S3E2 - The Indigo Stain - Part Eight: Carousel
Title: The Indigo Stain
Subtitle: Carousel
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,163
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: kidnapping, violence, language
Sherlock spoke into his landline, "I'm trying to reach Amber Riley or Georgia Grant."
"You're speaking to Georgia," the woman on the other side replied. "Who's this?"
"Have you or your wife recently given birth?" Sherlock asked.
"First of all," Georgia replied, "she's my partner, not my wife. And second of all, who the hell are you?"
"This is important," Sherlock replied. "I need to know if you or your partner have given birth recently."
"You're calling from Salcombe," Georgia said. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Is that's what's going on now? The Grant family outcasts, still targeted by every lowlife in Salcombe? We moved away to stop this nonsense! And you've gone too far! You understand? Too far!"
She hung up, but it was all the same to Sherlock. She as much as answered his question.
"Really, Lestrade, it's not what you think," John said into his phone. "This is a real thing, and I'm really looking into it, and I really need this information."
"John, I still haven't figured out who this woman is yet," Lestrade replied. "Mind, I haven't had a lot of time, but still."
"Never mind her," John said. "Look. I think someone has taken an infant, Greg. A baby. And they're getting away with it. And if they keep getting away with it long enough, no one will catch them."
"So then tell me who," Lestrade said. "Where. When. How."
"I don't know!" John blurted, frustrated. "Sorry, Lestrade. It's just... I know what this sounds like, okay? But I promise you, it's not."
"Right," Lestrade said. "I can look into files, but without a location, it'll take a while. So, no promises, okay?"
"Great, thanks..." John said. His thoughts trailed off as the sound of footsteps caught his attention. Either Sherlock was throwing things around his room, or something very bad was happening in there. "Uh...Greg?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Not to be alarming," John said slowly. "But I think I'm in trouble..."
The door that connected the rooms burst open.
"Salcombe at the Thurman Estate - " John tried to blurt, but a jolt shattered through him and his body jerked. Whoever came into the room had hit him with a taser.
Blackness enveloped him as Lestrade called to him, "John? You there? What're you doing in Salcombe? John? John!"
Sherlock remained alert. His attacker had walloped him across the back of the head, but not hard enough to knock him out. His head hurt, and it became annoyingly difficult to pretend to be unconscious as the assailant inexpertly maneuvered him into some kind of box. Sherlock opened one eye when he heard the man stalk off. He was one of those large dog pens stacked onto a dolly. This man might be strong, but he certainly wasn't clever.
John was unconscious. He, too, was packed into some kind of dog crate, and the idiot kidnapping them draped the boxes with blankets before heading downstairs. Sherlock could only imagine how ridiculous their kidnapper looked.
Everything took far too long. Sherlock was bored with playing dead almost immediately, and the card ride proved to be uncomfortable to say the least. But soon enough, they were being unloaded in an empty room. The man took John out first and tied him up.
When he moved to restrain Sherlock, he made his move. He wasn't a great fighter, but he could grab a weapon from a pitiable criminal like this. The struggle was over in a matter of minutes; Sherlock took a hit from a taser and went down like a lead balloon.
John woke up to the sound of a struggle. Sherlock threw a wicked left hook, but the attacker parried and struck back with his elbow before snapping in the damn taser gun.
John's hands were tied behind his back, but inexpertly. He didn't have time to wriggle free, though, so John had to use his legs. He got his feet under himself and yelled, "Oy!"
The man turned, and John pulled a terrifying shoulder roll and landed on his side just a few inches from the taser-wielding maniac. He thrust a hard sidekick to the man's knee with a sickening crack, pop! As the man toppled over, John swept his leg up, hitting him in the chest and knocking the weapon away.
The wire pulled away from Sherlock, stopping the shock. He gasped for air and pushed himself to a kneeling position, bumbling into a rough one-two punch. The other man dropped a harsh hammer fist when Sherlock put a hand down for support, and he collapsed away from John as his hand snapped away from the floor by default.
John flipped back onto his feet and snapped another kick, this time to the man's chest. He smashed into the floor with a loud thud.
"Untie me!" John said to Sherlock, turning his hands.
Sherlock's left hand was still smarting from being smashed, but he did his best to unravel the knot.
"I think he's out," John said. The man wasn't moving. "Who is he? Where are we?"
"I'm fairly certain this is Edward Miles."
"We're at the Grant Estate?"
"Hopefully," Sherlock said, finally pulling rope free. "Is he unconscious?"
"No, I'm not," Edward spat back up at them. "I don't know who you are, but you're dead. You hear me? DEAD!"
