A Rose By Any Other Name | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 11

They searched high and low through each address that Sherlock had given Lestrade. First, Sherlock and John had gone back to Sherlock's old dorm, trying to find an underground room or a basement that would lend itself to the partial description Aryn had given them. They searched the perimeter numerous times, turning up nothing.

Lestrade had gone to the pub where Sherlock had mentioned seeing Aryn go to for her first night out with Thalia. He talked with the owner about a basement. He had one, but there weren't any windows.

More dead ends were turning up every which way they turned. Each location they went to either had no basement, or the basements lacked a window. Reconvening at Scotland Yard, Lestrade collapsed in his chair, staring at his desk. John and Sherlock sat silently in the other chairs in the room, the hustle and bustle of the office outside making it seem as if time was flying by.

Suddenly, Lestrade struck out once more, slamming his palm on his desk. He shouted out in frustration, his deep breaths adding to the tension to the room. It was a hard situation to cope with. Aryn was someone he favored and cared for deeply. He felt partially responsible for her disappearance. He should have made sure she was taken care of after she had been sent home. He should have gone to her flat the moment John mentioned her not answering her phone. He should have done so much more.

Sherlock sat with his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor in front of John. His brain was working overtime trying to think of places they could still check. It had been six hours already, their time dwindling at an alarming rate. He sighed, looked up at John briefly, then back down to the floor.

"Has Anderson returned from her flat yet?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade nodded. "He's analyzing samples in the lab. Found a glass near her sink. Said there was something odd about it."

Sherlock looked up at John. "Did you leave the water on her nightstand?"

"How did you know it was on her nightstand? Anderson found it in the kitchen," John inquired.

"Water marks on the nightstand. Condensation would have dripped down the glass and made the ring. Glass would have been there for quite some time before she drank it and moved it to the kitchen, so it must have been there before she went to sleep. Did you leave it there?"

John thought back to the night before, recounting his routine. "I brought her back, guided her to the bedroom with one of her arms over my shoulders because the alcohol had finally hit her pretty hard. I set her on the bed, she stretched out, and she fell asleep almost instantly. I walked out, left the bandages on the table, and that was that. No water."

Sherlock let out a sigh of grief. "She was drugged then."

"Would make it easier to move her," John added. "She must've woken up, drunk the water to help her hangover, and then the drugs would have knocked her back down."

"I don't care how she ended up where she is," Lestrade interrupted. "We need to find her." He stood up, shuffling through the papers on his desk. "I'm going to set up a conference with the press. You two figure out where to look next," he growled, grabbing a photo of Aryn, a paper that looked to have her description on it, then walked out.

Sherlock looked up at John who looked slightly shaken up by the situation.

"Sherlock," he began, "when you two first met, it was at the library, right?"

Sherlock nodded. "No windows in that basement."

"Yes, yes, I know," John assured with slight irritation as he stood up and began to pace. "She met you at your dorm—"