Danger Nights

Chapter Twelve

By the time their plane landed in Stornoway, John was running on pure adrenaline. Glancing at a wall mirror as they walked through the small airport, he cringed at his wretched appearance. Worry lines, dark under-eye circles, and a greyish pallor drew concerned stares from passengers and airport staff alike.

"You can't do this, John. You're going to keel over any minute," Lestrade said after Mycroft broke from their group to approach a car rental booth. "We should put you up in a hotel and let you wait this one out."

Sherlock, who'd been scanning their surroundings to spot potential lookouts, turned around. "Don't be daft, Lestrade. He won't rest until Alexei is safe."

"Except for the part about you being daft, he's right, Greg." John rubbed his eyes and blinked to clear his vision. "I need to see this through. To know that Alexei's all right."

Mycroft returned, holding some signed paperwork. "A valet is bringing our car to the front entrance."

As they headed for the exit, John asked, "How do you plan on locating the Cove?"

"The island is not that big. I believe we can find it simply by asking an observant person."

John had no clue what that meant, but had enough trust in what he'd come to think of as the 'Holmes process' to know that there was always a method to the mystery.

When the rented car pulled up to the curb, Mycroft tipped the valet, handed the keys to Lestrade, and directed him to drive into Stornoway. "We need to find a newsagent that opens no later than six a.m.," he said as he stepped into the back seat.

John slid in beside him. "Why so early?"

"Because the proprietor would have been awake and en route to their shop at approximately the same time Mayberry's helicopter approached the island this morning," Sherlock explained.

"Oh. Yeah, right." Although fogged by fatigue, John saw the logic. At that hour it would have been dark and quiet here, making incoming helicopter lights visible even at a distance. "Sorry, just a bit slow. Nothing a good dose of caffeine won't cure."

Mycroft drew him close. John rested his temple against the other man's shoulder and let himself doze off, lulled by the steady hum of the motor and the soft breezes coming in through the half-open windows.

He woke up when the car stopped. Looking out the window, he saw that they were parked outside a newsagents'. A sign on the door indicated that it opened at 5:30 a.m.

After discreetly surveying the street, Mycroft opened the car door and stepped out. "I will only be a moment," he said.

John unbuckled his seat belt."I'll go with you."

"It's not necessary. Stay and rest."

"I'm fine. Really." John exited the vehicle and took a deep breath of the morning air. "Besides, they might sell coffee and I sure as hell need one."

Inside, an older woman was minding the shop alone. Seeing her struggle to carry a box out of a stockroom, John hurried over.

"Let me help you with that," he said.

"Thank you," she replied gratefully as she manoeuvred it into his arms. "Behind the counter, please."

While John obliged, Mycroft picked up a copy of the Times and carried it to the cash register. She rang it up.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Do you sell coffee?" John asked hopefully.

The woman smiled. "Technically no, but I've got a pot I brewed for myself in the back. I'll pour you a cup. Milk and sugar?"