16. “We Meet Again.”

            “Just look at you now,” he snarled as he threw another punch across my face. My head snapped to the side painfully. Some parts of my face were numb from being attacked repeatedly. I knew I’d have a good amount of bruises. I’d maybe even have a broken nose. I was surprised he hadn’t decided to do that yet. He wasn’t done with me, so there was still time for him to try to.

            “And here you thought you could hold your own against me.” He let out a strangled chuckle. “You don’t realize how much I’m willing to put you through just to give her justice. You think this is bad? Just wait. I’m a doctor, I know how to sprain, and I know how to break bones. That’s going to be next, breaking bones. I might start with your fingers. Hey, you don’t get to sleep to try and escape this.” He grabbed my chin roughly, pulling my head up. His brown eyes were furious, full of bloodlust.

            Why did I think it was smart to underestimate the army doctor? Why did I have to repeatedly shove it into his face that his wife was murdered by me? Any other time I wouldn’t think about the consequences. I hadn’t all those times. Looking back now, I kind of wished I had.

            “I would just shoot you, but I’m not letting you get out of this. Oh, no. You’re not missing a minute of this.”

            “I—I get it,” I coughed. Blood dribbled down my mouth. “I hurt you.”

            “If you apologize, you’ll only make it worse.”

            “You already plan to do worse things to me regardless if I apologize or not, I know it.” I blinked weakly at him. “I wonder what Elena will think of you when she learns you tortured someone and eventually killed them. I know it’ll come to that point. I’m sure you’ve killed people before, but maybe my murder will send you over the edge.”

            “Stop it. Just stop,” he whispered lethally. “Elena will never know I did this. If she does, she’ll see it as a good thing.”

            I barely scoffed. “How? Even though I’m her mother’s killer, I’m still a person.”

            “No, you’re not. You were. You’ll be remembered as a monster. A murderer. Need I go on?”

            “You’re enjoying this.” I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. “I know you are. You don’t want to, but you’ve been seduced by the pleasure it gives you.” I let out a wheezy laugh. “You’re weak.”

            Wrong choice of words, but really, no matter what I said would make him worse. Why not fuel the fire even more?

            With a grunt, John grabbed my throat, shoving me into the wall. I winced, thinking that I should have been immune to the pain by now with as many times as he’d done that to me. My body ached from the torture; the tears that fell had taken a long time to. They hadn’t fallen when all this began. After a while, though, they had to come out.

            Even the strongest could fall.

*      *      *

            I opened my eyes slowly, hearing my pulse in my ears. Though I knew it wasn’t real, it looked scarily vivid. Was that what John would do to me if he ever tracked me down and held me hostage? No. I’d evade him, and Jim would come get me from him. We’re not lovers, but he wouldn’t just leave me to that.

            My eyes downcast to Elena, who was rubbing her eyes. I stroked her blonde hair, which only woke her up even more.

            “Bad dream?” I whispered.

            “Mhm,” she mumbled. “I want Chloe.”

            “Chloe? Who’s that?” I yawned mutely.

            “A stuffed dog I’ve had since I was a baby. Mummy and Daddy got her for me. She’s always been with me when I’ve been in bed. She’s always kept bad things out of my dreams.”

            “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping great lately? You need her to sleep better?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “I wish you spoke up sooner about her, Elena.”

            “Sorry.” She yawned. “I didn’t want to ask because I figured you would say no.”

            “Oh, honey, I would definitely go get her for you if you needed her. Do you want me to get her?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You left her at your house last, right? You didn’t lose her at someone else’s house?”

            “Hmm…no, Chloe wasn’t with me at my house.”

            “Where did you leave her?”

            “At Baker Street with Uncle Sherlock.”

            I did a face palm in the dark. How could I not see that coming? Of course Elena would leave her stuffed animal at Baker Street. Of course it wouldn’t be at home, where I could easily slip in and out without being caught.

