"Well that was fun," John quipped as he and Sherlock crossed over the threshold into 221B. He was being completely facetious, of course, as they had just returned from the most strenuously exhausting case John had ever helped Sherlock with. They'd had to scale buildings, outrun cars, and even swim upstream in the River Themes at one point, though that had only been briefly.
John didn't care about all that, though; he was just glad to finally be back home, and to finally have some time to rest. Nowadays it seemed that Sherlock stayed busy day and night working on cases, as his popularity had swelled immensely in the last year or so. It seemed they couldn't get through one day without someone knocking at their door in need of Sherlock's assistance. In fact, while they were working on their last case someone had attempted to solicitate Sherlock's services to clear his name of some ridiculous crime John didn't care enough about to remember. All he remembered was that the man's name was Vinny Harding.
"I think I'll have a quick shower, then maybe some tea," he said as he removed his coat and placed it on the back of his armchair. Sherlock merely hummed in response, having taken up his usual thinking position on the sofa, fingers steepled and resting beneath his nose.
When John came back downstairs, dressed in nothing but his blue bathrobe and socks, he expected to find Sherlock in the exact same position he was in when he'd left. However, when John strolled into the sitting room he found Sherlock sitting in his armchair, and a gorgeous young woman sitting across from him. She had bright, almond shaped blue eyes and a small rounded nose lightly dusted with freckles. Some of her auburn coloured hair fell over her shoulders as she sat forward in her seat, and the rest of it cascaded down her back in loose waves. She was dressed in all leather, right down to her mid-calf boots. John stopped dead in his tracks and glanced back and forth between them briefly, unsure of what to say or do. Sherlock was the first to speak.
"John, this is Amethyst Clarke."
The young woman gave John a friendly smile and a wave, to which John responded by tightening the belt of his bathrobe.
"Nice to meet you," he said after clearing his throat. "I'm going to go put some clothes on."
When John returned downstairs Amethyst was describing her predicament to Sherlock in great detail. Apparently some man on a motorcycle had been stalking her for the past two weeks, and she was asking Sherlock to help her in figuring out who it was. John didn't understand why Sherlock was even listening to her case; it was a simple stalker, nothing like the things Sherlock usually paid attention to. Perhaps he was just being polite, John told himself as he took a seat in his armchair to listen to the rest of Amethyst's story.
She explained that every Saturday morning she rides her bike into town to visit her family, as she works at a boarding school for the musically gifted, and stays there during the week, returning home on Fridays and traveling back on Sunday. One glance in Sherlock's direction and John could tell he had already deduced all of this, but had said nothing. Instead he sat quietly and listened to how the strange man on a black bike would follow her for a small stretch of road, spanning from a biker bar in the country down to Farnham Village, a small community she passes on her way home each weekend.
He seemed to be a middle aged man, she said, with a shiny black helmet that concealed his face, and he always stayed just far enough behind her so she could not see him clearly, yet close enough that she was aware of his presence at all times. He always appeared right after she passed the bar, and was always gone by the time she reached Farnham Village.
"I have several questions, Miss Clarke,"
"Call me Amethyst, please." Sherlock sighed, but gave a tight lipped smile and continued.
"Is there anyone you can think of that might possibly be this man who has been stalking you? Anyone you know who owns a motorcyle the same as the one the biker rides, anyone who has made any...romantic advances towards you recently? You know many stalkers have been found to simply be secret admirers who got too close." A chuckle escaped from Amethyst's full lips and she shook her head.
"No, I can't think of anyone," she said. Then, suddenly she tiled her head back and raised a single manicured eyebrow. "Well...there is this one guy. Is name is Jackson Woods. He's a friend of my boss. Well, I say friend..." she trailed off and glanced down, then her eyes rose to meet Sherlock's. "He's made it quite clear that he fancies me, though I have turned him down several times. The last time we spoke, he asked me to marry him, and it ended with me slapping him across the face and Mr. Caraway having to literally carry him out of the room, kicking and screaming."
"Mr. Caraway?"
"Oh, he's my boss. Oh! Mr. Caraway! Though he is not nearly as direct as Mr. Woods has been, I'm almost certain he fancies me as well. He's never really said or done anything that blatantly says so so, but a girl can just tell."
"You say you work at a boarding school?"