John walked over and punched him across the face.
"He won't be out for long, we need to call the police," John said.
"We can't. Go to the phone, call for a car service. If you see anyone else, John, duck and hide. You could be putting them at risk."
John was surprised at Sherlock's level of discretion. "Wait, what're you gonna do?"
"I'm going to see the other rooms," Sherlock said quickly. "Meet me in the room with the window, okay?"
"What about the dogs?" John asked.
"Take the taser," Sherlock suggested. "Just in case."
Sherlock ran out of the room, and John grabbed the taser and followed. The entire building was silent, and every movement seemed to stir the whole mansion with noise. John crept into the sitting room, which thankfully had a phone, and called for a car. He hung up and nearly dialed for the police. He could, after all, leave the ringer off. That would bring officers right to this house. But how would he explain Sherlock? He was supposed to be a dead in London, not kidnapped in Salcombe.
So John resisted the urge, but he did leave the phone off the hook. Then he went back down the north hall, heading for the room they escaped through last time. The door at the end of the hall attracted his attention. He felt drawn to it. Sherlock was probably already in there, so he ducked in after him. The room was big, like the sitting room, but it didn't have nearly as many windows.
"Hello?" John whispered.
His entire body ached, and he didn't fancy the idea of running away from dogs. But if he could help someone, find someone, then he'd feel better, like this mess had actually accomplished something.
"Hello?" another voice said back. "Is someone there?"
"Yes, where are you?" John whispered. "Who are you?"
"I'm here," the voice said again. It was a man's voice. "My name is Doctor Evan Mueller."
John yanked a white sheet off of what amounted to be a large cage with a cot and a dodgy-looking bucket. A woebegone man sat on the bed in his pajamas.
"Come on, then," John said. "Let me get you out of here, huh?" His hands shook as he fumbled with the lock. "Damn it... combo lock..."
"He keeps a toolbox," Mueller said. "Over there, just out of my reach." He pointed to another covered set of boxes.
John scrambled to it and pulled out wire cutters. They wouldn't go through the lock, but he could cut around it. It would take longer, but he couldn't leave the poor guy here. So he started cutting down the side of the door. He could capitalize off the hinges.
"Is there another?" Mueller asked.
"Sorry?"
"Another wire cutter," Mueller replied. "I could start on this end."
"Of course, brilliant," John said as he grabbed the other wire cutters. "Look, uh, Evan, after we get out of here, we're gonna have to make a run for it. You think you can do that?"
"No," Mueller replied immediately. "But I'll die trying."
"Let's not let it get that far," John replied.
With two wire cutters, the job went quickly, even though John had to roll back the door manually. Mueller was able to squeeze through.
"Where the hell is Sherlock?" John asked.
"Who?"
"Uh, never mind," John said. "Follow me. And keep quiet." He led Mueller into the other room. "Sherlock? Where are you?"
"John," Sherlock said. "Where have you been?"
"You said you were getting people from the other rooms!" John replied in a whisper.
"I was," Sherlock replied. "Who's this?" he asked when seeing Mueller.
"I'm Doctor Evan Mueller. Shouldn't we be leaving?"
"Yes, right, John, carry this," Sherlock said, casually handing off a baby.
"Right," John replied before he realized what was happening. Then he stopped and asked, "Sherlock, what are you doing with a baby?"
"This child was kidnapped!"
"You can't unkidnap someone by kidnapping them again," John replied. "It doesn't work like that!"
"Do you want to leave the infant here? Hope the idiot who abducted us won't run off with it?"
"Him," John said. "This is a boy."
"Right. Whatever. Let's go," Sherlock tried to hand John the baby again.
"I've got the taser."
"So what?"
"So I think the person with the taser shouldn't be the one with baby. It'll make aiming at the dogs more difficult."
"Dogs?" Mueller asked. "What dogs?"
"Then we'll trade. Give me the taser," Sherlock said.
"I'm a better shot than you," John said. "Your idea to kidnap the baby, you carry him!"
"But - " Sherlock began to protest.
"We don't have time for this!" Mueller interrupted more loudly than he should have. The sound of footsteps jolted all of them.
"Right, Sherlock, let's go. Lead the way."
"You first," Sherlock replied. "You have the taser."
"Fine," John said as he climbed out of the window and dropped to the ground. "Hurry up!"
Mueller came next, then Sherlock and the baby. John kept watch. No sign of the dogs, but someone was definitely moving in the house.
"Stop!" Edward yelled from another room's window.
"GO!" Sherlock hissed.
John ran ahead, wondering vaguely how Sherlock Holmes, of all people, managed to keep a baby completely quiet in the cold night air while running.