            “You go back to sleep, honey. Okay? Try to, at least.”

            “’Kay.”

            While Elena got herself readjusted, I sighed to myself. I knew I wasn’t going to delay getting Chloe for Elena. If that girl needed her stuffed animal, then damn it, she was going to get it. I tried my best to crawl over Jim without disturbing him, but that didn’t work too well. He moaned low in his throat.

            “Where are you going?” His voice was thick with sleep.

            “Out.”

            “Where?”

            I sighed. “Baker Street.”

            “Why?”

            “Elena left her stuffed animal there; I’m getting it for her.”

            “In the middle of the night?”

            “I’m not waiting until tomorrow to get it for her, Jim. Besides, I’ve been awake for a little bit. A quick trip out won’t hurt me.”

            “Take your phone with you.”

            “Oh, I plan to.” I almost got off the bed, but Jim grabbed my arm. He pulled me down to give me a half-hearted kiss. A little out of character for him. Must be because he’s so tired. He’s not an affectionate person; we’re not like that around each other. “Did you want me to send him a message if I go face to face with him? Or do you want me to leave a note?”

            I didn’t get an answer, so I assumed Jim fell back asleep. I wished I could do that, but I felt obligated to get Elena’s stuffed dog.

            A little confused by Jim’s kiss, I quickly got dressed and made sure to grab my phone and my pocketknife. If I was going to 221B, I wanted to be prepared. God forbid something went wrong and I didn’t have an advantage over Sherlock.

*      *      *

            Even in the middle of the night there was still a decent amount of traffic rolling through London. Any lights I shrunk away from because my eyes were still adjusting. I’d walked from the mansion until I hit a busy street. That was where I called for a cab. I climbed in, telling the driver the address. While I waited to arrive at my destination, my fingers touched the pocketknife in my pants pocket.

            I smiled grimly, recalling how I’d sliced into Sherlock just a tiny bit. He didn’t seem so invincible that night. Hmm, I could always taunt him about the Watsons more if I encounter him. That was if I managed to think up witty comments in the middle of the night that were coherent.

            I hadn’t realized I’d dozed off until the driver’s voice woke me up, telling me that we stopped. I groggily thanked them and paid them the bare minimum before getting out. I yawned hugely as I stood before the 221B door. I whipped out the knife and approached the door.

            She just had to leave the animal here. Why couldn’t it have been at her place, where it’s completely empty now? I was more than willing to get the stuffed toy for Elena if it meant the end of sleepless nights for us all. Why didn’t I realize she was still uncomfortable even after over a month’s stay at the mansion? I should have just asked her.     

            I picked 221B’s lock with my pocketknife. I opened a second door that led to a choice: I could either go straight or up the stairs. Logic told me that Sherlock’s flat was up the stairs. I grimaced.

            The stairs insisted on giving me away by their creaking. I wished I had the power to climb on the walls; these stairs were taking away my element of surprise. I didn’t like to be given away; I preferred to catch my prey off guard. Not that Sherlock was prey tonight, Elena’s stuffed animal was.

            I had to pick yet another lock, and before I knew it, I pushed the door open to expose myself to the flat. It looked a bit untidy and uninhabited. Nobody occupied the chairs or the loveseat. Nobody was in the kitchen, but down the hall along the kitchen a door was ajar. That had to be Sherlock’s bedroom. Just don’t knock anything over or bump into anything. He could have sharp hearing.

            It wasn’t like I’d be unprepared if Sherlock came at me. I had my knife on me, and I’d fight back if I had to. I was hoping to come out of this undetected, but I couldn’t rule out the probability of being heard.

            With my eyes adjusted to the dark, I searched around the den area. I saw the wall had bullet holes in it and had a yellow smiley painted on it. Somebody was bored, I noted. The coffee table had junk all over it but not enough to not make the table unrecognizable. I saw a bookshelf or two and two windows. There was another table that had a closed laptop on it. Working my way around a little more, I saw another bookshelf, and not far alongside it was the dormant fireplace. A mirror lay atop the mantel so I could see my reflection. There was also a neighbor for the mirror: a skull of what I didn’t know and didn’t really care about at the moment. I was here for Elena’s stuffed animal, not to browse Sherlock’s flat.

