SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

the flatmate

The crackling of metal and the hissing of the engine filled the dark alleyway. Water droplets plunked from leaking pipes above, forming a haunting ballad. Andrew entered the void, his hands cupped in the center of his chest and his head cocked slightly to the right. He didn’t say anything, or declare what seemed to be his victory. Instead, he walked up to the front of the car where it was easier to speak to the detective.

Sherlock’s eyes moved under his bruised lids and his bleeding lips moved to speak.

“They’re not going to find you, Sherlock, especially since you ripped off the invisible cord from my security guard.”

Sherlock looked down at the cord still attached to his body. He couldn’t remove it, as one of his hands was pinned by the car’s side mirror and his other hand was broken. He opened his eyes as far as they allowed him to and looked over at his enemy. “You haven’t won.”

 Andrew began in a low, cynical voice, “I will get the code without your help. In fact, you’re right, I could have gotten it without your help. There was something on your phone you didn’t want me to see. I assume it was the final code, wasn’t it?” Andrew climbed on top of the car and slid down towards the trunk area where he could easily slip his hand down through a gap and search Sherlock’s pockets. “You lost, Mr. Holmes.” Andrew sniggered as he pulled the phone out. He looked at it fondly and then dropped it in his own pocket. He pushed himself off the car and strolled out of the alleyway, one hand tucked in his pocket.

The battered detective watched the figure disappear out of the darkness and into the city lights. Leaning his head back on the wall, Sherlock groaned in intense pain as he tried to free his pinned hand. The skin ripped and the tendons cramped, but Sherlock was determined. Sweat dribbled from his forehead and the nerves in his hands bulged in agony. A finger or two snagged on their way to freedom, but Sherlock carefully wiggled them until they released from the pressure. After several see-sawing motions and a few violent jerks, Sherlock at last freed his left hand. Bringing it to his chest, he rested it there until he found the strength to move his free hand across his chest to his other pocket.

Slipping his hand into the pocket, he carefully pulled out the guard’s phone. With his thumb, he flipped it open, revealing his home screen. Smirking at his cleverness, he popped front case off that had belonged to his other phone, which he had disguised at the guard’s phone on the plane. He didn’t know how long it would take Andrew to realize that he had stolen the wrong phone, but Sherlock estimated that he had enough time to make one phone call. Balancing the phone in his palm, he dialed a familiar line of numbers and brought the phone to his ears. A ringing pulse sang and then a voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Who is this?” Sherlock asked cautiously.

The voice on the other end paused before saying, “Sherlock?”

“Aceyla?”

“Oh, it is you!” Aceyla’s voice cried. “I thought you were dead, something’s wrong.”

“Where’s John?”

“They took him back. I don’t know what they’re doing, but it’s all wrong.”

“Aceyla, listen to me, I can’t talk long because of my battery and I’m kind of trapped. But, I have a favor.”

“Anything,” Aceyla breathed. “What is it?”

Sherlock swallowed, flinching from the arising pain in his chest. He peered down at the metal crushing against his abdomen. He tried to move his feet or bend his leg at the knee, but he couldn’t. Scrunching his face, Sherlock returned to the phone to distract himself from the possible fact that from the waist down he have lost all mobility. “Can I speak to John? Can you put him on the phone somehow?”