The Devil in Devon

Chapter Eleven

Indirectly, Sherlock had helped John yet again. The ex-army doctor was so worried that he temporarily forgot about the figurative sword hanging over his head.

Mycroft was upstairs in their room. When John hurried in with Lestrade, he saw the elder Holmes lying unconscious on the bed, tie removed and shirt partly unbuttoned. Someone had placed him in the recovery position.

"Dr. Watson?" A young man whom John recognized as a bodyguard rose from his seat at the window. "I'm Alex Morrell. I used to be a combat medical technician in the army before I went to work for Mr. Holmes. Do you have any idea what he's been given and how much?"

"10 milligrams of Haldol, I've been told." John sat on the edge of the bed and checked Mycroft's pulse. It was slow but steady. "He won't stir for at least three hours."

Lestrade faced the ex-medic. "We have a situation. Sherlock is missing."

Morrell quickly pulled a mobile out of his pocket and dialled. As soon as someone answered, he held the phone out to Lestrade. "I have his assistant on the line. Tell her what happened: she's authorised to act when Mr. Holmes is indisposed. "

While Lestrade paced in front of the window and talked to Anthea in low, agitated tones, John touched Mycroft's hand. Even when asleep, the man's brow was creased. Did his worries and responsibilities pursue him even in his dreams?

No matter. In a few hours the dreaming would stop and Mycroft would want to know why his current lover was in a pub toilet with one of his ex-lovers, who also happened to be a known subversive. Alarm over his impulsive sibling's disappearance would not eliminate or even forestall the need for answers.

Lestrade finished the call and came over. "Anthea says that there is no surveillance system in place in the area surrounding the pub, so we can't track down the car that way," he announced, looking stricken. "John, do you have any way of contacting this Diabel directly?"

John shook his head slowly.

"Fucking Sherlock." Lestrade gritted his teeth. "How the hell did he decide that locking himself in the boot of a terrorist's car would be a stroke of genius?"

"I don't think she'd hurt him." John imagined Elena discovering her stowaway after the car stopped. "If she found him, she'd just… disable… him like she did Mycroft."

As if on cue, Mycroft groaned softly and his hands twitched. But he didn't wake up.

"She must have done something, or we'd have heard from him by now." Lestrade's voice was grave. "Let's take a walk, mate. You and I need to talk. This gentleman can stay with Mycroft."

"Yes." John stood and faced Morrell. "I need to speak with Mr. Lestrade. We'll be around the premises. If Mr. Holmes' condition changes, text me at once. I presume you have the number."

"Yes, Sir."

They left the room and ascended the massive oak staircase in loaded silence. Neither doctor nor ex-Yarder spoke until they were out of the house and navigating the winding pathways of the back garden, which was thick and fragrant with wild roses. Then Lestrade said, "I'm listening."

"First, I need your word, Greg. I'll tell you everything, but I will be the one to discuss it all with Mycroft. Agreed?"

The former DI studied John's face before nodding. "All right."

Once John started talking about his pact with Elena, the words exploded from him like water conquering a dam. He'd never before appreciated how secrets could tear someone apart from the inside out, like swallowed glass, and expelling the details was an immense relief. When he mentioned Elena's –and possibly Mycroft's- son, Lestrade's jaw dropped but he didn't interrupt.