Breaking Point

Chapter 6: All Hell Breaks Lose.

It had been a long day for Sherlock. All he wanted to do was get home, have some tea, and go to bed. Of course that wouldn’t happen. It’s Sherlock.

Sherlock had bought a new phone while he was out, as almost as soon as he did, it rang. “Hello?”

“Sherlock. Get home. When you’re there, we’ll call you.” Moon ordered quickly before hanging up again. Sherlock shook his head as he walked back home, the sun setting. Once inside, he took off his coat and scarf, throwing some bags onto John’s chair. Once he had sat down, the phone rang.

“Took ya long enough.” Tresa grumbled into the phone. “Thought you might want to talk to someone before you went to bed. Think of it as a kindness.” There was a moment of rustling before John took the phone.

“Sherlock?”

“John! Are you alright?! What have they done to you? Where are you? Can you tell me anything about-”

“Sherlock, shut up.” John cut him off. “I’m alright. You need to relax for once. Just figure out who’s trying to hurt them, and they’ll let me go. Have you eaten?” Classic John. Even if he was being held hostage, he still worried.

“No.” Sherlock admitted.

“Then go into the kitchen and eat something. And don’t leave the place a mess. I’d like to come home and it be fairly clean.” Sherlock chuckled.

“I’ll try my best. And John, I’ll get you out of this, I promise. I won’t let them hurt you.”

John smiled into the phone. “I know, Sherlock. Now go eat something and get some rest. Make sure the door’s locked.” With those kind words, John hung up.

Sherlock sighed as he set down his phone, and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m going to have to start talking to that damned skull again,” He said, getting up and going into the kitchen for a biscuit and some coffee.

*            *            *

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the couch, curled in the fetal position, still in his day clothes and the manilla folder lying open on the table. When he awoke, he had a crick in his neck and his legs were cramped. With a yawn, he stretched out and planted his feet on the floor. There was a mug on the table and it was half filled with coffee.

Sherlock cleaned up the table, respecting the wish of his flatmate. After all, it might be the last request he ever made.

What were the last words John had said to him?

‘Make sure the door is locked.’’

“Damn it.” Sherlock put his head in his hands. He hadn’t even said goodbye. Stay safe. Don’t reveal any government plans. Any of those would have brought him more peace than the others.

He called Lestraud.

“Hello?” Came the drowsy voice on the other end.

“Lestraud. Listen.”

“Who is this? Sherlock, is that you?”

“Yes. You’ve got to pay attention. John was kidnapped!”

“You do know it’s four in the morning?”

“Oh, is it?” Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. The minute hand clicked to four-o-clock. He turned back. “I hadn’t noticed. But weren’t you listening?”

“Not really.”

“JOHN WAS KIDNAPPED, you blithering idiot,” He shouted into the phone. He could picture Lestraud jerking away from the phone.