Chapter Text
"Well I have to hand it to you, John, you sure know how to get people out of situations they don't want to be in. Could you imagine? Me? Opening shop at five in the morning? Though, I suppose, it didn't take much to talk me out of it," Samford chuckles, sipping on his coffee. I try to shake off the dread as I smile (somewhat coldly) at his remark.
"Ha, yeah. What would you do without me?" I stare at him, trying to ask the questions I don't know how to word. Coincidences. What did he always say about coincidences?
"The universe is rarely so lazy, John." I can't ignore what he told me. "Keep looking deeper. You're almost there, John." I can feel it. I'm on the verge of something-
"John!" I come back down to earth.
"Yeah? Oh- sorry."
"My lord, John, seems like you need the coffee more than I do. What's wrong?" A deep-set concern traces his face. I can't tell him.
"I'm just thinking." No you're not.
"Thinking about your break-in." Closer. I guess.
"And why Sherlock gave you his phone- and who would want it?" That's as good as it's going to get.
"I'm wondering the same thing," He said thoughtfully, taking another sip. He sits quietly. I figure it's still a sensitive topic for him. It's still not good enough for me. I need to know more.
"Sorry, what time did you say the break-in happened?"
"Probably about 3," he replied. My skin feels as though it's lit on fire. Thousand of little embers, all urging me to jump up and look. He's in London. He's here.
"I need to go," I nearly erupted as I stood up
"John? What's wrong?"
"Someone- Something I need to find. It's missing. I think you just gave me an answer."
"Oh! You're not looking for Sherlock's phone, are you?"
"No, something else. Sorry to uh, run off like this."
"It's alright. I should probably head over to work-"
"No, thats fine, uh... here, have breakfast on me," I throw a £20 note into his hands, and smile.
"The game is afoot, Stammo."
With that, I dash out of the coffee shop and around the bend. I run and run until I find myself face to face with the place that started it all. Bart's hospital. It's only a quarter till 6, but the doors push open. Usually they open at 6:30 or 7, but someone's in early. I pull out my phone and creep into the lab. Someone is rummaging around in the supply closet. I duck behind some counter space that's out of sight. I hold my breath, cross my fingers (metaphorically, because it's really difficult to hold your phone and cross your fingers) and type in Sherlock's number. I hit the call button.
Call Failed! pops up automatically. Bloody reception.
I turn on my data and try again.
Before I can hit the call button, the rummaging stops. Whoever is in there with me is taking cautious steps. I hold my breath. The room is silent. Something light and plastic is set on the countertop before the person walks back to the closet again. I exhale quietly.
I hit the call button. My phone loads for a moment before ringing. It rings twice before another message pops up, cutting off the call. No Reception!
I grunt, irritated, and hit the call button again. It finally rings in. I realize just a second too late that the rummaging has stopped and that there's no sound of footsteps.
Ring, Ring! Ring, Ring!
My head whips around. My eyes, however, do not meet an empty room. The legs of a rather tall man are right beside me. Before I can meet his eyes-
"I'm sorry, John." I feel a pinch in my neck as the man swiftly crouches down and injects me with a sedative. Before I'm out, the man steps away, dropping the syringe. The light of the hall beside me illuminates his face, and I find myself looking right into the fear-filled eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
"You're alive." I sigh, moments before falling asleep.
"Unfortunately," I think I hear him reply, but I'm not entirely sure, because my eyes fall closed and I pass out.