Holmecide Part 1

Sherlock

Something is amiss, and I don't know what. It irks me that I can't figure out what's wrong with the flat. Something's changed though, something's different.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I call down the stairs, maybe she'd been in. Everything is in order, but it just doesn't... Feel right.

"Yes dear?"

"Have you been in our flat?" The landlady shakes her head before smiling,

"Is something wrong dear?"

"Maybe." She frowns as I withdraw back into the flat. Someone's been in. I pop out for twenty minutes, a silly domestic case down at the Yard, and my home gets invaded. How typical. Maybe John came back for a few moments and then stepped out again. Or maybe, I start to counsel myself, your run in with Moriarty is making you paranoid. Maybe. I don't think so though. I'm pretty good about everything. Something is just... off. Not right. I sniff the air, normal, I run my fingers over the wood of the coffee table, normal. Something is putting me off, and I don't know what it is. I stiffen, movement, in the kitchen. Some one is in my flat. No need to be quiet though, they must have heard me call to Mrs. Hudson. I immediately loosen my muscles, shake them out once and then casual stroll over to the kitchen. Someone is in my fridge, back to me. Only one person.

"Sherlock. Do you really not eat?" Moriarty.

"Obviously. What are you doing here?" He turns to face me, a smile on his face,

"I just came to see my favorite person. My dear." I roll my eyes,

"As if you don't know already."

"Where's your little boyfriend? It was him I actually came to see." I don't correct him. It's not like that, he just said it to irritate me. I take a deep breath and swallow hard before answering. He scares me. He shouldn't but he does.

"Of course, you would know where he's at. Jim." He smiles wider and shuts my fridge,

"Don't want to spoil that liver in there. I hope it isn't human."

"So why are you really here? No games."

"Just thought I'd step in and say hi."

"Already done." Moriarty saunters around my kitchen, running his fingers over everything within reach. He picks up one of my earlier experiments and holds it to the light, examining it.

"I just want you to see how capable I am."

"What?"

"Your landlady, she doesn't even know I'm here."

"Yes."
"I could come in at any time and kill you if I wanted to Sherlock." He sets it down and shoves his hands in his pockets, "Do you know where your 'pet' is?" Fear, like a spike, digs itself into my heart, the one I don't have. Don't let him see, act indifferent.

"Yes."

"Do you?"

"He's at work."

"No he isn't." Oh Hell. What has he done? Bugger. Not John.

"Enlighten me."

"John never made it to work today, and if you were so good, you'd know he'd be home by now." I blink hard, seven o'clock already? I'd only popped out for twenty minutes.

"You still haven't told me..."

"Hush now. No need to be impatient. I know you're bored. Thought you might like a little bit of help. Getting unbored."

"Not like this. And that's not even a proper word." He smirks. If he's done anything, anything at all...

"Well I can't let you have all the fun now can I?" He waltzes up to me, looking up into my face, studying everything. As if he's trying to look into my soul, trying to see what I'm feeling. Anger, hurt, fear, desperate.

"Fun? What have you done?"

"Nothing too illegal."

"Jim."

"Well it wouldn't be a game if I told you. You have to figure it out. Silly."

"People's lives could be at stake."

"And since when have you cared?" He feigns surprise, "I thought you didn't have a heart! Could it be that you care for John Watson the returned army doctor?" He smirks again, "Or do you just want someone to look after you? Because I might be able to arrange something."

"Are you making an offer?" Disbelief, how could he be doing this? It's wrong!

"Are you considering it?"

"Not at all. Mrs. Hudson took my skull again, and John's my resident doctor. You don't want me dying from a paper cut now would you?" Jim chuckles darkly,

"Will you play?"

"Is this the only way I'm getting my M.D back?"

"Oh yes my dear."

"Then yes."

"Good. I was so hoping you would play! Your first clue is in this envelope. Good luck." He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out an envelope, "Just like the last one, don't worry, I'm being fair." I take it from him and analyze it carefully, I can't trust him, not for one moment. He starts to leave, pausing at the door to look at me, smiling, that reptilian grin, slight head shifting, barely noticeable, "Oh and Sherlock. You have twelve hours to find him, or your doctor will be lost forever." He pauses for effect before delivering the final blow, "And no one will ever find the body. Good night Sherlock." He's gone,

"I'll solve this."

