Watson and the Sound - Ch. 28Sherlock got up carefully, still clutching the teapot. Mrs. Hudson was covering her mouth with her hands as she stared at John's still body, her eyes round. Mycroft patted her on the shoulder. "Thank you very much for the tea. Why don't you go downstairs and talk to the man at the door? I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you about all this."
Sherlock looked at Mycroft quizzically. Mycroft smirked. "What, you didn't think I would come here alone, did you? With a would-be murderer in the house?"
Sherlock nodded. "So you figured that out too."
"Murderer?" Mrs. Hudson said faintly.
"I think I'd better take you downstairs myself," Mycroft said, guiding the landlady towards the stairs. Sherlock looked down at the teapot, then at the retreating back of Mrs. Hudson.
"Hold on," he said suddenly.
Mrs. Hudson turned around, her face white.
Sherlock held up a finger. "Just wait," he sa
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 27Mycroft quickly hung up the phone as John slid out of consciousness. There was a moment of silence. He turned to his brother's body and whispered, "We're all clear."
Sherlock was silent. "I said we're all clear," Mycroft hissed.
Sherlock stirred. "Then why are you whispering?" he muttered. He opened his eyes and looked condescendingly at his brother.
Mycroft reached down and help his brother to his feet. "A good job on the blood, by the way. You almost had me going there. Almost," he said.
Sherlock looked down and lifted his shirt. The tiny plastic bags of fake blood were all but empty now. "Yes, well, I'm just glad John never went into the closet over there. He'd have thought I was just doing another blood-based experiment."
"Another ? Never mind," Mycroft said, pursing his lips. "I'll have my gun back now."
"Of course" Sherlock said
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 26John's eyes widened in horror as Sherlock slumped to the floor. The gun was smoking in his hand. "I" he gasped.
The speaker giggled.
Sherlock lied there in a steadily growing pool of blood.
"I" John said again, the words catching in his throat.
The speaker laughed.
John's eyes were burning. He was lying on the floor, his body in torture, his head on fire, staring straight into Sherlock's glassy blue eyes. He felt sick.
The speaker was guffawing in the doorway, but all John could think about was lying right in front of him.
Sherlock Holmes was dead. And he, John Watson, his faithful sidekick, had killed him.
John's ears were ringing, but he could still hear the door slamming open. Mycroft stormed in, his face almost white. He stood there, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground. He stared at Sherlock's body. The blood. The gun.
His face was contorted
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 25"Well, there goes one of the options," John said, smiling weakly.
He suddenly swayed violently, his knees buckling underneath him. Sherlock caught one of John's arms, easing him down to the floor gently. He turned to face the speaker, which was lying haphazardly on the floor near the kitchen. His look was scathing. John could barely keep his eyes open.
Sherlock got up and walked straight towards the speaker. He grabbled the cold, clammy mechanical device. "Now, you'd better cooperate with me. Do you understand?" Sherlock hissed.
"I understand, but that doesn't mean"
"Trust me, if I had the time, I could easily concoct an antidote for whatever toxin you've injected, but I have neither the leisure of an hour nor the patience of a saint. You will tell me what it is you used, exactly, and I hand you over to the authorities quietly."
The speaker was silent. Then, quietly at first, the ma
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 24Sherlock looked calmly at the gun in John's unsteady hands. "Well, this is a bit of a surprise."
"To me too," John said, almost inaudibly.
Sherlock shut the door with his foot slowly, never taking his eyes off of the gun. "What is this all about, John? Is your life really that empty?"
John nodded very slightly. "About as empty as you made it," he said.
Their eyes locked in a mutual understanding.
Sherlock traipsed forward casually as John kept the gun aimed at him. John cleared his throat, his breathing haggard and difficult. "I've got to do this, Sherlock. There's something going on. I'm dying."
"Of course you're dying, John. What is it? Poison?"
"Basically. And, well, if I kill you, I'll live," John said.
"Hmm. Interesting. Not very much like you, is it?" Sherlock replied, starting to pace.
"No, not really."
"Then go ahead," Sherlock said, sto
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 23Sherlock barreled down the pavement, the sound chip still clutched in his hand. Whoever was behind this had crossed one too many lines. He was hurting his friend, in his own flat, and this, my dear reader, was where he had made his mistake.
He had made it personal.
Sherlock banged open the door of the flat building on Baker Street, the rush of warm air doing nothing to settle his nerves. As he passed Mrs. Hudson's door, she poked her head out, smiling cheerfully.
"Oh Sherlock," she chirped. "I was just putting the kettle on for a friend. Would you fancy a cuppa?"
"Not right now, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said tersely. "Bit busy at the moment."
"Well, alright, dear. But don't expect me to be at your beck-and-call when you do want one," she muttered as she shut her door.
Sherlock flew up the stairs three at a time, his adrenaline levels starting to shoot up. That familiar rush was coming back, and he cou
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 22John slumped to the floor, his head reeling now with the effects of the toxin. The other head was lying on the floor, very lopsided now and, more importantly, no longer moving. The hallucinatory spell was broken. But who was responsible for all of this in the first place? Certainly not the head.
John was still holding the slimy speaker in his trembling hands. The voice was silent now. But, for once, John didn't want this madman to be so quiet.
"I know you can hear me," John rasped, his voice coarse and soft and pained. "And I know you did this to me."
He coughed. He could barely see through the increasingly blinding pain in his head. He shook his head, but this only made the blood in his head pump out a dark drumbeat.
"I'm sure you've figured this out by now, but I'm going to tell you anyway. And only this once," he said slowly, evenly, the effort to speak cohere
Watson and the Sound - Ch. 21Sherlock quickly strode through the morgue's doors, sweeping past a startled Molly Hooper. "Sherlock! Well, this is a surprise," she said, smoothing her skirt self-consciously.
Sherlock held up the phone. "Needed a place to work in peace," he said coldly.
Molly smiled a little. "Oh, well, in that case, you can join me! I was just"
Sherlock was already pushing her out the door. "In peace," he repeated.
Molly was still stammering protests as the morgue's doors swung shut. Sherlock quickly sat on one of the stools and placed the cellular lump on one of the metal tables, next to a dead man's bicep. Sherlock meticulously started taking apart the wrecked clump, setting aside bits of plastic as he made his way to the heart of the matter, dissecting it piece by piece.
Finally, all that remained were the battery, the memory card, and, as Sherlock had hoped, a foreign object. A stimulus.