Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Reichenbach Fall- Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

"That... It's him. It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us." John spoke.

"He died because I shook his hand."

"What d'you mean?"

"He saved my life but he couldn't touch me. Why?" Storming of, John and I follow. Sherlock walks rapidly into the living room, pulling off his scarf and then his coat as he goes across to the laptop on the dining table. "Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive." He sits down at the table whilst John looks out the window. Pulling up a chair I answer: "You have something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches you..."

"The others kill them before they can get it." John finished. If it was different circumstances I'd be proud of John. Sherlock grunts in agreement and types rapidly on the laptop, calling up a list of local Wi-Fi networks. There are five of them and he checks their signal strength and the names of the networks, each of which is in a foreign language. "All of the attention is focussed on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"So what have you got that's so important?" I gaze into the distance, thinking. I run my hand over the table. "We need to ask about the dusting." I stated.

Shortly afterwards, Mar-Mar has been dragged upstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock was hurrying around the room checking for dust on all the furniture. "Precise details: in the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino..."

"No, in here, this room. This is where we'll find it, any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust." Lifting his finger from the chair he twirls it dramatically in the air. "Dust is eloquent." Thinking deeply about it, I scramble towards the bookshelf. Stepping on one of the bookshelves, I feel something odd. Ripping it out, I turn to Sherlock. "Cameras. We're being watched."

"What? Cameras? Here? I'm in my nightie!" Mar-Mar cringes. Not a moment later, the doorbell rings. Sherlock begins checking the eye sockets of the skull before climbing on the other tables opposite me. Revealing more cameras Greg comes into the room followed by John. "No, Inspector." Sherlock stated, professionally. "What?"

Stepping down from the table, cameras in hand he speaks again: "The answer's no."

"But you haven't heard the question!"

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Sherlock..."

"The scream?" I asked. Lestrade turned to me nodding. "Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; That little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home..." Walking over he reaches forward, placing his index finger to Greg's forehead between his eyes. "There."

"Will you come?" Sitting down, Sherlock begins to type whilst talking. "One photograph. That's his next move. Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch. It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Sighing, Greg looks to John and I. Turning away he leaves the flat. John has gone over to the right-hand window whilst I look through the left, looking out at the car parked outside as Lestrade and Donovan go over to it and get in. Donovan glances up towards the window momentarily. I look at her with a clenched jaw. "They'll be deciding."