Edited by hannahw1032

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What do you think of my art? I used PhotoBlend.
I used 4 pictures to PhotoBlend:
1. Sherlock standing on St. Bart's roof with
Re I C He Nb Ac H letters using periodic table (Rhenium, Iodine, Carbon, Helium, Niobium, Actinium and Hydrogen = Reichenbach.)
2. Angel wings
3. Early shot of series four with Benedict Cumberbatch, Mark Gatiss and Martin Freeman posing
4. Sherlock: The Network logo

~ Wednesday, February 10th, 2016 ~

     | | John Watson | |

          "Oh yes, whatever you're hiding. That information will soon be mine. Oh! What a delightful case! Oh! This is exciting! I no longer need cigarettes . . . The game is never over!" Sherlock smirks. "THE GAME IS ON."

     Sherlock's words sent chills down my back.

     I check my phone and Sherlock stares at me, with an expression I cannot read:

Anonymous

John Watson: I don't trust you.

Anonymous: Meet me @ Scotland Yard @ Midnight. No police. No SHERLOCK HOLMES, or my next hostage is dead.

     I take a deep breath.

     Sherlock glances at me, his eyes narrowed.

     "Who was that?" Anderson asks, his voice less contemptuous.

     "I- I don't know," I lie and Sherlock raises his eyebrows at me. 'Why does he have to be so observant?' I let out a small groan and roll my eyes.

     "Where will you go now?" Lestrade asks Sherlock.

     "Go? Oh, no, Lestrade. I'm staying put. All day," Sherlock smiles at Lestrade, then faces me. "All night as well."

     "Oh."

     "Are you alright?" Sally asks me.

     "What? Oh yes, fine," I stammer, rubbing my tired eyes.

     "Perhaps you should get some rest," Sherlock advises.

     "I want to help," I protest.

     "And I don't want you to faint from exhaustion. Go," Sherlock orders.

     "Well, that's new!" I feel a wave of anger flow through me. "I wake up, I don't get breakfast, coffee or anything, I'm shoved out the door and now that I'm here, you want me gone? Wow!"

    I turn on my heel and storm off.

     "John. John! JOHN!" I hear Sherlock yelling. "Wait! You're wonderful! You're brilliant! I'd be lost without my blogger!"

     "Whatever," I hail a cab and get in.

     "JOHN!"

     Ping!

    I check my latest text:

Anonymous

Anonymous: If you bring Holmes, she dies.

     I look around and see cameras fixed on my position, "Let me out here." I order the cab and he stops. I look around. There are barely any people and I signal the cab to stay put.

     Ping!

Anonymous

Anonymous: If you bring Holmes, she dies.

Anonymous: Don't bother going to Mycroft for governmental help. He's useless. Holmes can't find me. Meet at Scotland Yard, still? At midnight?

     'Maybe if I ignore this person, they'll just stop annoying me,' I think, doubtfully, but I send a text back anyway:

Anonymous

John Watson: Holmes will be there already. And I'll only be coming because you're threatening my sisters life!

     I hit send and I put my phone in my pocket. I impatiently kick the snow.

     Ping!

Anonymous

Anonymous: I know he'll be there. That's why I said not to bring him. And thank you for cooperating. Don't worry, if Holmes is already there, I probably won't kill her. Oh yes, and Moriarty says, "I hate you, but hello."

     'What?' I think. 'Is every criminal associated with Moriarty?'

     "Hello."

     "AAAARRRRGHHHH!" I whirl around, my gun loaded and facing Mycroft Holmes.

     "Careful with that thing!" Mycroft scolds me. "Have you been keeping an eye on my little brother?"

     "Yes," I look at him.

     He twirls his umbrella, "You have an anonymous caller. Do you know who it is?"

     "How did you—?" I suddenly remember that he pays secret service guards to control cameras. "Never mind."

     "Do you know who it is, Dr. Watson?"

     "Er. Call me John."

     "Do you know who it is, John?"

     "Are you hungry?" I try to change the subject, as I am hungry and not in the mood of talking.

     "No."

     "I am."

     "Alright. We can head to a restaurant and on the way or after you eat, we can talk," Mycroft smiles at me and I sigh.

      'I don't think I can get out of this,' I think exasperatedly. "So, where should we go?"

