𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, sherlock holmes

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗 . . . I'M A SPECIALIST, LIKE YOU!

SHERLOCK CLICKED THE BUTTON TO end the call and set his phone onto the glass tabletop of  Lestrade's desk. He turned to Mrs Wenceslas, who was gripping the arms of the chair she'd been settled into tightly. "Do you know who Moriarty's final victim is going to be?" She whimpered, and Lestrade had begun to type away at the loud keyboard for his computer. "Do you know." Sherlock persisted, and John was convinced he was only mere seconds away from leaping up and shaking some sense into the director of the art gallery by the shoulders.

Lestrade sighed, spun the screen of his computer around to the people in the office, and called Sally Donovan to bring in three cups of coffee alongside a pair of handcuffs with her arrest warrant. "You might be clever, Sherlock, but it doesn't take a genius to work out who victim number five is going to be." The three men looked at the phone lying still on the table. "Blair has to know. John, if I give you her contact details can you book her and her son onto the fastest train that's coming down from Windermere?" The detective inspector opened the door to his office to let Sally in.

She set the tray down and handcuffed Mrs Wenceslas, who was halfway though being taken down into the holding cells when the young sergeant tossed a comment over her shoulder flippantly, before leaving again. "Don't cock this up."

John turned to Sherlock. "You're going to need those missile plans, for Poppy's sake." He pulled out his wallet and inputted the numbers on the plastic card onto the payment page of the 'Train-line' website, hitting send after typing in Blair's e-mail address. John dialled the number written on the monogramed Scotland Yard stationery into his phone, and left the room. His call was picked up after three dial tones. "Um, hi. Is this Blair Maxwell? Perfect. I'm John Watson, a friend of Poppy's . . ."

Sherlock wrapped a hand around the coffee mug closest to him, and grimaced as he drank it. Sally had, most likely on purpose, left out his usual two spoons of sugar. But never the less he persisted onwards, waiting patiently for the pink phone in his pocket to ring with the final pip. It never sounded, but instead the phone on the desk let out an overly shrill chime.

We've found her. Bruce-Partington plans are needed urgently — MH

He pocketed the phone and stood up abruptly to speak to Lestrade. "Keep my website open. I'll end up where she is, just wait it out until you're needed . . . and there's a very high chance of the bomb disposal team being needed there, too."

The detective inspector sat up straighter in his spinning desk chair, stopping the twisting circular motions'd forced himself to endure as he stared up at the rotating blades of the ceiling fan. He did not look pleased. "Obviously." He deadpanned, "Now get going. We're going to have a very busy twenty four hours ahead of us."

- < > -

POPPY KNEW SHE WAS SOMEWHERE she hadn't ever planned on winding up in. She couldn't pin-point where she was, but the cloth that was tied around her neck and stopping her from speaking had the lingering scent of chloroform, and it gagged her mouth shut. There was thick knots of bright blue binds holding her wrists to the arms of the chair her ankles had been tied to the legs of, securing her into place. Poppy looked around through a drowsy gaze, the familiar setting of the room somehow not adding up to the strange events.