Family Deductions

On the way to the IT Suite, Molly was making small talk as usual, telling Sherlock about some holiday she was planning with her husband. He was glad Molly had settled down, but it still didn't make him any more interested in her business. He replied with such appropriate responses as "oh really" and "fascinating", which seemed to satisfy her.

As soon as they got in the room Sherlock located the nearest free monitor and sat down, taking a couple of minutes to log onto his website.
"I'll leave you to it," Molly smiled and made her exit back to the morgue.
"Right then," Sherlock flexed his fingers and began typing.

Case solved: Sylvia Jackson - strangled. Eddie Jackson and Carole Waugh - killed by bullet wound to back of head. All three victims of pre-meditated execution after arranging sale of Cartier jewelery with Charles A Milverton of Fitzdares Bookmakers and Col Sebastian Moran formerly of the British Army. Mr Jackson targeted due to his knowledge of counterfeit money making machine currently in production by Graham Winters of Maxims Casino in partnership with Mr Milverton and Col Moran. Mr Winters currently in custody and giving full statement.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John, wanting to get his husband's approval before he published it to the site.

John thanked Molly for her time and asked her to say hello to her husband Adam for him. He stood so that he could lean over to the monitor that his husband had just sat down in front of. When Sherlock had finished composing the all important message ready to post on his website his sideways glance to John seemed to him to be asking for an opinion or something.

“That does it. Anyone who knows our writing styles could tell it is from you.” John confirmed with a nod in a quiet but positive tone.

He hoped to find either a reply there or for Sherlock's phone to bleep a text alert with the place to go to find Hamish very soon. As his eyes met his husband's John didn't think he would need to say to his husband what he was thinking.

Sherlock gave a single nod at John's confirmation and turned back to the screen. He had been focused and entirely professional for the whole of the case. Now, for the first time, he was nervous. For the first time he allowed himself to think of Hamish, however briefly, then quickly swallowed down his emotions.

He took a deep breath and hit enter, watching as the post became part of his website for all to see. Now all they had to do was wait. He presumed Moriarty's men would be checking the website fairly regularly for updates.

Sherlock stood up from the desk and turned round to his husband, reaching out with his arms and pulling him into a sincere hug, kissing the top of his head. "Love you," he mumbled quietly.

John knew that his propensity for being somewhat emotional in nature had an impact on his judgements but it was a liability when a person needed decisive emergency treatment. Most of his patients tended to be half way up a motorway having been involved in a traffic accident. It often worked in their favour on cases but there too he had to be stern with himself and adopt a more detached, professional attitude. There was a time and place for everything. He was glad when Sherlock pulled him close into an embrace. “I love you too” he replied quietly with all his heart putting his arms inside his husband's coat and around his waist. He rested his head against Sherlock's warm chest for a long moment.

The doctor looked up then and smiled lovingly at the best and wisest man he had ever had the good fortune to meet. He had an idea what they both needed next. “I'll go get us a coffee eh?” and gave his husband a squeeze before slowly pulling away from him. He yawned with a hand over his mouth while checking his pocket for small change. It would be vending machine made coffee from downstairs but it was better than nothing at all. “Oh, sh... we've still got Winters gun.” he chuckled softly as he got to the door. He had completely forgotten about it. It could wait until later.

Less than ten minutes later John, holding two coffees, edged sideways into the IT Suite and as soon as he was in the door looked questioningly at his husband for any news.

"No!" he shouted, hoarse voice lost in the din of the violin which screeched in his ears. Hamish struggled to stand up but his legs didn't seem to respond to his commands anymore.
"Stop, Dad. No!" he tried again, vision blurring as he watched both his fathers run towards a boy dressed in a suit of Semtex who lay clumsily on the pavement.
"Its a trap!" he whispered with the last bit of energy he could muster, before he fell to the pavement, cheekbone meeting the cool stone with a crunch. Everything was plunged into darkness and deathly silence. He lay still for a moment, straining his ears for a sound. Suddenly a song drifted though the darkness, quite different from the shrill strings of before, a guitar riff he vaguely recognised as some awful 1960's pop song...

