“Oh, Sherlock, thank God you’re here!” John declared, helping his friend off the ground. “We’ve got to run, out this way!”
Sherlock caught John’s arm and pulled him back, shaking his head, he said, “That’s what he wants.”
“Your ear; it’s bloody bleeding. What the hell happened to your ear?” John reached up to blot the blood before Sherlock knocked his hand out of the way.
“Don’t tamper with it. I had to go through a horrendous process that nearly drove me to my death. But, I escaped.” His chest puffed up in pride and a silly smile plastered across his face.
“Escape? How? From what?” John interrupted, pleading for answers. He dabbed Sherlock’s ear with his sleeve. “Sorry, Sherlock, I’m a doctor. It really should’ve stopped bleeding by now.”
Waving John’s hand away from his face, Sherlock grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the kitchen door. He peeked out, his eyes scanning all the walls. He drew his head back in and closed the door. “Listen, John, the palace has lots of hidden cameras. I just had a look outside and saw one installed under that portrait. However, they don’t carry audio.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes, but listen, about a dozen or more people out there lay dead and the firing is still happening. Lestrade and his men will be racing over here, leading a whole brigade of officers to stop whoever is shooting. Meanwhile, the duchess has been abducted by the lady-in-waiting--,”
“You’re a bit behind, don’t you think?” John remarked dryly.
“Never mind that, I’ve been drugged! I’m trying to put together all that is happening.”
“Drugged?”
“Yes, drugged! Didn’t you hear me?” Sherlock snapped. “I’m going to be a bit slow on a lot of things, but all I know is that this person, who’s after the duchess, wants to make a public spectacle out of me by having me perform live deductions.”
John’s mouth remained open in confusion. He studied the detective for a moment before saying, “All right, so you’ve got to show-off, shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“It is hard when I’m drugged! And it’s with the same drug that killed the collie.”
“All right, shouldn’t there be an antidote?”
Sherlock parted from John with a frustrated exhalation. “If we can get in contact with Molly and had several months to find a cure, then sure, sure! We’ll find an antidote. But if we try to cure me, we’ll be risking the duchess’s life as well as mine! Because unfortunately,” Sherlock’s voice softened and he stopped pacing. “I don’t have a long time to live.”
“What do you mean?”
“The drug is made to kill me.”
“Just because it drove a poor dog to its death doesn’t mean it will do the same to you,” John laughed uncomfortably. “You’re not going to die, Sherlock, you sound like a bloody cancer patient.”
“John, this man has been talking to me all night. Telling me how it’ll be impossible to try and cure myself. He’s the only one who knows the way out of it because he invented the drug. I can’t save myself or the duchess without taking on his challenge.”
“Who exactly is this man?”
Sherlock peeked outside the door again and then slipped out, gesturing for John to follow. “Lestrade and his men are out there with Mycroft.”
“Why are we going out there then? We should be going after Alana.”
“We’re stronger in numbers, John. Though, by the look Lestrade just gave me, I don’t think we’ll get on quite well.” Sherlock sprinted out to meet the detective, all the while nagging John to keep up.
Lestrade pursed his lips and hurried towards Sherlock. “The snipers are gone, Sherlock. They disappeared moments before we arrived. We’ve got people looking for them,” Lestrade explained, coming to a halt. With his hands on his hips, he gave Sherlock a fierce glare. “If you answered your phone, Sherlock, the duchess wouldn’t have been kidnapped. We were getting threats all evening about her being kidnapped.”
“He had lost his phone,” John covered.
Sputtering at such an absurd excuse, Lestrade declared angrily, “Well, he’s still irresponsible with or without his mobile. Now, who was the last to see the duchess.”
“I did. The lady-in-waiting took her. I wasn’t allowed to follow. They went out the kitchen,” John said quietly, wishing he had gone after them.
“You two get back to headquarters, you don’t need to get involved,” Lestrade ordered, turning to leave.
Sherlock stopped him with words he couldn’t ignore. “If I’m not involved, Lestrade, she will die. Whoever this stranger is, he doesn’t want us to do a thing.”
“What do you mean?” Lestrade asked.
“This is his plan,” Sherlock replied, straightening his jacket.
John stood beside him and opened the envelope given to him. “Sherlock.”
“What?”
“Here, read this. This might answer your questions, Lestrade.”
The detective inspector came up behind Sherlock and looked down at the note. It read:
Sherlock Holmes must arrive outside the BBC News studio for his first live showing. No one is allowed to escort him—I’ll send a cab. Everyone in the palace stay where you are. If you leave, you will be shot. In simple words: don’t be an idiot. Make sure to tune into BBC News tomorrow – it will be streaming live. If you have questions, tell Sherlock to ask me.
Looking up at the open doors, Lestrade sighed and nudged Sherlock. “That must be your ride then.”
Sherlock stared at the black cab waiting for him and slipped the envelope in his jacket. “John, you’re coming with me.”
“Didn’t you read the letter? He said—,”
“Oh, shut it,” Sherlock snarled. “He’s not going to do anything. I’m sure he’s watching us right now.”
“You’re a fool, Sherlock Holmes. I’m not going out to get killed because you need company.”
The detective snorted. “I don’t need you for company.”
“What do you need him for?” Lestrade barked, his face breaking out into a terrible sweat.
“He’s not going to shoot John because to kill him will defeat the duchess’s attempt to run away. You see, he wants a dramatic show where everyone is emotional and frantic. If he kills John, he kills the duchess—what fun is an unmotivated hostage?” Sherlock made a click with his tongue and threw his head in command meaning for John to follow.
Shaking his head, John fell into military steps and followed his friend out of the palace. All the while, he looked around his surroundings, waiting to be shot out. When the two got into the cab and closed the door behind them, the cabdriver turned around—revealing a face the two had believed to have been long forgotten.
James Moriarty.