SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

A Message for Sherlock Holmes (The End)

Weeks later, John sat in front of his computer typing out the ending to the Mullen Case, he was almost ready to publish it, but he didn't have a fitting title. Sherlock sat in his traditional chair, rosining up his violin bow.

"Sherlock," John chirped up, he placed an arm on the back of his chair and turned around. "What should I title this?"

Sherlock shrugged and flipped his bow. "I don't know. Do you think I care what you title your blog?"

John remained silent for a moment before answering with a resounding, "Yes."

"Fine. Whatever. Call it, 'Raped.' It started out that way, didn't it?"

"Ummm," John looked around the room and smacked his lips. "Yes, Sherlock, that's a wonderful title. Especially since it'll read, 'Raped by John Watson and Sherlock Holmes'. No, I don't think that'll work nor make the readers take us serious."

Insulted, Sherlock looked up and said defensively, "Not if you put a colon after 'raped'."

"Never mind. I'll figure it out myself." John returned to his keyboard, his fingers hovering over the alphabet pensively. Having a writer's block, John sighed loudly and asked, "By the way, how did you know the snipers weren't going to shoot you? Or, how did you even know they were there?"

"Simple. I smelled ammunition and gun powder. The wind was very helpful-told me exactly where their positions were as well. As for the device, I knew Mullen wouldn't send me off without some form of security attached to me. And I knew he would use me to make you behave and so on and so forth-he's not a Moriarty, that's for sure. Just some obsessed, two-face monster who had too many years to think about how to kill you, or whatever. He was just a broken shadow. A man wanting to be detectivish but failed miserably."

"Right, he was. Anyway, you were wrong about assuming the man taking care of Sonia was her caregiver and the murderer was the one to suspect," John pointed out through a smile.

"Oh, come off, John! I knew what I was talking about. I'm not always as wrong as you think!" Sherlock stopped and pondered on his past assumptions. "Did I really say that? Assume the murderer was the man we wanted?"

John raised an eyebrow and spun around in his chair, facing Sherlock. "You quite did. Oh yes, Mycroft texted me-again! Telling me about another case you'd be interested in."

Sherlock groaned at the mentioning of his brother. "That goof always has a case for me. Wonder what this one might be? Did Mrs. So-and-so kill Mr. So-and-so because Mr. No-no interfered with their marriage? And the whole twist is that their son hired Mr. No-no to be a jerk to his parents so that he could stay up longer before bedtime?"

"Uh, no. Not at all. It actually involves a member of the Royal Family. She needs a bodyguard." John eyed Sherlock to watch his reaction. "What do you think?"

Sherlock placed the bow onto his violin strings and drew out a melodious note. "Not going to be me, thank you very much. Have you got a title for your blog?"

"Yes, I do. Broken Shadows."

"Ah! I like that, very clever of you." Sherlock continued to play a soft tune when Mrs. Hudson came in with her bubbly disposition.

"Hello, boys! I just came in to give a letter to Sherlock. Looks as if it's from a lady-friend!" Mrs. Hudson pinched her lips and did a little dance before skipping over to Sherlock with an envelope.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, giving her a warm smile and taking the letter. He looked it over once and then placed it on the table beside him.

"How's your face, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, going over to John and placing her hands on his cheeks gently.

"It's well, thank you. Healing slowly."

"That's good! Well, I'll be better be off, have a bit of shopping!" With that, Mrs. Hudson slipped out of the room.

Sherlock waited until her footsteps had quieted before taking the envelope and carefully knifing it open. John left his seat and came up beside his friend where he stared eagerly at what was to drop out of the message. Sherlock, with his brows furrowing in concentration, shook out a piece of string. The string, however, was braided so that it had no end and formed a circle.

"What do you think that means?" John asked, fingering the string. It felt like cheap string one would buy at a hardwood store.

"I don't know," Sherlock whispered. He took out his portable magnifying glass and studied the entire string before clicking his aid shut and placing it flat on the table. "It's marked with three dots. Put your finger on that dot, I'll put mine on these two. Pull against me."

John placed his finger on the black mark and drew it towards himself while Sherlock held the other two marks. Quickly, the circle expanded into a triangle. John's forehead wrinkled and he tried to figure out what the triangle meant. "You know what it means?"

Smirking, Sherlock placed his flattened palms together and pressed them against his lips. He leaned back into his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Symbolic visions of triangles flashed in his mental world as he replied slowly, "No. But I will."

THE END