The Pawn

Moriarty viewed her as just another pawn in his deadly game against the world's only consulting detective. Nothing more than a tool he could use to destroy his enemy. The little sister of Sherlock Holmes. She was nothing but a pawn to him, but perhaps Laura Holmes is not to be underestimated. Growing up as the little sister of Sherlock and Mycroft, she has a lot more spunk than he thinks. Is she a pawn or the Queen?


4. Chapter Four.

As Laura was making herself something to eat, her phone rang. Bloody hell? What now? She reached over to grab her phone, seeing it was Mrs. Hudson. With her brows furrowed, she answered the phone and put it to her ear.


    “Laura! Oh, Laura, you’re brother!” Mrs. Hudson sounded concerned and distraught.


    “What about him, Mrs. Hudson?” Laura asked as she continued cooking.


    “The police.”


    “Good Lord.” Laura groaned as she shut off the stove top, removing the pan, “I’ll be there as soon as possible, Mrs. Hudson!”


    “Come quickly, dear.” The woman pleaded before hanging up.


Laura swore under her breath as she pulled on her coat. She stuffed her phone in her pocket, hurrying out of the flat to catch a cab to Baker Street. Might as well see what kind of trouble Sherlock got himself into this time. It couldn’t have been good.


    “Taxi!” She called out, stepping into the street.


One stopped, and she quickly entered the cab. She gave the address to the driver. 221B Baker Street. And with that, the taxi was off towards their destination. What did Sherlock do now? Offend Lestrade? Steal from the police? Could be anything really.


It didn’t take long before she was at Baker Street. She gave the driver money before stepping out of the cab and hurrying to the flat. She opened the door, glancing around. No Sherlock. No John. What was going on?


    “Mrs. Hudson?” Laura called out.


    “Laura, dear! Where’s your brother?” Mrs. Hudson hurried over to the girl.


    “No clue. So, what is this about the police?” Laura furrowed her brows.


    “They’re upstairs. I thought you were with Sherlock,” the landlady explained, pointing to the stairs. “Haven’t the faintest what is going on.”


Laura nodded as she hurried up the stairs. She opened the door to see Lestrade and his team searching the flat. Okay, what was the meaning of this? What the bloody hell was this about? Oh, she was going to have to interrogate someone.


    “Lestrade, what is this?” She demanded, crossing her arms and shouting the door.


    “Sherlock found the case, of course, and --” Greg began explaining.


    “What are you doing?” Sherlock stormed into the flat, joining Laura’s side.


    “Well, I knew you’d find the case, I’m not stupid.” Lestrade turned to the taller Holmes.


    Sherlock glared at him, “You can’t just break into my flat.”


    “You can’t withhold evidence, and I didn’t break into your flat.”


    “Well, what do you call this, then?” Sherlock demanded, gesturing around them.


    Lestrade glanced around, “It’s a drugs bust.”


Laura sighed, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. A drugs bust. It was a good excuse to use to search the flat. Sherlock could be a suspected junkie. Just how he behaved, but that was completely normal for Sherlock.


    “Seriously?” John didn’t believe that. “This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?”


    “John.” Sherlock turned to his new colleague.


    John continued, “I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.”


    “John, you probably want to shut up now.” Sherlock hissed to him.


    “But come on.” Silence. John stared at him, “No.”




    “You?” Dr. Watson looked up at the taller man.


    “Shut up!” Sherlock raised his voice at John. He then looked at Greg, “I’m not your sniffer dog.”


    “No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.” Lestrade corrected him.


    “What? I…” Sherlock stammered, and Anderson waved at them. He stared at the man, “Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?”


    “What do you think, genius?” Laura shook her head at Sherlock.


    “Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson said, proving her point.


    “They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they’re very keen.” Greg explained to the confused party.


Sally Donovan walked into the room with a jar of eyes, demanding if they were human eyes. Sherlock told her to put them back, and Laura sighed deeply. How did he manage to piss the police off this much? Good God, Sherlock definitely needed a sitter. Mycroft was right about that. A drugs bust by the police.


    “They were in the microwave.” Sally scrunched up her nose.


    “It’s an experiment,” insisted Sherlock.


