was hallucinating after we were taken under by the fog."

"I smelled it on the show and here in our house. Guess someone was hiding here for some time."

"Someone wanted to kill me with morphine. Means, someone wanted to eliminate me. Someone who knows me very well," the detective deduced.

"What about the pandora box?" John needed answers.

"I don't know. Guess someone has a personal interest in this box."

"You were lucky," the blogger said.

"I know. Your clever thinking saved my life. I owe you."

"No, you don't. You will never. You are my best friend and best friends support each other. I'm just glad I found you in time. When I checked you over, your lips were just slightly blue. So, I guess you were attacked only seconds before I arrived."

"Is that so?"

The blogger nodded.

"Well? Then how did this person escape without being seen by you?"

It was a very good question because there was only one way out. If you leave through the backdoor, you still have to walk out through the gate which was in front of the house. It doesn't matter which exit you take: they all guide you to the front. And this means, John most likely would have met the intruder. Which didn't happen. So, how did this person escape?

Sherlock rose from the bed, his head still a little dizzy. When he tried to stand up for the first time after the attack, he was staggering and John tried to support him.

"Do you think it's a good idea to walk around in your state?" he asked worriedly.

"I need to know who wants to kill me," Sherlock replied while trying to reach the back door.

"By taking a shower outside?" John asked confused.

"John, sometimes you really disappoint me. Of course, I don't want to shower," the detective said while stepping outside, looking around. "I want to find out, how the intruder was able to get in and out of this little house unseen."

"Maybe he used some magic," John replied dryly.

"Or he just jumped over this wall here," Sherlock said while looking down the wall, which was separating their house from the neighbours. The blogger looked over the wall.

"Sorry, but did you see how far down our neighbour's yard is? I would say at least three metres."

"Have you ever heard of roof jumpers?"

"Of course, yes," the blogger answered.

"Just take a look at the yard. There are little indentations which look like footprints. The first ones are deeper than the other ones, so I guess I'm right."

"And what are we supposed to do now? I mean, it's obvious that this person jumped but how do we follow?"

"We won't. We will stay calm."

"Calm? Sherlock, someone tried to kill you just a few hours ago! How can you just sit down and wait?"

"Because I know exactly who the intruder was."

"Wait! What?" the blogger looked surprised.

"From the size of the footprints I would say we are looking for a female."

"A woman?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, a woman. Seems like she needed this box back."

Now John understood. "Oh! You think it was Laura?"

"I don't think, John. I know it was her."

"But how? I don't understand. She doesn't even know you, so why would she try to kill you?"

"Because she was threatened."

"Threatened? Threatened by who?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

The blogger shook his head. "For me? No. It isn't."

"Well, whatever Bruno is hiding from us, it's enough to make her do some very stupid things."

Later that evening, Sherlock and John decided to go to the beach and talk about further plans. Like the last time, the beach was empty, a few seagulls walking around. The two men sat down under the big umbrella and started to write details in the sand.

"So, as far as we can tell, Bruno has been doing this for a very long time now," Sherlock said while looking at John.

"And how is that helping us?" the blogger asked unimpressed.

"Whatever he is hiding, it attracts people from all over the world. This tells me, we had seen something, which we in fact we did not see."

"Sherlock, you're talking in riddles," John said.

"Bruno has a show which hasn't changed in nearly thirty years. Rich people from all over the world are coming to see him. So, ask yourself: Why is this show so special? We were shown something ordinary and yet it isn't what we thought it was."

"And you know this?"

"No, that's the point. I don't know what I've missed and that's bothering me. And then there's Laura. It's obvious now that she's still alive and connected to Bruno. What is she hiding from everyone and why would she try to kill a man she doesn't even know?"

"Maybe she just hates you…"

"Hate me? For God's sake John, sometimes your ideas are pathetic. Why would she hate me?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you discovered her secret?" John tried to give Sherlock an innocent look.

"In fact, it was you, but never mind." There was a pause between the two men and both stared at the sea. "Maybe your explanation isn't as dumb as it seems."

Now John looked at his best friend. "It isn't?"

"No. If you are right, she must have returned home at least once."

"Does her father know?"

"I doubt it. She's trying to avoid him but why?"

"You want to visit her father again?" John wanted to know.

"No. I prefer confrontation," Sherlock said while standing up and destroying their notes in the sand.

"Alright. Should I take my gun with me?"

"He would know it."

"You sure?"

Sherlock nodded. "Before you enter the villa, there are two marble columns on each side of the veranda. There are sensors in the stone…"

"I get it. No weapons."

"Before we go, let's have dinner. I am starving and I am sure if we visit Bruno again, we won't wake up in a fluffy bed."

After an insalata mista and a big pizza, the two men were once more on the way to Bruno's villa. Both men knew that it was risky to return, but there was a case to solve and another life in danger. Sherlock might have seen cold and distant most of his life, but inside he was hiding a tender spot and John knew that.

At 9 PM the two friends arrived at Bruno's villa. While they were sitting in the car, Sherlock sighed suddenly and looked at John. It was a glance John had never seen before. Eyes, full of worry and fear. Why was his best friend so scared John wondered.

