Sherlock: His Lover Called A [Sherlaide II]

Ice Wedge

When Mycroft called and said that all of the security systems had been hacked and taken offline, Sherlock panicked. He was halfway home and he grabbed the chauffeur by the shoulders, ordering him to floor the gas and hurry. He dialed Lestrade and John and made a mad dash into 221 Baker Street. His heart sunk when he found Missus Hudson out cold in her kitchen. He woke her up and then ran upstairs.

Just Missed Me.

That was the message written in yellow spray paint over all of the evidence wall. And Adelaide was gone. Signs of a struggle. She didn't go without a fight. Not long since she was taken. Sherlock ran back outside and immediately chased the clues he could find. John eventually caught up, and so did Lestrade.

It felt like a wild goose chase. But it wasn't exciting like it normally was for Sherlock. The only adrenaline rush he was getting from the hunt was one of panic and fear. John and Lestrade both saw it in the consulting detective's eyes. Even Donovan did, and she didn't so much as utter one insult or nickname. As many as could be spared from the Yard were called out to help with the search. Mycroft even turned up with a detachment of agents. Sherlock refused to see him but John walked over, "Mycroft."

"Doctor Watson."

"So the cameras-?"

"Yes. Every camera and listening device was taken offline. Moriarty knew about them all, thus the time he took to finally execute his plan. By now the search has been on for nearly three hours. He could have easily transported her outside of London-"

"No. She's still in the city," Sherlock snapped from across the perimeter, "He wants me to find her. But he'll only give me so much time."

"And how much time is that, Sherlock?" Mycroft enquired. The two brothers locked gazes. John quietly stepped back, avoiding the firing line between the Holmeses.

Sherlock clenched his fists, "Of the four hours, three have elapsed."

While they bickered John exhaled and looked up. Uh-oh. This could be bad.  They hadn't noticed that it had started snowing. He shook off a dense layer of flakes and paced a bit to keep warm until they would inevitably be running again. Finally he felt the need to interrupt, "Er, Sherlock, don't you think we should start searching again? It's started snowing..."

The brunette stopped midsentence and looked at John, "Snow?"

"Yeah, Sherlock. Snow. As in the puffy white-"

Ignoring John's sarcastic explanation of snow, Sherlock's mind recalled Adelaide's flat post-explosion. He hadn't thought anything about the ash. But now he remembered that most of it was nearly white. And there was something in the ash...

Of course.

Sherlock cursed himself for not paying closer attention and spun on his heel. Without another word to either John or Mycroft he took off running, barreling past Lestrade, "Cruiser NOW, Lestrade! And where are those helicopters you usually bring with you on these things?!"

"They've been on standby all night, Sherlock! Where do you need it now?" The DI wasted no more than a second before jogging after his friend towards the police cruiser. John caught up as they were getting in and Sherlock was pulling up information on his phone, "Sherlock?!"

"Hyde Park. Now."

"Adelaide's there?" John asked.

Sherlock exhaled with anything but calm, "Yes, John, but if we do not locate her then Moriarty will assuredly make certain that we find her in pieces." Sherlock's fingers fumbled across his mobile screen as he enlisted Mary's help with the search and informed Mycroft and Molly. He also updated Finley, whom had been placed in a  safe house for the time being. The younger Cavanagh was fit to be tied but somehow empathized with Sherlock and did not tear him apart via text or call. Worry. Fear. Sentiment. All revolving around Adelaide. Sherlock's mind was racing to try and figure out the most direct route to the Park and where, based on the weather conditions and topography, Adelaide might be.

Mary met them at the park entrance and the search party was unleashed. Everyone split up and Sherlock took a winding path. His eyes stung from the cold, dry aid but he disregarded the discomfort, "Adelaide!!??" He called out with desperation, "ADELAIDE?"

He flicked his torch over the dark, snowy landscape; his ears strained for telltale noises. By now at least several centimetres of large, fluffy flakes had accumulated and still there came more. And that was on top of the previous storm's layer. It was freezing temperature too. The longer this takes, the more risk she is in.  Sherlock remarked to himself.

It was near one of the hedged gardens that he spotted a faint collection of footprints. Sherlock followed them without hesitation and within a minute, stumbled across a snow-piled body.

"Adelaide!!" He collapsed beside her and lifted her from the icy blanket. Small spots of deep red stained the snow, her body and thin clothes. As the detective brushed as much of the numbing particles off of her as he could, he texted the others.

Sherlock felt hot tears prick the corners of his eyes as he cupped Adelaide's face, "Adelaide, Love, it's me. I've got you now. You'll be safe. Wake up, now, alright?"

But the golden blonde didn't respond, causing him to whimper. He whipped off his scarf, coat and gloves and rushed to put them on her. Then he cradled her tightly against his chest, securely in his lap, and rubbed her arms as hard as he could. Adelaide was deathly white. Already she had turned blue and was frightfully rigid and stiff in his arms.

Sherlock shook his head as tears started selling up, "Adelaide, Come on. You're okay now. I've got you, alright?" He rested his forehead over her cheek and muzzled, kissing her frozen lips, "Please, ANYTHING, Adelaide! Something!" He pled and finally reached for her dainty wrist to check her pulse.

And yet there was none. She wasn't respirating either. No vital signs. Nothing. Sherlock took her pulse from anywhere he could- her neck, inner elbow, temples, and even behind her knees. Still no heartbeat. He listened for even a slight breath but it didn't come. Finally resorted to chest compressions and oral resuscitation. He was determined to revive her.

When the others showed up they found Sherlock sobbing, begging for Adelaide to show him that she was still there. She was laid out on the snow and he had exerted so much energy from the compressions that he had collapsed atop her. His arms were locked around her and his head was buried against her neck. Lestrade had to pry him off of Adelaide and restrain him so that John and Mary could assess her.

Mary couldn't even look at Sherlock. She fell back into the snow and held her face in her hands. John shook his head and slowly stood up, "She isn't gone. She isn't." Sherlock repeated but the army doctor exhaled, grasping his best friend by the shoulders.

"She's gone, Sherlock. Hypothermia and blood loss from physical trauma."

And just like that, a shard of ice wedged into the detective's heart. He lashed out, "No! No, she's still here!"

But less than fifteen minutes later, the coroner had pronounced Adelaide Cavanagh as dead and she had been loaded onto an ambulance. Sherlock demanded that only Molly be allowed to attend her body before breaking down, doubling over into John's arms, "Wh-Why, John. Why her? Wh-Wh-Why Adelaide!?!"