Hamish awoke in a blind panic, hands uselessly scrabbling for the mobile which was blaring out the Bee Gees. His dream punctuated sleep and had left disorientated and it took a long moment to organise his cramped limbs and grab the phone and pager. But as soon as he pressed the pick up button the call was cut off and he saw new text scrolling across the pager.

Maybe they'd solved it, maybe this was his rescue, a thought drifted comfortingly in his mind as he forced his eyes to focus on the text.

Wakey, wakey. This is no time for sleeping, Hamish, there's still plenty of fun to be had.

A number appeared on the screen of the mobile and Hamish gulped back fear which seemed to be choking him. Pressing dial he held the phone to his ear which still throbbed with pain from earlier that night, he cleared his dry throat and waited for the familiar sound of Sherlock's voice.

"Hello again. Only little old me. Just wanted to congratulate you on the last puzzle. Nicely done Sherlock, truly fantastic, you haven't aged a day. But just before you crack open the bubbly, I thought I'd better check that wasn't a fluke so I've found you another-"

"Coffee sounds perfect, John," Sherlock smiled, stepping back from their embrace. He watched his husband walk from the room, then checked his phone. Nothing yet. He began to pace up and down quite anxiously, his mind turning over the small details of the case hadn't been able to work out...such as the mysterious numbers 3/1. Things like that always bothered him. Loose ends. Messy.

He shook his head to John's questioning expression when he returned with the coffee, and took one of the hot drinks from his hand, opening up the little plastic lid.
"That's yours," he commented, handing it back and taking the other. "Got milk in it."

The detective took a small sip, then the shrill sound of his phone ringing pierced the air. His heart pounding, he put the coffee down and picked up the phone, seeing it was coming from an 'unknown number'. He hit answer, waiting to hear his son's shakey voice reading out whatever message Moriarty told him to.
"Hello?"
He switched the phone to speaker so John could hear it too, and held it out in his palm.

As the voice of their son echoed round the IT Suite, Sherlock quickly realised what was going on. Moriarty was playing with them. He'd had them running all over London solving a fairly detailed crime, now he wanted them to run some more. He wasn't going to give Hamish back. He felt a flash of anger and struggled to contain himself, stop himself from shouting down the phone.

"Another puzzle?" He asked, as calmly as he could, noticing their was a slight quiver in his voice. "What is it?" He reached out for John's hand and gave it a firm squeeze, knowing how hard this must be for his husband.

Hamish tried to ignore the slight quiver in Sherlock's voice, blaming it on the poor reception instead to ease his mind a little. As he paused to wait for the pager to scroll put more text for him to say he could hear the crackling of John's heavy breathing in the background and it was strangely comforting.

"No clue this time, just one image. Don't let your little pet fret though Sherlock, I think you can manage this one in 6 hours tops. Enjoy."

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The image sent automatically from the mobile and Hamish longed to see what it was, although he knew it would probably make no sense to him at all. The call disconnected and he was left alone again in the brightly lit cellar. There was no sign of Moran, but perhaps he was just outside or lurking in the shadows at the far end where the artificial light didn't reach. His only company was the small red circle of the sniper sight on his chest, although he doubted even that was real anymore.

Ever so carefully and painfully aware of the Semtex, Hamish shifted his legs underneath him and was met with the sharp stinging of pins and needles after the reduced blood flow there. He lay the phone down next to him and tried not to drift back to sleep where the dreams would plague him once again, and instead tried to picture Sherlock and John running effortlessly around London, chasing clues and formulating deductions.

John breathed out as Sherlock had no news and carried on walking up the aisle of desks. He had forgotten which hand he had put his husband's coffee in and the lid wasn't helpful. He stared at the monitor as his partner relieved him of half his beverages.

