Cecilia Holmes, Daughter of Minerva (Sherlock/Percy Jackson crossover)

Chapter 15

  Hallooo my wonderful readers! I am so terribly sorry I haven't posted in such a long time. So, to make up for it, here are two new chapters!! Enjoy! ^__________^

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  We studied both of the rooms, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Even Sherlock thought so.
    “It’s obvious they both escaped out of the window,” he said, mostly to himself, as Huxtable showed us to the guest rooms on the first floor. Sherlock had gone outside and said that the marks were faint, but he could see the indentations where they landed on the ground. Arthur’s were too faint to follow very far, especially at night.
    Huxtable opened the doors to two bedrooms across from each other. I entered one, took a look around the neat, old-fashioned bedroom, but since I had nothing to unpack, I turned back to Sherlock and Doctor Huxtable. Sherlock entered his room and I saw his duffel bag had already been brought in. I leaned against the door way as Huxtable said goodnight.
    I waved to him as he walked back down the hall. Sherlock was digging in his duffelbag.
    “Are you going to investigate tonight?” I questioned as he pulled out his deerstalker.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “Can I come with you?”
    “No, you need your rest,” he said, not looking at me. “I shouldn’t be out too long, anyway. I just need to see something.”
    “What?” I asked. He didn’t respond, but put on his black coat and adjusted his hat. He switched off the bedroom light and then shut the door behind him.
    Looking straight into my eyes, he pointed at me and said, “You. Sleep. Now.” He waved his hand. “Go!”
    I sighed, but obeyed, slamming the door behind me.
    Why am I listening to him? I thought as I stood next to the closed door, my fists clenched.
    Because he’s your dad.
    But he said that while we’re here, we’re not even related. That means I don’t have to listen to him!
    But… he’s still your dad.
    I gave up arguing with myself. If I’m not going after him, I may as well sleep. Flipping off the lights, I flopped onto the bed. But I couldn’t sleep. My eyes eventually adjusted and I watched the clock.
    Ten.
    Eleven.
    Midnight.
    And then I heard the door across the hall creak open.
    “I shouldn’t be out too long— ha!” I whispered, before turning over and finally falling asleep.


*


    “So? What did you find out?” I asked Sherlock as he came and sat down across from me at the breakfast table. He had already gone out again without me that morning. But I wasn’t as mad at him for that. It was I who had made the mistake of sleeping in. I was still slightly angry, though, about last night.
    He pulled out a small piece of paper with scribbles and lines on it and set it on the table before me.
    “What’s that?” I said loudly enough to be heard over the noise the students made.
    “It’s a map I drew,” he said.
    “Ah, so that’s what you were doing— scouting the area.” I stared at my oatmeal while I mixed in the brown sugar, trying to keep my anger in check.
    “Yes,” he said. “And I now know which way Arthur and his captors went that night.”
    I looked up at him.
    “You do?”
    Sherlock placed a hat on the table. I looked from him to the hat.
    “Huxtable confirmed that it is Arthur’s,” he said, solemnly.
    “Where did you find it?” I exclaimed.
    “Out on the moor across the main road,” he said. “Huxtable told me that the land belongs to a nearby farmer who let’s his sheep graze there. I know they went that way, but it was too dark last night to be able to find tracks.”
    “When do we leave?” I said, standing. He stood up, too.
    “Right now, if you’re ready.”


*


    The fog lay thick across the moors. The sky was gray and I could feel wet drops hit my head ever so often. It was about to rain, and I could tell this greatly disturbed Sherlock.
    “Hurry, Cecilia!” he said, beginning to sprint as the rain fell faster. “Before the tracks are washed away!”
    I ran after him, my teeth chattering and goosebumps running up my bare arms. Sherlock headed toward small tree near a wooden fence just across the main road and I followed at a pretty vast distance. When he came to the tree, I realized part of the fence was beaten down. Sherlock studied the ground and I looked where his gaze was landing. There were many footprints on the ground, but I saw a trail that was obvious made by a bicycle impress itself over the prints, coming from the direction of the school. The footprints went toward the broken part of the fence, as did the bike’s trail.
    “Well?” I said as Sherlock continued to study the ground. “What are we waiting for? I see the footprints and the bicycle trail, now let’s follow them before they’re gone!”
    Sherlock glared at me from the corner of his eye.
    “If you weren’t so hasty,” he said, obviously annoyed. “You probably would’ve observed that there wasn’t just one bicycle here, but two.”
    My eyes immediately were drawn to the ground again. I searched it, but I couldn’t see anything.
    “Where?” I asked.
    Sherlock sighed and rubbed his forehead.
    “You’re standing on it.”
    I looked down, and saw faintly, on the ground beneath me, was another bicycle track. I quickly scurried off it. I could tell at a glance that it was a different bicycle. The trail the wheels had made was different than the one going past the fence.
    “I thought they said that only one bike was missing,” I said.
    “They did.”
    “Then why are their two bike trails?”
    “The other bicycle must not belong to the school.”
    “Who does it belong to then?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “Which trail do we follow?”
    “Our purpose is to find Arthur,” he said, standing. He looked at me. “So we’ll follow Arthur’s trail.”