Deerstalker - a Sherlolly story

A Meeting at Midnight

Sherlock could hear the floorboards squeak underneath his sneakers. The sound that they produced was deeper, more ominous than the ones in his room. Slowly, he moved through the deteriorating rooms. He could feel the tiny voice recorder press against his skin. Underneath he found a corner that was so devoid of light, that anyone who dared to come near it would become invisible. So he did.

He stood like one of the dusty lamps that adorned the corners of the abandoned living room – tall and motionless -  while he waited for Rob to arrive at the mansion. He could feel his heart beating wildly and for a moment he felt worried that the sound of it might give him away. Since the moment he had shut his front door behind him, he had known tonight was different  from than anything he had ever dealt with before . This was bigger, more complicated and needed a more careful approach. He had taken all of that into consideration when planning for the soon-to-happen encounter. Yet, he still felt something that he didn’t feel on any other night. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it made him wonder what doubt felt like.

After counting down exactly 5 minutes and 47 seconds in his head, Sherlock heard a sound that  didn’t come from himself for the first time that night. A low rumbling came from outside. Someone was parking a car. Soon, the sound died again but the silence was quickly replaced by a ‘bang’ of a slamming door. Footsteps on wet grass followed. Sherlock could feel himself become even more alert. The thump thump thump of the feet grew louder and louder until they suddenly stopped. Sherlock held his breath.

Screeeeeeeeee. The hinges of the old door screeched as a tall shadow revealed himself. From his hiding place Sherlock could just catch a glimpse of the doorway. As soon as he spotted the dark silhouette he knew that it was time to act.

Smoothly Sherlock moved out of his dark corner in the exact moment that Rob stepped inside the mansion. By now he would have realized that he wouldn’t find a party here. In a flash Sherlock passed Rob and slammed the door shut. He could see his captive’s face fill with shock.

“Good evening, Rob” Sherlock greeted with a devious smile on his face, blocking the doorway with his body.

Before he could blink, Rob’s hands flew towards his neck. His head slammed against the door as Rob’s fingers started closing off his air supply.

“I…I wouldn’t do that. One press on this button and the police will be here. And you’ll not only be arrested for assault, but also for breaking and entering and carrying illegal weaponry,” Sherlock managed to get out in a hoarse voice, while holding up his phone with the number of the local police on speed dial.

The grip on Sherlock’s throat slowly loosened and he was released. Rob apparently was more careful than usual this night.

As soon as Sherlock’s feet hit the ground he reached into his coat pockets and pulled out a small handgun. He pointed it at Rob’s forehead and his eyes go wide with fear for his life. The only harm the gun could possibly do was leave a tiny sore spot from the plastic bullets that they sold with it at the toy store, but Rob didn’t know that.

“Now Rob, please explain to me what happened to David. And what exactly you had to do with it. I’m still kind of confused, you see.” Sherlock spoke slowly, a clear threat underneath his mocking tone.

“You already know that. So, maybe if you could put that gun down….” Rob tried to keep a calm demeanor, but Sherlock could see tiny drops of sweat form on his forehead.

In response Sherlock pushed the trigger down just a couple millimeters. “I don’t, Rob. You made it all a bit confusing for me. So please, tell me what happened to Mr. Lowell’s dogs,  Mr. O’Malley, my classmate Phil and that boy David. Because it would be such a waste if you were to take that secret to your grave,” Sherlock interrupted him. He didn’t have time to waste. It doesn’t take too long to identify a gun as fake. Or find out someone is hiding a voice recorder underneath his coat.

“Alright, alright. I’ll tell you. Just stop pointing that gun at me,” Rob held up his hands in an I’m-an-innocent-man-believe-me-gesture. In response, Sherlock moved the gun from his forehead to his stomach. Aimed to wound, not to kill.

“Well, you got me didn’t you, huh? Guess there’s no way out now…” Rob said, hiding his discomfort with a fake smile. For some reason his eyes nervously kept on wandering towards the back door. “You were right, I fed those dogs pesticides. But someone had to do it eventually. If I hadn’t done it, someone else would have.”

“What about Mr. O’Malley?” Sherlock wouldn’t tolerate stalling.

“Well, I was simply serving the law. Mr. O’Malley was a horrible man, who did terrible things. He was ruining all those kids.” Again, he tried to catch a glimpse of the back door. As if he was waiting for something to arrive. “And…well…I did what had to be done.”

Sherlock was getting nervous. They didn’t have all night, but if Rob kept on stalling and speaking in these half-confession, they would need it.

“What was that Rob? What did you do with Mr. O’Malley? Or rather, his pills?” Anger rang through his words as he questioned Rob, the grip on his gun tightening.

“I didn’t actually do anything to Mr. O’Malley. I just adjusted his usual drug order a little. And in doing that I was protecting…..”

“And what did that special variation do to him, Rob? And what about Phil’s accident? Or David being burned alive?” Sherlock’s voice was made of the coldest ice, as he took a step towards Rob. The gun was aimed at his chest now. Sherlock’s patience had run out. “Just say it. Just say you tried to kill them. Just admit you’re a murderer.”

“Calm down, kid. Just stop…”

This enraged Sherlock even further and he pressed the gun against Rob’s chest as he spoke; “You’re wasting my time. Just confess what you’ve done or I’ll pull this little trigger.”

Then it all went very quickly. Almost too quickly even for Sherlock to keep up. From outside the mansion suddenly came two voices. Before Sherlock could even think of the consequences those sounds might have, Rob was yelling. “Tim! Ed!”.  Only seconds later two boys burst through the back door, running towards Rob. Suddenly Sherlock’s gun was thrown out of his hands. Before he could resist, he was pulled backwards by one of the boys. Away from Rob. He was released after a second, only to receive a blow to the head. His vision started to blur. While the room spun, he attempted to turn away from his attacker. This move only resulted in having another fist meet his face. He was certain now - he could already feel the strange warmth that usually came right before blacking out wash over him – that he was never going to win this fight. With his intellect he might have overpowered one Goliath,  but three giants were just too many to defeat – even for Sherlock Holmes.