Then he heard it. Barking. Howling. Edward yelled after them. "Stop! Get back! Get back here!" Almost immediately, the baby started crying, echoing hugely into the night.
Edward's voice changed from harsh and coarse to shrill and frightened. "Blype! Foos! Foos! Foos! Blype! Foos!"
"What the hell is he on about?" John asked as Sherlock caught up with him.
"He's giving the dogs commands," Sherlock shouted, breathless. "German, obviously. Bad German."
"What's he saying?" Mueller asked as he stumbled.
"Heel. Stay," Sherlock replied. "Come on, we've gotta get past the moat."
John dropped back and yanked Mueller to his feet. One of the dogs was closing in on them, and despite its angry features, John felt rotten about zapping it with a taser. So John grabbed a stick and tossed it perpendicular to their path, successfully getting the dog to veer off course.
In the distance, the sounds of screaming hit the air. It was Edward. John booked it.
"Don't make me shoot you!" he warned the dog. "Heel! Heel! Bad dog, no biscuit!"
"Just shoot it!" Sherlock yelled.
"Easy for you to say," John replied. He turned, but the dog had dropped off. Either it obeyed its master's commands, or the no biscuit thing really worked. He didn't waste energy in thinking too hard.
Mueller was barely limping along, a stitch in his side, and Sherlock held a screaming baby.
"Come on," John said. "Keep going."
"I can't run," Mueller said. "Sorry, I - "
"Okay, just keep it brisk," John said. "How far are we?"
"I can see the moat," Sherlock replied. "After that we just need to find the car."
"Don't suppose you've a mobile?" Mueller asked.
"We were abducted," John replied. "I don't even have proper shoes. Look, I'm in my slippers."
Mueller nearly fell over from laughing. They limped the rest of the way to the moat and crossed it with difficulty.
"We need to get to the police," Mueller said. "Right now."
"No," Sherlock said. "We need someone we can trust. The Grant family has a lot of power and influence."
"Mycroft?" John asked.
"I said trust," Sherlock replied. "Damn it, we need someone like Lestrade."
"You understand what's wrong with that?"
"Yes, I do, John, but - "
"The car," Mueller said. "There's the car."
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Part Seven: Rollover Cafe
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Part Nine: The Miracle Child
The Indigo Stain - Series 3, Episode 2 - Primary Post
Subtitle: Carousel
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,163
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: kidnapping, violence, language
Sherlock spoke into his landline, "I'm trying to reach Amber Riley or Georgia Grant."
"You're speaking to Georgia," the woman on the other side replied. "Who's this?"
"Have you or your wife recently given birth?" Sherlock asked.
"First of all," Georgia replied, "she's my partner, not my wife. And second of all, who the hell are you?"
"This is important," Sherlock replied. "I need to know if you or your partner have given birth recently."
"You're calling from Salcombe," Georgia said. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Is that's what's going on now? The Grant family outcasts, still targeted by every lowlife in Salcombe? We moved away to stop this nonsense! And you've gone too far! You understand? Too far!"
She hung up, but it was all the same to Sherlock. She as much as answered his question.
"Really, Lestrade, it's not what you think," John said into his phone. "This is a real thing, and I'm really looking into it, and I really need this information."
"John, I still haven't figured out who this woman is yet," Lestrade replied. "Mind, I haven't had a lot of time, but still."
"Never mind her," John said. "Look. I think someone has taken an infant, Greg. A baby. And they're getting away with it. And if they keep getting away with it long enough, no one will catch them."
"So then tell me who," Lestrade said. "Where. When. How."
"I don't know!" John blurted, frustrated. "Sorry, Lestrade. It's just... I know what this sounds like, okay? But I promise you, it's not."
"Right," Lestrade said. "I can look into files, but without a location, it'll take a while. So, no promises, okay?"
"Great, thanks..." John said. His thoughts trailed off as the sound of footsteps caught his attention. Either Sherlock was throwing things around his room, or something very bad was happening in there. "Uh...Greg?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Not to be alarming," John said slowly. "But I think I'm in trouble..."
The door that connected the rooms burst open.
"Salcombe at the Thurman Estate - " John tried to blurt, but a jolt shattered through him and his body jerked. Whoever came into the room had hit him with a taser.
Blackness enveloped him as Lestrade called to him, "John? You there? What're you doing in Salcombe? John? John!"
Sherlock remained alert. His attacker had walloped him across the back of the head, but not hard enough to knock him out. His head hurt, and it became annoyingly difficult to pretend to be unconscious as the assailant inexpertly maneuvered him into some kind of box. Sherlock opened one eye when he heard the man stalk off. He was one of those large dog pens stacked onto a dolly. This man might be strong, but he certainly wasn't clever.