“Sorry, this is yours.” he peeled the lid off and exchanged the cups.

He jumped when Sherlock's phone trilled loudly in the silence. His heart began pounding again as he put his coffee carton down on the desk and stared at the phone laid in his husband's palm. Their son's strained voice floated eerily disembodied around the room and he shuddered at the thought of what Hamish was still going through and felt guilty for thinking about himself at all.

John, aware that Hamish could hear them, was desperate to say something reassuring. Knowing that Moriarty was behind this, he couldn't risk saying anything to their son and it was tearing John's heart out. He gulped once and tried to breathe deeply to get his anger under control. His eyes flashed to his husband's and he gripped his hand and returned to focussing on the phone.

There was an image of a motorway. Of course. That was about right for Moriarty's twisted sort of humour. Moriarty would know all about his job and what it entailed.

A text came through and Sherlock downloaded the imagine and the line went dead. He waited impatiently for it to come up on the screen, trying not to think about Hamish and the possibility that this series of puzzles might not even end in his release.

He studied the picture of the motorway. He wasn't an expert by any means, but he was good at memorising roads and routes. He frowned, unsure of his own opinion but feeling the need to say something. "Looks like the M11," he mumbled. "Although I couldn't be certain. You must see a lot of motorway stretches on your helicoptor run. What do you make of it?"

He passed the phone to John and began to pace up and down. "Of course, it fits with the other riddles," he continued, thinking aloud. "The ones we weren't too sure about? Highwayman. Accident. There's going to be some kind of incident, on this stretch of motorway, or near it. We won't be able to stop it, chances are it's already happening."

John was still looking over his husband's shoulder and feeling downcast that Moriarty hadn't finished with them yet.

“Yeah, I'm fairly certain that's the M11. London to Cambridge.as well” John confirmed. Taking the phone John shuffled hesitantly on his feet and with a hand clasped to his mouth tried to place the stretch of road.“I see a lot of motorway but I'm generally too busy with what's going on below to look at the countryside”. his throat was dry and he was in dire need of coffee.

That was about right for Moriarty's twisted sort of humour, John thought as the coffee went down, a clue connected to them which the criminal would know that he couldn't answer. “It starts at Junction 4. the North Circular Road. Junctions 3 to 1 were intended for a link.”

The coffee he was sipping must have kickstarted his brain “I can't tell from looking at it exactly where this is but there's only one stretch where it's 3 lanes going north and south. Junctions 5 to 7, I think” John added with a defiant nod.

Sherlock continued pacing as John spoke, taking the information on board and processing it, trying to see where it fitted in the puzzle. Suddenly something clicked, and he grabbed both of John's arms excitedly.

"3 to 1! You just said 3 to 1, John!" He exclaimed, eyes wide. "Like the code in the newspaper remember - the part I couldn't get - it was the motorway, he was telling them what part to go to!"

He studied the photograph again. "So this is 5 to 7. Perfect. This is where it's going to happen. They get onto the highway at 3 to 1 and the incident occurs at 5 to 7."

Sherlock quickly took back the phone and speed dialled Hopkins and cursed when he was put straight through to voicemail. He left the Inspector a message, ordering him to keep them immediately informed of any incidents on the M11 between junctions 5 and 7, and to get a couple of squad cars over to junctions 1 to 3.

John grinned “Well, I thought it looked familiar but you cracked it, you jogged my memory saying M11, 3 to 1 is just how everyone says it.. because it starts at 4. The junctions were left unused for a motorway link that never got built.”

He couldn't remember what the riddle was so John passed the phone back to it's owner and got his notebook out. “Look, it says 'Tuesday', Sherlock. 3 to 1 not 5 to 7.” he drew his husband's attention to the lines on the page.

