No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Of Riddles

Sherlock's hand grasped Sebastian's reluctantly, using the closer vantage point to study the criminal closely. So he'd been aquatinted with Moriarty?

Well, where was his friend now?

Sherlock felt a spark rise in his chest at the thought of catching him again, wishing for a challenge. Someone who could stand up to him the way Moriary had. He fought to contain the elation as the criminal winked playfully in a mannerism much like that of his deceased friend. He retreated from the room quickly, his mind predicting his opponents next move, calculating with deadly accuracy. Sherlock knew he wouldn't have to wait long for the situation to fully present itself.

The detective failed to locate either of his companions as he stepped back into the room from which he had come. As he contemplated leaving without them, his phone buzzed in his inner coat pocket.

Bringing Celeste to our place to see Mary. Join us? -JW

It took a moment for Sherlock to realize that John Watson had sent the message, not James Welsh.

What a horrible thought.

Sherlock didn't bother to reply as he left the courtroom to hail a taxi in the freezing cold December air. When he had paid the driver and mounted the steps, he opened the door to the Watsons' flat without hesitation.

The space was decorated cheerfully in preparation for Christmas, which was less than a week away. His eyes fell upon Mary sitting closely to Celestia on the couch and John reclined in a chair opposite. They were all well fortified for disaster in a distinctly British way, cup of tea in hand.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, directing his question toward Celeste as his presence was acknowledged.

"Yes, I'm fine thanks," she said with a light, breathy laugh, pushing her now loose hair behind her ear. "Just a little shocked is all." She took a sip of tea. "Surprisingly, I'm not nearly as afraid as I think I should be. I suppose after seeing and dealing with it for a while you sort of go a bit numb. Plus, he's got the world's only consulting detective to get through and I have a feeling that won't be happening anytime soon."
Mary smiled and patted her knee reassuringly. "That's what I like to hear."

"But Sherlock," John interjected. "How did he get off the hook so easily? He may be smart, but he's no Moriarty. He worked with Moriarty somehow; he used the same method at least, and claimed to have known him. He says his real name is Sebastian Moran,"
John shook his head, "so we've got another one."

"We? I don't remember you helping out with any cases recently," Sherlock snapped. He turned his coat collar up and straightened his scarf. "Celestia, I'm leaving now. You may choose to accompany me if you wish, but I will wait no longer. There is a killer on the loose. I'm not sure why I didn't just go straight home in the first place."

Celeste smiled apologetically towards John and gave Mary a quick hug. She thanked the couple and followed Sherlock out the door and eventually into a taxi.

When they had arrived at Baker Street they parted ways, one going up the stairs and the other down. Celestia was interrupted in her descend by a quick yell which she hurriedly followed. Sherlock stood at the door of 221b with a familiar looking envelope held in his large hands. He took no time at all in examining the message that was scrawled across the single sheet of paper enclosed.

We'll start off easy, angel in blue
Here is a riddle from me to you
Yellow, purple, brown, green
One color that's bold, one color that gleams
A word for revenge
How high is the cost?
Of a game of chance
Yes, four have been lost
And then below
Shall we make it five? - JW :)