Staying Alive - Sherlock (BBC)

Chapter 14

"I know where he is." Lizzie stated, turning the postcard over in her hands. "Meiringen, Switzerland."

Sherlock's head snapped up at the mention of that familiar place. "I'll go and pack." She said quietly before exiting the room after Mrs. Hudson who had noticed that she had walked into something.

He paused and picked up the postcard that lay on the table, reading what had been written. A lump rose in his throat. There had been too much mention of the past recently.

*****

The coach was full to bursting with screaming children, it squeezed through the tight roads of Meiringen. The vehicle contrasted hugely to the landscape, the tranquil, peaceful, fresh country compared to the cramped coach.

Within it sat Sherlock and Lizzie. Lizzie's legs were lying across Sherlock's lap as they both read books. Going to great lengths to ignore the persistent distractions surrounding them. But, much to their relief, the coach grinded to a halt right next to a beautiful blue lake. Children instantly poured out of the coach, desperate to end the painful journey, caught in the swirling current, the two friends found themselves standing outside in no time.

A number of pretty wooden cabins were scattered across a grassy plain, tall evergreens stood in between them at regular intervals. There was a continuous wooden fence that separated them from the lake, that was not 50 metres from the fence. Unluckily, somebody had recklessly left the gate open, meaning that already, people were wading knee-deep in the water.

~~~

Sherlock was sat by the lake with a book in his lap, he had found a semi-hidden spot away from the others. Many had decided to explore the village, but Lizzie and Sherlock had stayed, although, Lizzie had wandered off somewhere.

When he first heard the rustling of an approaching being, he assumed Lizzie had returned, but after a few seconds he noticed that it sounded like there was more than one person, 4 to be exact. So he looked up from his book.

Initially Sherlock did not recognise them, he had quite clearly brushed them off as irrelevant schoolchildren. However, one boy's lips curled into a wolfish half grin, half snarl. Sherlock definitely recognised that.

He rolled his eyes and began to read again, hoping they would not bother him with their persistent lack of intelligence. But this was not going to be the case as that same boy tapped him with his right foot. Making an effort to make it clear they were not wanted, Sherlock blatantly ignored him. So the boy kicked him in the arm.

Trying to forget the stinging pain in his right forearm, Sherlock looked up with a blatant expression of annoyance. "Please don't say you want an actual conversation, it will only leave you confused due to your lack of intelligence."

The boy sneered. "That is exactly why we're here. We don't like you, or your pathetic girlfriend, you're weird."

Sherlock sighed, knowing this would end badly. "Look, Johnny or whatever your name is. I do not wish to end up fighting you, because I will win, you will get hurt, and I don't want to go home."

"Nah, you just don't want to seem like a coward in front of your whiny bitch, Louise or whatever the hell she's called."

What happened next came as a shock to all five boys. But what he said struck a chord in Sherlock and before he knew it the boy was sprawled on the floor with a wide gash on his left cheek.

There was a profound silence as Sherlock stood there breathing heavily, the anger clouding his logical mind and making him see red. It was not long before that silence passed and all four boys were pounding him. Throwing sloppy punches that could be easily deflected, but four against one was still too much for him.

Although he could not see them, Sherlock could feel the bruises. He would remain black and blue for weeks to come. The sharp stinging pain that would follow every punch was a very small distraction, but not enough to stop him or even make him falter.

Suddenly he began to notice them lessen slightly as one by one, they were pulled off him. Initially, he thought that they had decided to stop, but he quickly realised that someone had intervened. That someone was Lizzie.

He did not catch much of what they were doing, but he saw one particular boy, who had not even spoken to him, slap her hard in the face. Even though Sherlock knew Lizzie could look after herself, his rage took over.

The startlingly blonde hair that lay dishevelled on the boy's head became encrusted with dirt as Sherlock roughly threw him on the ground. A side of him nobody had seen before appeared before them as Sherlock was blinded by his anger.

Sherlock would never forget that he threw exactly 21 punches that broke the boy's nose, he would never forget the shade of red blood that smudged his knuckles by the end of those 21 punches. Before he could make that 22, the boy managed to squirm out of his grasp and was standing up when Sherlock violently threw him over his shoulder.

A sickening crack sounded shortly before the boy let out a chilling scream that never left Sherlock's ears. He looked down and saw the boy holding his left knee that was in an unnatural position to say the least.

Without thinking, Sherlock looked up and locked eyes with Lizzie's, that were filled with an alien fear, an expression he had never seen her wear before. Only then did he realise the full extent of what he had done and his heart dropped.

He turned towards the remaining four boys who were standing still, opened mouthed, and shouted. "For God's sake, get somebody!"

That school trip was never spoken about. But much to their dismay, that was not going to be the last time they visited the Lake Brienz.

*****

He kept reading that same sentence over and over again. "Does Rich Brook love the ghost?"

Although he knew full well that it was referring to him, his mind kept denying the fact. Why would Moriarty write such a note? Unlike the others, this one was very personal. It brought up a fear inside of him, that Moriarty was watching. He was not fully conscious of the man's presence until now. It almost made Sherlock do another camera sweep, but he knew it was too late, any damage would have already been done.

Sherlock couldn't help but feel like he was behind Moriarty. So far, all he had found were clues that had been carefully laid down for him to follow. There was a ominous feeling that they were walking straight into a trap.

Sherlock knew, but wanted to deny, that this was because of her presence.

So far it had become clear that she brought out the worst in him. But she made him feel so secure and complete. It annoyed him to no end.