Welcome to Baker Street

50. Never leave loose ends

When the cab stops in front of the bank, Sherlock shoves a couple of banknotes in the cabbie's hand, hoping to put an end to his incessant complaints about "those bloody state visits" and "those damn political meetings" that paralyse the streets of London once in a while.

Has he been blabbering and grumbling throughout the whole ride? Sherlock thinks, realising that he didn't even acknowledge his presence. He was too busy skirmishing with his brother on the phone to pay the slightest attention to the world outside.

He crosses the street and checks out the entrance of the bank: the place is closed, deserted. However, the moment he raises his eyes to the camera positioned above the threshold, the sliding doors open swiftly. Someone was waiting for him. He walks warily across the place plunged into darkness and silence, given the late hour.

"I'm here," he announces as his voice echoes in the empty hall. "Isn't it what you wanted, having me here, inside this bank? Show yourself now."

Suddenly, a single lamp on the ceiling turns on, shining a beam of light on a muscly man standing at the far end of the room.

Sherlock squints his eyes at him, baffled. He doesn't know this person, or at least he doesn't recognise him. He was expecting someone slightly more memorable given the reference he made regarding a past encounter.

"Welcome, Mr Holmes. What a delight to finally meet you."

"Delight isn't the term I'd use. Now tell me where Giulia is." Sherlock's voice is granitic.

The sweeping gesture of the man's left hand accompanies his words. "Right next to me."

At that moment, one more lamp switches on a few feet away from him, casting a pitiful light on Giulia tied to a chair. As soon as Sherlock glimpses at her, his ears get assaulted by an inexplicable hammering ringing. Is it really his heart that he hears pounding in his head?

He disregards all the faulty reactions of his body and springs forward.

"Giulia, how are you? Are you hurt?"

"Stop right there, Holmes. Not one step further. I am not alone, and I am armed," the man says, gesturing toward a tall guard next to him, right at the margin of the light cone. The guard's arm is now clearly visible: he is pointing a gun at the detective's head.

Sherlock stops in his tracks and shows his hands peacefully.

"Unlike you, apparently," the man adds with a sneering grin, getting closer to Giulia.

Sherlock studies his movements and clenches his fists, trying to regain his calm.

"Let her go. Whatever you want, this is between you and me."

"Indeed, but I still need her. She must stay, I insist." He smiles creepily, stepping next to her to caress her shoulder as she struggles against the restraints to elude his touch.

Sherlock's jaw tightens as he follows his moves. This man is enjoying himself. He is likely to be a psychopath and clearly has a well-designed plan. There are no other options but to play by his rules.

"Who are you?" He barks.

"I'm Kevin Rummer. Don't you remember me?" He fakes a hurtful look.

"Rummer," Sherlock lets that name slide on his tongue with a pensive expression. "I've already heard your name once, but I can't remember when, where, or on which occasion. I suppose you were quite inconsequential," he teases him.

"Forgive him, he is not very good with names," Giulia lampoons his friend just to let him know she is okay—or at least strong enough to pretend to be okay.