Chapter 12: Full Moon

John Watson was walking up and down the big room. Without Sherlock he had to fight alone. And that was exactly how he felt right now. Alone. Laura had told him what was going to happen when Full Moon arrived and he felt even more desperate than before. He wasn't going to die this night. He would make sure of it. Not Sherlock, not him, not anyone. It didn't matter how Bruno was killing those people, he would find out before it was too late.

"So, how is he choosing the people for tonight?" he asked Laura.

"Nobody knows. We are all awaiting our fate. There are no rules, no system. Look at Natasha. She's been here for three years now, working for him as his slave."

"I knew her. She was the one who was at the show and served us breakfast later," John responded.

"At least she's allowed to walk around sometimes. Most of us are kept here in this room."

"Natasha is talking with an accent. I assume she isn't from here," the doctor asked.

Laura started to laugh.

"What's so funny about my question?" John was confused.

"Well, you and your detective friend didn't find out anything, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"All those women you see here, are illegal here in Italy. They don't have an identity here."

"So, that's the reason no one is looking for them," now the blogger understood.

Laura nodded, "Exactly. Most of them were prostitutes, sitting on a plastic chair somewhere near the street."

John's eyes were surrounding the room. All those young women were kept here, not really speaking the language, not knowing their fate. Suddenly, the doctor felt the urge to vomit. This wasn't James Moriarty, or Eurus, or Culverton Smith… This was Bruno. A man, who was killing for at least the last twenty years…

Sherlock was still trying to compensate the information he had gotten from Pietro. They would die tonight. He was sure of it. There was no escape from this room. There wasn't even a window so he had to rely on his senses, guessing it was already after 12PM. The door opened and Bruno stepped inside the room. No one was making a sound. The magician walked directly to the detective, who was now standing in the middle of the room, staring at the tall man who was walking up to him, an evil smile decorating his face.

"So, are you ready to receive your fate," he asked with no expression.

Sherlock was trying not to look alarmed. Bruno was smiling.

"I guess you already found out about me," he whispered.

"You are a monster," Sherlock let out.

"Well, let's say kind of. I prefer magician."

"This has nothing to do with magic. You're killing people in your show. That's bizarre, don't you think?"

"I'm only helping solving a problem," Bruno replied innocently.

"A problem? How so?"

"Those are illegal people. They don't belong here. Italy can't do a shit about it, so I decided to solve the problem on my own."

"So, you're a racist as well," the detective stated.

"Let's say I am trying to protect the Italian people."

Sherlock sniffed, "Guess, I am no stranger to the land since my grandparents are from Italy."

Bruno started to laugh. "You…You are more than a stranger," he said while stepping closer. When he was at the detective's ear, he whispered, "You are a rat!" Without warning the magician's hand shot up, grabbing the detective's throat, squeezing it hard. "You… I will make sure you won't cross my plans."

"Your plans? You're killing people isn't a plan. It's cold murder," Sherlock whispered while his airway was blocked.

The magician just smiled, "I know. But there are a lot of people enjoying exactly this kind of staff. Now, watch out! This will be the last time you'll receiving my magic." Bruno pulled out his left hand under his big black coat and it came up with a clock like thing, now dancing in front of the detective's eyes. Sherlock tried to avoid the pendulum but failed. He was forced to stare right into it and before he could even have another thought, he fell into Bruno's arms, not able to control his body anymore…

He was running out of time. John Watson knew it the moment, the first women were taken out of the room. He felt sorry, because he couldn't warn them, couldn't save them. He was a doctor! He was supposed to save lives, but not today. Today he was sitting in this cage, waiting for his final moments. The door opened and he knew immediately, that it was time to let it go. Let go Rosie, let go Sheila and of course, his best friends. There was no return this time. Bruno stepped into the room and looked into John Watson's icy eyes. He grinned.

"Always the soldier, Dr. Watson. It's a shame your life has to end this soon. That's the problem with being around false friends."

"False? Sherlock Holmes is not false! He is the most loyal and accurate man I know of."

"Well? Should I be moved by your words? I'm not." The magician opened his hand right in front of John's eyes and once again a fine powder blew into his face and he drifted of to a dreamless sleep…

"O my poor little boy."

"Grandma? Is that you?"

A little laughter, soft and pure. "Who else would you expect here?" she wanted to know.

"John. Have you seen John?"

"Who's John? I never heard this name before."

"He's my best friend."

The old woman hugged him. "You were always telling lullabies. Seems to me it never changed."

"I told you stories?"

His grandma nodded. "You did. All those years. About a pirate named Redbeard."

"Redbeard… I was telling you about Victor?" Sherlock whispered astounded.

"Of course, you did. The great pirate Redbeard, who transformed into a dog and disappeared."

"How is that possible?"

Maria smiled at him. "My poor Sherlock. What happened to you?"

"I don't understand your question," the detective replied.

"You saw what he did to me and you tried so hard to protect me… I'm sorry."

Something wasn't right here. Why was she talking about so many things?