"I hope you do." Nothing. I sink to the floor, the envelope in my grip shaking. Oh Hell. Jim's bad news. He must be really bored, to come and visit me. And I just let him stand there. Twelve hours, twelve to find John. Oh God.

11 hours 58 minutes

Oh God. John's going to die. And it's all my fault. I stand up and open the envelope, at least have some faith Sherlock. Moriarty may be cruel, evil, and heartless, but he is fair. It's not a phone this time, instead the envelope wasn't even addressed. This time it's a picture. A drawing of the Thames. If he thought this was a clue, he's insane. This isn't a clue, it's a picture of the Thames and the Waterloo bridge. Where the tide comes in. There's nothing over there, I've been fifty times or more in the past week for Lestrade. Lestrade. He can help. I mentally kick myself, no. I have to do it on my own. I study the picture closer as Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs,

"Sherlock dear, what is it?" I say nothing. Don't want to alarm her now do I? "Sherlock. Where's John?"

"Not coming home tonight." She smiles,

"He and Sarah get on well."

"Yes."

"What is that?" I don't look up, looking looking, what am I looking for?

"A drawing."

"Of what Sherlock."

"The Thames and Waterloo bridge." She chuckles,

"There's nothing over there."

"I know."

"So what's in the picture?"

"Where the tide comes in."

"What are you looking for." Anger. My head snaps up and I glare at her,

"I don't know!" Her smile falters and she backs down the steps, letting me examine the only clue I'm going to get to finding John. Something about Waterloo. I'll have to go down there. I sigh. This is what caring for people does, it makes you worry. Puts them in the line of fire, makes them and yourself vulnerable. I knead my eyes, a migraine starting behind them. Perfect. Just what I need now. I'll have to go down to Waterloo. There might be another clue there. Time for a decision. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"What dear?"

"I'm going out."

John

What the Hell? Where am I? How come I can't- I don't know what happened. Oh Hell. My head aches something horrible. I don't remember anything after breakfast with Sherlock. Oh God. There is only way this is possible. One name that twists itself over and over in my mind. Moriarty. Of everyone I've met, James is the one that I fear the most. Oh God. He's going to kill me. I can't see. I can't feel. My arms hurt and my mouth is gagged. No calling out then. What's that sound? Water is it? Oh God. He's put me on the Thames, near the Thames, around the Thames. I'm going to drown. At least it's better then getting stabbed. Or blown up. John, relax. You aren't going to die, Sherlock's going to find you. Is that my phone? How stupid is Moriarty? He didn't take my phone away! My hands are bound, I can't get it. I reach around myself, trying anyway. You never got anywhere without trying. I can just feel it, just there. It's still buzzing, right. Don't hang up Sherlock. Please. Wait. You can't answer the damn thing. You can barley move your arms. Where's your pocket knife you sod? In the desk back at the flat. Perfect. You're going to make Sherlock proud you are, where are you? What do you know about the place? It's cold. Damp. Hard, concrete. Am I in a bloody box? Oh God. I'm going to die in a box. Oh heaven help me. I run my fingers along the floor, trying to find something to untie my hands with. Nothing. Of course. I can't stand, the box is a bit too small. I'm in a bloody box! I'm not going to make it I don't think. Oh God. I don't want to die right now. Not right now. Not like this.

Sherlock

10 hours

Oh God. If John dies I'm going to never forgive myself.

"Do you think you could hurry up? I'm in a bit of a hurry." The cab driver barely looks back at me, making the face of an annoyed cabbie. Typical.

"Might cost you more."

"Gladly." He frowns.

"Do you mind me asking why you need to get to Waterloo bridge so fast?"

"Yes. But I will say this, if my friend dies before we get there, I hold you entirely responsible." The cabbie pales and puts his foot down.

