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

Chapter Eleven

We edge quietly along the walls of the barn, sticking to the shadows as I still have the feeling of being watched.

"Someone will be in, in a minute," I tell dad in a low voice. "They'll notice we're gone."

"Then we'll have to be quick," he hisses back.

We open the barn door enough to slip through but freeze, startled by the number of people outside. Carriage loads of unconscious people are being brought in by the minute, and each cab is flanked by at least two lanky men.

"Ah," dad remarks, stepping back into the barn and closing the door. "We might have to wait."

I hear something metal drop to the ground a few yards away, but I can't see who caused it.

"Who's there?" I call out, stepping cautiously forward. I expect dad to hold me back, but he looks on curiously, so instead, I arm myself with a rusted nail from the ground and inch forward again. "Show yourself."

A lean figure steps forward, shaking as he holds his hands up. He seems fairly genuine in his fear. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry!"

I lower the nail slightly and look him over. He doesn't look much older than fifteen or sixteen. "What's your name?" I ask.

"I'm Conan Doyle, sir, Arthur Conan Doyle. Please - I only came to see to your head. I'm the physician."

I hesitate for a moment before nodding and he creeps forward. He seems too young to be a physician, but then I've been told I'm too young to be a detective. Age doesn't always have to be a limitation. Plus there's the fact an operation of this sort probably wouldn't want to attract attention by hiring a legitimate physician.

"Why were you hiding?" I ask curiously. "Why didn't you stop us from escaping? You had plenty of opportunities."

"To be honest, sir," he says, lifting up my head to check it over. "I never wanted this job. I don't agree with it."

"Good for you." I wince as he touches a sore area.

"Sorry. You have a minor concussion, sir, but nothing to worry about," Doyle concludes, letting go. "You will be fit enough in a few minutes. I can do less about your flesh wounds."

"Thank you," I say, my eyes glancing across the walls of the barn. "Is there any other way out of here?"

"Afraid not," he replies. "Only way is the front door and, well, you saw it for yourself. You'd be mental to try to escape."

I bite my lip, thinking of what we could do. "What would you have done if our injuries had been bad?" I question, and dad latches onto my train of thought immediately.

"Er," he pauses for a moment. "I dunno, take you to the infirmary, I guess."

Dad and I glance at each other. "Arthur, we can get you out of here if you can do the same for us," dad tells him. "You won't have to return."

It takes him a moment to process the request, but then he nods. "But we need to hurry," he says. "We might be able to catch them as they switch shifts."

We nod in agreement and allow him to tie our hands loosely together with the remaining rope before leading us out of the barn.

The sunlight dazzles us as Arthur leads us between the carriage, and I blink rapidly to try and adjust. Not a single eye passes over us - in fact, those who aren't focused on carrying the other prisoners have their heads down, determined, obviously, not to stand out lest the same fate awaits them sometime in the past.

We stop as we reach the fence bordering the edge of the farm, and I double over in pain as my cuts burn. Arthur unties our bonds as I draw myself up, grimacing, and survey and farm to make sure we haven't been seen. But we have.