Guns, Games, and Mutual Appreciation ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book I}

Chapter 24- Missing

John's POV

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"Sherlock..?"

Silence.

I raise my voice.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing. I sigh, push myself into a standing position and find Sherlock, sitting in earshot, choosing to ignore me, engrossed in his laptop.

"Sherlock," I say, and close the laptop lid.

"What is it?" he snaps, trying to prise it open.

"Where's my phone?"

"How should I know?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes."

"You're a detective."

"Yes."

I roll my eyes.

"You solve things. So solve the mystery. Where's my phone?"

He looks at me scathingly. 

"Get Millie to do it."

"You arrogant pri-"

"Shh. I'm working," he says, waving a hand at me to shut me up. I sigh, again, and make my way over to Millie's room. I knock on the door.

"Millie? I'm coming in, okay?"

When she doesn't respond, I go in to the room.

I breathe in sharply.

She's not here.

"Sherlock! Where's-"

"I don't know where your phone is John!" he shouts from the other room, irritated.

"Not my phone, you idiot- where's Millie?"

That got his attention. He spins round on his chair to look at me. He's calculating, working something out, and by the look of his pale face and set jaw, it's not good. 

"John. Where's your phone?"

I make an explosive noise of exasperation.

"I don't know, Sherlock. Where is my bloody phone?"

He gets up, and walks into my room. He stops at the drawers, and looks at the surface, carefully.

"She's taken it..." he murmurs to himself.

"Who's taken it?" I ask confused, "And what has this got to do with Millie- oh." I look up at him. "How do you know?"

"The dust is disturbed. Something has been moved recently, and you can see the outline of phone, if you look closely," he explains rapidly.

"I just see a dusty surface."

"Yes, because you don't look."

I ignore his direct snub, and ask him-

"Why did she take it?"

"I don't..." then he looks up, and claps his hands together "Yes. Yes John! It makes sense."

I gawk at him blankly.

He pushes past me into Millie's room. He scans the surroundings, before bending down and picking up a discarded pencil. He looks around quickly, eyes narrowed, then goes over to the window-sill. He traces it, slowly, muttering words softly under his breath. Then he looks up, and at me, his face strained.

"Sherlock? You want to tell me what's going on? Normal brain," I say, tapping my head, "Remember?"

He gestures at the window-sill.

"Look. Engravings, little marks in the wood. Numbers. She leaned on this to write down numbers."

I hope I don't look as lost as I feel.

"No.. Moriarty...no, she wouldn't, not after-" he says, not talking to me, pacing around the room and running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Hold on- are you telling me that Millie- as in Millie Shon, has stolen my phone, and called Moriarty after he kidnapped us and blew the heads off three total strangers in front of her?" 

"Yes. That is precisely what I'm telling you."

I make a noise of disbelieving irritation-

"That's not Millie, Sherlock. How do you know it's Moriarty's number? How do you know that the writing is even hers?!"

"Because," he begins, and although he looks troubled, there's an underlying hint of enjoyment in his explanation- he's missed this, I think, solving mysteries: "Because, he gave me the number in the hospital, as 'Jim from IT'. I can remember it. This matches it. And, it had to be Millie, because firstly, she's the only person, apart from me, who could deduce numbers clearly from a fleeting memory, and secondly, because this wood," he says, tapping his knuckles on the window sill, "is soft. It swells. The engravings would have been gone by now, if it was written a while ago. It had to have been written earlier today."

"Ok, so it looks like Millie did steal my phone to call Moriarty, though why in bloody hell would she-"

"It has to be to do with what happened at the station. And the writing on her neck."

We look at eachother.

There is something deeply unsettling about this. And we can both feel it.

"So... what do we do? We can't find her, not now-"

"Simple. We do what she's done. We call Moriarty."

"Sherlock, you know I think you're brilliant, but that is the most stupid-"

"Use your head John. We'll wait an hour, then call this number. If she's with Moriarty, he'll tell us. Because he'd want to show me that he's got her. Then, we can speak to-"

"Like he's going to hand over his phone. Use your head Sherlock. This is ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous."

"Ok, John." he says, folding his arms, "Tell me, what do you think we should do?"

We glare at eachother. 

"Fine. I'll get your phone," I snarl, with as much dignity as I can muster, although it's hard, because he's grinning widely with a triumphant satisfaction.

He's definitely missed this.

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