    “Keep looking, guys.” Lestrade commanded his team. He then stood from the chair, “Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.”


    “This is childish.” Sherlock muttered as he passed by the Inspector.


    “Well, I’m dealing with a child.” Lestrade quipped back. “Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?”


    “What, so you set up a pretend drugs to bully me?”


    “It stops being pretend if they find anything.” Lestrade squared off with Sherlock.


    “I am clean!” Sherlock shouted out.


    “Is your flat?” Anderson.


    “All of it?” Lestrade.


    Sherlock frowned and pulled up his sleeve to show the patches, “Don’t even smoke.”


    “Neither do I.” Lestrade pulled up his sleeve to show his nicotine patch.


Laura watched the pretend drugs bust team, listening in on the conversation between Sherlock and Lestrade about this Rachel. What did Jennifer Wilson’s daughter have to do with the case? The woman narrowed her gaze on Lestrade and Sherlock.


    “Her daughter?” That intrigued Sherlock. “Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?” He thought about it.


    “Never mind that, we found the case.” Anderson stated. “According to someone, the murder has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.”


    “I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I am a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.”


    Sherlock then looked at Lestrade, “You need to bring Rachel in, you need to question her. I need to question her.”


    “She’s dead.”


    “Excellent. How and when, why?” Sherlock demanded from him. “Is there a connection? There has to be.”


    “Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for 14 years. Technically she was never alive.” Greg explained to him, “Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, 14 years ago.”


    “No, that’s… That’s not right. How? Why would she do that? Why?”


    “Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, sociopath, I’m seeing it now.” Anderson commented, looking at Sherlock.


    “She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt.” Sherlock turned to the man, frowning at him.


    “You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he made them take it. Well, maybe he… I don’t know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.” John suggested to the consulting detective.


    “Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?” Sherlock demanded.


Everyone was silent. They all stared at the man. He truly did not get people. A normal human would still be upset about their daughter being stillborn. Blame it on themselves.


    “Not good?”


    “Bit not good, yeah.” John said to Sherlock.


    “If you were dying… If you’d been murdered in your very last few seconds, what would you say?” Sherlock asked the doctor.


    “‘Please, God, let me live.’” John answered.


    “Use your imagination!”


    “I don’t have to.” John stated calmly.


Laura glanced at him as Sherlock continued his whole tangent. She stared at both men, trying to figure it out in her mind as well. What was Jennifer Wilson trying to tell them? It had to be something important, something that led them to the killer.


    “Isn’t the doorbell woking?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice. “Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.”


    “I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.” Sherlock waved her off.


    “Oh, dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?” The landlady studied the apartment.


    “It’s a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson.” John said to her.


    “But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.”


    “Shut up, everybody! Shut up!” Sherlock snapped at all of them. “Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.”


    “What? My face is?” Anderson took offense to that.


    “Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” Lestrade conducted his team.


    “Oh, for God’s sake!”


    “Your back, now, please!”


Laura stepped over to the window, staring at the taxi. She could hear the fuss in the background. The great Sherlock Holmes trying to find out who done it. Mrs. Hudson brought up the taxi again, and that seemed to click with Sherlock.


    “Oh. Ah! She was clever. Clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left her phone in order to lead us to her killer.” Another famous Sherlock Holmes tangent.


    “But how?” Lestrade questioned his logic.


    “What do you mean, how?” Sherlock asked.


    A moment of silence. “Rachel!” He shouted. More silence. Sherlock continued, “Don’t you see? Rachel! Oh… Look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.”


    “Then what is it?” John demanded from his seat.


    “John, on the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.” Sherlock instructed him before sitting down at his computer.


It clicked in her brain. It was a password. John read off the e-mail address on the luggage label to Sherlock. Laura moved to join her brother’s side as he muttered about the case. He explained that it was a smartphone, and how she did her business on it. E-mail enabled phone and all. A password to track her phone. Oh, she was brilliant.


    “The username is her e-mail address, and all together now, the password is?” Sherlock typed into the laptop.


    “Rachel.” Anderson didn’t get it, “So we can read her e-mails. So what?”


    “Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It’s a Smartphone, it’s got GPS. Which means if you lose it you can locate it online.” Sherlock explained to everyone, “She’d leading us directly to the man who killed her.”


