Alone on Baker Street

Chapter 9

The next morning, bright and early, Sherlock and John hailed a cab to go to Scotland Yard.

"I can't believe that he drugged our cookies," John said. "What did you put in his tea, anyway?"

"A small amount of pesticide. For an experiment. He had to get his stomach pumped, but he didn't die. I suppose he wanted to get back at me before I died, and as soon as he found out I didn't, he sent some LSD laced cookies. I believe I'm rubbing off on him," Sherlock said thoughtfully.

John chuckled as the cab pulled up to their destination.

BANG! Lestrade jumped out of his chair as his door flew open. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the doorway, his face stretched in a smug smile. "Graham Lestrade," he said, making his way over to him. "You bastard."

Lestrade brought him into an unwilling hug, and laughed. "Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I guess I got a little out of hand."

John stepped forward. "A little? Sherlock had some hallucinations, and I had a blinding headache." Although reprimanding, he still looked slightly amused.

Lestrade laughed nervously. "Again, sorry. Anyway, I'm glad you came today, because I have a case for you two. A string of burglaries stretching from southern London, and getting closer to your own flat. This particular burglar only robs odd-numbered places, and the last place he robbed was two houses down from you, at 119 Baker Street."

"So is this a case, or a warning?" John asked.

"A little bit of both. It's likely he will be visiting you tonight, and I want you to stop him. I'll have police at the end of your block, that will close in around the flat as soon as they see him walk inside."

Sherlock smiled. "Oh, this is exciting. Come along, John, we have a burglary to prepare for." He quickly bounded out of the room, his long coat swishing behind him. John gave a small wave to Lestrade, and followed.

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Back at the flat, Sherlock immediately stripped his coat and hung it on the peg. "He could be coming at any time, so we need a game plan," Sherlock said to John, sitting himself in his chair. John sat in the chair opposite.

"Is there going to be any kind of...code word?" John inquired.

"Yes, yes...what about Johnlock?"

"What's that?"

"It's just a mixture of our names. John and Sherlock. Johnlock."

"Alright." John looked slightly confused.

"Okay John, I'll be the bait. I'll play the part of the victim. You wait in my bedroom closet until you hear the code word. No matter what, do not come out until then."

"What do you mean? Why can't we both attack him when he walks in the door."

"I would assume he has some sort of weapon. I don't want you getting hurt."

"But Sherlock, you can't--"

"Please, John." Sherlock looked at him pleadingly.

"Fine. But if even the slightest thing goes wrong, you have to yell Sherjohn...er, Johnlock. Sorry."

"I will," Sherlock promised, but John knew he was lying. He then rushed to the window. "That might be him, he's wearing all black, including a ski mask. Go to my closet, and hurry." John obeyed.