“Well, if it isn’t the Great Sherlock Holmes. Funny getting to talk to you again, isn’t it? What’s it been? Almost a month? Just under one?”
Sherlock’s grip on the phone tightens, his blood running cold by that teasing tone in Apollo’s voice. John’s practically hanging off his shoulder, the optimistic side of him hoping- no, praying- that despite his friend’s stiffen appearance, he’ll put both of their worries to rest by saying you’re on the other end, assuring them you’ve somehow escaped your ex and are okay. Alas, life’s never that easy.
“Where is she?” Sherlock isn’t sure if he whispers or shouts the question which is ripped from his mouth before he can truly assess the situation. He doesn’t have time for that. He needs to know…is he already too late?
The prosecution wasn’t very thrilled when they discovered Apollo had plead not guilty to charges of attempted murder, but it wasn’t until everyone heard his defense attorney’s main argument that their blood began to truly boil: you shot yourself in a failed suicide attempt and are now blaming Apollo to avoid judgement. It’s a pathetic lie meant to use the victim as a scapegoat to save Apollo’s arse from a hefty sentence, but unfortunately, it sounds pretty convincing to the jury.
One could imagine the fury your friends and family felt as they watched Apollo cry on the stand, describing the night’s events in his own words. At some points, his acting had been so good that some started to think he truly believes in the false fairytale he narrated to the courtroom.
Sherlock has been arched forward for what most would say is an uncomfortably long time, however, he barely shifts, keeping his eyes locked on the screen of the laptop before him. He also gives little acknowledgement to the figure who peers over his shoulder quite annoyingly, watching his every movement carefully as he types.
“What are you doing now?” The silence between them is finally broken.
“I asked Mycroft to get me all the nearby security footage that would’ve been recording starting an hour before Apollo’s arrival. I don’t have any direct angles on the flat itself, but as you can see here, a silver Volkswagen fitting the description Mrs. Hudson gave can be seen turning this corner towards the flat here-” he switches the video to the next, “-before later being seen entering the frame of the cameras down the street here.”
This has got to be as close to an out-of-body experience as Sherlock has ever had. At least John could recognize what was happening and pull him back. Let’s hope he can find that steely calm and figure out where she is.
No words can be said to calm Sherlock down. The detective’s face is pale beyond belief, his eyes wide with clear panic despite his efforts to hide it. He disappears into his Mind Palace for the majority of the drive, only snapping out of it long enough to either snap at John for his poor attempts of comfort or to order Lestrade to drive faster.
The inspector does his best to bite back any sour words, realizing that this is no time to argue or get offended by the man’s harshness. To be honest, he’s a bit afraid to. Never in all his years of knowing Sherlock has he seen him so visibly panicked or upset.
Sherlock takes in a breath, his eyes locked with the old building that’s barely visible through the overgrown trees and weeds that fill its once beautiful garden. He stands at the rusted metal gates until his former cab has pulled back onto the street, leaving him truly alone to meet whatever fate awaits him.
The gate makes a terrible creaking sound, refusing to open all the way which forces him to slide through. Stone steps peek through slightly yellowed grass, his shoes crunching against this path littered with faded leaves.
There are dozens of people surrounding you in the beautiful old church made of mossy stone yet the most interesting subject you can find to stare at is your own hands which nervously fiddle with delicate lily petals or the long blades of grass lying beneath you.
Go be social…Those were the orders your aunt had given you before shooing you off even after you had so nicely helped her to her seat. She doesn’t mean to sound rude with stern and distant simply being her leading qualities, after all, she’s that typical elderly woman who’s never had children of her own and spends her evenings sipping rosé; one shouldn’t expect hugs and soft praises from her. Regardless, you find her words to be difficult to follow. You could barely socialize with people back home. How are you to socialize with people in a country you’ve only been in for less than three weeks?
Holding on to their first interaction as a source of comfort… I really hope he can get there and find a way around whatever trap Apollo has waiting for him.
