Daylight

Part 13

     Sherlock’s decision came quickly after he held the collar in his hands. A sharp spike of hope flew through him when he heard the collar’s clasp let go. He pulled off the horrible thing. John had forgiven him! If not outright forgiveness, then he maybe he felt Sherlock’s penance had ended. He’d been Jim’s slave for six months and had felt every second of his forced captivity keenly. He understood the pain he’d caused John by trying to force him to stay with him. It wasn’t right to possess him no matter how much he wanted to. He understood two things. One, he’d been an ass of epic proportions, and two, John far surpassed him in kindness. No matter how much he might value his own intellect, John’s loyalty and forgiveness made him the better human being.

     His John had outwitted Mycroft, Moriarty and even his own superior intellect. The hidden quality of uniqueness buried within John shone brightest when faced with overwhelming odds. He was both a soldier and healer; a contradiction of characters who blended perfectly in one short, solid, steadfast body. Sherlock could no more possess John than he could the steady rain or shinning sun. He felt his shame resonate so deep, his bones ached with it. He vowed he would never put his friend, he hoped with all his heart they could still be friends, through anything like that again.

     Sherlock knew what he had to do, but he paused a moment. One of the screens in front of him still showed the living room of the elegant house of the woman he was supposed to help. After watching John escape, he’d forgotten all about her and her murderous plot. However, part one of his plan had already played out. His plan to contact Mycroft subversively depended upon the wife making a very important phone call. He told the wife to call her husband’s employer (Mycroft's people) and tell him he’d been delayed on his return trip from a conference he’d been attending.

     This was supposed to help her set up an alibi. Sherlock had made sure the wording of the wife’s message, innocent sounding to most, would alert Mycroft’s people. He told her she had to repeat the message exactly or it would implicate her in his murder. Embedded in the message was a simple code that would clue them in where Sherlock was being kept. The Holmes boys had developed this code as means to speak to each other behind their parent’s back when they were young, and was unique to them alone. Mycroft would know what it meant.

     She had done her part flawlessly and the message had been sent. Fortunately for Mycroft’s man, the second part of the plan hadn’t gone through yet. If he acted quickly enough, his agent wouldn’t have to die. He had acted very quickly.

     The woman on his screen seemed to hear a knock on her door. She went to open it and one of Mycroft’s agent’s entered. Sherlock turned up the sound on his screen and heard the man say, “It’s raining in June this year.”

     “What?” the woman asked.

     The agent said, “That wasn’t for you. But this is,” he said producing a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest, ma’am. You have the right to ….” And Sherlock tuned out the rest. Good, she got what she deserved.

     According to the man’s coded response, Mycroft would be at Moriarty’s compound in a less than an hour. He had to get out of this room and assist John.

* * * * *

     John reluctantly left the beckoning call of freedom to go back down the hallway to find Sherlock. The shouts he’d heard grew louder, and against all instincts, he ran toward them.

     John kept as low as he could until he found an open doorway. Inside, he saw the bank of computers Sherlock had been sitting in front of and the two-way mirror. He did a quick sweep of the room and found the two guards lying near the entrance. One had blood running from his temple but John could see them both still breathing. He didn’t see Sherlock anywhere. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock, he knew, stood behind him.

     “John,” he said. “Are you all right?”

     John turned to face the man. Sherlock had a large bruise starting to form around his eye. “Took care of the guards?”

     “Yes,” he said smiling. “Thank you for,” he waved vaguely at his neck area.

     John nodded and smiled back. “We can discuss it later. Right now…” but John didn’t finish that thought because another voice interrupted him.

     “Yes, thank you Johnny Boy. You are going to prove to be one of my best investments yet,” James Moriarty said. He stood in the hallway just outside of the computer room. He held a pistol in his hands. “And, I will punish you for nearly choking me out. Next time you want to try a little breathplay, I’m going to have to insist on a safeword.”

     John rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the comment and Sherlock half-grinned at him. If he weren’t so furious with the detective, John might almost believe they were friends again. Almost, if he could even begin to forgive the all the shit of the last six months. But, he snapped back to the reality of his situation. He’d been seconds away from getting free, getting some semblance of his life back, and now he seemed to be right back over the fire, twisting and turning in the flames.

     “Get in there, both of you,” Jim said all levity gone from his voice. “It seems everyone in my employ is lying down on the job. I guess I have to do the hard part myself.”