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Brilliant Minds	By : FairyBean Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not Profit from this writing and do not know or own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson or any of the other characters used in this work. I also do not own Sherlock (BBC) franchise or anything related to it.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
So this is a rather shorter chap than usual, unbeta'd so forgive the mistakes, and I'm not sure much happens here, but I like it anyway.
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Chap 6 - An Adversary Revealed

He knew that wasn’t right. He couldn’t choose one or the other, an innocent or his only friend. John had done nothing but accompany him, and while he wished he could rely on the police to have found the girl, he knew it was unlikely, as even he had thought her dead.
There was a moment of indecision, something Sherlock was not at all used to, and it froze him completely. The voice chuckled again and the voice was low when it spoke.

“The great Holmes, Worlds only Consulting Detective, brought low by a simple choice. Come now Sherlock, you let people die every day, with a choice, by the speed of your reactions people live and die by you. Why is this choice any different?”

Why is it different? His brain asked him with a sneer. You know the answer Sherlock, John is different, special in some way. His death would affect you more than others. So what are you waiting for, choose him.

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m sorry John,” he said and instead moved his hand quickly to the small of his back to pull out a weapon he almost always forgot he had, a SIG Sauer, and fired it straight through John. The wide eyed look of surprise on the face of both John and the man holding his life in the balance matched perfectly, twin visions of shock mixed with pain.

“Interesting,” the voice came back, laughter evident in the tone. “Very well, the girl can go. You’ve saved another Holmes. Do you think you can keep it up?”

“What is the point of this?!” he yelled. “There is no point!!”

John coughed then and Sherlock’s attention neatly divided as he took a large breath.

“LESTRADE! AMBULANCE NOW!!” and knew with the way he had pitched his voice that the sound would carry down the corridor. He could only hope that his shot had been perfect, and that the sealing away of his human emotions had been more so. He could not afford to break now, and as he heard the sound of footfalls in the corridor behind him he looked at John. “You’ll be ok now,” he muttered before he walked off into the darkness of the room beyond. The man was here somewhere, and even if he could not find him, he would find some evidence to start him on the track. No one hurt John and got away with it, especially no one who killed with such glee.

*

John watched as Sherlock left, his body being swallowed up into the darkness and the pain in his chest multiplied. He had been shot before, a graze here and there, sometimes a bullet into his flesh. Nothing as bad as the shot that sent him home, but nothing to sneer at either and he was surprised to note that while Sherlock had indeed shot him, it seemed to not hurt as much as the fact he knew Sherlock was walking into danger alone.

Lestrade ran in then, kneeling next to him and chattering away into a radio. “It’s fine,” John muttered to his worried look. “Sherlock missed anything vital, I’ll live.” He was enough of a doctor to know he wasn’t seriously injured, the most he would do is lose enough blood to pass out before the ambulance got to him. Lestrade stilled a moment at those words and John motioned with his eyes to the dead man on the ground. “Had me in a fix, it was me or the girl.”

Understanding lit the eyes of the DI then and his head snapped up to look for other exits, he knew Sherlock had gone somewhere. “He shot you…to save the girl?” though it wasn’t really a question John nodded. Lestrade shook his head. “He must be a wreck.”

“Angry,” John breathed as his vision started to go black. There was nothing to be done until the ambulance arrived, and he knew by the pressure that Lestrade was pressing on the wound to staunch the blood flow.

“John?” Lestrade’s voice was quiet, as if he knew John wasn’t quite there anymore. The DI took John’s face in one hand to focus his eyes on him. “The paramedics are here. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

*

Lestrade watched as they put John on a stretcher. There was nothing to be done for him now that wouldn’t be done by doctors and nurses and surgeons he knew, but he still hesitated in whether to follow John to the hospital or find the stupid younger Holmes. He knew what Mycroft would say, though it would depend on too many factors for Greg to work out himself. If Sherlock were just following the trail he would tell him to go with John, to make sure the man made it alive so Sherlock would make it through too. But if he were chasing the mad man alone….then there was no choice. Since Greg didn’t know what to do he turned to follow the gloomy corridor towards the back where Sherlock must have gone.

“Sir, we found the girl, and the rest of the place is empty apart from a few office workers who we have for questioning,” a voice resounded behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief. That meant he didn’t have to worry about Sherlock. He spun on his heel and started to walk after the rapidly retreating gurney.

“Good, canvas the place, no one else in or out until Sherlock has finished looking around. Make sure all the rooms are clear, I want a double check. I will be at the hospital for the next few hours if you need me,” he said clearly as he had gathered a few men on his way out of the building. They nodded their assent and were off as soon as he hit the doors.