"Listen, if something happens to me, just run. Make sure you are safe and don't come back to my rescue, you hear me?"

"What the hell are you talking about Sherlock?"

"John. You are a father and you have a woman waiting at home. If I am right and Bruno wants something from me, then make sure you leave, understand me?"

"How can you be sure that Bruno wants you dead?" the blogger was indeed confused.

"I have a feeling in my gut…"

"Sherlock, you never trust your gut."

The detective didn't reply and stepped out of the car. "Just remember my words, John."

They walked to the door and were already greeted by Bruno. "I knew you two would come back," he welcomed them with a smile. John shuddered. The first time they were greeted by a warm, friendly smile. This time Bruno's smile was cold and icy. Whatever was waiting for them inside, it wasn't good at all. Although the blogger knew it was a very bad idea, he decided that Sherlock couldn't be left alone. Inside the villa, nothing had changed.

"Well, I guess you want to see another show then?" Bruno asked while guiding them to the sofa.

"Not at all. We do have some questions and therefore need answers," Sherlock replied.

"So? How can I help you? I thought you already knew everything," the magician said with an evil smile on his face.

"We both know what this is about, so why not be honest?" the detective tried once more.

"Oh, detective Holmes. You're already testing my patience. Let's speed up this whole thing, shall we?" And without any chance to react, Bruno opened his left hand and blew some kind of pink powder into their faces. Immediately, their vision started to blur and something was trying to put them under. Both men fought the urge to succumb to the darkness, but it was useless. A few seconds later they were leaning against each other, deeply unconscious. Bruno gave them a dark, satisfying smile. "Time for the real magic now."

The first thing John noticed when he woke up, was a terrible headache. What happened? He tried to sit up but immediately regretted it. The whole room was spinning and he tried to supress the urge to vomit.

"I guess he miscalculated again," a female voice with an accent whispered while pressing a cold cloth to his forehead.

"Where am I? And who are you?"

"My name is Natasha. You are in one of his prisons."

"Prison? What the hell is going on?" He tried to sit up one more time, but the young woman pushed him down.

"Don't move yet. You were drugged by Bruno and as far as I can tell, he used a little bit too much of that powder again."

"You know about the powder?" John asked confused.

"Everyone here knows what he's doing," the woman replied with a sad voice.

"So, tell me. What IS he doing?"

"Don't tell me you haven't found out yet."

"No, we didn't. By the way, where's Sherlock?"

"I don't know. But if he's not here you can be sure it's not good."

"What does that mean?" Finally, John was able to sit up from the hard wooden bed and see the room. It was a very big room, a lot of women walking around.

"It means, that he's with the others."

"Just tell me, where my friend is!" John now screamed, everyone looking at him.

"Your friend seems to be with the boys. And that's not a good sign. Not at all."

"But why? What's going on here?"

Now the woman got close to his ear, whispering, "Bruno is killing people right in front of his audience. Mostly, they are male. Sometimes it happens to be a female but in ninety-nine percent of the cases, it's always a male person."

"You're joking," Watson whispered nervously.

The woman shook her head. "I am not. Bruno Misterioso is a murderer and he's making money with it."

"And why isn't he interested in killing you?"

"Because he uses us as slaves for the show. From time to time he picks one of us as an actor… That's the part when you know it's your last day on earth."

"It can't be." John was getting scared.

"Believe me. It's what I tell you. He uses all kind of tricks to hide what he's doing. Those VIP people in their masks. They are regular visitors to his show. They know exactly what he's doing and that's what attracts them."

"You mean they like watching people die?"

"Exactly."

All of a sudden, John had a very bad feeling about the whole thing. If the woman was telling the truth, it meant they had seen people die the day they were invited to Bruno's show. And if Bruno really was a serial killer, then Sherlock was in very big trouble now…

Sherlock awoke to a hand clatching his face. From somewhere far away a voice was forcing him to wake up. Why should he? He was feeling like he was floating on a big white cloud…

"Wake up, please."

Was that John's voice? If John was pleading him it had to be urgent. Slowly he opened his eyes and stared into a pair of dark brown ones.

"You… are… not… John…," he stated immediately.

"No, I'm not. But that doesn't matter right now. It's important you wake up," the male voice warned.

Slowly, the detective rose from his bed and looked around. There were a lot of men standing or sitting around. Young men, older men, all skin colours… What the hell was going on?

"Where am I?" Sherlock asked while his eyes tried to focus.

"I guess you would call it men's room," the man replied.

"Men's room? One of Bruno's?"

"Well, kind of…," the voice whispered.

"What exactly is this?" Sherlock stared irritated at the other men in the room.

"It's our home. We live here."

The detective blinked his eyes and turned his head to look at the person speaking to him.

"And who are you?"

"My name is Pietro. Nice to meet you."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"The famous detective?" Pietro's eyes now mirrored a mixture of shock and surprise.

"What's wrong with that?" the detective already felt he was about to receive bad news.

"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into," Pietro said, his face now white as a ghost.