"My poor, poor boy. I wish I could have saved you."

Saved? Saved from what? She was talking nonsense. Suddenly, he felt water around his feet and when the cold hit his body, he was drawn back to reality…

Awakening was not what he expected. No soft pillow, no warm blanket, not the smell of his bedroom. Instead, he found himself chained in a tank, which was slowly filling with water. He could see people in masks staring at him in excitement. What the hell was going on? He started to assess himself, trying to check his status. He was bound and there was a key on the ground. He knew exactly what his fate was and he didn't like it at all. The water was rising slowly, now reaching his knees and he knew he had to go for the key before it was too late. While he was trying to reach the key, his eyes caught something in the crowd. And when he looked closer, he discovered his best friend, bound to a chair, forced to see him drown. John's eyes were full of panic. He could see it even without his contact lenses. If John would see him die, it would break the good doctor's heart and Sherlock had the feeling his heart was ripped out. He knew it was useless to go for the key, because Bruno had already decided to end his life. But he had to try. For John. Just to give the brave soldier a little bit of hope. He looked at the doctor one last time before he started to dive for the key…

John had returned to the world with a terrible headache again. He hated it. He could stand different types of pain, but there was nothing more crucial than a headache. When he had tried to move his body, he find that he couldn't. He then opened his eyes and found himself locked to a chair. Next thing he saw made him speechless. Around him were visitors with masks, staring impressed at the tank on the stage. There was a man in the tank, fully chained and water was slowly rising inside. There was no escape and when John recognised who the trapped person was, his alarm bells started to ring in his head.

"Sherlock!" he started to scream but he knew it was useless. There was his friend, ready to drown in front of him. No! He had to avoid that. Bruno was clever, but he was too.

John tried to lose the bounds but it didn't work out.

Sherlock's act seemed to be the big finale and when the doctor realised, that he had failed the other women, he started to scream. The music was muting his screams and tears of defeat were running down John's face now.

Meanwhile, Sherlock desperately tried to get the key. The weight of the chains was weakening him fast and while the water had reached his shoulders now, the detective knew he wouldn't make it down to the ground again.

He knew he was drowning and he asked himself if Victor Trevor had felt the same when he was dying.

His eyes looked sadly at John, who was screaming his name in horror. "I'm sorry John," he whispered while feeling the water at his neck now.

John Watson was still fighting the ropes, when he finally decided it was useless. He couldn't move enough with his body and hands. Sherlock was already struggling to keep over water as long as possible and when the water reached his chin, the doctor knew he had to hurry. There was one last chance to free himself and the brave man knew it would get ugly. Loud music flooded the room and the lights went out. Just one spotlight was still working, trying to focus on the man, who was already choking. John used the moment, broke his wrist with a loud thud and tried to escape the bounds. It worked and with a mixture of shock and adrenaline, he started to scream Sherlock's name over and over again while running on the stage.

The detective was now completely underwater and his eyes were full of horror and fear when he saw his best friend right in front of him, hands hammering at the glass until they were bleeding. He would never forget those sad, blue eyes which were staring at him while he was losing the fight. His mouth opened automatically and the water flooded his throat. It was cruel and while he was slowly drifting away, he heard John Watson's desperate screams…

The doctor was standing outside the tank, trying to break the glass with his bare hands but it didn't work. Desperately, he looked around and finally his eyes caught a fire extinguisher, which was standing behind a certain. John didn't care about consequences. All that mattered to him was his best friend who was now floating lifelessly in the water.

The doctor grabbed the handle and started to hammer at the tank. While he did so, he was screaming in pain. Not only physically but mentally as well. He was about to give up, when finally a little crack started to form on the glass and John knew it was now or never. With one last effort he hit the tank with the extinguisher full force and the glass broke. The guests were splattered with the cold water but everyone was still cheering.

Sherlock's thin body was lying on the ground of the tank and the doctor stumbled over it, pulling the man into safety. With his bloody hands he tried to hit his best friend's face. There was no response, not even from rubbing his sternum. John knew this was bad and he desperately ripped the white shirt open, starting CPR.

Everyone in the room was silent. They were all holding their breaths while watching the bizarre scenario in front of them.

"Please Sherlock, please. Just one breath would be enough to come back to me." John's voice was trembling. "Please…" Blood was oozing from his hands, while trying to restart the heart under the ribcage. The scar from their fight a few months ago was still visible on the pale skin and new tears were forming on the doctor's face now. He was pushing with all the strength he had left, screaming while his broken wrist protested with every push he delivered. The people around were watching the scenario with amazement and joy. This was something not seen often here at this place and therefore it was entertaining for the guests.

For John it wasn't entertaining. His friend was dying right in front of him and he already doubted, that Sherlock was coming back this time. His wrist was complaining more and more and blood was covering the lifeless chest now.

"Let him go! He's dead already," someone in the crowd shouted.

Another man rose from his seat. "He's right! This guy is already a corpse."

More and more people started to leave their seats. They had seen for what they paid, so why wasting time?