 I didn’t know how I missed it initially; the dog was stuck in one of the chairs, the one facing the kitchen. Feeling a rush of success, I grabbed it. This is quick. I examined the girl’s stuffed toy. It was very soft to the touch. I was tempted to keep it for myself, but I knew that wouldn’t bode over well. It wasn’t worth risking her trust over a stuffed dog.

            One thing was for sure: there would be no more sleepless nights for me at the mansion.

            I lurched abruptly forward, knocked into from behind. Shit. I knew this was too simple! I tried to roll onto my back and face my attacker. I wriggled madly under him, hoping to give myself some room to get free. I shot my head up, colliding it with something hard—probably his head. He let out a grunt.

            I growled, trying to send an elbow to his gut. I kicked him, allowing myself to get free. I tried to get on my feet and head for the door, but he tackled me again. This time I dove head first into the coffee table. The jarring impact rattled me. My head was spinning, and apparently so was I. I was forced onto my back, with my arms pinned at my sides, with a hand having a firm grip on my hair.

            Our breaths mingled together, our labored breathing in sync. I made high noises in my throat to show my irritation.

            “We meet again,” I panted. “Go on, get rough. I’m used to it.”

            “Not very sneaky,” he told me.

            “I should have knocked you out,” I snarled, raising my head up. He yanked it back down. “Bastard.”

            “I guess I don’t have to look for you now when you just let yourself in.”

            “Why would you be looking for me?”

            “That doesn’t matter to me now. I know you know where they are.”

            “They?”

            A sharp pull on my hair. “Don’t play games with me, Ms. Whitmore.”

            “It shouldn’t surprise me that you know my name since John knows who I am too. I still don’t understand how.”

            “Where are they?” His voice was low and lethally calm.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “You came back for Elena’s sake, for that stuffed dog, the only thing that helps her sleep soundly at night. She’s obviously alive if you’ve come for it. I know Moriarty has her and John, and I know you’re involved with him. Tell me where you’re keeping them.”

            I laughed. “Oh, you’re so threatening. Mr. Holmes, you don’t scare me.” I felt blood slip down from the small cut on my forehead from hitting the table.

            In retrospect, egging on Sherlock Holmes wasn’t my smartest plan. He ripped me off the floor and backed me into a wall, keeping me trapped. He still kept his hand knotted in my hair. Now that I could look at him properly, he had a robe on. He had no shirt underneath at least. It was hard to say whether or not he was completely nude under the robe.

            Now isn’t the time to think of nude men, I scolded myself. Do that when you’re back in bed at the mansion, asleep.

            “You can tango with me around the room all you want, it won’t do you any good,” I said.

            I kicked at Sherlock as I felt him grope my pockets. I felt cold metal touch under my chin. “There are other ways I can make you talk. How about I cut you?”

            “Oh, still sore about that, are you? It looks like I barely left a mark.” I frowned, seeing that Sherlock’s face did in fact look injury-free. It was hard to tell with the lack of light in the flat, so I was only guessing from what I could see.

            “Where are Elena and John?”

            “As if I know the address.”

            “You do, stop saying that you don’t.”

            “I suck at directions, Mr. Holmes. Really, I do. I couldn’t tell you what streets to go down; I don’t pay attention to them.”

            Sherlock set my knife somewhere before bashing the back of my head into the wall. I cried out, feeling his large hand wrap itself easily around my throat. Both of my hands tried to pry his off.

            “It’s not smart to play games with me, Ms. Whitmore. Where are they?” he demanded.

            “You’ll end up killing me before I talk. Oh, wait, no, you won’t do anything to me. You’d know better than to hurt me.”

            “I have killed before.”

