Welcome to Baker Street

51. The moment of truth

Meanwhile, in a cab heading to St Barth's

John looks out the window as the taxi speeds along the streets of London. He has almost reached the hospital when he takes a glance at his watch and a sudden thought strikes him: Sherlock really underestimates Scotland Yard's resources. He always complains about the slowness of the officers, but this time they have been surprisingly fast in locating a missing person and rescuing her from her kidnapper. A bit too fast.

He feels an ominous tingling at his fingertips as he quickly phones Lestrade; a sense of foreboding constricts his chest.

"Greg, how did you find out that Giulia was held hostage at that bank? I know you told Sherlock that you started a search as soon as I phoned you, but it took you less than ten minutes to call us back with all the information—" John is still speaking animatedly when the inspector interrupts him.

"What on Earth are you talking about? Do you know where Giulia is? And is she being held hostage?" he blurts out, confused.

"She was, that's what you said. And of course, I know where; you confirmed the address of the Italian bank at the corner of King William Street. You were the one who told Sherlock about the hostage situation and the shooting inside the bank," John sums up, getting more and more anxious as Lestrade proves to be completely in the dark.

"A shooting? Dear God, I knew nothing about it. I couldn't have said such a thing," Lestrade almost shouts in the receiver. John can hear him barking orders to his officers and gathering his squad in the background.

Watson frowns, perplexed, and tightens his grip on his phone, making his knuckles turn white from the pressure.

"So, why did you phone Sherlock?"

"I never did. Your previous call was the first and last report I've received. We've immediately started a search, of course, but I regret to say that we're getting nowhere. Did you say King William Street?" the D.I. insists, eager to extract from him as much information as possible.

He didn't phone Sherlock, John reflects as he realises what truly happened.

"Yeah, that's right. I gotta go." He hangs up. He takes his head in his hands, furious. That bastard lied just to get rid of me and go there alone. Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?

In the meantime, inside the bank

"You want to play? Very well, let's start from the beginning, then. Ten years ago, you killed your girlfriend and arranged everything to make it look like an accident. You created a solid alibi—or so you believed, but when I got to the scene, the clues were unmistakable," Sherlock patronises Kevin.

"But it wasn't until you saw me for the first time in the interrogation room that you felt that something was wrong. I could read the doubt and confusion in your eyes. So, tell me: what was so unsettling about me?" The kidnapper arches a brow at him, exhorting him to unearth everything that he stored away about that case.

At his words, Sherlock closes his eyes and enters his mind palace. He walks down a hallway and steps into a room where he finds himself face to face with a younger version of Kevin. These are his memories of that case.

He stares at the past version of the killer seated at the interrogation table, then talks as if he was in a trance.

"Your posture. You held yourself in an odd, lumbering way, hiding certain body parts and groaning at the slightest shift in your seat. Most logical assumption: you were covered in bruises, and the only way you could have got beaten up so badly was while fighting with your victim. The marks on your body were very unusual, though, as if they resulted from a peculiar combination of several martial arts and combat training."