SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

the shoelace

“We were both on the same trip to America,” she began. She read John’s expression, following his orders by a twitch of the mouth, or blink of an eye. She realized quickly not to say anything that could give away their mission or identity. “There were complications at the airport, but he helped me out of it. And your wife helped me, too.”

“Do you love him?” John asked, his jaw clenched.

“More than anyone.”

There was silence for a moment. The humming of the car driving across the roads served as a lovely melody.

Aceyla turned to John and said quietly, “And you? How do you know him?”

“We’re flatmates. Oddly signed together since no one really wanted to room with him.” John laughed once afterwards at the memory.

The girl’s face lit up in a smile. “Oh, you’re the flatmate? He talked about you; he was very complimentary. I didn’t know it was you he talked about.”

John’s face softened and he looked out the window. A small feeling of importance rose up in him at the thought of Sherlock boasting about him to a woman he clearly had strong affections for.

“You all right?” Aceyla asked.

“I’m all right, thank you.” In a small fragment in time, John felt a little better.

In San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, California:

Simon was thrown against the chalky wall of an abandoned apartment complex. His body fell onto the sodding ground. He remained there to catch his breath.

“He’s telling the truth,” Charlie said in a tired voice before a hand smacked him across the face.

“Do you know where Sherlock Holmes is headed?” the captor demanded as he paced in front of Simon.

“I actually don’t know that bit, but I have been telling you for the last hours that John is being taken to London and that Aceyla is with him. And if you want the girl with the code, you should go get her. And instead of holding us hostage, you should hold the girl hostage and then have Sherlock chase after you. How idiotic are you? Where did Andrew get a bunch of lump-headed bollock-loving idiots like you?”

The man angrily kneed Simon in the face, sending blood spilling from the already brutalized lip. Emasculated, Simon stayed down. The man turned to his friend and growled in frustration, “When did Andrew say he’ll arrive? I’m ready to kill them.”

“Gordon, he told us not to kill anyone connected with Sherlock,” the second man said as he lit a cigarette.

“Accidents happen,” Gordon suggested, toying with his gun.

Simon pulled himself up into the sitting position and leaned against the wall. He gently touched his lip, but even the tiniest touch inflamed the wound. Staring at the man (Gordon) who he had been verbally sparring with, he noticed an escape. He looked over at Charlie, who seemed quite ready to fall asleep. Simon squinted one eye before letting out a pathetic cough. Charlie glanced over at him, moving his head slightly in a “are you all right?” nod. Simon used the movement of his eyes to point at Gordon’s untied shoelace. Charlie smirked.

“Run!” Simon yelled as he staggered to his feet. He didn’t want to run, but he wanted to make it look like he was going to.

Gordon was the first to make after Charlie, but in doing so, he gave Simon the perfect moment to grab the shoelace, causing him to face plant into the dirt. Simon straddled him and wrenched the gun out of his hands. Without hesitating, he shot the other man dead. Charlie stumbled to a halt and turned around. He let out a relieved laugh when he saw his pursuer lying motionless behind him.

Simon holstered the gun and looked around their surroundings. “I probably could’ve just tripped him from the ankle.”

“It’s fine,” Charlie said, patting him on the back.

“Gave myself a shoelace burn, though.” Simon opened his palm and traced the red line cutting through his flesh. “Yeah, I just thought it would be cooler if I grabbed the lace.”

“Where to?”

“Well, we’re going to get the file. Westminster, London. Take us six hours, give or take to get to the Greensboro airport, and then four hours to get to England. I think we might have time. Maybe.”

“We might need to stop by a shop and get ourselves more presentable. You look horrible.”

Simon rolled his tongue in the inside his cheek. “Well, you’re not too bad yourself.” He gave him a sarcastic wink before punching him hard in the shoulder. “Let’s go.”