Silence. The room was now completely still and the only hopeful thing was the white light from the spot, illuminating them. John felt like he was dying while being alive. He pushed and pushed, gave breath after breath but still nothing.

"You made a vow to me, remember?" John asked, his voice trembling. "You promised you would never leave me again."

The doctor looked at his pale friend, lips slowly turning blue.

"Guess that was a lie," John whispered while his hands left the chest.

"What am I going to do now? He will kill me, too."

John Watson had never felt this lonely before. And something else was forming in his brain. The feeling of fear.

The doctor was holding his damaged wrist and it was now that he discovered he was going into shock. He had been so desperate to save his friend that he didn't even care to look at himself. Now he was losing his own battle to stay awake and with a last desperate sob he succumbed to the darkness…

Only a few seconds later, the body next to him started to shoot up, coughing violently, spilling out a big amount of clear water. Sherlock couldn't remember why he was lying on the cold ground, but when he looked up and saw the rest of the broken tank, the memories returned. He was left to drown in there but John was trying to save him. John. Where was John? The detective was looking around. The room was dark and empty but right next to him lay a lifeless figure.

"O my god, John! John!" he screamed while turning the doctor on his back. Something wasn't right and when Sherlock saw the twisted wrist, he knew exactly what had happened. As fast as he could he grabbed a nearby chair and lifted his friend's feet onto it. It took a few seconds, before the doctor regained consciousness. When he looked into blue eyes, he smiled.

"I knew we would meet in heaven again."

Sherlock wasn't smiling.

"So, we are in hell, aren't we?"

"Depends which hell you are talking about," the detective replied while trying to fix the wrist. It was a simple break, so he put it back into place, before the doctor had a chance to react. The scream that followed was very loud and Sherlock felt sorry for causing so much pain. John was rolling from side to side, trying to ease the pain somehow. Sherlock meanwhile was searching for something to stabilize the bones and finally discovered a first aid kit in another corner of the big arena.

"Stay here! Don't move!"

"I'm not going anywhere soon, Sherlock."

The detective returned to his best friend, opening the first aid kit, bandaging and stabilizing the wrist.

"You know what? You could have been a very good doctor," John hissed.

"I prefer my current business," Sherlock replied dryly and looked at his best friend. Watson was pale but smiling.

"Thanks," he whispered while looking at his damaged wrist.

A coughing sound made him look up again. "Are you alright?"

"Just some irritation in my throat," the detective said while trying to steady himself.

"This was really, really close Sherlock."

"I know. Thanks for saving my life."

"Well, you're not out of danger yet," the doctor said concerned. "There is the risk of second drowning."

"I'm sure you know what to do if that happens to me," Sherlock countered.

"Sherlock if this happens, there's not much I can do for you here and when I remember the hospitals here, I doubt you would make it out alive."

"So, let's hope we're not facing complications."

"What are we doing now? Run?" the doctor asked.

"We wouldn't succeed. He has cameras all over the place and I am sure he already knows that I am still alive." The detective looked around and something caught his eye. There was a trapdoor on the stage and he knew instantly, where he had to go. Without further thinking he opened the door and looked down.

"Very, very interesting," he whispered.

"What's in there?" the blogger wanted to know and also looked down. The smell of acid was filling his nostrils and the doctor gulped. "Don't tell me it is what I am thinking."

"Depends on what you think it is," Sherlock replied.

"Seems like he's getting rid of the bodies down there."

"Exactly. That's the reason they never found those people."

John looked disgusted at the detective. "What are we doing now?"

"Well, since Bruno is already watching us, I would say we try to get as much information as possible."

The detective started to head for the stage door. John, a little nervous, followed. Whatever was behind that door, he was sure it wouldn't be good.

With a loud screeching sound, the heavy metal door opened and when they both stepped in, Sherlock froze immediately.

"What's the matter Sherl," the blogger asked while trying to get a better look.

When John was finally able to see, what his best friend was staring at, he was confused.

"You want to tell me what's going on," he tried again.

There wasn't a lot here to see and John was getting impatient. "For God's sake Sherlock! If there's a way to get out of here just say it! I would really appreciate it."

Slowly, the detective stepped to the wooden desk, which was positioned right in the middle of the room and grabbed a chain. He turned round and showed it to John.

"A rosary? That's what caught your attention?" the blogger wasn't impressed at all.

"You have no idea John, what this is, do you?"

"No. But I'm sure I will find out in a minute," John replied dryly.

Sherlock grabbed the cross of the rosary and showed it to the blogger. "You see the back of the cross?"

John nodded.

"There are initials on it. M. L."

"I can see that. But why is it important to you?" John couldn't follow.

"Maria Ligori. That's my grandmothers birthname. And I remember she was wearing it all the time."

"Are you sure it's hers?"

"One hundred percent John. I recognize this piece of art. The cross is made of very expensive silver and the pearls are Akoya pearls. Those pearls are valuable."

"Jesus… So, what's the connection between Bruno and your grandmother?"

Sherlock sighed. "That's what I am going to find out."