Sherlock: The Lost Girl

Chapter 15: Morons

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It's been two weeks since Sherlock proposed. Of course I said yes, but only after many hours of harassing him to make sure he's marrying me for the right reasons. Love... not because I'm pregnant.

Despite being blissfully in love with my fiancé I couldn't help but notice just how strange he had started acting. He's completely and utterly obsessed with the package he recived at Christmas, Irene Adler's phone. He thinks she's dead, but secretly I know she's far from it. I like to think I had a little part in her 'death', I've never really liked her.

Two hours ago he left the house to follow a very suspicious looking John. Meanwhile, I sat on the old armchair waiting patiently for Mrs Hudson to bring in tea, only to be very rudely interrupted by three Americans holding guns.

"Afternoon Gentlemen." The ring leader a bald looking man whom I instantly recognised as Neilson a member of the CIA roughly dragged a screaming Mrs. Hudson into the room, tying her up much to my protest.  She starts crying whilst secretly passing the picture phone towards me which I hide in the most secret place I can think of. Quickly they drag her forcefully away.

"Get your hands of my housekeeper." They chuckle deeply, eerily and without remorse. Mrs. Hudson whimpers in pain and I growl at them anger oozing out of the noise.

"I'm your land lady dearest." I groan at Mrs Hudson despite agreeing with her.

"Not the time Mrs. H." Whilst I was momentarily distracted two large hands gripped my wrists and violently throw me onto a chair tying me beside Mrs Hudson.

For the next two hours they hit me leaving red marks against my cheeks, intent on finding out where Locky hid the phone. When they attempted to look for the phone under my attire I instantly protested so much that they left me alone for a few minutes, more than enough time.

The familiar footsteps creeping up the stairs comfort me. I turn to a teary eyed Mrs Hudson flashing her a warm smile. She calms down slightly making me chuckle. But then Neilson pulls out his gun leaning it directly against my head. I tense as Sherlock walks into the room. Mrs Hudson then begins to cry louder.

"Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!" Her cries echo throughout the room and I feel slightly sorry for her. Sherlock on the other hand does not.

"Don't snivel, Mrs Hudson. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet."

He then turns to Neilson anger flashing in his eyes. "What a tender world that would be."

Mrs Hudson carries on sobbing quietly as she gazes up at him. "Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock."

Everyone ignores her, both Neilson and  my eyes trained on Sherlock while his trained on both mine and Neilson's.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?"

He walks closer and holds out his right hand towards Mrs Hudson. She flails towards it, whimpering, and he gently turns back the sleeve of her right hand and looks at the bruises on it.

"Sher..."

Neilson roughly grabs hold of my hair and i wince in pain. "I've been asking this one. She doesn't seem to know anything. "

Sherlock's gaze rises a little and he sees that the right shoulder of my cardigan has been ripped at the seam, exposing some of my skin underneath.

"But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock looks a little higher and sees a cut on my right cheek. His eyes then flicker across to Neilson's right hand holding the pistol. He has a silver ring on his third finger and there is blood on it but it's not his. Sherlock raises his head and looks directly at Neilson – but I realise he isn't deducing him. In very rapid succession he is picking out target points on his body;  carotid artery, skull, eyes. His gaze then falls down to Neilson's arms and chest; artery, lungs, ribs.