     "Where were you going to have breakfast?" Mycroft asks, tilting his head.

     "Baker Street," I say.

     "Hmm. Ugh," Mycroft grumbles and we start walking.

     "You don't like it there?"

     "I hate any place with my brother in it."

     "He's not there."

     "He's my enemy."

     "You're brothers."

     "So?"

     "Shouldn't you care?"

     "Emotions are useless. They are unhelpful. Surely you should know this, from living with Sherlock for awhile!"

     "I thought you would be different."

     "You thought I was a stranger who didn't like Sherlock."

     "Yeah. Now I know you as Mycroft Holmes, who doesn't like Sherlock."

     "I like Sherlock."

     "You do?"

     "Yes. I care about him. He doesn't like me. He pickpockets things."

     "I know. He — never mind," I say as we reach Speedy's Cafe.

     Ping!

I found some things, you need to analyze the body. Take your time. I'm sure my brother has interesting things to tell you. I don't want you to faint or whine . . . or something. Come back to Scotland Yard when you're done at Speedy's Cafe.    

SH

     "Incredible," I say out loud.

     "Sherlock? Hm. In a way," Mycroft laughs and we enter.

     "A salad," I order and give the cashier guy a few pounds and he passes one over immediately.

     Mycroft and I sit down and I eat.

     "What an odd thing for breakfast," Mycroft stares at me hard.

     'That's right! Mycroft is good at observing too!" I remember. "I felt like a salad."

     "Clearly," Mycroft snorts.

     I finish my salad and start to leave, when Mycroft lunges his umbrella out with the handle and yanks my shoulder around, "OW!"

     "I'm sorry."

     "No you're not."

     "No, I'm not."

     With a sigh, I sit down across from him again as the cashier guy takes my empty bowl.

     "Do you know who it is, John?" Mycroft stares hard at me.

"It's a girl, an acquaintance," I tell him.

"That's what you told Sherlock. Tell me more," Mycroft orders.

"I don't know more," I reply.

"Hm. If you tell him, I'll find out eventually. Just tell me."

"Sorry, Sherlock needs me," I start up, turn and start to leave.

"You really think he needs you?" Mycroft says loudly. "You're a tool, a gear. You can still choose my side, John."

"Whatever."

I leave the restaurant and go into the taxi, "Scotland Yard, please."

The taxi comes to life and I examine billboards and I check my watch: 8:15 a.m. More people are out now and more cars are everywhere.

In no time, we reach Scotland Yard and I run out and join Sherlock by the body.

He looks up at me. "How was your salad? Why didn't you order coffee?"

"I don't know?"

"Clearly."

"What did you find?" I ask Sherlock.

"He wasn't killed by anything on the outside, but the inside, andA. it's untraceable. The killer only used a weapon after he was dead. Lestrade says his name was Brandon Collins. I saw no records of him arresting anyone, he was mostly a guard," Sherlock explains.

"I'll take your word for it. I don't need an explanation," I say hurriedly.

"Examine." Sherlock snaps his fingers and points at the body.

"Oh, alright." I lean down.

I feel his hand, smell for alcohol and more stuff to find any information. "He was related to someone who was an alcoholic, strong bones and seemed completely healthy, when dead and dying . . . other than the fact he was dying I mean. He was mentally healthy as well. Have you thought of asking Molly for help?"

"I have."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know."

"That's two you don't know!"

"No because I didn't ask her."

"Oh, but still one!" I grin, still unable to believe it.

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

"Can you take a blood test?" Sherlock asks suddenly.

"With what?" I demand, looking around me.

"You're a doctor, think it through."

"Uh . . ."

Ping!

Anonymous

Anonymous: Greetings Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I see you.

Before I can comprehend what I read, Sherlock snatches my phone and raises a gun.

I instinctively reach for my own gun, before I realize Sherlock pick–pocketed my gun, "Sherlock!"

"Who were you talking to?" Sherlock demands aiming my gun towards wherever there was sound.

"An acquaintance. I don't know their name!" I yell, desperately.

"Drop your gun, Sherlock Holmes, or Harry Watson AND John Watson will die!"

"Show yourself!" Sherlock orders, aiming his gun towards the voice.

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft?! What have you to do with this?!"

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