John was unconscious. He, too, was packed into some kind of dog crate, and the idiot kidnapping them draped the boxes with blankets before heading downstairs. Sherlock could only imagine how ridiculous their kidnapper looked.
Everything took far too long. Sherlock was bored with playing dead almost immediately, and the card ride proved to be uncomfortable to say the least. But soon enough, they were being unloaded in an empty room. The man took John out first and tied him up.
When he moved to restrain Sherlock, he made his move. He wasn't a great fighter, but he could grab a weapon from a pitiable criminal like this. The struggle was over in a matter of minutes; Sherlock took a hit from a taser and went down like a lead balloon.
John woke up to the sound of a struggle. Sherlock threw a wicked left hook, but the attacker parried and struck back with his elbow before snapping in the damn taser gun.
John's hands were tied behind his back, but inexpertly. He didn't have time to wriggle free, though, so John had to use his legs. He got his feet under himself and yelled, "Oy!"
The man turned, and John pulled a terrifying shoulder roll and landed on his side just a few inches from the taser-wielding maniac. He thrust a hard sidekick to the man's knee with a sickening crack, pop! As the man toppled over, John swept his leg up, hitting him in the chest and knocking the weapon away.
The wire pulled away from Sherlock, stopping the shock. He gasped for air and pushed himself to a kneeling position, bumbling into a rough one-two punch. The other man dropped a harsh hammer fist when Sherlock put a hand down for support, and he collapsed away from John as his hand snapped away from the floor by default.
John flipped back onto his feet and snapped another kick, this time to the man's chest. He smashed into the floor with a loud thud.
"Untie me!" John said to Sherlock, turning his hands.
Sherlock's left hand was still smarting from being smashed, but he did his best to unravel the knot.
"I think he's out," John said. The man wasn't moving. "Who is he? Where are we?"
"I'm fairly certain this is Edward Miles."
"We're at the Grant Estate?"
"Hopefully," Sherlock said, finally pulling rope free. "Is he unconscious?"
"No, I'm not," Edward spat back up at them. "I don't know who you are, but you're dead. You hear me? DEAD!"
John walked over and punched him across the face.
"He won't be out for long, we need to call the police," John said.
"We can't. Go to the phone, call for a car service. If you see anyone else, John, duck and hide. You could be putting them at risk."
John was surprised at Sherlock's level of discretion. "Wait, what're you gonna do?"
"I'm going to see the other rooms," Sherlock said quickly. "Meet me in the room with the window, okay?"
"What about the dogs?" John asked.
"Take the taser," Sherlock suggested. "Just in case."
Sherlock ran out of the room, and John grabbed the taser and followed. The entire building was silent, and every movement seemed to stir the whole mansion with noise. John crept into the sitting room, which thankfully had a phone, and called for a car. He hung up and nearly dialed for the police. He could, after all, leave the ringer off. That would bring officers right to this house. But how would he explain Sherlock? He was supposed to be a dead in London, not kidnapped in Salcombe.
So John resisted the urge, but he did leave the phone off the hook. Then he went back down the north hall, heading for the room they escaped through last time. The door at the end of the hall attracted his attention. He felt drawn to it. Sherlock was probably already in there, so he ducked in after him. The room was big, like the sitting room, but it didn't have nearly as many windows.
"Hello?" John whispered.
His entire body ached, and he didn't fancy the idea of running away from dogs. But if he could help someone, find someone, then he'd feel better, like this mess had actually accomplished something.
"Hello?" another voice said back. "Is someone there?"
"Yes, where are you?" John whispered. "Who are you?"
"I'm here," the voice said again. It was a man's voice. "My name is Doctor Evan Mueller."
John yanked a white sheet off of what amounted to be a large cage with a cot and a dodgy-looking bucket. A woebegone man sat on the bed in his pajamas.
"Come on, then," John said. "Let me get you out of here, huh?" His hands shook as he fumbled with the lock. "Damn it... combo lock..."
"He keeps a toolbox," Mueller said. "Over there, just out of my reach." He pointed to another covered set of boxes.
John scrambled to it and pulled out wire cutters. They wouldn't go through the lock, but he could cut around it. It would take longer, but he couldn't leave the poor guy here. So he started cutting down the side of the door. He could capitalize off the hinges.
"Is there another?" Mueller asked.
"Sorry?"
"Another wire cutter," Mueller replied. "I could start on this end."
