Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Abominable Bride- Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Third POV

Inside the cabin, the female flight attendant walks along the aisle, bends down and puts a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently shakes it. "We've landed, sir. We've landed."

"No, no, no, not now, not now."

Outside, Mycroft, John, Mary and Michelle approach the steps. "No, no, no, not now, not now."

"I trust you had a pleasant flight, sir." Sherlock stares up at her. She is the spitting image of Lady Carmichael, although obviously wearing a modern airline captain's uniform. She smiles and nods to him before turning away as the others come on board. "Well, a somewhat shorter exile than we'd imagined, brother mine, although adequate given your levels of OCD." Breathing heavily, Sherlock stares up at him glossy-eyed. "I have to go back!" He demands. "What?"

"I was... I was nearly there! I nearly had it!"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Go back where? You didn't get very far." John mentioned. "Ricoletti and his abominable wife! Don't you understand?"

"No, of course we don't. You're not making any sense, Sherlock." Mary spoke. "It was a case, a famous one from a hundred years ago." Michelle abbreviated. "Yes and it was lodged in my hard drive. She seemed to be dead but then she came back."

"What, like Moriarty?"

"Shot herself in the head, exactly like Moriarty." Michelle answered John. "But you've only just been told. We've only just found out. He's on every TV screen in the country." Michelle helps Mary sit down whilst she was talking. "Yes? So? It's been five minutes since Mycroft called." He looks up to his brother. "What progress have you made? What have you been doing?"

"More to the point, what have you been doing?" John laughs. "I've been in my Mind Palace, of course..."

"Of course you have." Michelle murmured sadly. "Running an experiment: how would I have solved the crime if I'd been there in 1895?"

"Oh, Sherlock." Mycroft looked angry and disappointed. Mary takes Sherlock's phone from the shelf beside his seat and starts to look at it. "I had all the details perfect." Mycroft sinks into a rear-facing seat on the other side of the aisle whilst Michelle occupies the opposite. Mycroft puts both hands on the handle of his umbrella and lowers his chin to rest it on them. "I was there, all of it, everything! I was immersed."

"Of course you were."

"You've been reading John's blog, the story of how you three met." Mary lifts her eyes and smiles at him. "Helps me if I see myself through his eyes sometimes. I'm so much cleverer."

"You really think anyone's believing you?"

"No, he can do this. I've seen it, the Mind Palace. It's like a whole world in his head."

"Yes, and I need to get back there." Sherlock bit back, frustrated. "The Mind Palace is a memory technique. I know what it can do and I know what it most certainly cannot." Mycroft stated. "Maybe there are one or two things that I know that you don't." He looks across to Mycroft, who returns his gaze. "Oh, there are. Did you make a list?" Sherlock looks away again and is chewing on a thumbnail. He turns to look at his brother again. "You've put on weight. That waistcoat's clearly newer than the jacket..."

"Stop this. Just stop it. Did you make a list?" Mycroft demanded. "Of what?"

"Everything, Sherlock. Everything you've taken." Michelle stated saddened. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away. Michelle raises her brow. "Roll your eyes at me, like that again and I'll smack you for it." She threatened. "No, it's not that. He goes into a sort of trance. We've seen him do it, Michelle." John tried to redeem. Sherlock takes a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket, holds it out and drops it onto the floor.

Mycroft lifts his eyes to John, who bends down and picks it up. Mycroft looks away as John unfolds the piece of paper and looks at what's written there, and his face fills with shock. He stares at Sherlock. "We have an agreement, my brother and I, ever since that day."

Sherlock bites his lip. In a cutaway flashback, a much younger Sherlock is lying on a mattress on a floor. Nearby, candles are burning in bottles. Sherlock is writhing and grimacing under the influence of the drugs he's taken. Mycroft, sits on the mattress near his brother's feet and now reaches down to a piece of paper lying next to Sherlock's legs. "Wherever I find him... Whatever back alley or doss house... There will always be a list."

Michelle stands up and faces away from Sherlock, disappointed. John vacates her seat. "He couldn't have taken all of that in the last five minutes." Mycroft huffs out a breath and looks across to Sherlock. "He was high before he got on the plane."

"So, was it you talking about marriage or was it the drugs?" Michelle rhetorically asked. Sherlock looks away. Mary has put Sherlock's phone back on the shelf and has now got out her own phone. "He didn't seem high."

"Nobody deceives like an addict." Mycroft answered Mary. "I'm not an addict. I'm a user. I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes."

"For God's sake! This could kill you! You could die, Sherlock!" Michelle loudly spoke, whilst making hand gestures. "Controlled usage is not usually fatal and abstinence is not immortality."

"What are you doing?"

"Emelia Ricoletti, I'm looking her up."

"Ah, I suppose we should." Sherlock rolls his eyes in exasperation. "I have access to the top level of the MI5 archive..."

"Yep, that's where I'm looking." She smiles without looking up. Mycroft looks slightly awkward. "What do you think of MI5's security?" Mary looks across to him, then to Michelle. The girls share a brief smile. "I think it would be a good idea." She smiles at him, then looks back down to the phone. "Emelia Ricoletti. Unsolved..." Sherlock bows his head and lowers it into his hands. Mary nods towards him. "Like he says."

"Could you all just shut up for five minutes? I have to go back. I was nearly there before you stepped on and starting yapping away."

"'Yapping'?" John asks. "Sorry, did we interrupt your session? 'Sherl'?" Michelle sarcastically spat. "Sherlock, listen to me." Mycroft begins to lean forward. "No. It only encourages you."

"I'm not angry with you..."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was really worried. No, hold on. I really wasn't." They lock eyes for a moment. "I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again." They continue to look at each other. "I'll always be there for you. This was my fault."

"It was nothing to do with you."

"A week in a prison cell. I should have realised." Mycroft gazed down reflectively. "Realised what?"

"That in your case, solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy." Sherlock sighs and rolls his head back. "Oh, for God's sake." He buries his head in one hand.

"Morphine or cocaine?" Sherlock raises his head and turns to frown at Michelle. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything." She states coldly. "No, you did. You said... Which is it today, morphine or cocaine?" Sherlock stares at Michelle, who looks confused. Mary sits up in her chair, looking alert, John stares on and Mycroft frowns across to his brother.

"Sherlock?" And in the sitting room of Victorian 221B, Holmes is lying on his side on the floor. "Morphine or cocaine? Which is it today?"