Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone (Wholock Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Nine

I sit up as we approach Baker Street, ready to step off as we pull up close. But we don't stop.

"Excuse me," I say, hitting the top of the carriage. "Could you stop here please?"

The driver pulls hard on the reigns and I fall forward as we're brought to an abrupt stop. As I'm picking myself up, the cab door opens and two men get in, neither of them from my 'social class'. They look like toshers: people who scavenge in the sewers beneath London - hardly the sorts of people who would be able to afford a cab fare.

"'Scuse young master," the first says grinning darkly, flashing his rotten black teeth. "Mind if we hitch a ride?"

I look them over again. Two males in their late twenties - early thirties perhaps. Both unemployed and struggling for money. Deductions are getting harder in surroundings I don't know.

"Where are we going?" I demand, ignoring the shady smile the two were giving me as I'm coerced back into my seat. "Where are you taking me?"

"Well, that'll be our little secret," the second says, his hair hanging limply in oily snakes around his face.

It's my turn to smile. "I hope you aren't expecting me to go without a struggle." I stand up, steadying myself as the cab knocks against the cobbles.

The other two aren't the strongest men, nor are they very talented in any martial art. But they're desperate, and that alone will make them dangerous.

"Course not," the first admits as he stands. The space inside is now very limited, and both of our heads are ducked to avoid hitting them on the low ceiling.

"Well then," I say punching out quickly at his nose. "Let's get this over with."

He falls onto his friend who shoves him aside, standing up for himself and blocking my exit.The door of the cab would open outwards with any sort of pressure, and the driver hasn't had the funds to maintain it properly, which means the catch is likely to slip. Hopefully.

I charge towards him, knocking him backwards and out of the door. We land together on the cobbles, but my impact is softened by the man, who groans as we roll. On the sides of the roads, people watch on as I stand up and begin to run, my limbs aching from the fall. The cab has stopped now, and although the second man won't be getting up for a while, the first man is now on my chase.

I weave through the busy streets, trying to shake them off my trail, ignoring the protests as I push past couples and through markets. Now and again, I spin my head around to look for my pursuer and, by the fifth turn, I'm able to slow down and stand, panting for a minute against the walls.

If I was replaceable, they wouldn't have chased me: not if I was just another mugging victim. They wouldn't worry about me going to the police. So why do they need me? It's also doubtful that they'll give up. They might have underestimated the effort needed to grab me, but they'll still be coming for me. So where are they?

Still panting heavily, I pull out my phone and tap a quick message to dad before slipping it quickly away again. Looking around, I've got no idea of where I am. I'd memorised every street in the London back home, but here, I'm lost.

Just as soon as I've got my breath back, I hear the muffled, running footsteps of a man, identical to the sounds which followed me across London. Picking myself back up from the wall, I turn and run back the way we came, back towards Baker Street.

As I approach the market again, I see one of the shadows to my right flicker. I push on forward but, in the next second, I feel an arm around me, dragging me into a narrow alleyway - invisible if you didn't know it was there. 

 A hand is clamped over my mouth as I struggle against the grasp, but my attempt to bite the flesh is foiled as they let go, only to bring their hand back in a quick hit to my head, knocking me down into the dirt and broken glass scattered around me.