"Yes, for the musically gifted." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and let his eyes scan over her appearance, and she sighed. "Yes, I know I don't look much like a teacher, and frankly I'm really not much of one. But I needed the money and Mr. Caraway was there to help." Another cocked eyebrow from Sherlock, and she began to clarify.
"My father's dead. Other than my mother, my only living relative is my uncle Ralph, who has lived in Athens for over twenty years. We haven't stayed in touch. I'm not even sure he's still alive honestly. Recently my mother and I discovered that someone had been asking around for us, and when we went to inquire about that we were pointed in the way of Mr. Caraway and his boarding school. He said he was a friend of Uncle Ralph, and that he knew we were having money problems. He offered me a job, and I accepted."
"I see," Sherlock said, standing up. "Well, I can assure you we'll get this figured out in no time. Now, you run along now back to work. I'm sure you know of my website. Feel free to e-mail me if anything new comes up."
Goodbyes were exchanged and Amethyst left without another word, leaving John and Sherlock alone once again.
"So," John said when he was sat back down in his chair after seeing Miss Amethyst out, "what do you think of the case?"
"It is somewhat interesting..."
"So you're going to take it?"
"No. You are."
"What-"
"Saturday afternoon you'll be heading down to that bar Amethyst was telling us about. You're going to find a hiding spot, and I'm pretty sure you know what to do from then on."
"You mean you want me to spy on her stalker." Sherlock's face lit up with a smile and he patted John on the shoulder as he walked by his chair towards the kitchen.
"Exactly!"
John had shaken his head and muttered something under his breath that he was glad Sherlock hadn't heard, but he still went out to Chopper's that Saturday afternoon and planted himself in a bush a little ways away from the entrance. He stayed put for what felt like forever waiting for any sign of Amethyst or a mysterious biker.
Just when he was about to give up on his quest, John heard the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. He poked his head out of the bush just in time to see someone ride by on a purple motorcycle, long auburn hair blowing in the wind behind them. Amethyst.
John heard the sound of another motorcycle starting up, and soon he saw a black motorcycle speed past him. John started to come out of his hiding place to go after them, but had to fight his way out of the bush, as he had gone in too deep, and when he got out he had to jump back in. He had just enough time to conceal himself again behind the leaves before two bikers sped past his bush. It appeared that Amethyst was in fact chasing her stalker. At least a full minute passed before he saw her purple bike go back past him, slower than before, and John saw a smug smile on her face. John smiled to himself; He liked this Amethyst girl. Not many people would turn around and chase their stalker, and the fact that she had made her already engaging personality even more appealing.
John watched her come and go, and decided to wait a bit before he got out. He was glad he did so when he saw the mystery motorcyclist trudging along beside his bike. He stood not too far away from John's bush and seemed to be watching Amethyst from a distance as she rode away. He then turned around and disappeared inside the bar after parking his bike in front of the entrance.
John decided he'd seen enough, and decided to return to Baker Street and tell Sherlock what he'd seen. John's report was met with cynicism and criticism from Sherlock, who berated John for having been so careless with his investigating. According to Sherlock, John had done pretty much everything wrong.
"If you want something done right," Sherlock had said as he was typing on his laptop, "you've got to do it yourself." John opened his mouth to argue back, and possibly defend himself, but had no chance to as Sherlock held a hand up to silence him.
"I've just received an email from Miss Clarke," he said. "Apparently Mr. Caraway proposed to her this evening. She's quitting her job and will be returning home permanently in three days time."
"So, we're done with the case then? She goes home, and never sees the stalker again."
"Wrong."
"Wrong?"
"Wrong."
According to Sherlock, they were far from done with the biker case, as John came to refer to it as. Luckily, John wasn't asked to return to the countryside and was allowed to remain at the flat while Sherlock did his own investigating. He left early the next morning, and returned close to midnight with a cut lip and what would soon become a black eye.
"My god," John had said when he saw him, "what happened?" A low chuckle escaped from Sherlock's lips and he waved his hand around in the air.
"If you think this looks bad," he said as he gestured toward his face, "you should see the other guy. Left on a stretcher, he did." By now John had retrieved an ice pack from the freezer and held it against Sherlock's face.
"Do you expect me to believe you actually landed someone in a stretcher."
"Why, yes." Sherlock looked up at John like he couldn't believe the fact that his fighting skills were being doubted. "I'll have you know I took a self defense class my first year at university. It's come in handy quite often in my line of work."
