The Crimson Queen (A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter 12 Happy Families

Ta-dah! Here we are thank you for your patience everybody. I present to ye, a (hopefully) exciting chapter that I myself got tingles writing :)

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Sherlock's POV

This was not good. Not good at all. I had a terrible feeling about this -so imagine how John and Evanna felt.

I looked at the building that stood before me. Huge, brick walls, corrugated iron roof, a large company sign. Just like any normal storage warehouse. Except for one thing.

An open door.

In silence we approached it, I led the way, my scarf billowing in the cold London breeze. I pushed the heavy door wide open.

"Oh my gosh" whispered Evanna.

I realised why she had expressed shock. There was a sickeningly strong smell coming from inside the pitch black warehouse.

A smell.

Of roses.

My mind whirred into gear, thinking of all possibilities of navigating through what I deduced to be a warehouse full of roses. And not just any ordinary roses, oh no, roses loaded with Ketamine.

"Right," I said, turning around to face my two companions. "Here's what we need to do. The human brain is not naturally accustomed to nocturnal vision but a few tribes from Northern territories of the world have trained themselves to see in the 24 hour darkness of the cold winter months. Now it took them a long time, but I don't see why we shouldn't be able to tr..."

I trailed off. John was holding his phone up -with a torch app open.

"You always over think Sherlock" he said, smiling smugly.

I snatched the phone from him and, holding it in front of me, stepped through the door.

To John and Evanna's horror, but no shock on my behalf, the light revealed a tight, narrow, maze-like passage. Just to rub salt in the wound, the walls were covered in thorned roses.

"Well this should be fun, eh Evanna?" I chuckled without humour.

I heard no response. I turned around.

Evanna had turned an ungodly shade of white and looked like she was about to throw up the coffee she drank at Baker Street. Correction: she did just throw up the coffee she drank at Baker Street. Her breathing was shallow, but fast. She leant her hands on her thighs and although she kept breathing, by now she had gone a mute blue colour.

"John!" she croaked.

He rushed and held Evanna upright, talking to her, encouraging her to take long deep breaths, telling her that she would be fine.

It felt like years, but she eventually calmed down and returned to her normal complexion. I've never been good at reassuring people emotionally, but I knew I had to do something.

Evanna's POV

I'd never had a panic attack before, but I can tell you now it was no fun experience. The 'maze of roses' struck serious fear deep inside me, so much so that I couldn't breath properly. I was thankful to John for being there but what Sherlock did next was a shock to us all.

He walked over to me, took off his scarf and shawled it around my shivering shoulders. He then smiled and gestured for us to follow him inside.

I mentally pushed myself onwards, congratulating myself for every step, cursing myself for every hesitation. I breathed through my mouth, the aroma so nauseating I think I would had passed out otherwise. I realised that Sherlock had not only given me his scarf out of kindness (my mind still can't fathom that), but also as a form of protection from any thorns that would otherwise pierce my skin and consequently kill me. Granted it wasn't much, but it was helpful nonetheless.

At one point John tripped and was about to fall against a wall when Sherlock's steadying arms caught him. I guess you could say it was his time to feel faint.

We precariously continued, Sherlock guiding the way with John's phone and presumably, like me, mentally noting every single turn we took.

After four dead ends, two close calls, and one time when the torch app shut down and caused panic, we saw a bright light up ahead.

We all breathed out in relief and speed walked into the other room.

No roses here.

Just a man.

"Sheerrrrlooockkk! A'right Guv'nor. " he exclaimed, raising his arms flamboyantly, adopting a fake Cockney accent. "Sidekick Johnny boy too... obvious!'

I looked at Sherlock, and saw him as a man standing tall with his head held defiantly.

I turned back to the Irish man. He looked me in the eye.

"Evaaannaaa!" he said in a high-pitched sing song voice. "Sorry to hear about your mam". He gave a fake pout for effect.

So this was him.

The consulting criminal.

"Jim Moriarty" I said coldly.

His smile disappeared. He spoke.

"Please. Call me Dad. "

No.