Congrats on Grand Discovery. Owner's Pride (Sunday). Shakespeare's Tale to fall. Camera Escape, Highwayman, Accident Prone (Tuesday 3/1)


He looked at Sherlock quizzically.

Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder staring down at the message with a frown. "Tuesday...Tuesday," he muttered. "So...whatever's happening, it's not happening today, it's happening on Tuesday, and it's happening at these non-existent junctions. So what are they, just stretches of road or do they actually lead anywhere? And why would he send us a picture of junctions 5 to 7, today? It's not Tuesday today. What else are we missing?"

The shrill sound of Sherlock's phone pierced the air and the detective hit the answer button quickly, seeing it was Hopkins.
"Hopkins," he spoke into the handset. "News?"

There was a moment's silence during which Sherlock listened to what the Inspector had to say, his frown deepening. "Right...no...I need to think it through, I'll call you back." And with that he hung up, looking at John with an excited expression.

"They went to arrest Milverton at the bookies as I instructed," he explained, summurising the news. "He was gone. All the computers gone. The records gone. The place all closed down and locked up. Then they went to the casino to seize the machine. And that was gone too. The entire thing ripped up from the floor obviously by some type of digger. Talk about working fast. What do you make of it?"

"Sherlock that's like asking how long's a piece of string answer being from one end to the other which is no answer" He shook his head laughing and planted a kiss on his husband's cheek. With roving hands he 'pickpocketed' his husband's phone from him. He smiled at Sherlock for being indulged then looked for a map. He went back to being serious again. "That's London traffic planning for you, two slip roads go up to form the M11 which starts as Junction 4."


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“I really have no idea, what it's all about.” John confessed without a hint of shame. "I'd guess they are moving the printing press to a new location. Winters fell into police hands if you like, CAM escape you figured was Milverton, he's escaped for now but that's today which is Sunday and not Tuesday. So I don't see how Tuesday comes into it. Unless some part is wrong." he made an appealing gesture with his hands out of exasperation and was back to frowning again. "I dunno."

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"Thank you," Sherlock muttered, taking his phone back from John and studying the map he had brought up for him. "Excellent. Two roads, that's two possibilities."

He drummed his fingers against the edge of the phone thoughtfully.
"No, it's not wrong," he frowned. "The only way it would be wrong was if Moriarty had written it like that on purpose to try and confuse us, distract us..."

Sherlock's phone beeped for a text message and he quickly opened it up. "It's Hopkins. They've got some CCTV footage taken just outside the casino. Wants us to meet him at Scotland Yard and take a look." He picked up his coffee cup and downed the last of his now cold drink, before slipping the phone back in his pocket and tugging up the collar on his coat. "Let's go."

“Sorry.” John apologised for filching his husband's phone and showed him the map. He knew he had let his emotions get the better of him and regretted it. It was just that the clue brought to the forefront his work problem. He wondered if it was being paranoid to think that Moriarty could possibly know about that and had chosen it for that reason. He shut it firmly from his mind determined that his problem at work was not going to be a distraction to either of them. He felt better and more resilient for that.
“I didn't mean you might be wrong. I know you can figure it out.” he said as confidently as he felt.

Having been summoned by Inspector Stanley Hopkins to look at CCTV footage it was time to go. John collected up the cups and ditched them into a plastic bag-lined waste bin on the way out of the building. Their footsteps echoed down the linoleum covered corridor and they were soon outside Bart's where there was already a pair of taxis pulled in to let hospital visitors out.

John stepped out quickly to make himself seen and signalled the leading cab as it set off. The driver duly pulled in and the two men clambered inside without delay. “New Scotland Yard, please.” John ordered the cabbie. He felt ready again for the next bit of news to help them on their way.

Sherlock rarely had time for emotions whilst working on a case, even one so personal as this. He just couldn't afford the distraction. It often meant people mistook him as being cold or uncaring when it was in fact, simply a skill he had honed over the years, a mask which he rarely let drop.

