Sherlock Season 5: No More Secrets

#13. Victim 134 (Trigger Warning)

The next day things were back to normal for the most part. Mycroft was in London on work, and Sherlock and John nursed their hangovers until noon. Molly and Lestrade had both returned to their respective homes fairly early last night, while Janine had stayed awhile longer to flirt with Sherlock brazenly. John was happy when she finally headed back to Mycroft's as it was extremely uncomfortable being the third wheel on that particular wagon.

Mrs. Hudson handed Rosie to Molly that morning, and they had returned to Mycroft's estate where Janine and Charlotte were spending the day as well. Janine turned to Molly when she entered. "How come you left so early last night?", she asked her. "You know, Sherlock would have liked it if you stayed longer", she winked. Molly sighed, "I'm tired of making a fool of myself". "Love makes fools of all of us, Molly. That's how you know it's real.", Janine responded thoughtfully, and touched her hand. "Ok now, what should we have for breakfast?", she asked everyone. They took a vote of hands and pancakes won.

John's phone rang out and he quickly picked it up and looked at it. It was a text from Sarah whom he worked with part-time at a clinic downtown. He got up from his seat. "I've got to go, apparently the clinic is short two doctors and they're completely overrun with patients. I should be back for dinner later", he said as he put on his coat. "Sherlock? Did you hear me? I'm leaving?". Sherlock was lost in thought, "Ah, yes. See you later then". John left and Sherlock jumped back onto his train of thought. What had Charlotte meant yesterday? He needed to go talk with his sister more. Something about what she said was gnawing at his mind relentlessly. Sherlock finally showered, got dressed, and ate. As he was about to leave his phone rang signifying that he'd received a text. He walked across the room, picked up the phone and read it:

"Time for John Watson to face his fate.

227 North Stafford Gate.

Blood is thicker than water it's true,

So what does John Watson mean to you?"

Sherlock didn't even wait for the full impact of the message to hit him before dashing down the stairs and out the door. He got in a cab and immediately telephoned for Lestrade to meet him at the texted address. Lestrade met Sherlock at the gate to the old underground tunnels at 227 North Stafford St. and waited. Sherlock received another text:

"Look up. 1, 2, 3, 4.

Left. 1, 2, 3 more.

Then up once more to score,

The sight of victim 134.

Lestrade read the text again to himself trying to figure out its meaning, but Sherlock looked up at street level to the building just across from them and was pointing at the windows. "There!", he yelled, "Fifth floor!". They ran in and up to the corresponding door. Lestrade pulled out his gun, "Ready?", he asked Sherlock. Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded.

Lestrade shot the lock off and kicked the door in. They quickly searched the room, but it was only upon entering the bathroom that they discovered the true extent of the situation. There in the bathtub was a tied up and bloodied John. He couldn't speak because his mouth was taped shut and leaning over him with a large and bloody knife was Emmanuel Telford. "Get away from him now!", yelled Lestrade pointing his gun at him. Emmanuel stood up and faced them. "Drop the knife!", Lestrade continued. Emmanuel looked at the knife in his hands and then at Sherlock. "There's nothing more beautiful than a face frozen in fear," he said excitedly. "That moment of pure terror and hopelessness! You see I'm not a monster, Mr, Holmes. I'm a connoisseur! I try to collect and savor one of the purest moments of life. I collect those moments, those faces, and turn them into art that will stand the test of time! "Enough", Lestrade yelled, "I will shoot you! Drop the knife!". Emmanuel's face turned to one of desperation. "Your sister,...She's my biggest regret. I should have made her into art too! Her face was the most perfect one I've ever seen, but I promised your father that I wouldn't kill her, only make her watch. Oh, that perfect expression of fear as I cut off her mother's face and placed it on hers...none of my art has ever come close to that kind of beauty". Sherlock was shaking with rage, but he held himself back. "You're no visionary artist. You're just insane!", Sherlock growled. "Oh, her face would have been a masterpiece!", Emmanuel laughed. "You have to the count of three to drop it or I'll shoot!", Lestrade screamed out.

"One!"..."Too bad, Mr. Holmes"....

"Two!"..."She could have been immortal!"...

"Three"...