And then there was three; a Sherlock Fanfiction

Twenty-one

Sherlock sat in his chair, writing about the obvious and extensive amount of differences between the buffalo and bison. He was also sure to include the fact that the world, who was compromised of mostly idiots, often confused bison for buffalo when even a toddler should be able to recognize the separate mammals.

Finishing his article, Sherlock pushed the screen down, closing his laptop quickly. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room, alone in his chair for the second time that day.

Lilly had left an hour ago to go somewhere, Sherlock wasn't paying attention either times she told him where she was going, but he was starting to get irritated. What could be taking her so long?

He let out an exasperated sigh and leapt out of his chair. He first went to grab his violin, but then decided against it. Sherlock went to the window and yanked the curtains out of his way, glaring down at the busy street. He threw the curtains back into place, the all too familiar boredom enveloping him. Sherlock paced briefly, trying to think of anything that would alleviate the dull mood.

The ping of his phone interrupted his thoughts, alerting him of a new message. He seized the object from the table quickly, eager to see if it was John or Lilly. He checked to see who sent it, but saw neither John nor Lilly's names on his screen.

Blocked number

Sherlock's brows furrowed, thinking back to the anonymous person who sent the photograph of the Ashworth's home. Could this be the same person? Were they sending Sherlock on another case?

He opened the message, scowling when he discovered the contents. There were no words, just a single photo, like before. His heartbeat sped up slightly as he waited for the digital photo to fully load, the anticipation high.

Finally, a picture popped up on his screen, displaying a woman entering a large brick building. Upon further scrutinization he realized it was Lilly, off her crutches, glancing over her shoulder towards the direction of the camera, but not at it. He studied the series of pixels carefully: the photograph was taken from across the street, most likely out of a car window. It wasn't very high quality, so he assumed it was taken on a camera phone. Lilly was wearing a mustard yellow jacket over top a creme colored blouse and blue jeans. She didn't seem to be in any particular hurry and looked extra ordinary- she seemed to radiate 'normal'. Overall, if it had been a picture of another person, Sherlock would have no reason to be suspicious, except it was her.

As Sherlock scrutinized the photo, another message appeared on his screen, from the same number. Opening it, he realized it was the address of an old building where they used to print newspapers. Not bothering to reply to the anonymous person, Sherlock ran down the stairs, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way. He dialed a familiar number as he hailed a taxi, demanding that the answerer meet him at the old newspaper factory in ten minutes and hanging up. Although he didn't want to admit it, Sherlock had a horrible feeling about this one.

•••

John Watson arrived at the big brick building that housed old printing equipment in almost exactly ten minutes of Sherlock's call. As soon as Sherlock hung up, John was out the door, gripping his gun tightly.

He drove somewhat recklessly, hoping Sherlock hadn't gotten into any serious trouble. As he pulled up to the sidewalk next to the building, he saw Sherlock Holmes, waiting for him.

"Okay," John said, panting slightly, "why did you call me here Sherlock?"

The detective didn't look at him, scanning the other side of the street for any suspicious activity. Like expected, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he was able to discern the approximate location of where the photographer's car had been parked, although the space was now abandoned.

Without taking his eyes off the empty parking space, Sherlock filled John in on the situation, handing him his phone to show John the picture. John took it and scowled at the picture.

"What would she be doing here?" John asked aloud, receiving no answer, "and who did you say sent this?"

"A blocked number," Sherlock replied, turning towards the building and readying himself to enter. He tried to clear his head, unable to shake the uneasy pit in his stomach.

"Let's go," Sherlock declared, shoving the door open and entering the building. John followed him, closing the door quietly.

"Where should we go?" John whispered.

Sherlock squinted; the only source of light in the dim room came from the few windows that weren't boarded up. Sherlock payed close attention to the floor, spotting two sets of footprints in the dust creating a nice path for Sherlock and John to follow.

Sherlock led the way, the two moving silently through the dark.

•••

"How are you doing? It's been a while, hasn't it?" The man asked, looking Lilly up and down for any remaining signs of injury.

"Yes, it has," she replied, "we haven't talked since the day after the accident,"

"How is your leg?"

Lilly looked down at her left leg, "I got the cast off today. Now all I have left from the incident are the scars," she answered, pointing to a burn scar on her right arm. They weren't too bad, but the fire left a distinct mark, bringing back haunting memories every time she glanced at them.

"Whoever did this is still out there you know," he said, looking a tad worried, "I still think we should remove you from the situation."

"No, Mycroft, I'm not leaving. I already told you, you can't pull me out now. I'm too involved." Lilly demanded, angry that he would bring the subject up again.

"Fine, fine," Mycroft gave in, "do you have anything for me?"

"Yes, I do," Lilly pulled a thin parcel from the inside pocket of her jacket and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand, not bothering to open it yet, "it's rather detailed this time, I've had a lot of time to write,"

Mycroft nodded, pocketing the package. Then Lilly checked her wrist watch and sighed, "I'd better get going, Sherlock will be expecting me,"

Mycroft flipped his umbrella up to his rest on his shoulder, "how did you manage to get out anyways? Without him being suspicious,"

Lilly rolled her eyes, "Have faith Mycroft, I've been doing this job for years."

Mycroft didn't reply, aware that she was, in fact, correct. She then nodded her goodbye and turned on her heel to begin to exit the empty building. She walked through the dark rooms, weaving through the maze of old machinery to the closest stairwell. Suddenly her ears pricked up, sensing someone behind her. Lilly walked cautiously as to not tip the follower off that she knew they were there. As she came up on the door to the stairs, she sorted through her options. Her hands itched to pull her Glock 19 from her coat pocket, but she wasn't sure if she should yet. She kept walking, the door to the stairwell in sight. Making a split second decision, Lilly whipped around, pulling her hand gun out and pointing it at the stalker, finger poised on the trigger.

"Sherlock?"

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its cold out now.

photo: Mycroft Holmes (Mark Gatiss)

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