But he knew John couldn't do that. His husband was far too caring, emotional...he was all feelings, and he couldn't just turn them on and off when he wanted to. He found it much harder, and Sherlock understood that, even though he knew he sometimes neglected John's emotional and physical needs during a case.

He reflected upon all this and more on the taxi ride to Scotland Yard, relating it to John's earlier confusing behaviour with the phone. He still wasn't sure what all that was about, but he imagined it must have something to do with being stressed out over this whole thing.

The cab arrived at Scotland Yard and Sherlock handed the driver the fare, opening up the door. He half clambered out but before he did, he spun round and grabbed John's jacket as his husband was following him out of the cab, dragging him forward and pressing their lips together in a kiss, allowing them to linger for a few seconds before breaking off and swiftly turning, jogging up the steps and inside, announcing his name over the reception desk.

In an instant he was all business again, totally switched on and focused, love and sex the furthest things from his mind, but he felt John had needed some kind of extra reassurance right at that moment, and he was only too glad to be able to provide it. He thought briefly of how he would kiss the man from head to toe when all this was done.

"Hopkins," Sherlock greeted the Inspector with his hand outstretched ready for a shake.
"Sherlock, glad you could come," Hopkins smiled and started to lead the way. "This is interesting. You'll like this..."

It was a quiet journey to Scotland Yard with both men absorbed in their own thoughts. John remained quiet saving energy. Sherlock taking care of the taxi fare then leaped out and John followed. He was unexpectedly pulled into a kiss which he appreciated. He didn't quite understand what had brought that on but he imagined that his husband understood that he was stressed if not exactly why. He had felt vulnerable but now he suspected that it was possibly what Moriarty wanted he refused to be manipulated or let himself distract his husband. He scurried after his husband to the Reception desk.

Reception called Hopkins out who seemed to be very pleased with the way things were going thanks to Sherlock's expertise. John wondered what bizarre surprise awaited them and smiled at the Inspector.

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened a little as he walked into the office after Hopkins, wondering what it was he had in store for them. The Inspector pulled up the CCTV footage on his computer and spun the monitor screen round to face the others.

"This is the CCTV from outside the casino," he explained as a grainy black and white image came up with not very much going on. "The printing machine was dragged out of the basement into the underground carpark. They literally knocked the wall down to do it, and hauled it into the back of a van. Unfortunately, the only CCTV from inside the car park doesn't focus on that wall and the vehicle they used doesn't come up on it at all. We do however, have good reason to believe it was this white van we see on the screen here."

He pointed at the blank screen where a medium sized white van slowly drove up into view. "It's indicating left, which can only mean it's going into the underground carpark." Sherlock nodded impatiently to show he'd understood so far.

"OK. Fine," he mumbled. "But how do you know for certain this is the van they used, and when do we get to the interesting, exciting part?"
"Patience Sherlock," Hopkins chuckled. "The answer to both those questions is the same, and it's coming up next..."

He began to fast forward through the footage, then freeze framed as the white van came back on the screen, obviously turning right, out of the underground parking facility. As the van turned and the picture froze, it was impossible not to notice the graffiti scrawled on the side of the vehicle in dark red lettering:

Tick Tock Sherlock

He glanced up at John with an excited glint in his eye.

John followed Sherlock through with Hopkins to his office and stood behind the office chair to wait and see what the Inspector had to show them on a computer screen. The images were quite abysmal quality but John could make out a pale coloured van coming into view.

“This is him being patient” John corrected Hopkins with a vague little mumble as his attention was almost entirely riveted to the monitor and the white van.

“Ohh.” John added when he saw the side of the van with its red graffiti scribble. He looked down at Sherlock and his face asked 'what?'. “Inspector, any idea where the van went?"

"Tick tock," Sherlock muttered, frowning. "Tick tock...like a...like a clock, like time running out..."
"What does it mean?" Hopkins asked.
"No idea," Sherlock admitted with a sigh. "Some kind of message, for me, clearly."