7 hours 30 minutes

I'm never going to find him in time. Oh this is a nightmare. I comb the tide line and the whole bit of the shore. Nothing. Nothing for miles. Water splashes on my feet and angrily, I kick at a small rock. I swear under my breath as I pace back and forth again. Why does Moriarty play these games. He wants me to lose. He wants me to win. I can't figure him out. What's wrong with him. I'm a sociopath, but Jim? He's a psychopath. An interesting one. Shut up Sherlock. John's in trouble. You have to find John. Right. John. Clue. There has to be one here. I take the picture out again, studying the hand drawn lines, looking for something, anything. I look up, there. The one thing out of place in the hand drawn image, a small box. Here on the shore, not prominent in the picture. Cautiously I pick my way across the shore, hoping beyond hope that it holds what I want it too. It's a small box, metal, like a lunch box, only the ones used for construction workers. Unlocked, obviously. Another envelope. Another clue? I slide it open, praying. A folded note. Typed, card-stock. Interesting. I unfold it and nearly drop.

How long have you wasted scanning the shore? Two? Three? How much time do you have left? Six or Seven hours. And you still don't know where to look. Tsk Tsk. Thought you were smarter then that Sherlock. How about you try Sussex bridge next, my dear.

Tick

Tick

Tick

That bastard. He's egging me on. And I'm sure as Hell going to fall for it. Seven hours, and counting.

5 hours 30 minutes

Oh God. Only six hours left, and no sign of John yet. Nothing. Sussex bridge is stupid, boring and pointless. Nothing. Moriarty is toying with me. I should have suspected it. Another box, another clue, another message to mock me.

Tsk Tsk Sherlock. I've told you. I'm so changeable. Your pet isn't here. I've moved him. Now you're thinking how unfair I'm being. You should have come out to play earlier mister. How long do you have now? Five hours? Maybe six tops. A riddle for your thoughts?

A Bridge, named after a city,

Large and firm,

It stands tall.

A box that's large,

And a man inside.

I bet he's crying.

Fives hours left,

Can you find?

Before the ticking stops,

And the fire begins.

Five hours left my dear. Can you find him?

I crumble the note up. Five hours. Five hours left to find John. London bridge, obviously. Is he saying that he has John in a box? OH HELL! I think John might be a little bit claustrophobic.

"London bridge, on the double."

John

This box is too small. I can hardly breathe. Oh God. I'm going to die. I don't want to. I don't want to die. I've managed to untie my hands, my wrists are raw and the skin is broken. Jim didn't tie my feet together, there isn't room in the box to move. Oh God. I can't find the opening. There is no door. I can't get out. Oh God help me.

Sherlock

3 hours 10 minutes

Oh God. Where is he? I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill Moriarty. He will never see the light of day again. Oh God. I scan the shore again. Nothing. Oh God. I pace back and forth, back and forth, kicking up muck and debris. Nothing. I peer across the Thames. I have to find John. I just have to find him.

John

Sherlock. Oh God. He's going to go insane. He needs someone to help him. It was my calling and I got myself into trouble. Oh God. I can't move. My phone. I can reach it now, barely, but I can. I dial Sherlock's number, speed dial one. Pick up, pick up. Sherlock. Pick up your bloody phone, for once. This time I need you.

Sherlock

3 hours

My phone, it's ringing. Slowly I take it out. OH MY GOD. It's John.

"John. Where the Hell are you?" His voice is shaky,

"I don't know Sherlock."

"What do you know about the place?"

"I'm in a box. Near the Thames. I don't know where. But what time is it?"

"Early."

"Oh my God. Come find me. Please. Just find me."

"I'm trying friend, I'm trying."

"How long has he given you?"

"I have three hours left John. Only three."

"Sherlock."

"Yes John?"

"I believe in you."

"Thank you."

"Did he tell you what would happen if you didn't find me?" I have to find him. He's scared, he's trying to suck it up, but he's scared. Oh God.

"Yes."

"I'm the one that's going to experience a mental breakdown any minute, so would you care to share?"

