Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Abominable Bride- Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Third POV

"Morphine or cocaine? Which is it today?" Michelle's words float and flair around Holmes's head vigorously. Fingers twitching, the door slams open. "Answer me, damn it!" Watson spits. Jolting awake, Holmes head rests on a cushion with the syringe in hand, its case are lying near him. "Moriarty was here." He mumbles. Watson takes off his gloves. "Moriarty's dead." Holmes waves his hand vaguely and rolls a little more onto his back. "I was on a jet."

"A what?"

"You were there and Mycroft, Mary and Michelle." Propping himself up upon his elbows, Watson walks across towards the fireplace. "You haven't left these rooms, Holmes. You... Haven't... Moved. Now, tell me, morphine or cocaine?" Watson questions again. "Cocaine." He drags himself onto his knees. "A seven percent solution."

Picking up the syringe, he puts it into the case, then stands up and offers the case to Watson. "Would you care to try it?" He offers. "No, but I would quite like to find every ounce of the stuff in your possession and pour it out of the window." Watson spoke firmly, borderline frustrated. "I should be inclined to stop you." Holmes smirks. "Then you would be reminded... Quite forcibly... Which of us is a soldier and which of us a drug addict."

"You're not a soldier. You are a doctor."

"No, an Army doctor, which means I could break every bone in your body, while naming them." Watson steps closer to him. "My dear Watson, you are allowing emotion to cloud your judgement."

"Never on a case." He breathes harshly. "You promised me. Never on a case."

"No, I just said that in one of your stories."

"Listen." He points at Holmes, breathing rapidly. "I'm happy to play the fool for you. I will run along behind you like some halfwit, making you look clever, if that's what you need, but dear God above..." He raises his voice. "You will hold yourself to a higher standard."

"Why?" Holmes questions like a petulant child. "Because people need you to." Watson determines. "What people? Why? Because of your idiot stories?"

"Yes, because of my idiot stories. And to answer your first question; What about Michelle? You promised her you wouldn't do this again. She lost her temper unfavourably, when she found you in that alleyway!" Watson spoke loudly. Holmes's smile diminishes. "Mr Holmes!"

The sitting room door opens and the houseboy runs in. "Mr Holmes! Telegram, Mr Holmes!" He hands the telegram to Holmes and runs out again. Holmes opens the telegram and reads it. He looks shocked and raises his eyes to Watson, who reacts as if he's not interested in the contents but feels obliged to ask the question: "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Michelle and Mary." He walks to the open door of the sitting room. "Mary? Michelle? What about them?" Watson began loitering around the doorway. "It's entirely possible that their in danger."

"Danger?" Watson repeats. "There's not a moment to lose."

"Is this the cocaine talking?" Holmes freezes for a brief moment, during his mid-step:

"So, was it you talking about marriage or was it the drugs?"

Shaking his head, he replaces his dressing gown for his dress coat. "What danger could the girls be in? I'm sure their just visiting with friends."

"Come on!" Holmes presses firmly. He hurries down the stairs, Watson following. Near the bottom, Holmes has to grab onto the bannister rail to support himself as he stumbles. Grimacing, he continues into the hall, buttoning his coat. "What is happening?" Holmes takes his outer coat from the peg and starts to put it on. "Are you even in a fit state?"

"For Mary and Michelle, of course. Always. Never doubt that, Watson. Never that." He breathes heavily and doubles over, groaning. "Holmes!" He helps him to straighten up. "I'm fine!" Holmes shakes Watson off. Still breathing heavily, he reaches out and picks up his top hat. "Not that one." He snatches the hat and picks up the deerstalker. "This one."

"Why?"

"You're Sherlock Holmes. Wear the damn hat."He shoves it into Holmes hands, who glowers at him but puts it on. They hurry out into the street, which is busy with pedestrians, Watson calls out loudly as Holmes runs to the kerb and looks up and down the road urgently. "Cab? Cab!"

Later, the cab is racing through the countryside, the horse going at a fast canter. The sun is very low in the sky; It is almost nightfall. "So, tell me. Where are they? Where's my wife?" Holmes buries his head in one hand. "You must tell me. What's going on?"

"Oh, good old Watson! How would we fill the time if you didn't ask questions?"

"Sherlock, tell me where my bloody wife is, you pompous prick, or I'll punch your lights out."Startled, Holmes looks round but it's Victorian Watson who is sitting there and looking sternly at him not the modern John. "Holmes! Where is she?"

"A desanctified church. They thinks they've both found the solution, and for no better reason than that, the girls have put themselves in the path of considerable danger." He looks away. "I trust that it was upon Michelle's reasoning and Mary followed." He sighs heavily to himself, knowing Michelle was using this as punishment for using drugs. "What an excellent choice of wife."

"Yes, well, I could say the same to you with your choice of candidate. After all, she isn't the appropriate tabloid to add in the newspaper, is she?" Watson bites back. Holmes glowers at him, with oxygen steaming out of his nose. The carriage continues on towards the church, set in the middle of nowhere. On arrival the two men run through the cloisters, where Mary waits hidden behind a pillar. Watson jumps when he sees Mary. "What the devil?!"

"We've found them." She points to the building. "Where's Michelle?!" Holmes asks, urgently. They pause as distant chanting can be heard. Mary leads the others towards the sound. They descend some steps, where two small metal braziers on tripods are burning. "What is all this, Mary?" She turns back to her husband and whispers to him: "This is the heart of it all, John, the heart of the conspiracy."