SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

For the World to See

Sherlock’s body shuddered and his breath came out in staggered exhalations. His brow glistened with sweat and his hands gripped the bed. In a sharp gasp, Sherlock flung himself upright and grabbed his collar in fear. He looked around the room and sniffed the air. He had slept through the morning and evening hours, so, it wasn’t much of a surprise to him to see that he had reached the night hours. He sniffed the air again. Something wasn’t right.

He pulled the sheet around him and dragged himself out of the bed. He tilted his head and stared at the window. He didn’t remember the curtains pulled aside and the window open. He knew John wouldn’t let the cold draft in, so, the detective’s only deduction was that someone was in the room with him. Shrinking back to the bed, Sherlock sat down onto the mattress and fixed his eyes on a dark blotch in the corner.

He wasn’t sure if it was the shadows or an actual person staring back at him, but not wanting to chance his safety, Sherlock spun around to his bedside table to fetch his handgun. Before he had a chance to even grab the wooden knob, a body rammed him against the bed and he was bullied to stay still. He felt his wrists locked between stronger hands and a pair of knees pressed hard against his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

“Hello, Sherlock Holmes,” came a soothing, but authoritative voice.

Sherlock assumed by the voice and strength that the intruder was a thirty-year-old male who was probably an ex-military solider, or perhaps someone who dabbled in the mercenary business. The heavy cargo pants and boots clearly told of a man who was prepared to fight. Sherlock targeted his senses to his wrists and quickly deducted more by the way the hands felt. They were calloused, strong, and meaty. That didn’t help much—for a construction worker could share such a pair of hands. What made them different were the deep scars in the palms.

“Get off me!” Sherlock groaned under the weight. He was able to shift the body in a more comfortable position, but that was all he could achieve.

“You will tell no one of me,” the stranger began, “but you will hear what I have to say.”

“Which is what?”

“I see, from reading your blog that you’ve gotten pretty far in your deductions. You were right about the duchess in trouble—she is.  I plan on kidnapping her.”

“You won’t be able to,” Sherlock warned, taking in a deep breath.

“Because of John Watson? Don’t worry, he’ll want her to leave. And you’re the one who’s going to make her.”

“John will know if I’m telling him the truth.”

“Will he?” the stranger jerked a gun from his shoulder-holster and brandished it in front of Sherlock. He stroked the barrel against Sherlock’s temple and then trailed it down under his jaw. “I won’t be afraid to pull the trigger, but I know I won’t have to because you’ll listen to me. Now, this is simple, you tell John that the duchess wants nothing with him—she’s only entertaining herself for selfish reasons. You know, posh people toy with the poorer folk out of boredom. You can say whatever you like, as long as you get the duchess out of John Watson’s life.”

“And why would I just let her walk into your hands?”

“This is the best part, Mr. Holmes. If you don’t, I will kill both the doctor and the pretty little lady tonight. I didn’t load three bullets just for you.”

“You wouldn’t kill them because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to play your game.”

The stranger leaned in and breathed in Sherlock’s face. “Exactly! But this isn’t just a game, it’s a show. I’m putting you on display, Mr. Holmes. Once you’ve given me Her Grace, I’m going to tell everyone about you, and tell them that if you aren’t able to impress them, then I’m going to kill the Duchess of Cornwall. Right before their very eyes!”