John spent the next hour listening to Sherlock as he described in great detail the events that had taken place that day. He'd gone to the biker bar to inquire about Miss Amethyst and her suitors, and had somehow managed to get himself into a bar fight with one of the patrons he interrogated. John wasn't surprised to hear this; it was Sherlock, after all.
However, before the scuffle and before he'd gotten thrown out of the bar, Sherlock had managed to get some information from the bartender about Mr. Woods. Apparently he'd been seen quite often with an American who had come to town recently from Las Vegas. All they knew about him was that he used to work at at a casino, and that he had a shady past.
Just as John was starting to suspect that this case was more serious than he'd initially thought it to be, Sherlock received another e-mail from Amethyst.
"Dear Mr. Holmes," Sherlock read aloud to John, "I am writing this to let you know that I am leaving tonight. I simply cannot remain here any longer. As I'm typing this, Mr. Woods and Mr. Caraway are having an all out shouting match downstairs in the lobby of the school. I don't know what they're arguing about, but it can't be good, and I have a really bad feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen. I need to get out as soon as I can. I've already packed my bags, and once I send this email I'm leaving. Hopefully I won't be needing your services any longer. Goodbye Mr. Holmes."
John didn't have time to ask whatever questions he may have had because Sherlock immediately grabbed his coat and scarf and had disappeared down the stairs. John followed after him, and barely had enough time to climb inside the cab Sherlock had hailed before it sped off down the road.
"Um, where are we going, exactly?" John asked after several minutes of silence had passed.
"We need to find Amethyst."
"Why? I thought we were done with the case." Sherlock shook his head and brought a hand up to his chin.
"Oh, we are still very far from being finished," he said quietly, eyes staring at something John couldn't see. John decided to let him alone to think, and instead drew invisible patterns on the knee of his trousers as they rode in silence.
Sherlock seemed to grow even more agitated as time went on, and by the time they exited the can he was incredibly flustered. He exited the vehicle before it had reached a full stop in front of Choppers, leaving John to pay the cabbie as usual. Instead of heading inside the bar, like John had begun to expect Sherlock would, he began to run down the road that went by it, in the direction that Amethyst went when traveling home. Ignoring the stares of the few people standings outside the bar, John ran after his colleague without questioning his actions.
They hadn't been running for long when they came across an overturned motorcycle. Purple, the same shade that Amethyst's was.
"That can't be good," John said looking down at the bike. Sherlock bent over the motorcycle and began examining it, what for John had no idea as to why.
"Hey!" said a voice in the distance. "You two stop right there! Who are you?"
John and Sherlock turned around to see a middle-aged man pointing a pistol at Sherlock. He raised his hands in the air and took a slow step towards the man.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes, but that's not important right now."
"What did you do to Amethyst?"
"What did we do?" John asked, causing the man to point the gun in his direction. "We haven't done a thing!'
"Says the man standing beside Amethyst's abandoned bike." John notice his hand was shaking. "Now you tell me, where is she?" Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.
"As of right now we don't know, and if you would just shut up I'd be able to figure out her location."
"Oh really?" the gunman said, chuckling. "And just how do you plan to do that?"
Just then there came a scream from somewhere not too far off, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the man.
"Well," he said, "there's that."
Sherlock hopped onto Amethyst's motorcycle and started it up. He glanced up at John, who sighed and climbed on behind him, securing his arms around Sherlock's lean frame. He heard the roaring of another bike behind them, and glanced over his shoulder to see the gunman on a black motorcycle, following after them.
It had been a while since John had last ridden on a motorcycle, an at the moment he was thinking of nothing else except for how badly he wished he were wearing a helmet. However, all thoughts of protective headwear left John's mind when he saw a man lying face-down on the side of the road.
"Sherlock!"
"Later, John!"
"But-"
"He's fine!"
John glared at the back of Sherlock's head, but said nothing more. They continued down the road following the sound of Amethyst's screaming. Soon they came upon another motorcycle, one with a side car attached, and in that side car was Miss Amethyst Clarke. It appeared she was tied up, and she was thrashing about as if she were attempting to fling herself out of the side car.
"John!" Sherlock called over his shoulder. "Right coat pocket!"
