John folded his hands behind his head and pulled against the neck. He paced in a circle and ended up in front of Sherlock again. Dropping his arms beside him, he said in a quiet voice, “Where do we go from here? You’re clearly in a position where you need my help. What do you need me to do?”
Sherlock placed a hand on John’s shoulder and led him out of the restaurant. He didn’t speak to him until they were outside. “In your condition, I can’t risk putting you out on the frontlines. You’ve got surgery—,”
“Bollocks the surgery, Sherlock, you can’t do this on your own!” John argued, tossing his head to the side. A smile appeared on his face, but only to cover up the coming disappointment of him being dismissed from the case.
“Of course, I can, John. You’ll be in the way. I started it, I’ll finish it. You know I can do it.”
“I know you can. But we’re a team now, one without the other is impossible. I’ve got to be on this case with you. If you’re doing it for me, let me do it for Alana. I’ll stop before surgery. Just let me do everything and anything before so. Please.” John gave the detective a soft expression, one not made on purpose to win the argument, but a sincere plead; like a servant begging to accompany his master.
Sherlock dropped his chin and looked out into the night. The wind caught his hair and coat, giving him a noble moment that made him almost an ancient figure. Untouchable. Majestic. Surreal. He turned to John and let out a sigh. “You can’t win this battle.”
“I fight my battles with you, Sherlock. I’m not used to not fighting. If I can’t, then being who I am is a waste. I promise, I’ll stop before the surgery, but until then, we work together.”
“You’re an idiot,” Sherlock said, knocking John in the shoulder with his fist. “Don’t blame me if you collapse during a run, or even an intense moment. It’ll be your fault, remember that.” The detective whipped passed John and headed towards Baker Street.
“We haven’t even eaten,” John mentioned, thumbing over his shoulder at the lit restaurant.
“Not hungry anymore. Come along.” In brisk steps with a few skips thrown in, Sherlock made his way down the street. John followed at a slower pace, for he felt the effects of his health ganging up on him. He felt his breath tighten, but he held it back, as he knew a sudden cough would have Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson throwing him in bed and demanding him to stay there until the operation.
When they arrived at the flat, Sherlock and John tiptoed up the stairs and gently unlocked the door. As usual, they hissed at each other whenever the door would creak and then take immediate ownership if the other failed to open it silently. It was John, this time that pushed the door open without making a sound. Sherlock pushed him through and practically trampled over him to get to the phone.
“Your feet, Sherlock!” John groaned, pushing himself off of the carpet. He dusted the dirt off and went over to the blinking machine. “A message?”
“Got earphones? Don’t want to make noise,” Sherlock asked, his fingers twiddling at John for the audio component.
“Um, here.” John dropped the wires into Sherlock’s palm, keeping one ear for himself. The two fitted the buds into an ear and waited as Sherlock’s finger smashed the ‘play’ button. They heard static, then a blip, and then the familiar voice of Detective Inspector Lestrade.
“This message is left for Sherlock Holmes. I have a case you’d be interested in about a Dutch gang located in the Netherlands…”
Sherlock scoffed and looked at John, waiting for his accolades. John rolled his eyes and refocused his attention on the message.
“We’ve not been able to track them, as they seem to have ‘erased’ themselves off of any location device. I’ll be sending a different unit to track them in person. Come by the station when you can; I can give you an earful.”
“Stop the tape,” Sherlock ordered frantically. He yanked the ear bud out of his ear and perked his head like a hound dog. One ear twitched and a nostril flared.
John looked about in wonderment. “That’s just Mrs. Hudson singing to Elise; she wakes up at this hour.”
“Does Mrs. Hudson’s voice always ‘glitch’?” Sherlock stared at John with a chilling expression, making the doctor’s face grow pale.
Without saying a word, John bolted to the bedroom and switched on the light. Elise’s bed was empty, and sitting in the rocker was a life size doll with a weight slung around its neck so that it could rock the chair by itself. A voice recording was at the foot of the bed, singing a lullaby in Mrs. Hudson’s voice. “Oh God, no, oh God, no.” John squeezed his head between his hands and broke into whimpers. He turned to Sherlock, who stood behind him with his hands in his pockets. “They came, didn’t they?”
“That wasn’t Lestrade’s voice either. He wouldn’t leave a message that detailed since I hadn't texted him earlier that they were hackers.”
John snatched Sherlock’s collar, sending the detective into a rigid state. Through gritting teeth, John inquired angrily, “All right, tell me now, who is Acelya Marinca?”
“A criminal, didn’t you hear me earlier?”
“Don’t give me that,” John shook Sherlock’s collar again, ruffling his coat, much to his friend’s discomfort. “They’ve got to be angrier at you for something than—than simply hiding her. What was her real connection with Alana? There’s more to this, I know it.” He stopped to cough, but resumed his disposition right after.
“You wouldn’t want to know the truth, John, it’s better you know it as I’ve said,” Sherlock stuttered, trying to wriggle out of John’s hands. “Alana would’ve died anyway.”
“Just tell me the bloody truth, Sherlock!” John drew his arm back and before Sherlock had time to understand what was happening, he found himself on the floor with a cracked lip. John stood over him, breathing heavily. “You’re a liar.”
Sherlock stood up, dabbing his bloodied lip with his knuckles. Staring down at the doctor, he growled, “I’ll tell you after your operation.”
John boiled in anger, but didn’t know how to respond. Every insult and profane name he could shout at Sherlock crowded at the back of his throat and only came out in huffs and coughs. At last, when he found his composure, John said in broken sentences, “You can do whatever you want with this case. But tell me what happened and where they’ve taken my daughter.”
The detective walked over to the window and pulled the curtain aside, just enough so that he could see the passing cars below. In his deep, resonating voice, he spoke. “Remember the lady in waiting, Elizabeth? We met her the first time we met Alana.”
“Yes, I remember her.”
“The lady had a daughter, Acelya, by one of the gang members. She worked for Moriarty and the gang knew Moriarty as well. They’re all connected. Anyway, when Acelya escaped, it was Alana who helped her. The gang found out and killed Alana because she didn’t tell about Acelya.”
“Alana told you about Acelya and not to me? That’s how you knew how to hide her?”
Sherlock tsked and waved John off. “Don’t be too jealous, she was picking her priorities. I think she knew she was being hunted, which is why I’m sure she asked you to be with her all the time. Probably not much as protection, but because she knew her time was limited. And, as for Elise and Mrs. Hudson, they’re the trade for me to return Acelya.”
“And you’re going to deliver her, right?”
The detective remained silent and tilted his head towards the floor. “No.”
John let out a gasp and took a step backwards as if he was standing before a traitor. “You have to.”
“It’s my case, John.”
“Don’t take my entire family, Sherlock. She’s all I’ve got.”
“So is Acelya to me.”
With those soft spoken words, it finally dawned on the doctor that Sherlock wasn’t playing a game, but protecting his heart.
YOU ARE READING
The Flatmate (SHERLOCK fanfiction/nanowrimo2013 winner)
Fanfiction"They were opposites in every way, but give them a crime and they will find a way to be the same." Sherlock Holmes and his trusty partner, John Watson, collide into the biggest mission of their life. A new kind of enemy strikes, bringing the detecti...
