Orphan on Baker Street

Forty Third: Sherlock's POV

》Sherlock's POV《

Donovan has plucked my last nerve, like she always does. So has Mickey... she didn't have to take that bullet for me - mainly figurative. Now I take long strides towards the street where traffic travels back and forth; it's a weekday, so people are probably getting off of work or going home from running errands.

My palm waves in front of an oncoming cab, and I watch it slow to a halt right beside me.

As I open the back door, I request, "221B Baker Street." The door slams shut, and the driver is on his way.

I quickly pull out my phone and look up the nearest juvenile detention center. It doesn't take long for my browser to load results, and I take note of the location - Belmarsh, which is about a 50 minute drive from Scotland Yard.

The cab driver eventually stops in front of 221B, and I shove some money at him before exiting the vehicle.

"Mrs. Hudson," I shout as I enter, slamming the door behind me. My feet are silent as I quickly ascend the stairs two at a time. "Mrs. Hudson," I repeat as I push my flat door open. Wait, that's not right.

I pull the door shut as I walk backwards, glancing down at the doorknob. Crouching, I notice a few scratches around the rarely used keyhole. The door was locked, and someone tried picking it. With a barely audible sigh, I walk back into the flat and look around quickly.

Everything is in its place, save for the desk chair. Originally it was beside my armchair, but now it sits closer to the middle of the room, positioned as if it were used as maybe a weapon or obstacle. Deciding not to shout my landlady's name anymore, I keep the door wide open behind me and cautiously walk over towards the kitchen.

My lab equipment is scattered across the long wooden table - there goes all of my hard work. However, now is not the time to worry about that; now is the time to worry about Mrs. Hudson.

I glance down the hallway and begin to walk carefully and slowly towards my closed bedroom door. The bathroom is wide open, and I see that nothing is out of place. Pressing my ear to the door, I faintly hear a woman whimpering. She's clearly gagged, so I push open the door. It wasn't even locked; are they really trying?

"Sherlock," a man's smooth voice says. His hair is slicked back, a freshly pressed suit fitting snugly around his frame; it must be an old one, as I see new muscles pushing slightly against the fabric. He looks down at Mrs. Hudson, who is tied to a chair at the end of my unmade bed.

"Moriarty," I respond, trying my best to sound intimidating. "How was prison?"

The vile man turns around, smiling at me. "It was exciting, actually," he replies, pushing his hands down into his pockets. "I picked up a trick or two... gained some muscle, which I'm sure you've noticed." My eyes skim his whole person, checking for a gun or knife or bomb, even. There is nothing; he is unarmed and quite arrogant for thinking he could do something like that.

"It's always good to hear you're doing well," I tell him with a small smile. "Why are you here?"

"For Mrs. Hudson, of course," Moriarty says, gesturing to the terrified woman in the chair. Her eyes are wet as she gives me a pleading look. I rip my gaze from hers, flexing my jaw.

"She's next on your list," I confirm softly.

"Yes. And since my men are apparently soo incompetent, I decided to come and do the honors myself."

"But you're unarmed," I say, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You're right. I don't need to be armed." There's a smile in his eyes even though he isn't smiling, and I rush towards him. He lifts a hand quickly, telling me to stop, and I do.

"What are you going to do to her?" I can't hide the fear in my voice, and I begin to get aggrivated.

Moriarty just laughs. "If I told you, that would ruin all of the fun!" He chuckles still as I glare at him.

"Your idea of fun differs greatly from mine, then," I say impatiently. "Get away from her."

"And what are you going to do about it?" he taunts. My right arm swings at his face, and I watch blood fly away from him upon impact, as if it hated being in him as much as I hated looking at him. Moriarty stays still for a moment before turning his head to me, reaching for his nose.

His mouth opens to speak, but I swing at him again with my left fist this time. He's unsuspecting once more, a crack practically echoing around the room; I've broken his nose. Moriarty lets out a growl, moving his hand to his face again.

"You think that will prevent me from strangling the poor bitch?" he yells at me. Strangle? Good idea.

I reach out for his neck, but he tries to deflect me. As our arms get tangled, my head rears back quickly before hitting him right in the temple. I blink, trying to keep from passing out or even feeling the pain, and Moriarty seems to be dazed a bit too. Then I securely grip around his neck and hold on tight.

The man struggles, swinging at me weakly. "You'll regret this," he warns me through gritted teeth. His foot rams into my shin, and I fall.

Keeping my grip around his neck, I pull up and quickly slam his head down on the ground. His body goes limp; he's unconscious.

A moment passes before I'm sure he's out cold, and I'm up on my feet. I rush over to Mrs. Hudson and fumble with the ropes that restrain her, getting the knots untied quickly.

"Oh, Sherlock," she mutters sadly, standing quickly and embracing me. I put a hand comfortingly on her back and bow my head; she barely reaches my chest.

After a while, she seems to release, and I walk over to Moriarty's body. He should start waking up soon, so I pull out my phone and dial Lestrade.

"Lestrade speaking," he answers.

"Moriarty is unconscious on my floor," is all I tell him.

"Right; I'm on it. Some people should be there soon."

"Good. Tell your ex-wife I said hi," I add quickly before ending the call with a swift motion. Sighing, I stand up, staring down at Moriarty still. He looks menacing even when he's knocked out; I hate it.