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Description
The thing one must keep in mind with Anderson is that his basic function in life is to simply make others seem intelligent by comparison. He is utterly annoying and a dreadful conversationalist and how he's made it as long as he had in the world is still one of the better known mysteries we still have. Just this once though, this one time, Anderson would have actual use.
Sherlock looked at Anderson through the blinding light of the flashlight in his hands. He was shocked, and cursed himself silently for thinking of this plan but he knew it had to be done. Sherlock asked Anderson to stand on the boat with him, only for a while. Anderson was skeptical and unsure, but after hearing Sherlock out and catching the unusual desperation in his voice he was on the boat.
Anderson stepped to one side of the boat while Sherlock stayed on the other, the side with the lock. Anderson was told strictly to not move unless specifically instructed, and he listened surprisingly well. He was quiet and very still and kept looking around to make sure no one else was roaming around the area, who could get them into trouble.
Little did they know that somewhere off in the distance, a pair of eyes was watching their every move intensely. Those eyes had seen every happening of the night, and saw to the reason why it happened. They also witnessed Sherlock unlocking the door to the boat to find another note taped to the radar.
Sherlock picked it up carefully and read:
And so the game continues,
but time is running short
travel to the port
of the old french house
and wait for the girl
with resemblance of a mouse
she'll show you the way,
through the fog
and lead you to
the lair of Smaug.
He froze with the note in his hands. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. The not hadn't mentioned anything about Watson, or losing her, or even gave any hint that the writer had her there. Anderson was getting jittery and finally asked if everything was finished here. Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts, started the engine and told Anderson to get off the boat and to not mention the ordeal to anyone.
Anderson did as he was told and watched the boat speed off into the dark waters of the night. Sherlock sped off with a certain angry determination that seemed to fuel the boat itself. He rode on for what felt like hours, until finally coming up on the famous French mansion previously owned by a powerful rich aristocrat. The mansion was huge and the property around it was even bigger. Sherlock calculated all of the possible places where Watson could be kept, still assuming that her capture was a part of this particular game.
Sherlock sped up to a dock and walked the middle of the deck to jump up from the boat. He tied it up to the dock and walked down to the shoreline where he spotted a short girl. As e walked closer he could make out her features. Her hair was rather large and she gave off an almost mouse like appearance.
"Sherlock." She said. "We've been expecting you...... But where is your friend?" She asked, concerned. Sherlock's body tensed. She seemed genuinely confused at the lack of Watson, and who wouldn't be at this point? Sherlock had professed his love to her numerous times in the day, everyday, no matter who was around them.
"She...... She's been..." But he couldn't get the words out. It hurt too much. The girl looked on him and her face changed from confusion, to realization, and to fear.
"Quickly, we must go." She said and started scurrying toward the mansion. The girl led Sherlock along a wooded path with a wide view of the ocean and the other side of the land, where he came from. He could see the lights from Lestrade's mansion glowing, and he couldn't help but let his heart drop at the sight. How long had he been away? Why hadn't he been keeping better track? Was everyone dead yet? Was that technically his fault? And what was happening to Watson? Who had her if this girl didn't know where she was?
He kept these thoughts going on so loudly that he nearly ran right into the door the girl was trying to lead him through. He stopped just in time and hoped the impossible hope that Watson would be waiting behind it with open arms and that cheery, warm smile. But when the girl opened the door, what lay behind it was simply darkness and a stair case dimly light with firelight.
The girl led him up the winding stairs and into a grand hallway. The ceiling was high and the room was incredibly wide. From there the girl raced up another set of stairs, beckoning for Sherlock and telling him to quicken his pace. After running through a series of halls they came to two doors. The girl pushed them open to reveal a huge library with a large desk off to the right side. Behind this desk was a chair, facing them. The chair was empty but the room was not. As they stepped in, a large window over-looking the ocean came into view. In front of the window was a large canvas and paints sitting around it. In front of the canvas, was a girl, slightly older than he and Watson.
"Miss! Miss!" The mousy girl called. As Sherlock looked around, he noticed the ceiling had the appearance of being made of dark rocks with pieces of gold stuck in between, as if they were in a cave with hidden treasures in it. He saw Lord of the Rings memorabilia all around, vintage looking books, and it was all slowly clicking in his head.
The girl at the canvas turned to face them. A smile crept upon her lips. "Why," she began, "Mr. Holmes. What a pleasure it is to see you again." He knew that voice. He knew it very well. And it was a voice he'd never forget.