Cecilia Holmes, Daughter of Minerva (Sherlock/Percy Jackson crossover)

Chapter 21

    We ran outside, and then I realized that the roar we had heard was the manticore’s last. At least for a couple of decades.

    It lay disintegrating at Sherlock’s feet. He looked up at me, breathing heavily.

    “Told you I could do it,” he said, throwing the sword onto the ground and putting his hands on his waist. “It’s good to have you safe, Arthur.”

    I looked back at Arthur. He looked adorable as ever, except for his terribly pale face and sick expression. He looked like he was about to pass out from terror.

    “Or hunger. He probably hasn’t eaten since Monday.”

    “I assume Wilder got away?” Sherlock broke my thoughts.

    “Sorry,” I grumbled, turning back toward him.

    Sherlock nodded, and then turned and walked toward the road.

    “Soooo… now what?” I asked, following him.

    “We hail a cab and go collect our reward money,” he replied. “You can answer all of Arthur’s questions on the way.”

    And then I noticed his arm. There were three long scratch marks on his upper arm. Blood ran down and stained his black overcoat.

    “Dad!” I cried, running toward him. “Your arm! It’s…”

    “Bleeding, yes, very observant, Cecilia,” he said, sounding rather annoyed. “But don’t worry. I have at least three more coats like these at home.”

    I tried to stop myself from grinning, but I couldn’t help it.

    “We should, um, probably get you medical attention,” I said as we came to the road.

    “The wounds aren’t that deep. Later, maybe,” he said, hopping onto the sidewalk in front of the pub and walking down the road. I looked back to make sure Arthur was following us. He was, but at a distance.

    “Come, come, my young friends,” he said, waving his good arm at a cab driving by. “Let’s go resolve this mystery.”

    We hopped into the cab and Sherlock gave the cabbie the address of Doctor Saltire’s mansion. Once the car was moving, Sherlock looked at Arthur, who was on the other side of me.

    “So, James Wilder, your father’s secretary, told you that he could arrange you a meeting with your mother and to meet him by the tree at midnight on Monday. You believed him, so you went. And when he introduced you to his strange friend Mr. Roy, you continued to believe you were safe because of your undying faith in Wilder. But as soon as you were out of sight of the school Mr. Roy turned into a manticore. Your school teacher, Professor Heidegger, followed you, but the manticore killed him. Mr. Roy then completed the kidnapping and kept you in the back closet of his bar, waiting for Wilder to collect your ransom.”

    “I thought Doctor Saltire said he hadn’t received a ransom note?” I cut in.

    “He lied,” Sherlock stated like it was obvious, checking his arm with his other hand. “He wanted to save his reputation.”

    “To save his reputation from what?” I asked, incredulously.

    “I have an idea,” Sherlock said, looking back at me. “I’m surprised that you don’t, Cecilia.”

    I leaned back in my chair, searching my brain for any ideas. But I had absolutely no idea why a ransom note from Doctor Saltire’s secretary would ruin his reputation.

    “You’re right,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. “You’re right about everything. Poor Professor Heidegger…”

    He sniffed, and I didn’t have to look at him to know he was crying. I quickly tried to change the subject.

    “What did Mr. Wilder tell you, exactly?” I asked him, placing my hand on his knee. He took a deep, quaky breath.

    “He… he told me about the gods,” he whispered, wiping his eyes. “He… he explained everything to me. He told me about the monsters and the Mist and two camps for demigods called… Camp Jupiter and Camp Blood.”

    “Camp Half-Blood,” I corrected, frowning. “Did he happen to tell you how he knew?”

    “He said he was from Camp Half-Blood,” Arthur whispered. “He said he was a son of… Enyo, I think?”

    “Enyo, the Greek version of Bellona,” I rattled off the facts, my mind spinning. “The goddess of warfare and companion of the Greek god Ares. Mr. Wilder is a demigod.”

    “Just as I suspected,” Sherlock said, folding his hands under his nose.

    “He said,” Arthur went on, quietly, “He said he could prove that the gods were real and then asked me if I wanted to meet my mom. I said yes— I mean, it made sense… everything he said. I always wondered why dad wouldn’t talk about her… my mom.”

    “And you trusted him, didn’t you?” Sherlock said, and I was surprised at the sympathy in his voice. “Mr. Wilder?”

    “Yeah. Of course I did. He’s my friend,” Arthur said, looking at Sherlock. “He told me to meet him at the tree across the road at midnight just like you said. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what he told me, so I decided to go and see if he could really prove it. I didn’t think it would do any harm. I thought I’d be back before anyone missed me… But then…” He looked at his lap.

    “Did Mr. Wilder tell you who your mom is?” I asked, hoping to get his mind off his horrific experience.

    “No,” Arthur said, looking at me, his bright blue eyes watery. “No, he didn’t. He even explained to me that most demigods don’t know who their godly parents are until they’re claimed. And yet I still believed him when he said he could arrange me a meeting with my mom. I guess I thought he…  I don’t know how… Oh, I’ve been so stupid…”

    I didn’t know what to say to that. It was rather stupid, but what was I supposed to say? ‘Don’t worry, everybody is’?

    Silence fell, and I glanced at Sherlock. He stared straight ahead, obviously lost in thought. So I turned back to Arthur.

    “Well, Arthur,” I said. “I’m sure you have questions… You can go ahead and ask them now, and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

    He was quiet for a minute.

    “How come my father never told me?” he said.

    “I think he was trying to keep you safe,” I replied, hesitantly. “Trying to shield you from the complications of having a godly parent.”

    “Or trying to save his reputation,” Arthur mumbled, crossing his arms. I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I moved on.

    “Any other questions?”

    “Yeah, actually,” Arthur said, running his fingers through his fluffy blond hair. “Did James know Mr. Roy was a manticore? I mean, did… did James…?”

    “Yes. We saw him talking with the manticores at the bar just before I released you.” I said.

    “So… he hired the manticores to kidnap me?”

    Wasn’t that obvious by now?

    “Yes, we think so.”

    Arthur blinked multiple times.

    “W-why? Why would he do such a thing?”

    I looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at me.

    “That’s what we’re going to find out,” he said looking out the window. The cabby made a quick turn onto a private road. Just up the road, I saw a large mansion.

    And leaning against the front of the house was Mr. Wilder’s bike.