            “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’ll kill me.” I grinned. I coughed.

            “Oh, I won’t, though I should. It would save your child the trouble of growing up with twisted parents and a twisted childhood.”

            Your child. Twisted parents. It took a minute for my dazed brain to catch up to Sherlock’s words. Even though I was on the verge of passing out from lack of oxygen, I looked at Sherlock, wide-eyed.

            “What did you just say?” I asked slowly, precisely.

            “Oh, you didn’t know?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how you didn’t; the signs were there for some time. Of course, they were probably masked by Elena keeping you up at night. Those lovely bags under your eyes aren’t there because of her, and I’m sure your sense of smell has grown acute lately, hasn’t it? You might even be able to smell the rotten food I’ve got around here. They’ve got lovely odors.”

            I gagged, realizing that I could smell all that.

            “I’m. Not. Pregnant.”

            “Are you sure? No matter how much toothpaste you put in your mouth, you’ve still got a light trace of vomit odor.” He wrinkled his nose. “You might want to try mouthwash sometime.”

            “Go to hell.” I kicked at his knees.

            “Not the first time I’ve heard that. How about you stay a while? You and I can have a nice little chat.”

            “Tempting, but I’ve got better things to do.” I rammed my head into his, catching him off guard.

            Sherlock released me, and I bowled him over to buy me more time. I snatched my knife and Elena’s stuffed dog before bolting out of 221B. I could hear a faint groan from upstairs. I knew Sherlock wouldn’t take my fleeing sitting down. If he wanted to take me hostage, he was going to have to chase me.

            If history taught him anything, it was that I fought to my last breath to avoid being in an enemy’s hands.

            I didn’t even think to pull out my phone; I was short on time to catch my breath. I sprinted down the street, feeling a breeze as I went. I heard confused cries behind me, no doubt from Sherlock bursting outside of 221B in a robe. He’d probably run after me naked if he was so determined.

            I made a sharp turn into traffic, nearly being run over by a car. Horns honked loudly in my ears as I made it to the other sidewalk. I panted, scanning the other sidewalk for Sherlock. I couldn’t catch my breath for very long, because sure enough, there he was. He paused momentarily to lock eyes with me before dashing into traffic. Giving out an irritated grunt, I took off down the street. I waved my hand frantically, hoping it’d catch a cab driver’s attention.

            The only thing that had kept me from jumping into a dark alley was a cab noticing me. They pulled over, and I dove in like I was dodging bullets.

            “In a hurry?” the driver joked. “Where to, miss?”

            “Anywhere but here.”

            “That’s not—”

            “Just do it, please.”

            The driver gave me an odd look but complied anyway. We blended into traffic, leaving Sherlock Holmes with a fading trail. I put my hand over my flying heart. I fiddled with Elena’s stuffed dog, suddenly reminded of what Sherlock had said.

            It would save your child the trouble of growing up with twisted parents and a twisted childhood. There was no way I was pregnant. Jim and I had a lot of wild nights together, sure, but we were safe about it. We weren’t idiots, we knew a baby was the last thing either of us wanted in our no-attachments relationship.

            Still, Sherlock Holmes was a man who was rarely wrong. He’s got to be wrong. I’m not pregnant. Jim didn’t get me pregnant. Sherlock was just trying to irk me so I’d run my mouth and let something slip about John and Elena. But why am I not entirely sure about that?

            “The longer I drive, the more it costs you, ma’am,” the driver reminded me. “Tell me where you want to go.”

            I needed to make my muddled mind clear, and there was only one way to do that. “Take me to the nearest pharmacy or a place that has one.”

            “You all right?”

            “I don’t know.” I squeezed Elena’s stuffed dog tighter in my arms.

**So...who believes Sherlock? Who doesn't and believes he's just really not in his right mind because the Watsons are missing and he can't find them? Who's loving this story? Who knows where this story is going to go?

Sorry, got on a question tangent there. :)**