Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•A Scandal In Belgravia: Part Five•

"So... you like policemen?" John asked, sitting next to her.
"I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy is the new sexy." She commented.
"Er-positionofthecar-" Sherlock slurred, and I glanced at him in confusion.
"Um, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire." He quickly recovered as he began to pace. "That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know." He finished, rather quickly.

"Okay tell me, how was he murdered?" The woman asked, engaged in the conversation.
"He wasn't." Sherlock scoffed.
"You don't think it was murder?"
"I know that it wasn't."
"How?"
"The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman and recently returned from foreign travel. And that the photographs are in this room."
"Okay, but how?" She persisted.
"So they are in this room. John, Aspen, Man the door let no one in." Sherlock ordered.

I look to John, then, Sherlock, then the woman before turning to the door and walking out.
"Get me that magazine." John said, and I obeyed. He rolled it up, then gestured his head to the hallway. "Go find me a match. Or something to burn this."
"What?" I asked, looking around at our surroundings.
"Just do it." John demanded.
"Okay, okay." I said, then headed down the hallway and stopped at a wood door.
Looks match-y, I thought, then went inside.

It took my breath away: a study-turned library that had about eight shelves along the white walls.
"Wow." I whispered out loud, then made my way to the desk on the side.
Just my luck, there were matches in the drawer. I turned to leave but my eye caught a book laying on the shelf, out of the vertical order. It was my book, actually, but completely re-envisioned on the outside.
The dark brown hardcover was like silk, shining in the dull light coming from outside, and the script was written in longhand letters, connecting each with the next until it reached its end.

I almost opened it if it were not for the calls from John.
"Coming!" I called, then returned the book to its flock, standing upright between two of its companions.

I gave the matches to John, who was in the middle of pacing with the magazine rolled up.
"Took you a while." he said, taking one out.
"Hard to find." I stuttered, putting my hands on my hips.

He quickly lit the magazine, igniting a small flame, and rising smoke.
Not long after was when the smoke alarm went off.
"You going to put it out now?" I asked, jumping at the sudden noise.
"Obviously, Aspen." he said, waving it around.
"Okay John you can turn it off now." Sherlock repeated, making me scoff.
"For gods sakes." John muttered to the magazine.
"I said you can turn it off!" Sherlock insisted.
"Give me a minute!" John yelled, frustrated, and its then I hear footsteps. I look over to a staircase to see three men coming down them. One stopped and shot the smoke alarm, instantly silencing it.

They then turn the gun on John and I.
"Aspen, put your hands up." John mumbled, and I obeyed, fear beginning to anchor in my stomach.
They forced us back into the great room where Sherlock and Irene were, still in their places from before.
"Hands behind your head. On the floor, keep it still." One of the men ordered, obviously American.
"Sorry Sherlock." John and I said in unison. I saw one of the men go over to the woman.
"Ms. Adler, on the floor." he demanded, revealing her name as the former her hands behind her neck.

"Do you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock sassed, his hands on the back of his neck as well.
"No, sir I want you to open the safe." The leader of the trio requested.
I began to feel my head pounding from being on my knees, and head lowered. my breathing also started to form into short intakes that revealed my anxiety.
"Aspen calm down." John mumbled once again. "It's going to be okay."
"You know that, John? For sure?" I gritted through my clenched teeth.
"Yes, and for gods sakes, she's the one who knows the code! Ask her!" John interrupted, and even I could detect anxiety in his voice. I guess it ran in the family.
"Yep." I mumbled, shutting my eyes so that the pattern of the floor wasn't the only thing I could see. My ears began to buzz as the pounding in my head grew into a beating, and I almost fell to the ground.

"Mr. Archer, on the count of three, Shoot Dr. Watson. And you: shoot her too." the leader ordered, and I felt the barrel of his gun brand my spine as I exhaled a breath that moved the dust on the ground.
"What?" John asked, sounding more concerned about me than him.
"I don't know the code." Sherlock stated, his voice hinted with despair.
"One."
"John it's okay." I whispered, my eyes closed as I felt my elbows slightly droop.
"I don't know the code." Sherlock repeated.
"Two."
"Shut up, Aspen. You don't know what you're saying." John whispered back to me.
"She didn't tell me. I don't know it!" He insisted. I felt my eyes water with the physical exhaustion
straining inside me. I didn't even know what was happening; this never happened before.
"Three."
Instantly I felt the barrel dig into the bone of my spine, and the sound of a finger pulling back on the trigger was so fine given my ears were throbbing.

"No stop!" Sherlock yelled, and I felt myself exhale deeply as a tear rolled down my cheek. Why, Sherlock?
I looked up to see him pushing the code into the keypad, but he paused just as my vision began to blur, not from tears, but from whatever was happening in my body.

My arms fell to the floor, carrying my body as I heard two single words:
"Vatican Cameos."