The Great Game [Reader Insert]

The Final Call

(Vermeer, Verqueer. So I'm here to ask for constructive criticism. If you have suggestions for how to improve my writing, go right ahead. Well, okay, I really only included this A/N to include that Vermeer Verqueer thing, but I had to make it seem useful. Anyway, enjoy the story or whatever. C'ya.)

     "It's a fake," Sherlock insisted. "It has to be."

     After the Golem left, you realized he wasn't going to be found anytime soon, and you and Sherlock still had a case to solve. So you went to the painting, and on the way asked John how he'd known where you and Sherlock were. He said he didn't, but that he'd come here with Lestrade so they could see the painting on their own and make some inquiries to try and find out why it was a fake.

     Now, all of you- You, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and Ms. Wenceslas, the owner of the Hickman gallery- stood in front of it. Sherlock was frantically scrolling through his phone, reading at a lightning-fast speed, searching for something to help him figure out why the painting was a fake. You simply stared at the Vermeer artwork. There was something about it...

     "This painting has been subjected to every test known to science," Miss Wenceslas defended.  

     Sherlock glared at her. "Well then it's a very good fake, isn't it? You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"

     Wenceslas gave him a hard stare. "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself... and your friends... out?"

     Lestrade started to say something, but a phone started ringing somewhere. Sherlock fished out the pink phone from his pocket while you closed your eyes entered your 'mind palace,' as Sherlock would call it. For you, it was more of a mind... library. What it was didn't matter. You were using it to search for the answer, the answer to this painting. What about it was making you tick?

     "The painting is a fake," you heard Sherlock say. He was talking into the pink phone. There was a short silence. "It's a fake, that's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." Poor Sherlock, he was so clueless sometimes. That wasn't how it worked- he had to prove it. But he couldn't. 

     That's what you were trying to do, pulling books of information off the shelves of your mind library. Where is it, where is it!?

     "Oh, come on, proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake! I've solved it, I've figured it out!" Sherlock's voice penetrated again through the walls of the library. Books were flying off the shelves now of their own accord, but you still could not find what you were looking for.

     You grabbed one thin book that had been suspended in midair and flipped through its pages. Words floated in the air around you, words describing the mythology of various constellations. You were getting closer.

     "Okay, I'll prove it," you heard Sherlock say. His voice was lined with defeat. He was desperate. "Give me time. Will you give me time?"

     You heard a new voice through the walls of the library. Oh gods. It was a child. He was counting down. "Ten...."

     Your worldly body tensed, but in your mind 'palace' it was running through the aisles as books flew of the shelves and floated to you. Sometimes you could tell without looking when the books had the wrong information and you would push them away, but at other times, it was harder to tell, and you would have to read a few pages to see if it was the right one. 

    "Nine..."

     "It's a countdown," Sherlock said. He sounded closer. He must have been staring at the painting too, standing beside you now. "The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?"