Sherlock hurried across the dark streets, keeping John and Aceyla close to him. John was surprised at how afraid the detective came across. He’d never seen Sherlock so rushed and discombobulated. John reached up and grabbed Sherlock by the coat collar. He tugged his friend close to him, letting his body weight draw them both onto the ground.
“What’s happening?” Aceyla asked, catching John and helping him descend to the ground. She smoothed his hair and looked at his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Listen, John,” Sherlock began through a shaking voice, “you’re going to be fine. But you’ve got to get to the hospital. If you don’t, Andrew has threatened to take your life.”
“How? You destroyed the connection in the hospital, how—,”
“He’s hired people to make sure the surgery doesn’t happen. If I don’t touch the file, but hand it to him, then you’ll surgery will be successful and you’ll be safe. But if I get the folder and hide it, he’ll kill you.”
John blinked several times before squeezing his eyes shut. He ran a hand over his face and groaned. “You’re not supposed to care about anyone, Sherlock! Not for her, not for me! You said you did everything for the work, now you seem to be doing it to—I don’t know.” John opened his eyes, his breath escalated. As if trying to hammer sense into his friend’s mind, John shouted, “Stop thinking about us! You can finish the case. You can get Andrew, and you can get the file before he does. Just put your mind on the case, Sherlock. Don’t worry about us.”
Sherlock shook his head. “John, I’m just afraid I’ll be,” he swallowed and bowed his head. “I’m just afraid I’ll be too late. Andrew’s smart. He’ll kill Charlie and Simon. He’ll kill Elise and Mrs. Hudson. He’ll kill you and Aceyla. He won’t kill me, though. He’ll play games with me until he dies.”
“But, you can stop him, can’t you?” John whimpered. He hated watching hopelessness poison the detective’s mind. He’d always seen Sherlock a step ahead, always knowing where to go. “There’s technology, weapons, and plenty of things to aid your intelligence. You can’t just base it on what we have with us. You can stop all of this.”
“I can’t. He’s got every connection to every security plant in the world against me. He knows where I’ll be all the time, and he can guide me into situations I’ll never get out of. I can’t deduct him, John. Strangely, he’s too simple to deduct.”
“Turn the power off, Sherlock. There’s always a power source. You can’t let Andrew do this. And Elise, Mrs. Hudson, Charlie, Simon, and Aceyla will not die. I’ll go to the hospital, you’ll find Andrew. I know Simon and Charlie will be fine, you hired them.”
Sherlock looked up at Aceyla and forced a smile. “Take him to the hospital. Continue down this road, you’ll find a cab. I’m going back. I will get the file.”
“You remember the code?” Aceyla asked through tears.
Sherlock tapped the side of his temple and gave her an assuring smile.
The girl quickly helped John to his feet and the two of them made their way down the street. Sherlock watched them. He didn’t leave until they disappeared into the darkness. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, he headed back to the tunnel. He knew Simon and Charlie were either taken hostage, or they were killed. He hoped he wouldn’t find their bodies in the emptiness of the tunnel, but then again, he knew Andrew had collected them. He looked at working clock from outside a café. He counted the hours, hoping to secure the files in three days or less. Anytime more time than that, he knew he would come home and John would be dead.
John and Aceyla climbed into a cab safely. The doctor continued to suffer from coughing and a growing headache, but he knew to complain about it would be pointless. As the two of them sat side by side, John found it a good opportunity to talk to Aceyla about her relationship with Sherlock. “How did you meet him?” he began. He glanced up at the rearview mirror at the taxi driver. He automatically suspected the driver could turn on him, so he hoped Aceyla would be smart enough to talk in code.
“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.”