The Inspector glanced at John upon hearing his question. "Funny you should ask that," he smiled. "We had CCTV trace them all over town till they got on the M11. We trailed them right to that junction you told us about."

"Interesting," Sherlock smirked. "I feel inclined to take a trip over there, although that's possibly what they want us to do."

John didn't even like to think of the idea but he pulled a breath in and turning to the Inspector said what was on his mind for Stanley's benefit. “It's maybe to tell Sherlock they think his time's running out.” it wouldn't come as any shock to his husband, he was far too realistic for that. Hopkins however took a sharp intake of breath.

The doctor looked back at Sherlock for a moment and laughed drily “Ha, M11. Thought so.” he could guess what that little glint in his husband's eye had been about now. “That'd be 1 to 3 Northbound or 3 to 1 Southbound.” he had a think about it trying to figure out the most likely place they would park up if they were waiting for Sherlock to show up. “Stan, could you possibly do us a huge favour, find us an unmarked car we can borrow? Don't want to risk an innocent taxi driver, Sherlock, eh?”

Hopkins coughed. “It's out of the question. It's a police matter.”

“Um, with the greatest respect, if your boys turn up armed to the hilt it'd throw it all up in the air. It's our son and there's a time limit and we've been in tighter situations. They might drop it this time but they'd still have another go. A motorway, if they park on an access road, or the hard shoulder, it poses less risk to the public than them trying again in a shopping precinct. I mean if there was a set of car keys just on a table?”

“Oh, no, I'm not letting you two loose. I'll drive.” Hopkins objected with a wry smile.

Sherlock watched the interchange between John and Hopkins with some amusement. John was quite right, they wouldn't want to risk an innocent taxi driver's life and they needed to get there somehow. He couldn't help a small smirk when the Inspector volunteered himself.

"Very well," he nodded, clapping him gently on the back. "And thank you Stanley. But I must warn you, this could get a little...dangerous. We have to consider the possibility that we could be dealing with a bomb here."

"A bomb?" Hopkins replied incredulously.
"The picture we were sent, John," Sherlock brought it up again on his phone. "We were confused because it was a picture of junctions 5 to 7 and the clue in the riddle was 3/1. What if the riddle wasn't referring to junctions at all? What if it was some kind of countdown. 3...2...1. Tick tock. A bomb. See? I'm not saying that's right but, we have to entertain the possibility."

Hopkins paled slightly but stood up from his desk and steeled his nerves.
"All the more reason why you shouldn't go alone then."
"Lestrade would be proud of you," Sherlock grinned, already heading for the door.
"Either that or he'd think I'm a bloody idiot," the Inspector muttered, putting on his coat.

John smiled softly as Sherlock made the friendly move of slapping Stan on the back for volunteering himself as their driver and thought that Hopkins' reaction to the possibility of a bomb being involved was quite priceless. He had another look at the picture of the M11 on Sherlock's phone. “Yeah, I get what you mean now. You're right, we have to consider all possibilities.” he nodded.

“If Greg thought you were an idiot for it he'd have to call himself one.” John piped up.

“How so?” Hopkins asked as he led the way out to his own car in the car park.

“All three of us Greg, Sherlock and myself have stood in a basement flat knowing we were dealing with a bomber and Greg didn't move an inch. He'd be proud of you.” John grinned cheerfully with the image in his mind.

Sherlock glanced at John, then back at Hopkins, grinning. "He's right," he qnodded.

"Then I must be just as insane as Greg," Hopkins muttered, then headed for the door. "Come on then."

Sherlock followed the Inspector out of the office, down the corridor and outside, checking once that John was beside him and giving him a friendly smile, one of his genuine ones.

They were led round to the private car park where Stanley's vehicle was parked and they all got in, Sherlock jumping in the back seat and beckoning John to follow, suspecting his husband would appreciate being close to him right now.