The ride in the ambulance was silent apart from the steady beep they listened to, reassuring them that the patient still lived. Greg sighed and put his head in his hands. These two were a liability to each other, trading places like this. John now the one in the hospital, though he knew that John at least would stay in the hospital if he was told to. He flicked open his phone. A text from Mycroft.

What happened?

Greg text back three words. John was shot.

He almost laughed out loud when the panicked, at least for Mycroft, reply returned. SHOT? Details. Where is Sherlock?

Lestrade sent back that everything was fine, and everyone was alive for now. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t like that. He liked to know everything, but he could find out. Right now he had more important things to sort out. Like what to tell John when he woke up…if he woke up.

“Inspector, once we reach the hospital there is nothing more you can do. So not to sound callous but please stay out of the way.”

Greg nodded, he knew that, he knew there was nothing he could do. The Paramedic smiled at him softly and nodded back. “You’ll have to let go of him too.”

Greg started then, realising he was griping John’s hand in his own. He didn’t realise it had affected him so much. He let go slowly as the hospital came into sight. It really hadn’t been all that long a drive but he felt exhausted.

He stood aside as the men took John away, wandering into the waiting area for family that was near the operating theatres. Mycroft was there and enveloped him within his arms before placing a single kiss on his hair. “Everything will be alright,” he muttered. And Greg believed him.

**

It was dark here, and silent…well, mostly silent as a curse was hissed out for the third time as Sherlock stubbed his toe. That was it, he had already knocked his head and elbow, though why they named it a funny bone he had no idea. He would have to ask John later. That thought sent a pang of something very much like guilt running through him then but he pushed it aside, just as he was pushing aside the pain of his wounds. He knew that really he shouldn’t be up, his logic knew that. But he also knew he would heal, and wouldn’t make it a much longer process by walking around like this.

He had seen other signs of the struggle, but he had yet to find where he had kept the girl. He knew it had to have been somewhere like this before she was moved upstairs. Upstairs would likely contain no clues at all. And even if it did the Police would have obliterated anything useful in their rescue of her. At least they would have the next sign. He needed to figure those out. He had ‘shi’ but death was a lose meaning. And it had no context within anything else, unless it referred to the death of the women the emblems were placed upon. He shook his head, running the symbols through his mind palace, letting them float freely from room to room matching them with languages, both dead, long forgotten ones and the newest more technological codes. There was one he kept coming back to. The picture that Kitty had given him.

Images of Africa- Rawanda, Kenya, Uganda- mixed with the symbol. He stopped still then in the darkness. Swahili, or perhaps Kiswahili, spoken by the Bantu that inhabit the Swahili coast. That was it. Another symbol, another death. That symbol was ‘kifo’, the cessation of life. He itched to turn on his heel and examine the other signs, sure now that they would all be signs and words for death in some form or other. He wanted to tell John and see if that meant that they were closer to catching the man. John liked to be close to the capture of a killer. He liked the chase.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. Darkness or not, he had to find out what happened here. He picked his phone out of his pocket and turned it forwards to provide light to see by, even if it did give everything an eerie glow. The scuff marks were more frequent now, and seemed to confirm his recent deduction that they were planted to lead him on the trail. But to what he did not know, and couldn’t fathom. It didn’t matter, he would follow it anyway and found whatever it meant.

He stopped as a sound filtered to his ears. A slow melody that seemed to seep into everything. Piano it sounded like, but with an undertone of something else. The piano was out of tune, playing the notes in a register that while haunting, grated on his ears. He followed it up and out of the storage to a small room. An old cd player sat on the floor, the music echoing from that, and bounding around the room before filtering out of the room. He sighed, so there would be nothing to see.

There were no prints here, no scuffs of real or faked abduction. It was too clean. Whoever was in charge had made sure it was spotless. Knowing Sherlock would note it as out of the ordinary in a place that was frequented by hundreds every day of the week.

“I am still here Sherlock, can you find it? The clue that makes everything fall into place.”

Sherlock stilled and waited, every muscle taught. “Where are you, you bastard,” he hissed. “You aren’t here, so how are you watching?”

There was a chuckle. “Very good, very good. You can go now Sherlock. There is nothing to see here, and your friend is hanging by a thread.”

A low growl left Sherlock’s throat, and against everything he stood for, and everything his detective brain wished him to do, he turned on his heel and started for the entrance.

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Blisblop – thank you very much for that, glad you're enjoying and that it stands up to both the crime and some story J

Fire_ demon- Cumberbitches is a cool word, I first heard it myself on twitter. Thanks for your review, and as to the most pressing question in your review, I think I wanted Lestrade to be a bit of a big brother figure to Sherlock (maybe a bit out of character I know) and so he wants to watch over him and John so that everyone (especially Mycroft lol) is happy and he can get on with his life.
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Brilliant Minds