Human Error - Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter twenty four - not Sherlock Holmes

AN: I am back!

My laptop still isn't fixed, unfortunately. But whilst I have assess to someone's laptop I thought I would praise you all with a very belated Christmas and new year present! Saying that, I hope you've all had a brilliant Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a great start to the new year! (Season four of Sherlock aired, so I'm assuming it was perfect.)

Also, this won't be the only gift. I promise to give you more teenage Sherlock and Eleanor!

Thank's for being patient. Enjoy!

- KP

~

There was no sleepiness, no slow warming up. Within seconds of realising I was unconscious I am as alert as I could be, eyes wide, dreams not just forgotten but erased. Immediately I try to absorb as much information about the situation I was in and the atmosphere that surrounded me. There was some kind of heat radiating of my back, and the noises of crackling and wood and paper burning could be heard, indicating there was a lit fire somewhere behind me, most likely a small one. I try to move my hands, but they're restricted by a rope. I'm sat on a hard and uncomfortable chair, with my hands tied on each of the wooden arms. Great.

I am drinking in the feedback of all my senses, and besides my nosy breath I could hear the slight mumbling of words -- words that become more clearer as the dizziness and the pain in my head subsides. 

I managed to open my eyes and stare at the event happening before me. To me right, John was tied in a chair, the same as me, but an older, Chinese woman was holding a pistol to his head. To John's right, Sarah was there too in the same position as us; tied up. John breathes heavily and stares into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as she pulls the trigger all the way. 

I let out a little jump when the gun clicks, "No!"

I'm relieved when nothing happens, and the woman holding the pistol smiles smugly.

"It tells you that they're not really trying." She voices as John tries to control his breathing. She glances at me, "Ah, Eleanor. I see you have woken."

"How... do you know my name?" I ask slowly, a little frustrated with how weak I sounded.

"We've been keeping a close eyes on you all." She tells me as she loads the gun once more.

"Well, that's not creepy."

She ignores me, and instead points the gun at John's head for a second time. He cringes away from it.

"Not blank bullets now." 

"They weren't blank bullets before, lady; that gun was empty." I speak up, unsure to why I can never keep my mouth shut.

"If we wanted to kill you both, Eleanor and Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive." She looked at John sternly, "Do you have it?"

"Mr Holmes?" I wonder out loud, confused. Last time I checked, it was only me, John and Sarah here.

"Do I have what?" John asks, equally as confused. 

"The treasure."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I would prefer to make certain." She turns away and glances at her men, one of whom now pulls the cover off a large object to reveal the crossbow which was used at the circus. I notice that an arrow is already loaded in it, and I let out deep sigh. Double great. "Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life..." She starts, glancing at Sarah. "... information."

The two men walk over and pick up Sarah's chair. She cries out repeatedly through her gag as they carry her towards the crossbow, and I begin to tug on my ropes.

"Let her go, she hasn't nothing to do with any of this!" I vocalized urgently, while John just muttered sorry under his breath like it was going to change their minds. 

The two men set down the chair on the other side of the crossbow, leaving Sarah facing the arrow tip and directly in line with it. I tug in vain at the ropes that tied me to the chair.

 "Where's the hairpin?" The woman demands. 

"What?" He asks, tugging at his own bonds despite the pistol aimed at him.

"Maybe Eleanor will know the answer." She asserts, her gaze landing on me. She walks that extra distance and holds the gun to my head. "The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you have been searching for it with Mr Holmes."

"Please. Please, listen to me. I'm not ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. We haven't found whatever it is you're looking for. Please, don't hurt them." John suddenly finds his voice, still tugging at his ropes. 

"I need a volunteer from the audience!" The woman starts loudly, walking towards Sarah. "Ah, thank you. Yes, you'll do very nicely."

"No, please. Please." John tries desperately.

"He's not Sherlock Holmes, you need to understand. We don't have what you have but... but maybe Sherlock does. Please, don't hurt her. Give us some time!" I attempt, realising that this woman was not messing around. People may do a great job at irritating me, but that doesn't mean I can sit back and let them die. 

Sarah wails through her gag, tugging desperately at her ropes. The Chinese woman just smiles, takes out a knife and reaches up to a nearby sandbag suspended over a pulley hanging from the ceiling. She stabbed the knife into the bag, and then sand begins to pour out. 

"Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act." She speaks her in distinctive accent, looking at me and John who was her audience. "You've seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends."

"Stop! There's no need for this, please!"

Frantically, John delivers: "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"

"I don't believe you." 

"You should, you know." A low voice appears from the shadows, in all it's mystery and glory. A familiar silhouette appears at the far end of the tramway tunnel we were in. I let out another half-relieved, half-exasperated breath. I was glad he was here, despite his really late timing. 

Sherlock.