SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Building the Charges

(not edited)

Turning to Molly, Sherlock whispered, “Molly, I’m getting off.” He grabbed her hand before she had time to consider and began creeping up, seat by seat, to the front door.

“Shouldn’t we stay on the bus? Won’t we be safer?” Molly asked, looking behind her at the black cars following them.

“Don’t worry, I’m just putting in a request.” Sherlock kissed her on the temple and went up to the bus driver. He leaned down and gave him an order.

The driver nodded his head and pulled off onto the nearest exist. A few passengers complained of the change and pointed to their watches in irritation. The driver ignored and continued his way to a bus stop.

“What are we doing?” Molly asked, clutching to Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I’m getting off. Otherwise those people following us will kill us all to get to me.” Sherlock released Molly’s hand and waited by the automatic doors. When the bus came to a hissing stop, Sherlock exited and made his way towards the black cars not too far from them.

Molly placed a hand against the glass and watched as one of the three black cars pulled over. The other two cars passed by them and took the nearest highway headed to London. Keeping the tears behind her eyes, Molly sunk down in the booth, and placed a hand against her chest. The bus jerked to life and resumed its duty.

Sherlock, hands in his coat pocket, and eyes squinting against sun, waited as the driver stepped out from the vehicle.

“I suspect that you were waiting for me?” Sherlock asked.

In an American accent, the man replied, “Of course. We got a call from our leader.”

Smirking, Sherlock revealed with an almost teasing tone in his voice, “You do know that your ‘leader’, Evangeline D’Nour, or ‘The Axis’ is working with the Americans and the Russians? You see, I was just with her and she told me all about it. I also know the other two cars up ahead carries John Watson.”

The man stiffened his lips and grabbed Sherlock roughly by the arm. He pulled him close and growled, “Evangeline D’Nour? Why did you tell us? What’s in it for you to give away her identity?”

Shrugging, the detective answered, “I don’t know. Perhaps you can do me a favour in hopes to express your disappointment in her. I would like to leave this all behind without a scratch and with John Watson.”

“Not going to be that easy, Mr. Holmes. She may have just put herself on my bad side, but she pays well. I can’t give you John Watson, sorry.” The man opened the door to the car and tossed his head in its direction.

Before boarding, Sherlock asked, “Then what will you give me? The last time I spoke to her she said she was sending a ‘message.’ From all that I can gather, it’s a message of a false identity with my face. Arthur Mitchell is who she wants people to believe I am.”

“Sorry, Mr. Holmes, that’s your problem.” The man shoved Sherlock inside, but before he closed the door, Sherlock blurted out in his last attempt to save himself.

“The formula—,”

“What?”

“It’s fake. I had figured it out. The code is just rubbish to bait me. She led you and the Russians in just as a game.”

In a rage, the American pulled out his gun and pressed the tip hard against Sherlock’s head. “You better be joking, cause this bullet will speak my mind!”

“I wouldn’t put my life on the line if it wasn’t true,” Sherlock retorted.

“You’ve done a lot of risky things; I’m not surprised if you’re risking your life!”

Sherlock felt the tip move slightly against his head, alerting him of the American’s finger pressing on the trigger. In one move, he caught the man’s armed hand and ducked right when the bullet ripped from the gun. Sherlock was the last man the American saw before the car went up in flames. The detective, in the midst of the explosion, leaped from the car and tumbled onto the side of the road. Shrapnel cut his flesh on their departure and smoke infected his lungs.

Coughing, Sherlock dragged himself to the dead passengers and unloaded them of their weapons. Looking around, he spotted a biker on the other side of the road, who fled the moment they made eye contact. Ignoring the fact that the pedestrian could serve as a witness, Sherlock took to running. He knew he would be late to Lestrade’s, but he didn’t care. He had save John.

On his way to the closest bus stop, a police officer pulled over and motioned for Sherlock to come to him.

Sherlock let out a shuddering sigh, and obeyed. Putting on a friendly and cooperative attitude, he greeted the officer. “Afternoon, officer, all is all right?”

The officer grinded his jaw and got out of his car. “We just had a report come in, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh? What about?”

“From Detective Inspector Lestrade. He wants to take you in for questioning.”

Laughing, Sherlock replied, “He must have the wrong man. I’m—,” Sherlock paused as his hand felt a card in coat’s pocket. His eyebrows creased, wondering how it had gotten there. He knew immediately it must’ve been Evangeline when she had left his coat. Taking it out as far as only he could see, he saw it to be a very well forged driver’s license.

His photo was attached and his name was Arthur Mitchell. It crossed his mind to show it to the officer to get out of the questioning, but he knew that was what Evangeline would want him to do.

“What’s that?” the officer prodded, pointing to Sherlock’s hidden hand.

Knowing he couldn’t hide it, Sherlock risked it and showed him the card.

The officer took it and compared it to something on his iPhone. Looking up at Sherlock, he said firmly, “Arthur Mitchell, please step in the car. You’re under arrest.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Sir, faking to be the detective who committed suicide is considered a crime. I knew that was too good to be true when Lestrade told me!” He took out his handcuffs and made to snap them on before Sherlock performed a move of defense. He grabbed the officer’s wrist, pulled him forward just close enough to send a blow with his other hand. The officer’s head snapped back from the force, giving Sherlock time to slam him against the car.

Pushing the unconscious officer back into the car and stripping him of all his communication tools, as well as hot wiring the car into immobility, Sherlock broke into a run to his destination. Having been one to always think out loud, Sherlock said to himself softly, “I understand now, Evie.  Sherlock Holmes is still dead and Arthur Mitchell is an existing criminal on the run.”