The Mind Palace

Chapter Five

The halls were well lit, with glass-but-not-clear paneling on the walls. Dark wood also spun up towards the ceiling, lacing and framing the glass. The hallway seemed to stretch for miles, and though we saw many turnoffs into slightly smaller stretches, we had no way of knowing which way would lead us to the Doctor.

We wandered, hands clasped together, for ten or twenty minutes, until Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He perked up, back straightening, silent. I held my breath, waiting for some sort of explanation or remark, and it came.

"Redbeard," Sherlock whispered.

I coughed, licked my lips. "Sorry, what?"

He turned to his left, looking at me, and his face broke into the greatest smile anyone could ever hope to see. "Old friend. Great friend. Best friend."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh. Well, then."

He gave a slight eyeroll, toothy grin closing into a still-excited beam. "You're more than my best friend now, John Watson."

With a quick squeeze, he let go of my hand and peeled down one of the corridors. I bit my lip, skin tingling where he had touched me, and exhaled as though I hadn't been breathing at all.

"You coming?" Sherlock called from the corridor.

In response, I ran after him.

By the time I'd caught up, the consulting detective had already stopped and was crouching on the ground. In front of him stood a panting red dog, a satisfied look on his face as Sherlock rubbed him here and there.

My friend looked up at me, beaming as he was minutes before. "John, this is Redbeard."

I kneeled next to Sherlock, giving the dog a pat on the head. He panted in response, and I couldn't help but smile. Who could guess that the great Sherlock Holmes had a soft spot for dogs?

Sherlock pulled a maroon bow tie out of his pocket and held it out for Redbeard to sniff. I recognized it as one of the Doctor's. Redbeard took a whiff. "Can you find us the owner, boy?"

The dog tore off, and we sprinted after him. While running through the halls, I looked to Sherlock, careful to keep my balance on the somewhat slick linoleum. "Do you pickpocket everyone?"

He grinned at me briefly and grabbed my hand before turning his head again. "Only when they're annoying."

Redbeard turned one final corner and halted without much warning. I skidded to an ungraceful stop, nearly tripping over my own feet, and quickly kneeled to see what Redbeard had found. Though the Doctor was nowhere to be found, he had definitely been here, for, abandoned on the polished white floor, lay his tweed jacket.

Sherlock kneeled next to me and picked up the jacket (forced to let go of my hand- again). He offered it to Redbeard, who cocked his head, confused. This was as far as he could leave us.

Sherlock gave him a pat on the head and scratched behind his ears. "Good boy."

I sat down all the way, crossing one leg over the other. "So he was definitely here, right."

"Not necessarily."

I waited for an explanation, but it seemed that my colleauge needed to be prompted. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looked up from the jacket, which he seemed to be inspecting for any further clues. "Well, we aren't the only ones here. There are those... Shakri. They know we're with the Doctor, and if they captured him and realized that we were looking for him, they could easily lure us in with this trap. It's too soon to trust that Jack character, and he seems falsley confident in everything he says or does- sure sign of a liar. No one could have that much trust in himself." He sniffed the coat. "I also wouldn't trust Irene."