Inconsistencies In Sentiments

Chapter 13

'Fuck!' (Y/N) exclaimed as the needle dug into her skin. Anthea pulled the stitch tight and Mycroft watched as his darling childhood friend winced in pain. (Y/N) took a swig at the scotch beside her to numb the pain and exclaimed in pain as Anthea stitched the wound tight. '(Y/N), I don't understand why we can't go to the hospital for this.'

Anthea cut the black string and went off to wash the blood off her hands and the needle. 'It's very simple. I don't want to see Sherlock, that's all.' She got up, balancing herself against the wall as so not to hurt herself anymore. (Y/N) thought about what she said. 'It's very simple. I don't want to see Sherlock, that's all.' She swallowed back her sobs and limped over to the clothes Mycroft's assisstant left out.

A simple periwinkle dress shirt and black pants. Beside them was a bowl of water and a towel, presumably to wash the blood off her skin. She sighed as she began to unbutton her shirt, her back facing Mycroft. 'Mycroft, please get out.'

'As you wish.' He left the room and (Y/N) locked the door behind him. (Y/N) sighed to herself and undressed out of her shirt. I'll have deal with the little shit later. She picked up the wet towel and began wiping the blood off. But, then what?

🔱

'Sherlock, you've been at this for five hours. It's almost dawn.' John retorted to Sherlock who was busy writing down the possible message down to notice him. He ripped the paper in half and tried again. 'Sherlock!'

'I have to find her!' He said, eyes filling up with tears of frustration. He tried to calm himself but he couldn't. She made him feel something and he didn't want to let that feeling go. He turned to the cipher wheel and looked at it. So many symbols that mean nothing. Wait. He flipped to the page with the four faces. He took of the sticky note and flipped it around. A=~.

He flipped back to the cipher wheel and lined up the "A" with the "~". Then, pieces began to fall in place. He wrote the decoded message down and read it. Oh shit. 'John, come here.'

'I was next to you the whole time. What is it?' He showed the piece of paper to John whose eyes widened in shock. 'Holy shit.'

'🔱

The man laid there on the metal bed, looking up at the ceiling and scratched his uncomfortable wrists under the handcuffs. The morning light peeked through the small window above him illuminated the dim room just a tad bit. Was it a bad idea to kill Trosts? He could bail me out of this shithole but knowing him, he wouldn't. But he could. 'Duncan Overton?' He got up as he heard the door creak open.

The officer stood at the door with keys in his hand. 'What the hell do you want?' The officer came up to him to forcefully guided him the the front desk and free him from his restraints. 'Someone bailed you out. Be grateful.' He left and Duncan spitted at him behind his back. A female officer placed his belongings on the counter. 'One wallet, one pack of Camels and one lighter.'

Duncan shoved the things into his jean pockets and noticed something was missing. 'Was there a red knife in the mix somewhere?' She shook her head dismissively and turned back to the paperwork on the desk. He stared in disbelief but walked out of the station, pulling the officer's gun out of his jacket. He stuffed it back into his jacket and walked away but not before receiving a call from an unknown number.

'Hello, Duncan.' He smirked to himself.

'Why hello, (Y/N). I'm a bit disappointed that you left me alone.'

'I didn't call to talk. Meet me in Hyde Park at midnight tonight.'

The line cut off and he stared at the screen, chuckling to himself. Alright, you bitch. Lestarde watched as he got into a cab and drove off. He turned to Sherlock and John who were watching the black cab drive out of view. 'Are you sure this is going to work?'

'Of course it will. It's my idea.'