SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

The Legend Lives (The End)

That night, John made an appointment with Lestrade in hopes to convince him of his drastic mistake. Standing in the detective inspector’s office, John tried to control his frothing anger. He couldn’t believe how thick Lestrade was acting, it was as if he liked the idea that Sherlock never returned from the dead.

“Doctor Watson, I think I’ve made myself clear,” Lestrade said, wiping the collected sweat from his forehead, “I can’t help you. And I won’t. I’ll be putting my career in jeopardy and my whole team. If you want to try and bail out a maniac that is fine with me.”

 “Can I see the documents that were sent through then?” John asked, stretching out a hand that he would not have rejected.

“The documents of his true identity? Sure, they’re over on top of that filing cabinet.”

John walked over to the cabinet and took the folders down. If he hadn’t known Sherlock was set up, he would honestly believe the documents were legal. They had everything about this Arthur Mitchell that would be almost impossible to prove fake. “Listen, Lestrade, I understand that all of us were amazed at Sherlock’s return, but that is what we can trust on. Only Sherlock would pull a bloody stunt like that. Please, you’ve got to believe me. And if not, is there a way we can track back these documents to the sender?”

“My men already did that and found nothing. It led to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.” Placing down the coffee he held in his hands, he turned to John with a gloomy face. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, doctor. I hope you can respect that.”

“I understand, and I know we appreciate all you’ve done. If there’s one thing you can do, can you do it for me?”

“Depends on the request, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I need to visit him. Even if it’s just once. I might need Mycroft involved.”

“What does he think about all of it? Mycroft. Does he believe it?” Lestrade asked.

John gnawed at the bottom of lip and searched for the answer. “I can’t make out what he thinks about all this. He probably thinks everyone is mental and rather not get involved.”

At that reply, John’s mobile beeped. His heart jumped—he knew it could be anyone from Alana to Sherlock. Pulling it out, he saw that it was from Alana. Clicking the ‘open’ button, he read her message.

“Good news, love. I’ve got a name. Evangeline D’Nour. Rawlings told me about her when we were together. I think she may lead you to the origin of all this. Take care.”

“Who was that?” Lestrade asked, nodding towards the phone.

“It was Alana. She’s got a name. I’ll talk to you later, Lestrade, thank you very much again!”

“Wait!” Lestrade called out, stopping John from flying out the door. “What was your request?”

“Oh, right, I was wondering if you could let me see Sherlock somehow. I know it’s too soon after his imprisonment, but try and find a way and call me afterwards.” With that, John made his departure. The thought of freeing his friend brought an overwhelming sense of joy over him. If he could only meet with Ms. D’Nour, then their stories would finally have an ending.

Meanwhile, Sherlock sat in his cell, thinking about the outside world. He wasn’t sure exactly what his punishments were, and even if they had been told to him, he had long forgotten. He thought about someone bailing him out, but the process would take months, and he knew no one who could finance him. It wasn’t until that night his cell door was opened and his guard came in.