Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

The Prey	By : amandalee Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3756 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The authors do not claim ownership to Sherlock or any of its characters, and we make no money from writing this.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
A/N: For those of you who would hazard a look at the "mountain men" from chapter 12, here's a link: http://sexymonstersupercreep.tumblr.com/post/43498535353/dinkyicarus-three-finger-looks-cute-deal-with
Potential nightmare fodder ahead, so sensitive people, be warned!

Chapter 13

"This looks like the place," John announced, looking back and forth from the camera to his and Sherlock's surroundings. "Then again, all of the trees are starting to look the same."

"Your sense of perspective is ridiculous," Sherlock replied, continuing to walk as though he knew exactly where he was going. He likely did, John surmised.

"They don't all look the same. You're just letting it overwhelm you."

"Well, nobody ever said I was the outdoors type," John argued, following him.

"Then why go on holiday to an area that's prominently forest?" Sherlock asked, noting some peculiarly placed undergrowth.

"Well, the trip itself wasn't originally going to involve this amount of forest," John said, not without a certain level of exasperation. "Also, the trip wasn't originally supposed to turn into a case."

Sherlock seemed to be ignoring him. "Look here."

He waved towards the branches. Indeed, they looked as though someone had propped them up to block something from sight. Pulling them away, the men saw a worn down path leading deeper into the woods.

"A little too deliberately inconspicuous," John noted aloud. Sherlock made an affirming noise and, spotting something on the path, moved forward, leaning closer as he inspected it. Curious, John pocketed the camera and joined him. His eyes widened a little when he looked at it.

"What size would you say that is?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to wait for input. "I'm an eleven..." He carefully placed his own shoe next to the gigantic boot print. It was twice as large as his own shoe.

John swallowed thickly, standing up straight. He was suddenly reminded of the Golem, and briefly worried that the hit man was truly their culprit.

"Well it would certainly be easy for this fellow to abduct his victims, based on his size alone," he observed.

Sherlock stood and followed the path for a few minutes, John trailing behind and photographing the alarming boot print. Another set of prints were nearly mistaken for those of the giant, but were noted by Sherlock to be slightly smaller and of different make, and a third set were the smallest of the group, perhaps around the size of Sherlock's shoes. The doctor photographed all of them, as well as the path entrance which someone (the owners of the tracks?) had tried to hide.

"Obviously we're dealing with more than one culprit..." John muttered, trying his hardest to see if there was anything more to be deduced from the boot prints apart from the fact that they had not been made by the same man. To his great aggravation, he could not think of anything meaningful to add.

Sherlock did not look up at his partner, too engrossed in studying the evidence at hand.

"There's no proof yet that any of these... men were involved in Mrs. Cavanaugh's disappearance," he said, "and a week of exposure to the elements has undoubtedly eradicated most if not all clues left."

"Then we're wasting our time, aren't we?" John asked sourly, whisking away an irksome mosquito that had been buzzing about his head for some time. "There's nothing to discover."

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'nothing'," Sherlock countered and finally rose to his full height beside John. "I can discern tracks from three different individuals--"

"And I salute your powers of observation!" the doctor snapped, angry and annoyed at the detective's need to gloat as well as his own shortcomings in the area.

"If you let me finish, I'll let you!" Sherlock growled back. "First, the giant. Well over two metres tall, judging by the size of his boots and the length of his stride. Now, if you look at the prints."

John dutifully looked where Sherlock pointed.

"Four sets of tracks by this man, going in opposite directions. Steel-toed boots, the brand is, if my memory serves me correctly, a Timberland Pro product. This fellow is too large to obtain his shoes from a common shoe store, so he'd probably have to get them custom-made. But he's not bothered to acquire new boots in the past fifteen to twenty years, so either he doesn't have the means to do so, or it's not on his list of priorities."

"Impressive, Sherlock," John said drily. "However..."

"There's more. The impression of his right foot is less distinct than the left. What does that tell you?"

"He has a limp," John suggested. "On his right leg?"

"Quite so, but do you see the uneven distribution of weight shown in this print? It suggests a congenital birth defect, a curvature of the spine, which renders this man's right leg shorter than his left."

"So, a giant with a curved back? Is that whom we're looking for?"

"Amongst others..." the detective murmured, his attention now focused on the smallest set of prints. "This one worries me," he said, pointing to them. "The stride is different. See?"

"So..." John suggested, "small stride, small person?"

Sherlock looked up at him with an annoyed glare. John gave an awkward smile, but it was clear that his partner was in no mood to joke.