"From what I can gather, if I don't find you, you're going to burn." John swears,

"At least it's better then drowning, or suffocating." John. You idiot. Now is not the time to be making jokes, you of all people should know that. "Sherlock."

"What?"

"If I die, just know that sharing a flat with you has been amazing. Even if I hate you sometimes, and if you scare me sometimes. If I had to relive the past, I would do it again and again. You're my best mate."

"Thank you John, but now really isn't the time to be saying goodbye. I'll finish up on this side of the Thames and then I'm heading over to the other side." I pause, and hear him shift a little on the other line. Oh God. He's scared. "I will find you John. You can count on that." and I hang up the phone. Oh God. He's scared, he's going to die, and it's all my bloody fault.

John

He's going to find you John, you just have to close your eyes and pretend it's a dream. Because it is, and when you wake up, Sherlock will be standing over you with his skull and a frown on his face because you fell asleep on the couch. Oh God. Stop thinking like that John. You were in war! You shouldn't be thinking like this. I should, I so should. I don't like small places. I had enough of that in Afghanistan. Oh God. I'm going to die in here. Alone, cold, and scared. Oh God. It has to be a dream. I pinch my shoulder, not a dream. Oh God. That bastard. Sherlock is going to kill him. He's going to kill the bastard.

Sherlock

1 hour 25 minutes

What have I been doing all this time? Eh? One hour left, one and still, no sign of John. Oh God. What is that? Across the Thames? What is it? Is it a... box?

"Oh my God." I whisper quietly, a concrete box, barely noticeable, but right there. All this time. Oh my God. John is locked up inside of that. He was talking to me, from inside that box. Oh God.

John

How many hours have passed? How much time do I have left? I don't know. Sherlock. Don't fail me now. Please. Oh shut up John. Shut up. And don't you dare cry. What are you? A baby? No. You're a soldier. A scared soldier. John. What? What did you do in Afghanistan when you were scared? I pushed the fear back, gritted my teeth and let my bullets fly. But I'm not in Afghanistan, I'm in a concrete box, with no way out. Sherlock is going to find you. Grit your teeth and focus on happy thoughts okay? You're going to make it through this. Am I? You are.

Sherlock

1 hour

One hour, one hour to try and save him. Can I do it? Yes of course you can. I circle the concrete box, there has to be a way for Jim to have gotten him in there. The top of course. I hope to God that John knows Morse code.

John

What the HELL! Someone found me? They're tapping on the side of the box! Why don't they let me out? SHUT UP JOHN! LISTEN!

Three shorts. Pause. Three longs. S-O so what? Short long short. Pause. Short long short. R-R. Wait. One more letter. Long short long long. S-O-R-R-Y. Sorry for what?

Sherlock

30 minutes

With one heave I push the box over. Have to reach the top, therefore, I need to bring the top to the ground. Sorry John.

"Sorry John. Forgive me."

"Never." comes the muffled reply. I smile. John. That's John all over. I circle to the top of the box.

John

Should have known he was going to push me over. There is a noise above my head and the top of the box comes off. I'm on my side so I tilt my head to get a good look at Sherlock, screwing my eyes up as the light starts to make them smart and sting.

"Took you long enough." Nothing can describe the happiness I feel as my eyes adjust and Sherlock stands there smiling at me.

Sherlock

5 minutes

"Better crawl on out of there. John."

"No argument from me."

"It's just. According to my calculation, you've got five minutes before that box blows itself apart." John starts and tries to wiggle from the box. Oh thank God I found him in time. Thank God.

"You're going to have to help me." He holds his hands out, his wrists are raw and the skin is broken and jagged. Bleeding. Moriarty is going to pay. With his life. I grip John's hands and start to pull him out. He stands, smiles and then nearly topples over. "Sherlock. I can't feel my bloody legs." I check my watch, 2 minutes. Bugger. Helping John up I throw one of his arms over my shoulder and we start to make our way as quickly as possible from that wretched box. Not quick enough. I look behind me as the box explodes, sending concrete and fire in every direction. The flames hit us square in the back and I shout as it forces us to the ground, making us fly through the air. John is ripped away from me, and the world grows black.