Without hesitation, John reached inside and pulled out his own revolver. He had no idea how it had come into Sherlock's possession, but he said nothing and aimed the gun at the back tire of the motorcycle in front of them. He fired two shots and after the second one he noticed the tire had begun to deflate, and the motorcycle began to fishtail. John then managed to shoot the front tire, but the biker kept down the road, sparks flying behind him as the metal of the wheel ground against the asphalt. Sherlock sped up and was able to catch up with the now tire-less motorcycle. He reached over and grabbed the handlebars of the kidnapper's motorcycle, causing the two bikes to crash together, then fall over in the middle of the road. John was sure he had some bruises or scratches, but other than that he was unharmed.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as John and Sherlock got up from the ground. John began to untie Amethyst, while Sherlock wrestled with her kidnapper in the middle of the road. The other man who had previously aimed a gun at both John and Sherlock soon arrived and began helping John to free Amethyst from her restraints.
"Mr. Caraway?" she asked incredulously, her eyes widening as she looked up. John glanced over at the man beside him, who had his eyes downcast and was nodding his head.
"Yes, it's me." His voice was soft and gentle; it was the tone of voice one used when speaking to their significant other. Amethyst had been right to suspect that he fancied her a great deal, even before the marriage proposal.
John looked over in Sherlock's direction and saw that he had who John guessed was Mr. Woods pinned down on the ground. He stood up and walked over to where they were, crouching down beside Sherlock.
"So, what now?" he asked, looking around them. Sherlock was silent for several moments before he shrugged.
"I suppose we call the cops. Have them arrest this man for attempted kidnapping of Miss Clarke, assault of her fiancé Mr. Cyrus Morton, and the murder of Mr. Ralph Clarke."
"What?" John, Amethyst, and Mr. Caraway said simultaneously.
"Fiancé?" John and Mr. Caraway added. They all looked to Amethyst, who blushed and held up her left hand; a brilliant diamond sparkled on her ring finger.
"How in the world have you come to this conclusion?" Mr. Caraway asked, taking a step closer to Sherlock now that Amethyst was freed. Sherlock's posture suddenly became more erect and he sucked in a breath: a sign that a string of deductions was about to be spun.
"Mr. Woods here has been planning this for quite some time. Ever since William Masterson came to town and told him the story of the rich man from Athens who went to Las Vegas on holiday. A man who won big time playing at the casino, adding on to his already large bank account, with no one to leave his assets to but a niece who lived in England. A niece named Amethyst Clarke."
"That's-"
"Mr. Masterson then managed to lure a drunken Ralph out of the casino and to a local bar, after stopping somewhere to pick up some rat poisoning. A few pellets in the drink Mr. Masterson offers to buy the lonely man, and then some plane tickets to England in search of this Amethyst girl who is now his key to all the money Mr. Clarke won in the casino, and then some." There was a brief pause while Sherlock glanced around at all the vacant faves staring back at him. He smirked, then continued on."Somehow he managed to come into contact with Mr. Woods here, who knew just how to get to Amethyst. After a quick phone all to his friend with an opening available at his boarding school, and an agreement to split the money evenly, it seemed the road to riches had finally been paved. Of course, the fact that Miss Amethyst here was already engaged and had no interest in Mr. Woods was a rather large roadblock. A new plan evolved to bring her to America, where Mr. Masterson, former casino chaplain, would marry them. Problem solved." Mr. Woods scoffed and shook his head.
"There's no way you could know all that."
"Obviously there is."
John looked to Amethyst, who was shaking her head and glaring at Mr. Caraway.
"You disgust me," she said.
"Oh, don't blame him," Sherlock said, "He had no idea what he was getting into."
"Yes, Amethyst, and my feelings towards you are genuine."
"As are my feelings for Cyrus. Now, where is he?"
"Not too far up the road. He may have a few cuts and bruises but he should heal before the wedding."
"I don't believe it," Mr. Woods said, still shaking his head slowly. "How did you figure it all out?"
"Well, I must admit the bartender at Chopper's was quite helpful. And I managed to get a hold of the e-mails that had been sent to and from your e-mail address over the last few months thanks to a... special acquaintance of mine who is skilled at obtaining information. It wasn't very hard to figure out the missing pieces of the story."
"So you read my e-mails. You know I had nothing to do with the murder. There's no way you can possibly put that on me, Mister Holmes." Sherlock rolled his eyes and flipped up the collar on his coat, as the wind had begun to pick up.
"Tell it to the judge, Mr. Woods."