"This one's a runner," the doctor said. "Also, the pathway by that set of prints isn't in so straight a line as the others. Maybe someone the giant was chasing?"

"No," Sherlock said, already sounding like he was thinking ahead on another clue. "Too many prints for this one as well, as haphazard as they are. It's a companion."

John looked a little taken aback. "So, added with this other set of prints, that's... three possible abductors?"

"Perhaps more..." The detective looked back at John. "But that's not definite unless we find more tracks. Or the group itself. But either way, the giant could be outrun or avoided on foot, short of him having a weapon. This little one here, no such limp. Man or woman, it would be more of a problem in a chase. Given any of them are in decent health..."

"What makes you say that?"

Sherlock stood, looking at the third set of prints, far bigger than the small ones, but not quite as large as those of the giant. Long strides again, and deep impressions in the dirt, suggesting a weight similar to the bigger man.

"Do you remember our little chat back at home about this part of the country?"

"Vaguely," John said, trying not to bristle. He did remember, as well as Sherlock insinuating that Mary likely wanted to come here to visit deformed relatives.

John lifted an eyebrow, slightly doubtful. "You think our possible suspects really are the stereotype everyone makes about Appalachia?"

"A group marginalized from society and its rules and taboos..." he trailed off, then waved to the tracks. "We have one giant with severe curvature of the spine and subsequent shorter leg. It's possible. Followed by another sizeable fellow... could be a family."

"Inbred mountain men?" John was flabbergasted by the mere idea. That kind of stuff didn't happen except in shoddy, low-budget horror movies, which he made a point of not watching.

"Think about it, John," Sherlock said. "Our giant fellow with the curved spine would be a most memorable figure, were he known in these parts, hardly someone who could hide in plain sight. The only way for him to stay unnoticed is to live like a hermit in these woods."

"That's hardly conclusive, Sherlock," the doctor objected. "In fact, it's a ridiculous theory, and unworthy of you. Just because someone appears to be taller than average and has a limp doesn't mean they belong to a family of inbred killer rednecks. Come on, this isn't 'Deliverance'!"

"What about the picture?" Sherlock insisted. "He was spying on Sarah Cavanaugh, exactly where we're standing now!"

"Okay, the guy might be a perv, emphasis on 'might', since we can't be sure it's even him in that photo, since we could only see a silhouette, but it still proves nothing."

"It's reason enough to find him."

John shook his head, wishing there was some way to talk Sherlock out of pursuing this trail. Not only was it illogical and against all common sense, but completely absurd. Even if they could locate the man in the photo, what would they ask him? If he had abducted any women recently? If he enjoyed hiding in the undergrowth to spy on naked hikers? If he was an inbred lunatic?

John could only imagine the man's response to such inquiries, and what his mind conjured up was not even remotely positive. With any luck, they would have time to get off the man's property before he returned with a shotgun.

"We've investigated for quite a while," John noted aloud, not without a little trepidation. "We should get going."

"We haven't been out that long," Sherlock retorted.

"Yes, but suppose we're trespassing...?" John replied, already heading back from where they came.

The younger man snorted at the suggestion. "Well now you're just being silly. What are we trespassing, their favorite bush for doing a wee in?"

John rolled his eyes. "We don't need to have you collapsing again, so I'd rather you not exhaust yourself today. There should be food by the time we get back, and you do need to eat, as much as you don't believe so."

Giving an annoyed sigh, Sherlock finally gave in, following his assistant. "Will you at least spoon feed me?" he asked slyly.

"What," John said, elbowing him, "is that what Mycroft used to do?"

"Maybe I'll stay out here all night," Sherlock muttered. "Get eaten by a bear. Or our culprits."

"Please," John laughed. "They would probably have other uses for you."

"Of course," the other man replied as he hurried on ahead, not surprisingly having memorized their route from Avalon. "None can resist my charms. Not you, especially."

*

By the time Sherlock and John made it back to their lodge, the time was a little after one o'clock in the afternoon. Sherlock would not admit that he was hungry, as looking forward to lunch meant looking forward to what Mary had bought, and the thought of Mary still reminded him of his unfortunate argument with John. Even so, he preferred to avoid anything close to what had happened at the sauna.

"Mary, we're back!" John hollered jovially as he entered and then quickly removed his hiking boots, which had gotten pretty muddy during their little excursion. Sherlock followed his example, too low on energy and frankly too hungry to take the argument which was sure to follow if he made a mess of the cabin.

Back on Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson could be counted on to keep a clean house, equipped with the patience of a saint and used to the bohemian ways of her young detective tenant, despite continuous claims that she was not his housekeeper.

