SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

real secrets

Sherlock arrived at Andrew’s house, which was modest, but nothing special. In fact, it looked just like the houses surrounding it. He didn’t bother knocking on the door. He knew the door was left unlocked for him. Using his shoulder, he opened the door and dropped in. He closed the door with his foot. At the sound of the door shutting behind him, a light turned on.

“The code, Sherlock, what is it?” Andrew said, standing up from the chair he was sitting in.

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know the code you want.”

“Then tell me the entrance code.” The tall man with the perfect hair sauntered over to the detective and circled him, eager to rip his brains apart for the information.

“You said you could easily break in without an entrance code. I won’t give it to you.”

“Then I’ll kill John, you know I will.”

Sherlock locked his joints and his jaw grinded together such force, the muscles in his throat grew sore. “All this talk, yet you haven’t done so.”

“He hasn’t been emitted into the hospital. I have staff working there to alert me when he comes. You put him under stress, you should have just let him stay home.”

“You know he wouldn’t have stayed with his daughter kidnapped.”

Andrew chuckled. “Of course. Now, why are you refusing to give the code? Is it because you love Aceyla? She is lovely.”

“She doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Can she translate the file then? Because I can kill her if all she knows is the entrance code. Hell, I can kill everyone except for you. You have people in high places that know the code. But I can’t get to Mycroft because he’s so secured. It’s irritating.”

“Sorry that it is.” Sherlock took it upon himself to look around the room, eyeing everything as if he was to memorize them the next morning.

“Why aren’t you under the same protection, Mr. Holmes?”

“Well, my cases are considered separate from my brother’s. We don’t like to tangle much. Tell me, Mr. Brooklyn, why are you so bent on the codes? War on the States isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. You know how it is to be bored. I just want to see something happen! Terrorism isn’t enough for me. I want just a good war, you know? Get people upset and furious. Make them irrational until its fear that’s killing them.”

“But why England against America? You had every other country, why these two?”

Andrew shrugged and walked over to his personal bar. He poured himself a glass of scotch. “Why not? I kind of consider ourselves kings. You should help, actually. Though, I offered that to you and you refused, which is why we’re having this kind of conversation. We could be agreeing on things, you know.”

“I’m my own man, Andrew, you should know that by now,” Sherlock reported through a sigh. He turned and faced his nemesis. How odd that he was in the same room with a man planning to start a world war. He could kill him on the spot, but Sherlock was a little more respectful with men who leveled on his intelligence.

“Listen, Sherlock, I know death is the largest threat anyone can say to another person. I really respect you. You’re a fine detective and somewhat a fine man. But there comes a time where you need a replacement.”

“Replacement?”

“Yes. A replacement.” Andrew’s straight face crinkled into a smile, like a child who let lose a secret. “What, you aren’t aware of a spy in your company?”

Sherlock shifted his weight and faced the man. “A spy? I’ve done my research.”

“Simon Chesterfield is a well-trained man. A mercenary to me, an ex-cop to you. I’m paying him to be in your company and lead your men to the slaughter. When he gets to Westminster with Charlie Garner, he will shoot him and get the file. He’s the mouse I’m sending in. Mycroft will gladly open the safe from him when he says you sent him.”

“Good try, Andrew, but I’ve done my research. He knew that if he joined you, you would murder him right after. Why would you keep him? Even if you did hire him, my offer’s better.”

“What could possibly be a better offer than bringing down England’s finest detective?”

“We call it the ‘good life.’ The British government pays for everything of his. And he’s my replacement.”

“What? If John doesn’t make it?” Andrew scoffed, wobbling his head. He took a sip from his biting beverage.

Sherlock remained silent. He knew John’s life was on the line. He couldn’t risk his case slipping through if one of his colleagues passed away. Taking a step towards Andrew, he opened his mouth to speak before his phone beeped.

Andrew’s eyes were drawn to the deep pocket. “You mind me checking it?” He extended a hand and began reaching for the mobile while he kept his eyes on Sherlock.

The detective watched Andrew’s hand getting closer and closer to his hip. When he saw the right moment, he snatched Andrew’s wrist and with his other hand, grabbed the beverage. He crashed the glass against a nearby table, sending the smell of scotch all over the carpet, and stabbed Andrew’s clawing hand. Andrew let out a scream and yanked his wounded appendage towards himself. He cradled the bloodied hand as he frothed in anger. “The message, give it to me.”

“I feel like having a run, don’t you?” Sherlock smirked. He jumped forward, shoving Andrew onto the floor and bolted out of the house. His feet struck the pavement over and over again as he searched for a taxi. He had to get to Westminster before Charlie and Simon got there. If Simon really was working for Andrew, he couldn’t risk the death of Charlie or theft.

“Sherlock Holmes!” Andrew screamed, “I will kill him now! I will kill John Watson!”