Texting Sherlock

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Multi-Part Chapter: Part 2

Sherlock Holmes shook his head at the image attached to the text message, fury raging through him like a burning campfire. Panic, anger, malicious intents, a need for heroin, and a pulsating want for revenge circulated through Sherlock's bloodstream. His head spun, his fists were clenched tightly, his thumbnails digging into the palm of his hand. Sherlock stood up, trying to regain his balance. No, no drugs, John wouldn't want that. Sherlock had to think straight, his brain had to stay clear, and he had to devise a plan.

Breathe. In and out. In and out. Don't look at the text message again. Don't do it.

Sherlock looked deep into the flat, a chill spreading throughout him because of how eery the flat looked without all it's lights on. Sherlock hadn't even noticed how it became dark in the room because of the persistent rain clouds that inched across the sky outside. They moved slowly, unwillingly, matching the pace that Sherlock's brain was crawling at.

"Come on! Think!" Sherlock yelled into the empty flat. Somewhere in the back of his head he worried that Mrs. Hudson might hear him and ask what happened but then he dismissed the thought. More pressing matters at hand.

Think Sherlock. Think. Think quicker. His life, if he has any left in him, depends on you. Help him. Help.

Phone. Pocket. Step. Step. Jacket. Rain. Wet hair. Need for an umbrella. Irrelevant. Step. Step. Taxi. Hand. Sit. Close the door. Address that flooded out without Sherlock knowing how. Rush. Pay. Run. Splash of puddles. Wet socks. Irrelevant. Door. Warehouse. Darkness.

Sherlock stepped into the dark, cold abyss of the warehouse and let himself lean up against a wall to catch his breath.

"Get yourself together Sherlock. Get yourself together. Come on" Sherlock whispered to himself, as quiet as possible.

He moved slowly towards another door, the only one he could see in the warehouse. There was a thin strip of light coming from under the door, a sign that there was somebody behind it, or at least a lamp.

Sherlock inched towards the door, the only thing that could be heard in the abandoned warehouse was the loud beating of Sherlock's heart and his irregular breathing.

His bony fingers hugged the slender door handle and he pulled down on it, to his relief it was open. Peering in, Sherlock found that the room was empty, save for a fifteen inch lamp that was standing in the middle of the room, a note gracefully propped against it.

More confident now, Sherlock reached for the note and brought it to the light so he could read it. His heart sped up again.

On the note, in red ink and in Moriarty's distinct handwriting, there were words that haunted Sherlock.

good. you've maDe it this far. let's kEep plAying, sherlock. i'll give you a riddle if you can getT to my next location. one more step towards joHn, isn't it?
-JM

[I <3 HEARING FROM YOU]
Can you read the extra message in Jim's note? :D