SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

Breaking Concrete

“Why would he lead us to The Shady Woman if he just wants to leave a note?” John asked, taking the note and re-reading it.

“Simple, John. To watch us dance. We’re like a chess board in his eyes. Only, he knows our next move because he’s planned it all.” Sherlock tightened his scarf and headed towards the back room inside of the club. “What I’m more interested in is the floor beneath this floor. Traffickers choose spots like this for their victims.”

John followed his companion down a constricted corridor and came upon a plaster-split door. Sherlock rapped on it violently with his fist. “Sonia? Open the door.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. She probably’s been nabbed by now.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. “You should’ve stayed with her. You remember what happened to that museum-tea-pot-collector—,”

“Soo-Lin Yao, you mean? Yes, I remember her.” John’s voice dropped into unbearable guilt and he turned his eyes to the floor.

Sherlock clapped him on the back with a heavy hand, as if telling him that he ought to be ashamed, but he forgave him. The door opened and Sonia stepped out with a face as white as snow. Her eyes were stretched with fright and appeared distance. In a hushed tone, Sonia said—

“Seth M-mullen is waiting outside. He wants to speak to you.” Sonia reached down and took hold of Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock didn’t snatch it back, even though he so dearly wanted to. Though, he knew that if he did, he’d smash his funny bone in the wall behind him and that wouldn’t do well to his image.

“What are you doing?” John asked, looking intently at Sonia’s fingers as they danced on top of Sherlock’s palm. After noticing a pattern, it hit that she was performing Morse code. He looked up at his friend and read in his eyes that the message was unexpected.

“…he said that if you do not come with me,” Sonia continued with tears rolling down her sallow cheeks, “he will come inside and take you to him himself.” She closed Sherlock’s fist and gave him a stern look, confirming that the message she had tapped on his hand was to be considered more than her verbal message.

Sherlock grabbed Sonia’s hand and spun John around so that they faced the exit. He leaned over John’s shoulder and whispered, “Make for the stage. Under the table, there’s a door. We go down there.”

John didn’t argue and headed down the hall. His steps mirrored his confusion, causing him to falter and annoy Sherlock. Impatient with his short companion’s tardiness, Sherlock snatched John by his back collar and swung him behind him and Sonia. The three took a sharp turn onto the dance floor. Panting, Sherlock turned to Sonia and asked breathlessly, “Might I ask, why are you doing this?”

Sonia squeezed Sherlock’s hand and stood up on her tip-toes. She whispered into his ears a shivering reply, “Would you, Mr. Holmes, like to be beaten, raped, used, and shamed every day? The whole fake rape deal was to trap you.” She descended down to the floor, keeping her eyes locked on the detective. She added with a small cock of the head, “I don’t want you to fall for him like I did.”

John came up to Sherlock after returning from the table, and grabbed his sleeve. “Sherlock, I found it. Come on.” John sped off eagerly over to the table that was placed against the wall and just left of the stage. The music continued to blare, making for a good cover up of the trap door’s squeaky hinges. One by one, Sherlock being the last, the three disappeared into the underground hideaway.

Once they were down there, they were immediately hit by the overwhelming smell of thick, warm perfume. John coughed and covered his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He eyed Sherlock, who had his scarf shielding him from the overpowering fragrant. Sonia, however, didn’t care about the smell. With a toss of her hand, she gestured the two to follow her down the concrete refuge. The place was empty—not a sign of human existence until they passed by a protruding concrete wall that revealed at least a dozen young women.

“Oh God,” John mumbled as his eyes scanned the frightened girls. They were all dressed well and not a bruise on them. The only wound that was visible was the broken soul Sherlock and John could see through their eyes. “Sherlock, these—these are the sex traffic victims.”

“Sixteen of us,” Sonia replied, picking up an eleven-year-old girl. She cooed to her and planted a kiss on her feathery gold head. She looked up at the two men and said stiffly, “Are you going to help us?”

“Of course, of course,” John blurted out, trying to figure out a way to sneak out sixteen girls. He looked up at the Sonia, who was the oldest of the girls, and said, “Do you know a way out?”

Sonia shook her head. “This is a new place. You can’t possibly find a way out.”

“There’s always a way out—you just have to know where to look,” Sherlock replied coarsely, placing his hands behind his back. He walked about the girls, weaving through clothes and personal belongings to get to Sonia. He placed himself behind her and leaned in so that they were only inches apart. “When the Egyptians built the Pyramids they made an extra tunnel in case something went wrong and they had to get out.  Some architects do that very thing. This hideaway is made out of complete concrete; imagine if something was to go wrong?” He stepped back from Sonia and made his way slowly to the far end of the room. Still talking, he continued in a louder voice—

“There’s a door here that’ll lead the workers out. Whether it’s filled or not, there is a door.” Sherlock spun on his heels and placed a pointed finger on a blank place on the wall. “This is their savior.”

John ran up behind Sherlock and observed the spot Sherlock had found. “How would be break through? It’s solid concrete.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. “Your doubt in me, John, is very discouraging.” The detective stepped back and raised his foot. He targeted his area and, through a smile, threw his foot forward. The concrete before them crumbled just enough to start a single crack on a rampage. The crack creaked and groaned through the concrete wall, revealing the outline of a crooked door. As he watched his discovery become plain to his companions, Sherlock smirked proudly.