"Well, then tell me."

"This here is goodbye. If Bruno gets you, it's just a matter of time before he ends your life."

"Wait. What exactly is this here?"

"As I said. It's goodbye. Look at all those people. They will never see the sunlight again."

"Are you trying to tell me, that Bruno is killing all those men?" Sherlock couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Not all at once. But in every show up to five men."

"Jesus. He's killing in front of those people! That's what I've missed. Obvious, but still not visible for me. Clever. Very clever. By the way: Where's John?"

"John?"

"John Watson. My partner who accompanied me."

"There was no other person with you."

Sherlock jumped from the bed in panic and started to call John's name but no one answered.

"Where's my friend?" he asked again while looking around.

"As I told you. He's not here."

"Jooooohn!"

John Watson still tried to supress the panic, which was rising in his mind. He was alone, surrounded by many women and without his best friend. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't panic and he would know what to do right now, but he was alone. No Sherlock, no deductions which would lead them out of here, no hope. The doctor sighed. He walked around the big room and suddenly stopped when someone caught his eye. There, in one corner of the big stone walls sat a woman. She looked very young and had curled into a ball-like position, crying.

The blogger stepped closer to the girl and touched her shoulder. "Is everything alright?" he doubted that the woman would be able to understand him, but to his surprise she looked up at him and nodded. John could see that the woman's left eye was badly swollen.

"This looks bad. I'm a doctor. Do you mind if I take a look at your eye?"

The woman wasn't complaining, so John sat down right next to her and checked if the eye was still intact. It was but the beauty of her face would be disfigured for some time.

"My name is John Watson."

The woman tried to smile at him but failed. Instead of a smile she started to cry even louder now.

"Hey, it's alright. No need to cry," the blogger tried to soothe her.

"I'm sorry! Please, please forgive me."

"What are you talking about? We just met and there's nothing to be sorry for."

"I did this to you. You are here because of me!" The crying continued and John stood there, not knowing what she was talking about.

"My name is Laura. I am the woman with the pandora box you stole from me."

"Wait. We didn't steal it. Your father was worried about you and asked my friend for help."

"O yes. My father. I totally forgot. He's the typical Italian father. Always needs to know everything."

"So, you did run away from home?"

"Of course not! I was searching."

"Searching?"

"My boyfriend Pietro. He went missing and I tried to find him."

"That's how you ended up here," the blogger now understood. "He's keeping you here. Well, no wonder that your father nor the police could find you." Suddenly, John's gut was cramping. The police weren't searching for Laura, did that meant they already knew, she wouldn't come back?

"I was allowed to leave this place only once. And that was when I visited your house."

"Why was he sending you?"

"He wanted the box. You were never supposed to find it."

John was looking at her. She was beautiful. Very beautiful. Most of the Italian women were adorable, but she was extraordinary he had to admit.

"Something doesn't fit. You say he wanted his box back but why did he gave it to you?"

"I'm not totally sure but I guess he send it to me as a gift."

"A gift?"

"I'm not sure but I have the feeling he caught my boyfriend to bring me here. The pandora box told me where to go and where to find Pietro. And I did. I followed but without the box. But Bruno never shouted at me. Instead, he sent me out to get the box back from you."

John Watson stared at the young woman. "He let you out without being worried that you would talk to someone?"

"He showed me Pietro. We are together for over a year now. My father doesn't know that. I love Pietro and we were talking about our future, when suddenly he disappeared without any note. That's when I got the pandora box. It was placed on my desk, wrapped as a package so my father wouldn't get suspicious."

"And you were able to open it?"

Laura started to giggle. "Of course, I do. It was a simple riddle and when it opened, I found the address in the box. I took the note and went straight to Bruno, trying to get to Pietro. Well, now I am here, trapped and alone." Tears were rising again and the blogger felt sorry for her. The poor woman was tricked and now she was paying the ultimate prize.

"So, how do I get out of here?" Sherlock asked after he called for John over thirty constant minutes.

"You don't. That's the point. If you try to escape, he sure as hell gets you. If you don't try to escape, you will be joining his show sometime in the future," Pietro explained.

"Why is no one searching for you?"

"Because the police are involved. Most of them are joiners of the show. That's the reason everyone is wearing a mask."

"How did you know all of this?"

"Because I was a police officer myself. I didn't know what was going on until I was invited to one show and one of my colleagues told me what Bruno is doing. I couldn't live with those pictures in my head. I started to have nightmares. I couldn't sleep anymore. Well, my colleagues got suspicious about my behaviour and recognized that I was starting to get a thread. That's how I ended up here. Betrayed by the Italian police."

The detective sat on the stony ground, staring at Pietro like he had seen a ghost. It was all making sense now. The police knew exactly what was going on and that's why no one reacted when Sherlock was investigating. He now understood, how Bruno was able to trace them, without having an actual address of them. Sometimes even he as a detective missed clues, but this time it could prove fatal for both of them.

Pietro sighed. "Today is Full Moon."

"Sounds like you are scared of it."

"I am. Full Moon means, he's doing a show tonight…"