"Of course, brilliant," John said as he grabbed the other wire cutters. "Look, uh, Evan, after we get out of here, we're gonna have to make a run for it. You think you can do that?"
"No," Mueller replied immediately. "But I'll die trying."
"Let's not let it get that far," John replied.
With two wire cutters, the job went quickly, even though John had to roll back the door manually. Mueller was able to squeeze through.
"Where the hell is Sherlock?" John asked.
"Who?"
"Uh, never mind," John said. "Follow me. And keep quiet." He led Mueller into the other room. "Sherlock? Where are you?"
"John," Sherlock said. "Where have you been?"
"You said you were getting people from the other rooms!" John replied in a whisper.
"I was," Sherlock replied. "Who's this?" he asked when seeing Mueller.
"I'm Doctor Evan Mueller. Shouldn't we be leaving?"
"Yes, right, John, carry this," Sherlock said, casually handing off a baby.
"Right," John replied before he realized what was happening. Then he stopped and asked, "Sherlock, what are you doing with a baby?"
"This child was kidnapped!"
"You can't unkidnap someone by kidnapping them again," John replied. "It doesn't work like that!"
"Do you want to leave the infant here? Hope the idiot who abducted us won't run off with it?"
"Him," John said. "This is a boy."
"Right. Whatever. Let's go," Sherlock tried to hand John the baby again.
"I've got the taser."
"So what?"
"So I think the person with the taser shouldn't be the one with baby. It'll make aiming at the dogs more difficult."
"Dogs?" Mueller asked. "What dogs?"
"Then we'll trade. Give me the taser," Sherlock said.
"I'm a better shot than you," John said. "Your idea to kidnap the baby, you carry him!"
"But - " Sherlock began to protest.
"We don't have time for this!" Mueller interrupted more loudly than he should have. The sound of footsteps jolted all of them.
"Right, Sherlock, let's go. Lead the way."
"You first," Sherlock replied. "You have the taser."
"Fine," John said as he climbed out of the window and dropped to the ground. "Hurry up!"
Mueller came next, then Sherlock and the baby. John kept watch. No sign of the dogs, but someone was definitely moving in the house.
"Stop!" Edward yelled from another room's window.
"GO!" Sherlock hissed.
John ran ahead, wondering vaguely how Sherlock Holmes, of all people, managed to keep a baby completely quiet in the cold night air while running.
Then he heard it. Barking. Howling. Edward yelled after them. "Stop! Get back! Get back here!" Almost immediately, the baby started crying, echoing hugely into the night.
Edward's voice changed from harsh and coarse to shrill and frightened. "Blype! Foos! Foos! Foos! Blype! Foos!"
"What the hell is he on about?" John asked as Sherlock caught up with him.
"He's giving the dogs commands," Sherlock shouted, breathless. "German, obviously. Bad German."
"What's he saying?" Mueller asked as he stumbled.
"Heel. Stay," Sherlock replied. "Come on, we've gotta get past the moat."
John dropped back and yanked Mueller to his feet. One of the dogs was closing in on them, and despite its angry features, John felt rotten about zapping it with a taser. So John grabbed a stick and tossed it perpendicular to their path, successfully getting the dog to veer off course.
In the distance, the sounds of screaming hit the air. It was Edward. John booked it.
"Don't make me shoot you!" he warned the dog. "Heel! Heel! Bad dog, no biscuit!"
"Just shoot it!" Sherlock yelled.
"Easy for you to say," John replied. He turned, but the dog had dropped off. Either it obeyed its master's commands, or the no biscuit thing really worked. He didn't waste energy in thinking too hard.
Mueller was barely limping along, a stitch in his side, and Sherlock held a screaming baby.
"Come on," John said. "Keep going."
"I can't run," Mueller said. "Sorry, I - "
"Okay, just keep it brisk," John said. "How far are we?"
"I can see the moat," Sherlock replied. "After that we just need to find the car."
"Don't suppose you've a mobile?" Mueller asked.
"We were abducted," John replied. "I don't even have proper shoes. Look, I'm in my slippers."
Mueller nearly fell over from laughing. They limped the rest of the way to the moat and crossed it with difficulty.
"We need to get to the police," Mueller said. "Right now."
"No," Sherlock said. "We need someone we can trust. The Grant family has a lot of power and influence."
"Mycroft?" John asked.
"I said trust," Sherlock replied. "Damn it, we need someone like Lestrade."
"You understand what's wrong with that?"
"Yes, I do, John, but - "
"The car," Mueller said. "There's the car."
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Part Seven: Rollover Cafe
Next Part: >>>
Part Nine: The Miracle Child
The Indigo Stain - Series 3, Episode 2 - Primary Post