Katie Holmes

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Nothing.

Zip.

Zilch.

Kaitlyn had zero connection with Portsmouth, as did Moriarty, and there had been no crimes other than petty theft and b&e in the last month. The trip was a bust. John and William were put out by this, but Sherlock seemed downright mad.

"A whole afternoon, wasted!" he complained as they climbed into a taxi. "A false lead! We should've sent Mycroft to do this instead of wasting my time!"

John said, "You would've gotten mad that he hadn't found anything and come yourself anyway. Quit complaining and figure out our next move."

Our next move. The words reminded him that they were playing a chess game. Moriarty had created a façade for them to follow, all the while doing the opposite. He had been outsmarted. And Kaitlyn could be running out of time.

Slamming the door, he stormed into the flat. "A week, John! A whole week!"

"Kidnappings usually excite you, but not like this."

His words came so fast it was hard to catch them. "At a week most detectives will be looking for a body, but I have no detective to tell me my daughter's dead because I am the detective and I don't bloody need another, but now I have to ask myself if Moriarty would've kept her alive this long or am I just kidding myself because I don't need another bloody reminder of how badly I've pissed her over? There is no one here to decide for me, John, because I can do it myself, but I don't want to. This is one case I cannot handle, but there is no one that can help me because Moriarty is too clever for everyone else on the planet!"

William took a step back. He'd never heard Sherlock talk so much at once, and especially not to admit that he couldn't do something.

John didn't move. "There's Mycroft. You know, the bishop. Pawns can only move so much. You could call Lestrade too."

He was already texting.

BAKER STREET. NOW.
SH

As Sherlock was getting dizzy from lack of food, he took the few minutes before his brother got there to eat a biscuit. It reduced the dizziness.

Ten minutes later Mycroft Holmes stepped out of a sleek black car on Baker Street and walked inside. Everyone was waiting for him. Impatiently Sherlock was drumming his fingers, while William paced and John tried to calm his nerves.

"I didn't mean after you'd had your afternoon tea, Mycroft," said Sherlock spitefully.

"Yes, I understand. Kaitlyn is missing and you require my help. As usual, you cannot do it alone."

"Mycroft, please," said John.

William wasn't as kind. He'd never gotten used to Mycroft's cold mannerisms. "Your niece is missing. No one should have to ask you to help, much less beg, when you've got the whole of England under your thumb! It's your fault she's been kidnapped, you know! If your men hadn't lost her-"

"If she hadn't purposely evaded them, you mean. I cannot follow her any more easily than you can. If Kaitlyn wants to go somewhere unaccompanied, she will."

"She has, but that isn't the point!" Sherlock pushed to his feet. "The point is that I've lost my daughter and with every passing second the chance of getting her back unharmed halves!"

"So swallow your pride and ask me." Mycroft smiled, obviously enjoying tormenting his younger brother.

Sherlock scowled, swallowed, and huffed. "I...need your help. Will you help me find Katie or not?"

"Now that you've properly asked, I will accept." He set down his umbrella and took off his coat. "Is there anything you know that isn't on this wall?" he asked as he familiarized himself with it.

"Moriarty's playing a chess game," said William, still a bit cross. "Kaitlyn's the queen, I'm the king, my dad's the knight, and Lestrade's the rook. You're a bishop."

"And Sherlock is a pawn. Of course. But I'm surprised to hear that you've reasoned me the bishop."

John said, "It made sense to Sherlock; since you've got eyes all over then you should be closest to the king and queen, as a protector."

"I see. What does this mean?" He tapped the paper with 1120 scribbled on it. "King Henry I's son died that year in the English Channel. How does that have a connection with Kaitlyn?"

"Danika was born in the city nearest to where he shipwrecked," said John, "but we checked and there's nothing down there."

"And that's when you texted me. I can't say I'm surprised, Sherlock."

Sherlock had his eyes closed, his head propped up on crooked fingers and fingertips. His foot was tapping. "Tell me something useful, Mycroft, or get out."

"Well I can say with certainty that these numbers don't point to the year. If nothing useful's come of them, then you're looking at it wrong." He stared at it for a moment, separating the numbers, spacing them out, considering everything. "Kaitlyn was born on November 20."

"21. She was born as the clock hit midnight."

"But the final bell had not rung, had it?"

"Her birth certificate says 21."

"So that isn't it. The eleventh letter of the alphabet is K, the twentieth T. Where did you find these numbers?"

"In a book that was incorrectly placed in her room," Sherlock replied.

"Who has been in her room since the camera was destroyed?"

John shrugged. "Only Erika, that we know of. But her room could've been broken into."

"The windows have an alarm on them; they cannot be opened without alerting me. The stairs also have cameras. No one unusual has been into her room otherwise I would have been notified."

"You're suggesting that Erika put this book there?" John said indignantly. "She's eight!"

"Which means she can be easily swayed. Where are your other children, Dr. Watson?"

"With Mary at home!"

"Go get them."

Reluctantly John stood up and walked downstairs. William followed, not wanting to be with Mycroft any longer than necessary.