"Mary?" John repeated, discouraged but not entirely surprised at the lack of response. He had no doubt she was still angry with him. Hell, she had every right to be after what he had done.

"She's not back yet," Sherlock informed him and flopped onto the couch in a most ungraceful heap of long, lanky limbs. At least it was an improvement from yesterday, when he had dropped down half-dead. Plus he had remembered to put sun-block on his face and arms, which was certainly promising.

"What...? You're sure? We've been out for ninety minutes." John called out his girlfriend's name once more and was met with nothing but silence.

"Maybe she took a wrong turn," Sherlock suggested. "I knew I should have drawn her a map even she could read," he then added with a slight tone of regret.

"Enough of that," John said, feeling as though he were reprimanding a child. The feeling was one he was quite used to. "Maybe we should wait a little longer..."

"Until what, the weekend when this place actually serves food?" Sherlock asked tiredly. "We'll starve by then. AND with the rental car gone, we won't be able to go get groceries for ourselves."

"Oh stop it!" John said, quite sick of his partner's behavior. He sighed and took a seat on the bed where Mary had slept. "It's unnecessary that you prattle on and on about nothing but yourself at the moment."

"It's not just about myself, John," Sherlock argued, standing up and entering the bedroom. "You'll starve to death too. Perhaps not as quickly as me..."

"Mary is gone!" John snapped, clenching his hands and standing from his seat. "Yes, she's taken the car, yes, we are without food, YES, our phones are not functioning. And I have no idea what my relationship with her is presently, but I still care about her and she is GONE."

Sherlock stared at his assistant for a moment, but then walked over to the closet as John continued to rant.

"And knowing what an utter shit I've been to both of you, she likely left for good and got a plane ticket back home." John rubbed his face with his hands and sank back onto the bed, feeling hopeless. "What the hell is wrong with me, Sherlock..."

"A book wouldn't cover all of it," Sherlock replied, opening the closet door. "And despite my opinion towards Miss Morstan, I can assure you she didn't leave you for being a twat."

John turned his head to look into the closet space. All of Mary's clothes, as well as her luggage bags, were still within. John stared mutely at the items for a few very long seconds while his over-worked and agitated brain did its best to process the sight and how it was connected to Mary's absence. The good news was that she had apparently not left for England in a fit of rage, but the bad news was that they had no idea where she'd gone.

"We should notify the authorities..." John murmured, pulling his hands over his face.

"She's only been gone one and a half hours, John," Sherlock replied, and his tone was surprisingly gentle. "There's hardly any cause for concern at this point."

"A trip to the dollar store shouldn't take ninety minutes! Something's wrong, I know it!"

Sherlock felt like adding that he could have made it to the store and back within forty minutes, and so would anyone with half a brain, but he managed to restrain himself, realizing that John likely wanted to hear words of reassurance rather than stone cold facts.

"Like I said, it's a bit premature to assume anything untoward has happened to her as of yet. Perhaps she got stuck in a queue?"

John gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, very likely in a place like this!"

"Alright, not very likely," Sherlock agreed. "But panicking when there's no cause for it is not going to do one lick of good for any of us." He carefully approached John and placed one long, white hand on his friend's shoulder, unsure whether this was the right thing to do. But John had criticized him in the past for not being tactile enough, and Sherlock wanted to show his assistant that he could improve.

John tensed at first, in slight disbelief at what his partner was doing, but he quickly calmed at the contact. Despite all which had happened within the past week alone, he appreciated the gesture, especially from someone who was never very keen on showing affection. He felt a squeeze from Sherlock's long fingers and managed to give him a smile.

"Thank you," he said, his tone sincere.

Sherlock smiled back, but only for a moment.

"How do you manage to stay so calm?" the doctor said, walking into the kitchenette and preparing a kettle for tea. Sherlock leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, reminding John of how Mary stood that very morning.

"I don't, remember?" Sherlock said with a smirk. "I drive myself into fainting spells and fry my skin with the sunlight." He joined his assistant next to the counter as they waited for the water to reach the proper temperature. "And you do better than you think. All of that military training had to do with it, I imagine."

"Some of it doesn't take at times, though..." John noted plainly. "When it has to do with someone I care about. Mary, my sister... you."

"Oh, only sometimes," Sherlock replied, replacing his hand on the shoulder and giving a small smile when John took the hand in his own, squeezing back. "You handled me quite well when I collapsed in the sauna, after all. We'll have some tea, wait a little longer, and then take a look around, alright?"

"Alright."

TBC...
- 12
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Prey