All My Loving (teen!lock Johnlock/Mystrade)

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Four

Sherlock's POV

"Mycroft, what does the note say?" I ask impatiently, looking at my husband who looked unbelievably sexy, yet concerned.

"It's a story or riddle, of sorts. 'I know we should have called the police," Eric Wembly admitted as he nursed a bump on the back of his head. "But the kidnapper said he'd kill my brother if we did. And it's not like we couldn't afford the ransom.'

"John Wembly, the elder son of Jonas Wembly, had been missing since Tuesday. On Wednesday morning, a lone kidnapper telephoned the mansion and made his demands. The younger Wembly son, Eric, was to bring the money in unmarked bills in a duffel bag. He was to take a specific route from the mansion, parking in a downtown lot and carrying the bag through an alley to a drop site in a nearby park.

"The normally cheap Jonas Wembly was frantic and willingly agreed to the terms. A midnight pay-off. Half a million dollars. And no police.

 "'I was halfway through the alley,' Eric testified, 'when I heard footsteps. Before I could turn around I was hit on the head. I fell down. But it didn't quite knock me out. I could see his back by the light of a street lamp. Never got to see his front. He was running away with the duffel bag. A tall guy with white sneakers. He was wearing blue jeans and a dark cardigan. Sorry I can't be more specific.'

"In the case's one lucky break, a police officer came across Eric shortly after the attack. He called in the crime and a patrol car responded immediately. Two suspicious-looking characters were apprehended in the vicinity, both resembling Eric's description.

"'So, I was running,' Petey Bordon said angrily. He had been found two blocks from the attack and started running as soon as he saw the patrol car. Petey had a string of priors, all misdemeanors. "I'm on parole," he admitted, 'And I was carrying a knife -- for my own protection at night. That's a violation. Can you wonder why I ran away?'

"The second suspect was Arnie Acker, a homeless drifter. 'I wasn't even wearing this sweater,' he protested as he unbuttoned his moth-eaten cardigan. 'I picked it out of the garbage just before you guys pulled me in.'

 "'We didn't find money on either one of 'em,' the chief of police told Jonas Wembly. 'And we didn't find the duffel bag. But I got a pretty good idea what happened. Don't worry. We'll get your son back.'

"Who kidnapped John W _ _ _ _ _? There's a space where you insert the last name, and that's the end of the riddle."

  Mycroft stopped speaking and I frowned. "Wembley?"

"No. Not enough tiles for it. There's a 'w' then 5 tiles."

"Do you think this is a threat?" I asked, thinking over possiblities in my  mind.

Mycroft hummed on the other side. "I think you should come home now, Sherlock. That's all I'm going to say." With that, Mycroft hung up.

I looked over to where John was standing, fully, and I saw he had packed our bags. "Let's go then," he said.

I went over to him and cupped his face in my hands. "You, John Watson-Holmes, are my conductor of light. Never forget that." I kissed him passionately before pulling away, both of us breathless. "Let's go."

When we made it back into London, we went straight to Mycroft's house. Barging in, we found Gavin on the sofa watching television. "Oh, hey, guys," he said, looking over his shoulder at us. "My said we'd be seeing  you."

"Yes, and speaking of Brother Dear, is he in his study?" I asked impatiently.

"Yep," Gavin (or is it Graham?) replied, turning back to the telly.

I moved to the staircase, looking to see John had sat down beside Gavin. "Aren't you coming, John?"

John shook his head. "I'll stay here with Greg while you talk to your brother."

"Greg? Who's Greg?" I asked, confused.

Gavin turned to look at me, an incredulous look on his face. "That'd be me, your brother in law," he said, somewhat icily.

I shrugged, not really caring, and made my way upstairs to the study, where Mycroft sat at his desk. Without looking up at me, he held a piece of paper up, and I noted that to be the "riddle" or whatever the writer wanted it to be.

I looked it over. "It's a threat," I stated.

Mycroft looked up and sighed. "Stupid, Sherlock. You were always so stupid."

"Don't, Mycroft!" I hissed angrily. He would drag me back to our childhood, when we was manipulative and cold, before he met Lestrade. "Do we know who wrote it?" I asked once I'd calmed down.

"The possibilities are limitless, Sherlock. Anyone you've angered, humiliated, any of them. They could be out for you and John."

"None of them would be crazy enough to kidnap my husband! Moriarty wouldn't, he's got Michael. Not Charlie or Dimitri, they were at the wedding so they know John is John Watson-Holmes, not "John Watson."  Who else could it be? Unless..." I got an idea, but it was crazy, stupid even. He wouldn't...

I looked at the paper again, filling in the blanks.

"Sherlock, I know now is probably not the best time, but I should give you this. It's yours and John's wedding present, from Greg and I." Mycroft tossed me a set of keys, and I caught them effortlessly. House keys?

Mycroft stood up and gave me another sheet of paper, with an address on it. "You bought us a house? You rich sod!"

Mycroft smiled lazily. "You're welcome, brother dear. Take John home now, and finish off your... Honeymoon. If anything happens, or you need help with this... Situation, let Greg and I know, alright?"

I gave him a quick hug. "Thank you, Mycroft," I said. "If you ever tell anyone about this, I will make your life hell, got it?"

I pulled away and Mycroft smiled. "Now get out of my house."

I went downstairs. "John? We're going," I told him. He got up with a smile and wrapped his arm around my waist.

"Alright?"

"Everything's fine, Love," I told him.

We said our goodbyes to the Lestrade-Holmes' and left. As I was driving to our new home, I couldn't get the note off my mind, particularly the final line.

Who kidnapped John Watson?