    “Unless he got rid of it.” Lestrade suggested.


    “He didn’t.” Both John and Laura answered at the same time.


    “Come on, come on. Quickly!”


    “Sherlock, dear.” Mrs. Hudson climbed up the stairs, “This taxi driver --”


    “Mrs. Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother?” Sherlock stood up, moving over to the landlady.


Laura and John stayed by the computer while Sherlock addressed the police force. It was getting a location now. It zoomed in. That was strange… According to this, the murderer was right here on Baker Street. Unless he planted the phone, then the killer was close by.


    “Sherlock?” John called over the consulting detective.


    “Narrows it down from just anyone in London. It’s the first proper lead we’ve had.”


    “Sherlock?” Laura looked over at her brother.


    “Where is it? Quickly, where?” Sherlock hurried over to the computer.


    “Here. It’s in 221 Baker Street.” John told him as all three of them looked at the screen.


    “How can it be here?” Sherlock tried solving the puzzle, “How?”


    “Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.” Greg suggested to him.


    “What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice?”


Laura heard footsteps, and she glanced back at Mrs. Hudson. A figure in the shadows. Voices all around the room. Both of the Holmes were staring at the figure. The taxi driver? She watched as the man pulled out a phone. Pink. Then, a chime. She quickly looked towards her brother as he pulled out his phone, reading a message.


    “Sherlock, you okay?” John asked the man.


    “What?” Sherlock sounded spaced out. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”


    “So, how can the phone be here?” Watson questioned Holmes.


    “Don’t know.”


    “I’ll try it again.” John stated as he stood up from the chair.


    “Good idea.” Still zoned out.


Laura studied her brother as he went to exit the flat. That text had something to do with the murder. She knew it. No way would Sherlock walk out on a case for some fresh air. John gave her a look, asking if she understood what her brother was doing. Not at all. No one could read the mind of Sherlock Holmes. No matter how long they knew him.




John was on the phone, watching outside the window. Laura was at his side. A cab? What was he doing? Was he insane? Short answer: yes. One thing she knew about her brother: he lived for a good thrill.


    “It’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab.” John explained to the police.


    “I told you, he does that.” Sergeant Donovan said to him. “He bloody left again. We’re wasting our time!”


    “I’m calling the phone, it’s ringing out.” John said to Lestrade.


    “Try the search again.” Laura crossed her arms, glancing at Dr. Watson and the others.


    “Does it matter? Does any of it?” Donovan complained.


Laura and John ignored the cops. They were focused on the computer screen, trying to track the address of killer. If her theory was right, Sherlock was currently with the murderer. A cabbie. Of all people. The drugs bust squad was packing up under Lestrade’s command.


    “Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?” Greg crossed his arms.


    “It’s Sherlock, Inspector. Think on it.” Laura answered him.


    “You know him better than I do.” John added on, glancing at both Laura and John.


    “I’ve known him for five years, and no, I don’t.”


    “So why do you put up with him?” Watson asked the man.


Laura picked up the computer, biting her lip as she watched the screen. Her brother was either an idiot, or he was a genius. Most days he was both. This better be one of those days. She blocked out the conversation between John and Greg. Not interesting. She would prefer to catch the killer and make sure Sherlock wasn’t killed in the process.


    “And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.” Laura glanced at Lestrade as he said that.


    “He has more hope in Sherlock than me.” She mumbled to herself.


    “He’s your brother.” John furrowed his brows.


    “Exactly. Don’t you have a brother as well, Dr. Watson?” Laura quipped.


    “Ah. And Harry’s my sister.” He nodded his head.


No results. With a sigh, she set the computer down and paced around the flat. Did Sherlock depend on them to find him before he was the fifth victim? If so, he was out of luck unless the computer showed the location now. She was about to give up hope when the computer beeped. Laura stopped and stared at the computer. John did as well. It continued beeping with the new location of where the cell phone was. Dr. Watson walked over to the computer, and he picked it up to see the address.


    “Come on, we have to go,” he said to the woman.


    “Gonna catch ourselves a killer, huh.” Laura nodded as she followed him out of the flat.

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